Reception
She stood in front of the large mirror, furrowing her eyebrows and biting her lip intensely as if gnawing on it hard enough would help her decide if the dress she held before her suited her perfectly or not. For over an hour or so she had shifted from black satin to burgundy; then to silver-and-gold to brocade; then ventured to a negligee to a silk shift that hung dangerously low in the front; and now to a splendid blue sheath.
“This is harder than I thought,” she said, speaking particularly to no one. She had developed this habit of pronouncing her thoughts aloud, much to her late mother’s distress, after spending her entire life almost alone in her tower. There now added the inconvenient verity that her gallant knight was sent to fight off some vile creatures in a far away island, and that her uncle had flown off, on a very short notice, across the continent for some stately affairs. And so she was left, for three monotonous weeks, which she concluded was the longest and most excruciating three weeks of her life, alone more than ever, except for the company of her pet, which for the past hour or so, had been sitting behind her patiently, cocking its feathery head hither and thither as she tossed one dress over the other in one muddled pile.
“Melvin,” she said, referring to the animal not taller than her knees. Madame Bentwich, her poetry tutor, strongly advised her to baptize it with a more petly name like Wings, or Talons, or Silver, or any name that could identify the creature with simplicity, but she had equally insisted that it should have a more human name than those. “Do you think she’ll like me in these?” she said, as she spun around with the sheath still draped in front of her. “Oh don’t just stare with those eyes of yours.”
She threw the clothing aside, plopped onto the edge of her four-poster bed and pretended to be exasperated, the same time that Melvin padded towards the pile of clothes on the carpet and tugged a protruding fabric with its beak. “I knew it,” she said, pulling the silk shift free from the mess. She held it venerably in front of the mirror. “I’ve been hoping you’d pick this one up. We definitely have the same tastes.” She winked at him and he flapped his wings approvingly. This gryphon is growing bigger every minute, she thought.
A sudden blast of horn yanked her out of her musings and gave her a start. She spat out mild curses, ripped the satin from her back, and plunged into the silk shift as swiftly as she had stripped off from the first one. Then she dashed into the balcony almost tripping on Melvin, looked straight to the coastline, and made out a familiar galley among the minute fishing vessels that littered the harbor. The royal flag waved from its mast head.
Exquisite excitement and euphoria spread across her chest and then to her limbs, which sent her giggling and tossing Melvin into the air. “Finally!” she cried out. Wasting no time, she sat on her dresser. She brushed her tresses. She put on exotic scent. She chewed on mint. She tied her royal amulet around her neck; but, when her eye caught the ruby in the mirror, she stopped. Her fingers fumbled on the amulet, half-mindedly, and as delicious memories flooded her thoughts, she unconsciously gave out quite an impish smile. “I should try to at least ravish on that memory no longer or people will begin to think of me strange,” she said, half-meaning it. The gryphon purred in agreement.
* * * * *
Alverylle dismounted from her horse and waved at the screaming crowd behind her one last time before entering the tower. She was one step away from the façade when a wench burst forth from the mass and hurled herself down before her. Nearby guards promptly dragged the wretched creature away while Alverylle, clad in magnificent red-and-gold armor, stood unfazed. She continued to enter the building and listened as the clamoring from the mob was gradually muffled by the closing doors.
And then there was silence, and the smell of Persian rugs and upholstery; and of lavender scent and of dank air. Stripes of light from the tall windows flooded the room with crimson and gold. She sauntered wearily across the hall, feeling the increasing weight of steel upon her back and shoulders. Her boots clunked quietly on the slate path which led to a finely decorated room, then to an enclosure surrounded by nothing but translucent glass. She stepped in and spoke, “Thirty-five”; and, instantly, was levitated by some mysterious force to a doorway engraved with the same number. She leaped over onto the parquet and searched for her room, deciding resolutely to rest undisturbed until dinner.
She opened the door, and immediately two slender arms wrapped themselves around her neck. Soft lips brushed firmly against her lips. An exotic scent triggered a familiar sensation between her legs.
Leaning back from the young woman, she asked, “Was the entourage really that necessary?”
“It’s my way of repaying you for leaving me alone and abandoning me entirely,” Sandra said, and gave her a quick kiss on the chin. Her voice was extremely feminine.
“It was merely three weeks--”
“Which seemed like forever in this forsaken tower.” Sandra held her cheek reverently and planted a kiss at the angle of her jaw, a sensitive spot that made Alverylle softly whimper in delight. “How could you be away for so long and not send me a single pigeon to let me know how you are?” She pulled on the silver scarf that hid Alverylle’s neck until it slid free and fell on the carpeted floor. She traced the now visible throat with wet kisses and deliciously licked behind the ear. “You insensitive knight,” she said huskily between kisses. “Torturing me with worry day and night…”
Alverylle shuddered at these words and more so as the princess slipped a hand under her pleated skirt to massage the inside of her thigh. With great effort she maintained her nonchalance and breathed on the princess’ ear, “I wanted you to think of me each day.”
“Of which I did,” Sandra said. Her hands felt the leather straps of the armor and began to untie it. “Not only each day, but every hour, every minute, every passing moment… How unkind of you to leave me bare and cold. And celibate.”
“Is that why you miss me so?” the knight asked, her voice now breathy. Their lips were hovering upon each other, never touching, but they quivered with much anticipation.
“Perhaps.” She ran her fingers over the smoothness of Alverylle’s blonde hair, which she thought was more dazzling than her dark waves, and felt the band that firmly held it behind the back. “But speak no more and just kiss me. Kiss me now.” She pulled Alverylle in a deep passionate kiss, to which the knight replied with equal fervor. They kissed with wild abandonment and pulled each tightly so that the flimsy fabric of Sandra’s dress rubbed seamlessly against Alverylle’s gilded breastplate. She smelled steel and leather and dried blood, which sent her pulses throbbing with desire. Something in them had awakened her instincts, and she wrapped her arms around the knight even tighter, and shoved her hips against the armor even harder.
Then, almost instantly, all of Alverylle’s fatigue melted in a deep-rooted sense of longing and lust. She wrapped her arms around Sandra’s slim waist and sensuously stroked her hips. She slid her hands over Sandra’s buttocks and squeezed them. Sandra sighed in her mouth. Then she held both of Sandra’s thighs and with one sweep she lifted her so that Sandra was straddling her waist. Never breaking the kiss, she carried her onto the bed and laid her there. After which, she pulled away and stood back, gasping for air.
The cleft between Sandra’s breasts, which were peeking halfway from the low-collared shift, glimmered with fine droplets of sweat. “Tired already, dear knight?” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows and letting both her legs hang down the side of the bed. Her chest heaved with her breathing.
Alverylle, who quickly regained her stamina, smiled and reached for the two long swords strapped upon her back. She dropped the weapons on the floor and began to slide the loosened armor from her torso. Then, noticing Sandra’s attire, said, “You look so alluring in those clothes.”
Sandra giggled, “Don’t I always? With clothes or without...”
Alverylle grinned and said, “Stay still.”
Sandra watched in voyeuristic amusement as Alverylle, whose red eyes were fixed on Sandra’s grays, disrobed from her armor and dropped them onto the carpet one by one: first her form-fitting breastplate; then her flared shoulder pads and braces; her tight leather gauntlets; her pleated leather skirt; her gold-gilded greaves; and finally her hinged boots, leaving her with nothing but a light gabardine fabric that wrapped around her like a bandage, barely covering her breasts and groin. Then she reached for the knot behind her neck and began to unwrap the cloth slowly and unhurriedly.
‘Painfully slow,’ Sandra mind protested. The warmth and tingling sensations which began in her belly had started to mount themselves wantonly between her thighs. She crossed her legs, stuck up her breasts, breathed in deeper, bit her lip, and sighed as Alverylle completely freed herself from the fabric; so that the knight stood before Sandra in all her nakedness, tall, strong, feminine and gorgeous.
Sandra uncrossed her legs and, using her fingers, slowly lifted the hem of her dress. Then she spread her legs and let the cool air brush against her moist and inflamed sex. Alverylle stared at the pink and glistening folds and smelled the scent of musk. Leaning over, she lingered a tender kiss on the princess’ forehead. Then she spread Sandra’s legs even wider and knelt between them so that the wet and sensitive nub of Sandra’s sex pressed against the well-toned skin of her belly. She slipped both hands under the silk and began to graze the sides of Sandra’s waist, up the sides of her breasts, where she ran a thumb on each of the hardened nipple, and in one swift motion, she gathered the hem of the dress and took it off, almost ripping it. Wasting no time, she covered one of the nipples with her mouth, sucking it, nibbling it, licking around it, until Sandra started to moan audibly through her teeth. Then she began to massage each of Sandra’s leg; from the ankles up to the shin; over the knees and up to the thighs; all the while thrusting herself against the wetness of Sandra’s mound. She kneaded around each muscle gently and then forcefully and then gently, in a manner that made Sandra throw her head back and forth and sigh in delectable pleasure.
“Alve,” she sighed. She struggled under the firm hold of Alverylle’s hands upon her legs. The mixture of pain and pleasure was unbearable. “Leave me be.”
Alverylle looked up briefly and smirked, half-smiling, half-incredulous. “Usually you would beg me to go on.”
“I would, but you have to take it slow on me this one time…” Sandra pleaded, but whimpered loudly as Alverylle bit her nipple. “You’ve only been gone for three weeks, and now you’re an animal.”
The sensation of warm and wet tongue pressing upon the peak of her sensitive nipple; of dexterous fingers stroking the delicate skin of her inner thighs; of hard teeth raking over the softness of her perked up bosom; of breasts pushing against her own belly; and of firm muscles rubbing against her swollen clit lubricated by her dampness sent Sandra writhing in ecstasy. She tightly gripped on the bed covers until they slipped from the edges, and threw her head from side to side, breathing in, holding her breath, and exhaling in a forceful moan that made Alverylle’s own sex moist and hot. Then her breathing became ragged and short. Her muscles contracted with every thrust. She shoved her crotch harder against Alverylle’s abdomen until the throbbing sensations that accumulated in her sex exploded with an orgasm that rocked her body in tremor after delicious tremor. Her abdominal muscles spasmed as the rest of her muscles stiffened. She yelled in lustful satisfaction and fell on the bed sheets, still shuddering and catching her breath.
Alverylle climbed over the bed sat beside her lover. She stared down at the limp body and silently marveled at its innocence, its youth, its porcelain-like fairness, its fragility, and its unmistakable femininity. A stark contrast to her tanned and chiseled physique. She then ran her fingers around the amulet upon Sandra’s chest and began to trace the elegant hollow between the collarbones, down the juncture between the breasts, and then let her palm drift around the navel, through the dark curls, and down to the mound of flesh between the legs. Its muskiness and scent of arousal intoxicated her.
Sandra closed her eyes and felt the heavenly sensations that came when Alverylle applied a slight pressure on her vulva. Her mouth opened and filled the room with her gasps and moans. Her back arched involuntarily, and her pelvis thrust against the palm of Alverylle’s hand as the knight delicately parted the slick folds and ran a finger over the crease, barely touching the swollen nub that peeked willingly from its hood.
“Goddess,” she breathed.
Alverylle deliberately plunged two fingers into the nectar-drenched sex and circled Sandra’s clitoris with her thumb, pressing and stroking it harder and harder. She felt the walls of Sandra’s tight canal contract around her fingers. Then, as she felt Sandra’s hips push harder against her steady thrusting, she withdrew them almost immediately.
“Don’t stop,” Sandra gasped. She was already on the verge of her second climax, and she yearned for Alverylle to fulfill her lustful craving. But when she opened her eyes, she saw that Alverylle was leaning over her, lips upon the ruby on her chest. Then the knight looked up at her. And Sandra felt the sadness and passion that lingered in those eyes.
“Let me know how much you want me,” Alverylle whispered. She fondled the back of Sandra’s left ear, traced her jaw line with a finger, and then lovingly held the back of her neck.
Sandra smiled, “Silly, we both know how much–”
“I want to hear you say it,” Alverylle said. She positioned herself atop the princess so that their most sensitive parts touched. Then she leaned away slightly and gazed at the princess’ eyes. Hoping. Almost imploring.
“Alverylle…” Sandra caressed her cheek with the back of her fingers, touched the outline of her lips, brushed a stray strand from her face, and then pulled her by the neck. But Alverylle resisted. The knight continued to gaze down at her. Sandra pulled her closer, this time stronger. Still, Alverylle resisted. The knight tensed her jaw.
Sighing from sexual and emotional frustration, Sandra pushed herself against Alverylle with a force that surprised the knight, and rolled over so that she now lay on top. Then, pinning Alverylle’s arms above her head and entangling her legs with her own, she rammed her pelvis against the knight’s and kissed her violently, shoving her tongue inside her mouth, and vigorously pressing her own abdomen against Alverylle’s belly that was still slick with her juices.
Alverylle kissed back aggressively. She managed to free one of her arms and started to grope Sandra’s breast feverishly. Her nipples were extremely erect. Then she slid her knee between Sandra’s legs. The princess moaned in her mouth and trembled, and in that moment, Alverylle pushed her back. She sat on the bed and hauled Sandra over her lap, facing her. With one hand she gently pulled back Sandra’s head and sucked on the slender neck. Then she slipped the other hand between the princess’ legs and began to stroke her sex back and forth, back and forth, until Sandra screamed as wave upon wave of pleasure shook her body. Soon enough, Alverylle closed her eyes, felt the blood rush to her head and sex, and dropped her mouth wide open, not a single sound escaping her as her orgasm peaked.
They waited until the tremors had subsided. Then Alverylle rested her head upon Sandra’s shoulder and nuzzled her neck. They were both panting heavily, drenched in sweat, cunts still red, sensitive, and swollen. Sandra affectionately caressed Alverylle’s cheek, then her neck, then the muscles of her bare shoulder, and then planted soft feathery kisses on her hair.
“I want you,” Sandra whispered in her ear. Her voice quivered with emotion. “I want you so much, it hurts.”
“Sandra…”
The princess held her face and tilted her head up. “What we have is dear to me. It is absolute, priceless, and everlasting. Nothing can replace it, or break it.” After a long pause she added, “Not even marriage.”
‘What we have,’ Alverylle thought. ‘What do we have?’ She began to caress Sandra’s back beneath the dark wavy tresses and let her hands wander above the smooth surface of its skin. Then she closed her eyes and laid her head upon Sandra’s chest, listening to that pounding rhythm for the longest time. It soothed her, like the distant thrashing of the waves against the rocky shore. She wrapped her arms around the princess’ waist and pulled the two of them closer.
“Can you hear it?” Sandra uttered softly, while she held the knight’s head with one hand and stroked her hair with the other. “My heart beats only for you.”
With these words, Alverylle broke into tears. She wept relentlessly and drenched Sandra’s bosom with torrents of loneliness. Her strong athletic form softened and trembled with each sob. She cried out her despair and clung desperately on that body that she knew could never be hers.
Sandra bit her lip hard and shut her eyes to keep the tears from falling, and swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. The discomfort vanished within her chest, but then there was great sorrow; then profound guilt; and then overwhelming uncertainty. And as she held the trembling knight so tightly in her arms, she directed her gaze skywards and silently prayed to the goddesses. Hoping. Almost imploring.
* * * * *