Amiga ISO Collection/AmigaDemoCD2.iso/ASCII/TEXTE/SEX/ADULTSHARE/A/ASS14703.TXT

Text File | 1994-03-26 | 17.1 KB | 365 lines

Contains: mf, ws

  Warning:  The narrative that follows contains descriptions of sex acts
  and bodily fluids that some readers may find disturbing.  If you fear
  you are such a reader, please do me the favor of leaving off reading
  now, as I would like not to be the cause of your discomfort.
                  ==========================

@BEGIN_FILE_ID.DIZ
          The Dew of the Orchid
A deliciously wet fantasy from days of yore
               by Hartley
@END_FILE_ID.DIZ


In order for you to know my story, you must first know who I am.  I
am the monarch of a small principality surrounded on three sides by
mountains.  And although my realm is hardly a shiny pebble in
regional politics, my palace seems endlessly permeated with political
intrigues, and I can trust nobody.

Nobody, that is with one exception -- my maid servant, Dembrosia.  I
hardly noticed her at first, when the butler promoted her to be my
chambermaid.  She'd enter my chambers whenever I left them, or
whenever I called for her, which wasn't often.  She'd stand at the
entrance, her hands folded before her, and cast her deep foreign
eyes at the floor.  With her lilting accent she'd say, "Good
morning, my Liege," and she'd bow, and her hair would tumble from
behind her back and hang free like silky midnight about her face.
And I'd ignore her.

Ignoring beautiful women is a privilege of kings, since so many are
available to us.  Yet lately, politics has eaten into even this.  I
have been unable to go whoring for months, ever since a
night when I was in cognito in a brothel, and an assassin broke in on
me and my true-love-for-the-evening.  It was fortunate for me that
she was on top, for I was able to use her body as a shield.  The poor
tart.  I'll never know if she had a part in the plot.  The blow
nearly cut her in two.  But the seconds that it took my enemy to
extract his blade from her was long enough for me to roll out of bed,
find my own sword, and dispatch him with my superior fensing skills.

It brings tears to my eyes to think that but for the whims of fate,
my own Dembrosia might have been placed in a different vocation and
been the one with me that night.  And it moves me even more, now that
I know her well, to realize that she would gladly have volunteered to
suffer that sting so that I should not have to.

But this was not the only attempt upon my life.  Just three weeks
later, my valet, while administering me my bath, drew a dagger from
under his tunic, and struck at me.  Perhaps he did not rememeber
that, as prince, I had been grappling champion of the kingdom.  Before
he knew he was foiled, I had his one arm bent behind his back and his
head held under the water till the bubbles ceased.

News of such a happening travels fast in a palace.  Even before the
undertaker arrived to unburden my bathhouse of the corpse, Dembrosia
came running up to me crying desparately, "My Liege, my Liege.  Don't
trust any of them."  She dropped to one knee, sobbing, and clutched
the hem of my robe.

"I assure you, my dear," I said, "I don't."

She sobbed a bit more, then regained her composure and looked up.
"But Sire," she implored, "you mustn't engage a new valet.  They'll
just try it again."

"What, bathe and dress myself?  Surely these chores are so weighty
that I might risk my life for their avoidance."

"How brave of you, my Liege, to make mirth of such a situation.  But
you needn't put yourself out.  You may allow me to be your valet,
Sire."

"A female valet?  That's unheard of.  The staff shall be laughing
behind my back."

"They are plotting behind your back as we speak, Sire.  Sometimes
I truly believe I am the only one in the palace who remains loyal."

"You know this for certain?  Tell me all you know, child?  Who are
the conspirators?  Speak!"

She began to cry again.  "I'm sorry, my Liege," she sobbed.  "Nobody
speaks openly.  But word is to the kitchen that the disloyalty is
spread to the highest levels.  I fear greatly for you, Sire."

"And a mere girl like you will protect me by serving as my valet?
And just why shall I trust you?  Perhaps you aim to use your feminine
wiles to compromise me to another assassin."

"Oh no, my Liege.  Although I could aspire to nothing more dear than
to lie with you for even a single hour, Sire, should I ever do so,
you may slit my throat straight away for suspicion and be done with
me.  I desire but to serve you."

"My last valet, now lying dead in the bathhouse, concealed a weapon
beneath his clothes.  How shall I be sure you won't do the same?"

"I shan't wear any, Sire.  Oughtn't that be the proper attire for a
maid to bathe her master?"

"And you, girl, are but a chambermaid.  How will you know the skills
of a valet?"

"I learned them from my mother before I was sold to the slave
traders.  My mother was a royal hostess in the court of the Orchid
Empire, a thousand leagues from here.  There a female valet is not
unheard of.  It is the custom.  If it please your majesty, I shall
treat you in the manner of that custom, and I dare say that my Liege
shall regret not being born there."

She prostrated herself at my feet, her hair tickling my toes.  The
thought of this morsel, naked and tending to my person with her
exotic ways, was more than my good sense could bear.  And so I agreed
to her plan.

The next day, she came to me with a most unusual request.  She
prattled off a long list of fruits, herbs, springwater, and essences
she would need from the market in order to bathe me properly.  Some,
like the fresh raspberries or the cloves, command premium prices in
our kingdom.  But my curiosity bade me to permit the expenditure.

I informed her that I would need a bath late on the next afternoon.
This was to be in preparation for the nasty business of providing the
kingdom with a male heir.  The queen was demanding of my services, and
it would be impolitic to deny her, as much as I wished I could.  The
oldest and most haggard whore in the kingdom can bring me more
pleasure than this high-born cackling ostrich of a woman that my
father, rest his soul, forced upon me.  Even her name, Ghezylah,
grates on my senses.

I arrived in the bathhouse at the appointed time.  The fire was
already blazing with three kettles upon it.  The tub was full and
steaming.  Dembrosia stood beside it with her hands folded in front
of her and her eyes cast to the floor.

As soon as I had closed and barred the door, she slid that frumpy
chambermaid's uniform from her shoulders and slipped out of it as
gracefully as any dancer.  Her skin glowed golden in the firelight.
She carefully folded the uniform and set it on a shelf.  Then she
stood facing me.  I just stared.  The light and her nakedness brought
forth how different she was.  With her foreign cheeks so angular and
her shoulders so slender, comparing her to domestic women was like
comparing a leopard to a herd of cows.  Unlike their great bulbous
breasts, hers were like soft, ripe plums.  Unlike their oak-branch
arms, hers were like the tendrils of a weeping willow.  Unlike their
heavy gelatinous thighs, hers were long and delicate, and moved as
fluidly as the legs of a wading bird.  And between them, instead of a
thick forest, she had but a whisp of fluff, transluscent, and
scarcely concealing her crevice of delight.

"I am ready for you, Sire," she said.  "Will my Liege step up to me,
please?"

I did.  The steam simmering up from the bath wafted over her
shoulders and into my nostrils.  Her scent was heavenly, so much so
that I bent my head forward and sniffed deep into my head what
might have been a whipped confection of fruits and flowers and spice
and animal sweat.

"Sire," she said calmly.  "Please stand up straight so I might undress
you."

I became aware that I had closed my eyes.  When I opened them, her
smiling lips filled my vision.  I obeyed her.  She worked her fingers
over my buttons and clasps as deftly as any magician, slipping off
each garment gently, knowing so of its mechanics that she never
needed to pull at the cloth or strain at any of my limbs.  She
controlled my arms and legs without a single spoken command.  Her
mere touch bent them comfortably in whatever way suited her purpose.

"My Liege," she said softly.  "In a perfect world, I should serve you
fully by bearing you into your bath.  But alas, I am too small for the
task.  So I regret to have to ask you please to do this yourself.

The water was as hot as any flesh might stand.  I had to immerse each
appendage with utmost deliberacy, especially those that hung between
my legs.  And I regret to admit that submersion of those parts in
such steaming water compelled them to leak till my bladder emptied,
as though I were once more a baby.  Whether Dembrosia observed my
weakness, I cannot know.  She was busy readying soap and cloth.

My brow began immediately to exude beads of sweat.  But before the
perspiration had time to run down my face, Dembrosia had wrapped my
head in a hot damp cloth.  Then she took up the washcloth and soap
and stepped into the bath with me.  I started back for a moment.
This was a complete surprise to me.  No valet had ever entered my
bath.  But I grew used to the idea at once.

She stood straddling my legs, which were extended flat on the floor
of the tub.  She then began her work in earnest.  No wrinkle or crevice
was too small to escape her attention.  And her every attention was as
sweet to my flesh as the nipple is to a baby's lips.  There was no
modesty in her touch either.  To her fingers, each dab of my flesh
was equal to any other, no matter how humble its location.

Nor was she modest about her own flesh, which she kept covered with a
film of suds so it might slide easily against my own.  As she bent
over my shoulder to scrub my back, her breast pressed against my
cheek.  As she removed the cloth from my head to wash my hair, that
luscious peach wedged between her thighs bobbed but two finger-widths
from my nose.  It was only with all my willpower that I was able to
restrain myself from lapping at its sweet juices.

All the while, I was as one who had tarried too long at the wine.
That was the effect of her fragrance, which tumbled over me again and
again whenever she drew close.

When every nook of my skin had been rubbed and kneaded, she drained
the water from the tub.  She stood, still straddling my outstretched
legs, and said, "It is my privilege now to ask whether you should
like to have your wand of power scrubbed especially clean.  It is the
option of a man as great as your majesty to accept or decline such
treatment."

Surely if her performance thus far was any sign of what this might
be, I could expect the joys of her proposition to be nothing less
than celestial.  But alas.  My seed was marked today for my queen,
and so I had to decline.

She exited the tub and busied herself first with pouring kettle water
into a porceline basin, then mixing it with fresh water she pumped
from the cistern.  This she poured over my head and body as a rinse.
Then she entered the tub once more, saying, "Please place your hands
over your eyes, my Liege, that I may avoid burning them as I annoint
your head with fragrance.  Lean forward if you will, please."

Again, I obeyed her, though I felt so fluid in her presence that
I could hardly call it obeying.  Her every command seemed almost
as though it was what I would have done anyway.

I was unable to see, but I could feel her warmth approach close to
me.  Then I felt her pouring warm liquid over my head.  It dribbled
over my ears and down my face.  Its scent was the same as hers, only
far stronger for having dripped under my nose.  This potion was a
symphony of scent, with flutes made of wildflowers and lavender,
violins made of raspberry and almond, horns made of cinnamon and
clove, bassoons made of freshly cut birch, and deep animal bass notes
that quivered in my loins.  She kept pouring gently for nearly a
minute. It ran in warm rivulets over my shoulders and down my chest
and back.  When she was done, she rubbed it into my skin with the
flats of her palms.

"You may rise, my Liege," she said.  She patted me from head to foot
with a dry cloth, then dressed me in freshly laundered robes with as
much finesse as she had undressed me.  Then she bowed and bid me good
day.

"Thank you, my dear," I said.

"And thank you, my Liege," came the reply.  "The pleasure your
bath brings you is equal to the pleasure serving you brings me."

I left the bath house and proceded to my queen's chamber, where I
spent the afternoon fulfilling my duty to her, which this day was as
foul a thing as such an undertaking can be.

That evening I had dinner in the great dining hall with Ghezylah and
at least a dozen lords and ladies of the palace.  My chefs outdid
themselves this evening with a glazed veal dish I had never tasted
before, garnished with sauteed asparagus tips and marinated artichoke
hearts.  But as a waiter carried in huge souffle, I was overtaken
with a sudden unease.  I rose abruptly.  My chair fell over behind
me.  The lords all rose in response.  I backed away from the table,
which seemed now to pitch and roll like a ship at sea.  I looked
around at walls that swam before my eyes.  And then the marble floor
careened up from beneath me and thudded against my shoulder.  I
recollect looking into a tight circle of shocked faces.  And then I
was awakening in my chamber.

The sheets of my bed were damp and rank and clung to my skin.  I was
shivering, even though morning sun poured over me through my chamber
window.  Deep cramps gnawed at my at my belly.  My joints ached.  My
head throbbed.  My mouth was as sawdust.  My eyelids might as well
have been sandpaper.  From each of my extremities news of calamity
reached my sensibilities, save one -- my right hand -- which
Dembrosia was pressing gently between her palms.  She knelt at my
bedside, her head bowed in apparent prayer, with strands of her hair
draped over my forearm.

I groaned.

"My Liege," she breathed, looking up.  Tears welled in her eyes.  She
rose to lean over my bed and kiss me on the forehead.  Then she drew
back suddenly.  "Oh forgive me, my Liege," she begged.  "I lost my
senses to see you stir once more.  Such affront will not happen again."

"What happened?" I croaked, for my throat was as dry as ashes.

"Oh Sire!  It's terrible."  She broke out in sobs.

"What, girl?" I demanded.  "Stop that crying and speak."

"Poison, my Liege," she said.  "They mean to kill you.  But praise
to the heavenly spirits, they have failed."

"What filthy worm worked this villiany?" I asked, my anger dampening
my pain.

She broke again into squeeky sobs and buried her face in the blanket.
Then she shook herself, wiped her eyes, folded her hands and spoke
calmly.  "I cannot know, Sire.  I trust none of them.  Not one of
them with whom you dined is what he pretends to be, I'm sure."

"And did my taster not fall ill?" I asked.

"No Sire.  Nor did the kitchen dog I fed your leftovers to -- see,
he sleeps in the corner.  I believe it was the wine.  In the tussle,
your glass was spilt.  I expect that indeed that was no accident, Sire."

"But I watched it poured into every glass from the same bottle.  Who
else has suffered?"

"Nobody, my Liege.  It must have been the work of a conjurer."

I smiled for the first time since waking.  "You are a most clever
girl," I said.  "I should have the likes of you at my table of
advisors.  Now please, fetch me water to drink."

She drew a copper flagon from beside the bed and held its lip to my
mouth.  The water was tepid, but it washed the parched slime from
my tongue.  I reached for the flagon that I might tip it to make
the drink flow faster.  She drew it away.

"No, my Liege.  Drink slowly.  The poison is still in you.  It made
you cry out in thirst for three days and nights."

"Three days!  I remember none of it."

"You cried out as if mad, Sire.  I was by your side every moment.
And when a servant brought this flagon, I poured its contents out the
window in fear it too was poisoned."

"And so how did I drink?"

"I took the flagon to the cistern myself and filled it."

"Did anybody question you?"

"Yes, my Liege.  The guards at the door bid me not enter with
water for you lest I was the assassin bearing more poison."

"Who gave them their orders?"

"I'm sure I don't know, Sire."

"And yet, how then did you bring me drink?"

She was silent.

"Speak, girl!"

"Oh please, your majesty.  Promise me my execution shall be quick and
painless."  She began to cry again.

"Cease this foolishness at once.  Tell me how you came to bring me
untainted water."

She bit her lip and began in a wimpering voice.  "Sire, know that I
did this to save your life.  I beg your mercy.  When the guards
refused me, I darted around the corner and drank the contents myself
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