Storm of Pleasure

by Eve Bradley

  “I pronounce this couple, wed and destined for a long and happy rule.”

  The circle of onlookers clapped. He smirked and looked to Margaret. She was shaking, the poor animal. He slid his hand around hers and squeezed. A smile popped onto her lips, and she bowed her head to the kind and ample applause.

  “On to the bedding ceremony,” the holy man said. “We must be sure that this union is sealed before man and gods.”

  It was already late at night, and the skies were black as they crept through the inner bridges that formed the walkways to every level of the castle. The entire wedding party followed. Lucarian was nearly giddy, and his erection was pulsing in his pants. Margaret covered her mouth for a moment as they walked, but he tugged her along. He did feel a bit bad about fucking a woman before his mother and sisters, but it was the tradition.

  He’d attended bedding ceremonies before for higher up courtiers. One when we was only five. It was natural and normal. If man and wife did not rectify their union on the first night of their marriage, they’d be cursed to one-hundred years of bad luck, and for the kingdom’s sake, it was important for this to be affirmed.

  As they came into Lucarian’s chambers, he noted that there were chairs already assembled at the edge of the room. The party filed in and took their seats. Servants came in with warm water and oil. Everything was dimly lit, and he met eyes with Peltyre, who gave him a stern look that he could not decipher.

  Margaret was facing the far wall, so he went to her.

  “Wife. It is time...” he said.

  She was silent, breath coming hard. She stared at the wall as if she’d break it with her mind.

  “This is for us. No one else. We take what is ours because we are rulers now. You are my queen, and I’ll do anything within my power to see you happy. They don’t matter. None of it matters. Only us, and what we want. Just focus on me.”

  He hoped that his words were encouraging. She stood there for a few seconds more and then nodded so slightly he might have imagined it. She turned to him, her flatly pretty face and pink lips parted. He kissed her softly before she presented herself to the servants.

  Good, he thought. That’s my brave girl.

  The servants began to undress them both methodically. They used sponges with warm water on their genitals. They faced each other. He watched the servant girl massage the sponge into the folds on Margaret’s secret places, then across her perky breasts. Water left a gleam on her skin. She looked up into his eyes, and he could tell she was doing as he’d said. She was focusing everything that she was upon him. She looked down at his cock and let out a breath. She was showing him her desire.

  He stared into her eyes as the servants cleaned him as well. They did not lose eye contact until the cleaning had been finished. A servant then stood at attendance with a bowl of oil. The others backed away, leaving the two of them alone before their audience. He couldn’t help it. It was so glorious being watched. It was a high like nothing else. And Zothar would watch him satisfy her unlike he could ever do. His shaft was stretched to maximum, and his head throbbed.

  “Come here,” he ordered her.

  He turned her around in front of him and took a bit of oil on his fingers. She was facing them, and he wanted to remind her that her eyes would soon be shut. He dabbed the oil onto her nipples, hardening them with a few choice presses. The oil gleamed on them, and he massaged her breasts gently from behind, pooling them up into tiny points in his grip and then letting them loose. He shook them a few times, teasing her. More oil was provided, and he let some of it drip onto her ass and then her stomach.

  He tenderly caressed her plump backside with both hands, and she tilted her head to look back at him. This look was dazed and...he’d never seen her like this before. Was she aroused? He thought she’d liked what they’d done before. He knew she liked the sear of pain before pleasure, but this...perhaps she enjoyed the people watching him stroke her.

  “Focus,” he whispered in her ear, and she shut her eyes and bit her lip.

  When he took a small bit of the oil and swiped his fingers over her cleft, she flinched. Naturally, she set her stance a bit wider. He eased his fingers first over her lips, slowly. He wanted her to be thoroughly lubricated and fully prepared for how hard he was going to fuck her. He swirled his fingers around and pressed a bit deeper so that he could access her sensitive place. He pressed his cock against her ass, burrowing it between her cheeks. She let out a breath when he pressed.

  “Good,” he whispered again. “My queen.”

  He slipped a finger inside of her and felt that she was already moist. He bit back a groan. He worked her hole slowly for a few moments, and she shifted, and at one point, gasped.

  “Shhh,” he kissed her ear.

  He heard a chair squeak. Hopefully they were enjoying the show.

  Petting his fingers over her clit and opening, he made sure she was ready. She gripped him as he did so, and clung to him like a leech. When he spun her around, she looked different. She was erotically charged. A fantasy woman. She knelt down before him as she always did, but he pulled her up. He pointed to the edge of the bed, and she obeyed.

  Lucarian took hold of her ankles and pushed her legs open, letting them fall wide. Her stomach muscles were taut as she leaned up to watch what he would do. He used his hands to work her breasts again and then leaned down to kiss her. She offered her tongue, and he obliged, snaking his around and then biting her lip. She groaned, and he pinched her nipples softly. He touched all over her, moving his hands up and down her legs, over her stomach and sides, across her hair and face.

  His cock was nearly ready to burst, and precum dripped onto her thigh. He took it and swirled it over her clit. He stayed on her elbows, focusing upon him. She let out a mewling noise, and he could hardly take it. She was everything he wanted. Innocent, dirty, fearful, malleable, and yet, open to erotic play. He tapped her clit once, and she jumped, thighs quivering. She was near to orgasm. He lowered himself between her legs and lapped at her precious slit. Over and over, he licked and sucked, and before he knew it, she was moaning loudly and freely, bucking herself against his face. He savored every drop of her orgasm.

  It was at this point Angeliva stood and left.

  He pinned Margaret’s hands to the bed, and she looked into his eyes again, breathless, filled with insatiable need. He forced her to wait a few moments before he touched her again. But when he could stand it no longer, he gripped her hips at the edge of the bed and impaled her. She reacted with animalistic moans. Every time he forced his cock into her, she widened her legs more. She was doing the splits before long, and he placed his hands on her inner thighs to keep her wide open for all to see.

  He plunged in once and pulled out, and did so again. Over and over, frantically. He drove himself into her as deep as he could go, urged by her cries. She was writhing on her bed, eyes shut in madness. He gripped her ass and tugged her onto him in hostile motions. He was so drunk upon her, so enraptured in this space where they were on display. His fingers dug into her hips, and he felt her climax clamping around him again. Her scream was desperate and ecstatic — a chord of moans that shattered the silence of the castle.

  Someone cleared their throat in the background.

  Lucarian placed his hand around her neck gently and butted against her in a chaotic frenzy as his climax came. His cock exploded inside the cramped slick channel, and he laid over her when he was finished, drawing in hard breaths and shocked at how beautifully they’d worked together to achieve their pleasure. They layed in a breathless heap and heard as one by one the wedding party was dismissed.

  “Thank you...” he gasped. “Gods...thank you.”

  In the cool morning light, Lucarian rolled over. He grimaced when he saw Margaret unkempt; her mouse-brown hair tossed all around her. She looked calm and peaceful, happy, even. He was to leave today, again to move south. But this time, for different reasons. Athos was unstable, and even with Yamar’s support, it wouldn’t stand
long without crumbling into a pit of pigs once again. He was lucky that Raspandar was innately strong, and that he didn’t have to do much in the way of restructuring.

  Although there were a few things she’d have to handle while he was gone.

  Like pleasing the courtiers. Hosting banquets. Meeting with the council. And market his sisters as marriageable. He’d wished to be the one to do it, but these things would take time. He needed them gone quickly. Especially Angeliva with her slimy little power-hungry fingers. As his mind leaned towards Angeliva, intense anxiety gripped him. He had to remind Margaret to whom she belonged. Angeliva would try to sway her, this he knew as if it were the blood in his veins.

  Lucarian took a pillow and placed it over Margaret’s face.

  It took a second, but she began to squirm. He kept the pressure, listening to her silent struggle until he could tell that she was afraid of dying.

  “Remember who you serve,” he said, voice flat as he tossed the pillow aside.

  Margaret was breathless and gasped, sitting upright with pain wringing her features. To him, she looked even uglier this way.

  “But...” she managed to gasp.

  There was so much confusion in her word. That tiny word rich with betrayal and sorrow.

  “Remember. When I am gone, you do everything that I told you. No matter what anyone promises you, remember that only my words are true. You do as I demand. You are my queen, and queens obey their kings.”

  She nodded once, and he saw her eyes become glassy. But he didn’t have time for her emotions. He rose, called for his servants, and started to plan.

  Lucarian’s caravans were prepared, every soldier clad in black metal and sporting the white bear sigil. The banners flapped in the wind. He mounted his warhorse before Zothar, heavily built up in thick leathers with brass studs all over, and an outlandish fur cape came loping towards him. The man’s thick chaotic hair bounced in the air.

  “King Lucarian,” he called, and then came to stand beside his horse.

  “I just got word that a few delegates from the clans have set out to pledge themselves to our cause. They want to meet me here, at the Raspandian Castle. I’ll hang back and then bring them with me. They’re two weeks out.”

  Lucarian’s brow twitched, and he bristled, greatly irritated by this nuisance.

  “Now they’re getting to us?” he retorted and rolled his eyes.

  The giant man shrugged.

  “That’s how we clansmen work. Slow to the draw, quick to the kill,” he chuckled.

  Lucarian didn’t find humor in this and looked away.

  “Fine then. Meet them and immediately head south. We’ll need your men to seize the Citadel,” Luc instructed him without looking.

  Zothar waggled his brows and agreed before loping back towards his scatters of primitive-looking warriors. Lucarian clicked his heels into the horse’s sides and hurried on his way, Peltyre and his new Admiral, Halix, on both sides of him. He only then thought of Margaret, all alone in the dark castle, with Zothar’s hungry eyes to watch her without restraint.

  Darrian

  Jurdu Palace, Yamar

  Darrian woke from an awful dream.

  Sleeping midday often gave him nightmares. Maybe it was the synergy of magic and smoke in the air that did it, that or the heat. It was a warped memory from the night he’d met Catryn. He hung his head in his hands and sighed deeply.

  “You all right?” Glend leaned on the door frame. “You look a little pale.”

  “Gods!” he jumped, irritated by Glend’s quietness. “Don’t do that, you fucker.”

  “I’m not a fucker. I was just checking on you, D.”

  “D? Really? Now you’re giving nicknames? Stop before you hurt yourself,” he laid his face into his hands again, exhausted and defeated.

  “No, I only came because you have a message. Someone paid a lot of gold to the rider who delivered it,” Glend walked forward with the scroll, and dropped it into his lap. Sleek red sheets were pooled around him, and the crisp parchment looked old and stained against the luxury linen.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Glend offered him a cheery smile. “If you want to join us, Val and I will be in the library with Majmal.”

  “Wonderful. How could I resist?” Darrian grumbled, mainly to himself.

  Glend flounced out of the chamber and left Darrian alone, with the question as to what the scroll would say. Or who it was even from. He tore the seal and unraveled it.

  Darrian,

  My son. I hope this finds you well. There were whispers that the Peacequeen went east to visit Yamar, and I can only hope my letters have been reaching you. Your father’s heard rumors at court. King Gryndalt is unwell. He’s been having fits and nearly committed suicide multiple times. I fear the end is near, and Malavash will lose the ruler it has had for twenty-eight years. I also consider the changes a new King will make. Your father has said the council speaks of Queen Agerta remarrying from a nearby kingdom. There are a few small kingdoms on the outskirts that the council says should have someone for her, but your father thinks it's a terrible idea and that they should find someone of Malavashi blood to wed the old queen. Other than this, I fear there have also been rumors that Raspandar is on the move again. This time for what, no one knows. I am afraid for our kingdom and afraid for our family. Please, if you can, remind your Peacequeen that there are those who need her in the west.

  Your mother,

  Trissa, of the Family Romi

  Darrian felt flames of anger singe his heart. He couldn’t sit here waiting for Catryn. They didn’t even know when or if she’d return. What if she’d abandoned them all? She may have given up everything and thrown away her title. But would Maru have let her? He doubted Maru would stand beside Cat if she’d decided to forsake everyone. Still...her absence made the question linger far too long in his head.

  There had been sightings of Djinn. More and more popping up in the city. His first instinct would be to say “fuck it” and move on. He had no special attachments here. Aside from Catryn, these people were strange. They live luxurious lazy lives while the peasants all around them slaved away, and import upon import arrived in the palace’s welcoming bay. It was strange that Yamar was so fable-ized when it seemed many kingdoms traded with them. To Darrian, it seemed what they had most of is what everyone wanted. Gold. With gold, you could have anything.

  Valryn was sterner than usual, a dark shadow ever creasing his brows and eyes, his lips flatlined. He practiced ceaselessly in the yard. Women often showed up to watch him with his western moves, the tactics that divided Yamarian fighting style, and Val’s. But Val was a mixture of many strains of swordsmanship, based upon what he’d been taught. Val had mentioned there being a councilman named Razmat who’d originated from Yamar that had taught him some of the ancient eastern ways, mainly medicinal things Val didn’t care to remember.

  They spent nearly every day in the library searching for ways of banishing Djinn from human hosts. But there was no way to do so without magic, and though Majmal was called “mage,” what he possessed was not magic akin to Cat’s. It was ancient chants and fickle psychic readings.

  Darrian finally removed himself from the bed, his body aching, mind disturbed by his mother’s words. He walked through the airy marble halls, sunlight spilling in overhead. When he made it to the library, he walked in to find Glend and Val sitting beside one another pouring over a text.

  Majmal stood over them, his bald head and fierce makeup shining in the bright light. Today the man wore orange.

  “The channels from which the gods choose men are foggy,” Majmal said as Darrian strode in. “But why shouldn’t others have magic like the ordained? There are parts of our history we don’t have records of. Not only this but the Peaceking from three hundred years ago, as you might have known, was Lonuk Brisnow. He died during the great war that was waged between Raspandar and Catharsa. Every last writing of his was burned in the siege of Blackrike fortress.�
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  “Malavash played its part in that war. I know the stories,” Darrian said as he came to stand beside them all. “The red cardinals swooped in to save the dying Catharsans. Raspandar fell back. What does this have to do with Cat and the fact that she’s not here?”

  “We found something,” Valryn jerked his head for him to come read. “This text is nearly a thousand years old. It speaks of the Peaceking’s gathering of men inheriting magic. I knew they could grant special powers, but nothing to the extent that is written here. The author writes about the men as if they’re all unified through the magic...like they carry some of it for the Peaceking, and he draws upon it as needed.”

  “Like vessels,” Glend added.

  “Well, that’s great. Let’s go tell Catryn...oh wait. She’s not here. We shouldn’t be waiting around like fools. She could be done with us. And maybe she should be.”

  Val was silent. Glend seemed unperturbed.

  “And why is this?”

  “We don’t deserve her. She’s been through too much hell already. The gods like their jokes, don’t they? Fucking around with humans like they’re playthings. It’s not funny. Why should she have to deal with this? My mother sent me a letter. She claims that Raspandar is on the move again. Malavash is all but crumbling. They need me there, and we’re here, sitting around waiting for someone who’s abandoned us. Meanwhile, we’re in the direct line of fire with no way to fight.”

  His words were vicious, but they came so swiftly he couldn’t stop. He wanted Catryn to care, but he knew they could never force her to do anything. He’d taken enough from her.

  “Darrian,” Glend’s plead was quiet but firm.

  “If she’s not back in three days, I’m going home to take care of my family.”

  Valryn jolted out of his seat.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You bastard. You’d abandon your queen so swiftly? There has to be a reason for what she’s doing. Every choice she makes works in divine succession. I knew we had our differences, but this is pathetic. You are bound to her. You can’t forsake your duties.”