Legends of Lust

by Autumn Bardot

  “Yes,” I say. “We can begin the negotiation process.”

  Disappointment flashes across his face. “I find lengthy negotiations tedious.” He turns and walks through the door.

  “He’s gorgeous!” says Duvsha when he is out of hearing. “His eyes! That smile!” She fans herself with her hand.

  “My cunt’s been wet all day,” I say as Duvsha removes my jeweled headpiece.

  “Should I summon your men?”

  I’m tempted. I need a cock. Maybe two. Except there are spies here, I am certain of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if one hid in a hollow wall and watched through a tiny hole.

  “No. I only need a quick release.” My negotiation skills will be impaired if I’m so horny I can’t think straight.

  “Of course, my queen.” Duvsha finishes undressing me and then instructs my handmaids to fill the tub.

  Behind the drapes, while I recline in the water with my thighs spread, Duvsha’s fingers manipulate my clit. Her skilled fingers and my fantasies about fucking Solomon have me climaxing in less than a minute.

  “Again?” she asks.

  “Yes.” I throw my head back as she continues to rub the engorged knot at my center. This climax takes a little longer to build, my walls throbbing for lack of a cock. Duvsha, sensing this, uses a carved wooden penis to fuck me as her fingers glide over my clit. One-twothree thrusts is all it takes for my body to shake with release.

  The orgasms take the edge off. I am now confident in the control I must have when I see Solomon again.

  That evening, ten armed guards arrive and escort me to Solomon’s palace.

  He dismisses all but two of the guards. “In light of your fondness for chopping off kings’ heads, I’m sure you won’t mind.” Solomon’s lips curl into an impish smile.

  “Not at all.” For a moment I am disappointed, but then I bite back a grin. Having witnesses will be fun. “Though I must warn you that I am far less cautious.”

  Solomon’s forehead furrows briefly as he tries to interpret my meaning. “Ah.” His brows shoot up at my suggestive innuendo. “Unbridled spontaneity does have its merits.” He clears his throat.

  The guards follow closely behind us as Solomon shows me to his lavishly appointed personal chamber where a table is set with wine, fruit, and tartlets stuffed with delicacies.

  We talk of many things: the difficulties of leadership, our troubles with greedy merchants, and the headache of squabbling advisors. We do not discuss a trade agreement, instead doing something far more important; discovering our similarities regarding policies and ambitions. We both despise prejudice and have little tolerance for those seeking to profit from others’ misfortunes. Dispensing fair justice, we agree, is not easy, the truth usually hiding beneath a tangle of lies and half-truths.

  Solomon stands by the narrow window that looks out over Jerusalem. “I’ve never met a woman with a mind as sharp as a man’s.”

  I rise from the table and join Solomon, the two bored-looking guards now snapping back to attention. “Intellect is not a trait exclusive to men. I’ve met too many stupid ones.”

  “Maybe we should also discuss a trade of advisors?” Solomon smiles. “A few of your intelligent women for some of my senseless men?” He touches the edge of my sheer red veil and tugs.

  “Never,” I laugh as the veils slips off and my unbound hair is revealed.

  “Lovely,” he says, pleased by the thick black waves that fall to my waist. “There is a matter we still need to discuss that has nothing to do with trade.” He lifts the veil to his nose, inhales, then drapes it around his neck.

  “Some matters are best left unspoken.” I look up at him, my eyes conveying the heat of my yearnings.

  Solomon shrugs off his purple mantle and pulls the blue tunic over his head, his naked body now fully exposed. He is strong and fit, his muscles thick and sinewy, curving and bulging like a warrior’s, not a king’s grown soft from idle luxury. Black curls cover his chest, short spirals I want to run my fingers through. A downy line runs down his taut stomach and into the thick thatch that has been trimmed short and shaved into the shape of an upside down pyramid. His cock is long and rigid, and slants slightly left.

  “I never rush negotiations.” I slowly pull my veil from his neck, wrap it around his slim hips, and tie a knot at the side. I flick my gaze at the two wide-eyed guards standing nearby. Their riveted concentration adds a thrilling edge to my mounting lust.

  “Usually I prefer the customary bartering, but your method is clearly superior.”

  I lift a long strand of small ruby beads from my neck and hang it on his cock.

  “Put on as many as you like. My cock will hold them all,” says Solomon.

  “You only need one strand.” I loop the strand over, careful not to touch his cock, which jerks and twitches with eagerness.

  I look up, find him enthralled, then loop it over again. I do this again and again, tugging each loop so it tightens at his base. His cock swells and he breathes heavily. A moment later Solomon’s cock is wrapped in smooth ruby beads, only the head peeking out. I do all this without touching him.

  His eyes are glazed with lust and wonder when my hand wraps around his bejeweled cock and pulls.

  “Oh god,” he moans as hundreds of beads roll and spin over his length and tighten around his base.

  I tug again, his cock twitching and expanding. A few more strokes and the strand breaks, his engorged cock snapping the thread. Ruby beads bounce on the floor, scattering everywhere.

  “Ohhh!” he groans and cum shoots out.

  I am ready, cupping my hand under him to catch every creamy drop. He pants as I walk to the table and add his cum to my wineglass.

  “You’re fully clothed. Didn’t even touch me,” he says. “You are part jinn.” He touches my shoulder. “I must have you, Bilqis.”

  “Not yet.” I stir the wine, sit down, and gesture to the chair opposite.

  “At least let me look upon you.” He gestures to his hard cock. “I want more. I need more.”

  The guards look like they need more as well. One’s tunic is peaked like a tent at his crotch. The other already has a telltale wet spot.

  I shrug the fabric of my dress over my shoulders and bare my breasts. Solomon is transfixed. My goldenbrown breasts are generous, the areolas dark and large, my nipples thick and rigid. “You are too impatient.”

  I sip the wine, and he sinks into the chair, exhaling his arousal.

  “Delicious.” I take another sip and lick my lips.

  “You’re a tease.”

  I lift one shoulder, then trace a circle around my nipples. Solomon’s breath becomes heavy again as I stroke myself and sip the cum-infused wine. He wraps his hand around his cock and masturbates.

  “I beg of you, Bilqis,” he groans. “Let me fuck you.”

  “Not yet.” I tug on my nipple, moan, and drink more wine. The thrill of having three men’s attention makes it difficult to restrain my throbbing clit.

  “Let me. . . .” He reaches out, but I lean away and study the way he pleasures himself. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist, drawing out his ascent. His eyes never leave me and, every time I drink my cuminfused wine, he moans.

  With a long groan, Solomon orgasms again, his pelvis thrusting forward. He catches his own cum, depositing it into the goblet I hold out.

  “Even better,” I say after finishing the wine and smacking my lips. “Negotiations have commenced.”

  Solomon is defeated, his dreamy eyes and satisfied grin evidence of my charms.

  “I hope they never end,” he says.

  I bid him good night and am escorted back to my room by the guards—the eight who waited outside the chamber and the two glazed-eyed witnesses.

  We spend the next day together. He gives me a tour of his palace and regales me with tales of his youth. He shows me his most precious possession—or rather I see the door of a sealed room called the Holy of Holies, which houses a large gold-plated chest of rar
e wood containing the ten sacred commands of his god. His god, the only one he prays to, intrigues me, and the remainder of the day is spent learning more about him. That night, Solomon summons me to his quarters but I feign tiredness.

  He calls me to his side every day for a week. He is as wise as he is interesting, and I find it increasingly difficult not to succumb to his charms.

  On the sixth night, he summons me again, this time sweetening the plea with a gilded litter waiting to convey me to his chambers. I cannot refuse, especially since the path from my door to the litter is strewn with rose petals. This fragrant trail continues all the way to his chambers.

  “Welcome.” He shows me inside, where a multitude of petals cover the floor and a hundred flower-filled vases fill the room.

  “Did you cut every flower in Israel?” I sit at a table laden with food.

  “The whole world,” he laughs and lifts the conical clay lid. “I had my favorite dishes prepared for you.”

  “Where are your servants?” I ask, looking about.

  “I dismissed them.” He lifts a bit of lamb to my mouth. “Try it.”

  I let him feed me. “It’s spicy, yet delicious.”

  “Here, try this.”

  Each dish is a spicy taste of vegetable, fruit, fish, and meat. Solomon feeds me each bite, relishing my enjoyment of his favorite dishes. We talk and eat and laugh, the hours passing quickly.

  “I cannot wait any longer, Bilqis,” says Solomon. “I’ve been having wet dreams in my sleep like a young man, I want you so bad.”

  I rise from the table. “Not yet.”

  Solomon stands. “Stay the night. I promise I won’t try anything.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Solomon blows his exasperation through his nose. “If you promise not to take anything of mine, I promise not to seduce you.”

  “Take anything?” I flinch, insulted by his insinuation. “You don’t trust me? Take me home.”

  “You will have to walk back to your quarters alone. In the dark. Without a lantern to guide your way.”

  “Then light one and summon your guards.”

  Solomon rubs his chin. “There’s no more oil and the guards are gone.”

  “Fine,” I say, shaking my head at his attempt to keep me here. “I will stay the night. And if I take anything you are free to touch me.”

  A wide grin on his face, he leads me to his bedchamber. Solomon’s bed is large, sumptuous, and scattered with more rose petals.

  “My clothes stay on.” I lay my head down on the soft pillow, the wine and food making me more weary than I realized. Solomon extinguishes every light but one, a small lantern on the other side of the room.

  “Good night,” says Solomon lying next to me.

  I close my eyes and fall into a dreamless sleep.

  It’s dark when I awaken, my mouth dry as the desert, my tongue on fire from the spicy meal. I sit up and pour water from a pitcher beside the bed. It quenches my thirst but does little to cool the heat in my mouth.

  Solomon’s hand snakes around my waist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Our deal. You took something of mine.” He tugs my tunic down past my shoulder and sets a light kiss on my back.

  “Water?” My mouth drops open with surprise.

  “A deal is a deal.” He nuzzles my neck.

  It was a trick. A well-played and cunning trick. Had it been anyone else, the ruse would have angered me, but instead I am pleased. Our teasing dance had gone on long enough.

  “I always honor my agreements,” I say, delighting in the feel of his tongue trailing up my neck.

  He pushes my tunic farther down and cups each breast, his thumb brushing back and forth across my nipples. “Smoother and softer than I imagined,” he breaths into my ear.

  The deep timbre of his voice seeps inside and races down my spine, lodging in my tailbone and stirring my desires. I lean back into him and turn my cheek. He softly kisses my parted lips. Solomon is slow and thoughtful; the impatient king replaced by a deliberate lover. His tongue grazes over my lips, teases them open, and glides inside. He is a skilled kisser, unhurried and assertive, a man used to compliant wives and concubines.

  I am not those women.

  I push back. My tongue demands more. He grips my breasts tighter as our tongues wrestle, our mouths hungry to taste and nibble.

  Solomon pulls back, his breath coming hard. “I’ve met my match,” he says, sticking his thumb in my mouth.

  I suck hard, swiveling my tongue around it, and scraping my teeth across the tip. I pull it out slowly and shift about so we are face-to-face.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asks pinching my breast. “The tang of our spicy meal still lingers.”

  “You have a remedy?” My nails rake through the thick curly tangle spread across his wide chest.

  “Of course.” Solomon pulls me into his lap and presses his mouth to mine, our deep, hungry kisses more urgent. “Better than water,” he murmurs cradling me in his arms and rising from the bed.

  Still locked in the kiss, Solomon carries me through several chambers. He stops in a small bathing chamber aglow with three small lanterns. He sets me on my feet and pushes down my tunic.

  “You’re hairless!” His eyes widen with delight.

  “Only men should have beards.” I tug on his own.

  He groans his approval then takes my hand and brings me to the edge of the large tub that is sunk into the floor. He dips in a ladle and brings it to my lips.

  “Milk.”

  I drink. It is warm, sweet, and delicately spiced. “It’s delicious.”

  “Milk, honey, and cardamom.” He lifts the ladle to his lips, then presses his mouth to mine, dribbling the milk into my mouth. “Hungry?” He dips the ladle back into the bath.

  “Ravenous.”

  Solomon pours the sweet milk over my breasts. He licks it off, his tongue tip following the rivulets while I purr with pleasure, my delta wet with the waters of rising lust.

  Solomon again scoops me up, this time stepping into the milk bath and laying me down upon a wide shallow step. I am partially submerged, not deep enough to cover my ears. Solomon dips the ladle into the pool and pours more milk over my body.

  “Not as ravenous as I.” His mouth lowers and he licks. Across my shoulders, down my breasts, and over my belly.

  He slurps milk from my navel, and pours again, the milk running into the deep channel of my delta, which is already heated and pulsing. Solomon splays me with thumb and forefinger, then draws another ladle and pours, the milk cascading like a waterfall to fill my womanly estuary.

  “Milky cunt. My new favorite dish.” He lowers his head and licks my milky sweetness.

  He spreads my thighs, the milk sloshing about my anus and stimulating every inch of my soaked bottom. His hands glide upward to my breasts, where he pinches and pulls the rigid nipples. I am a river of pleasure, awash with the tides of desire, fixed only by the ebb and flow of his touch. His tongue slurps as he splashes milk on me, its cool wetness and his warm mouth intensifying my rise. I lift my legs high in the air. The rivulets of milk run down my legs and into his meal.

  “I have a better way,” Solomon says.

  He stands, steps down into the milky pool that comes to his knees, and picks me up. He turns me upside down and arranges my dripping thighs over his shoulders so that I’m facing outward, my head almost touching the pool. I am at his mercy hanging this way, my breasts dripping with milk, while he drags his tongue over my clit. I reach behind me, and my arms strain around his hips as I spread wide his asscheeks.

  My head grows light and it feels like I am suspended, spinning in space, my cunt a whirlpool sucking me inward. I am at Solomon’s mercy and he uses it to his advantage. Supping on my clit, he bends his knees and lowers my head into the milk bath. I hold my breath— both sensations are so intense that I writhe in his arms.

  He rises back up and I inhale and then squeal with a deluge of tremors that flood my
body. I am lost, torrents of rapture exploding over me like a breaking dam. He holds tight, his face sinking deep, stretching my orgasm until I whimper.

  Solomon lifts his head, his beard forming two points that drip with my sweet froth. He eases me down and into the milk bath before sitting down himself. I scramble on top of him, impaling myself upon his length, and ride him up and down. Palming the back of my head, he draws me close. Our tongues do their own kind of mouth fucking as we buck against each other.

  “I like this milk bath.” I scratch his chest and my nails leave a thin red trail under his curls.

  Solomon groans. “You’re like a wild lion summoning my inner beast.” Lifting my ass, he pulls slowly out, and turns me around. “I want to see that golden-brown ass in action.”

  I straddle him, ride him backward, my shimmying ass lifting and sinking. Solomon moans, the splashing milk cooling our burning loins. I know how to ride a man, how to clench his cock, how to submerge him into that primal eddy. Solomon’s moans deepen and his legs tighten with pleasure. I slow the pace, draw out my rise and descent, and twist my hips while squeezing my cunt around his cock. But the sound of his groans acts like a cloudburst that rains pleasure and washes away all self-control. It sweeps me to the edge and hurls me over into the source of all life.

  Solomon lifts my ass high. “Not yet. Get on your knees.” It is a command.

  Legs shaking with orgasmic surges, I do as he demands, my hands and knees on the low wide step. He stands behind me, dribbles milk down my ass, and glides into me. The servile position is my favorite, so contrary to my everyday life. My ass tingles as he caresses milk around my anus and plunges back into me, slamming harder each time I cry out.

  “Harder. Harder!” I cry as he drives into me.

  Solomon smacks my ass hard, the sting an explosion of pleasure that once again catapults me into a rapturous abyss. My body erupts. I shove my ass back to feel the whole of his cock. Growling, he sinks deep. He smacks my ass again, then grabs each cheek, kneading and pushing his cock into me, ringing out his pleasure until he sighs with relieved satisfaction.

  Solomon pulls out and sinks into the depths of the milk bath. “Come here, Queen of Sheba, and tell King Solomon how you want me to fuck you next.”