THOUGHTS
The king should have the biggest cocksword.
It was a simple, well-reasoned conclusion maiden Reina reached while contemplating her good fortune at having been chosen the King’s bed maiden. If ever there were a reason to make a man king, this should surely be it. It made sense. A king should be a man among men. A king should be the strongest of men; the most virile; the bravest; the most well-endowed. How could one allow oneself to be led and ruled by a man who was not the manliest of men?
When a king commands his minions and maidens to do his bidding, it should be because of his power. True power. Not the false, unearned power that comes by virtue of a bloodline; not the assigned power that comes from having been appointed commander of armies. Nay, true power is not something one is born into. Nor is it something conferred upon one by decision or decree. True power is something one is born with. It is something intrinsic to one’s being. It is something that comes from one’s inherent ability to be or to do a thing. To be king, a man should wield the cocksword of sensual conquest before he should be allowed to hold the scepter of the monarchy.
Of course, there were other qualities and traits a king should exhibit, maiden Reina thought, but this should surely be one of them. It made sense. A man should not be allowed to rule a kingdom if he could not even conquer a woman.
The first time her gaze fell upon the King’s hardened, hoisted pleasurer, she felt compelled to fall to her knees to worship it. She did not quite know why. It was an uncontrollable response. She needed to kiss it. She burned to suckle it. She had to consume it. She enjoyed the difficulty of taking it inside her small mouth as it stretched her jaw beyond maidenly propriety. Feeling herself opening her mouth so wide to be entered and probed by the King’s mammoth trunk made her feel wanton and lustful, yet vulnerable and weak, and she loved it. She wanted, nay, needed to feel its swell and weight within her mouth. She had no doubts as to the King’s complete power when she surrendered her mouth to him. Yes, that first night in the King’s bed marked the beginning of his many conquests of her body, and she yearned for more of the same. Such was the nature of maiden Reina’s thoughts.
As she tended to her duties that afternoon in the kitchen, preparing the evening meal for her employer’s household, she realized she would need to cast such thoughts from her mind—at least for the moment—if she ever hoped to complete the preparation of food in a reasonable and timely manner. She had been holding and staring at the same cucumber for the past ten minutes.
SUMMONED
Maiden Reina of Rivasor,
By decree of the King, and with the support of the people of Rivasor, thou art hereby summoned once again to the King’s bedchamber two suns hence at twitter light.
Of all the bed maidens at the King’s behest, thou art being summoned because of thy ability to coax his majesty’s voluminous and copious kreem—a talent rare among the maidens of the realm.
Four care maidens shall attend thee on that selfsame morning to prepare thy body for the pleasure of the King.
Thou art instructed to appear at the King’s bedside adorned and fragranced in the manner he has informed the seamstress and maidens is his preference for this night. Present thyself for his taking and to be used one again for his pleasure.
As is customary, the royal scribe and royal renderer shall be present at this copulation so as to preserve the event in word and sketch. The royal crier shall ring the Visitor Square bell at the moment of thy next success in spewing the water of the King’s loins, such that all shall be aware their King has been duly pleasured.
Hear ye. Hear ye.
The royal scribe
at the behest of THE KING
Thus read the King’s summon of maiden Reina.
MISSIVE
“Insatiably, thy servant”
Your Royal Majesty,
I have been and forever shall be thine to do with as thou please. As is thy right as King, thou may take any pleasure thou desireth from me.
My being is devoted to thy pleasure and even two suns doth seem a distant horizon until this poor waif may offer herself for thy consumption and sate.
I surrender myself to thy every desire and beg your Majesty to take pity on my now wanton soul and hasten our meeting so that I may be opened and devoured once again by thy mighty loins.
The thought of thy majesty’s hot and powerful kreem staining me is all that sustains me as I await, anxious to feel my master’s muscular form, and voracious hunger upon me.
I am, insatiably, thy servant,
Maiden Reina
Thus read the first of maiden Reina’s unusual missives to the monarch.
It was unusual not solely because she was a maiden penning love letters to a king, but because no bed maiden had ever carried nor talked openly of carrying the King’s stain—at least not in recent memory. She had, to the shock of all, become the King’s water wench.
The King’s water wench . The term itself was a contradiction. Kings did not fire, so there could be no kreem to swallow, and thus ‘king’s water wench’ was a concept that simply did not exist in the minds or spoken word of the realm.
She thought of how she first met the King. It had been a chance encounter, really. If she had paused but one moment to take an extra sheet from the wash pan, she would not have crossed the courtyard at the moment the King passed her gate. Rivasor is a small cluster, but paths can go uncrossed for quite some time, and if one is the King, rushing hither and yon on all manner of mission and mayhem, paths may not cross for many seasons. At that moment, however, as he and Aimshur, the master archer and king’s right arm, passed through the cobbles, the King glanced towards her gate, and something about her visage held his gaze. It might have been the purse of her lips or the form of her bare feet. In one of life’s eternal mysteries, no one can predict what mix of face and form shall fetch a man’s gaze or stir his loins. Whether it be that of king or of commoner, women raise men’s horse in overmany ways.
TWAIN
“Maiden Reina! Maiden Reina!” the two young maidens whispered aloud and in unison as they approached her excitedly in the courtyard of Sanyam the trader’s dwell.
Maiden Reina turned from hanging clothes on the line, and dried her hands in her apron.
“Thou must swear on thy life thou wilt tell no one of this,” the taller of the maidens began, “for they would surely flog us or have our heads should it be known we told thee.”
“What is this about?” maiden Reina asked curiously.
“Thou doth not know us, maiden Reina, but we, well all in the palace doth know thee!” said the shorter maiden.