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.
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.
“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,
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.
“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.
Maiden Reina blushed.
“We art the royal bathers for the King—,” the taller continued. “And, we…” her voice dropping to a barely audible whisper, as she glanced around furtively to make sure no one could hear. “…we art the bathers of the royal cocksword.”
“Yes, the two of us!” the shorter almost shouted proudly with a demure giggle.
“Keep thy voice low,” the taller one scolded. The shorter cast her eyes down.
“Well, yesternight, we were bathing the King—,” the taller continued.
“—and his royal cocksword,” added the shorter.
“Yes, we were bathing His Majesty when thy missive arrived,” said the taller.
“The royal messenger brought it,” the shorter added, feeling this was a necessary detail.
Maiden Reina was becoming a bit impatient.
“As he gazed upon thy words, his measureless—”
“—endless,” the shorter chimed in, nodding as she did, “…and thick!”
“Yes, thick and long…”
“Yes?? Go on!” maiden Reina intoned in exasperation, realizing the young maidens were being distracted by their own minds’ renderings.
“Oh, um, yes. Well, as he read thy letter, our King’s heavy pleasurer became so thick and so hard…”
“We’d never seen it like that before!” the shorter added with eyes wide.
“Never,” added the taller with eyes wide, shaking her head in earnest disbelief.
“And we wash it every night, thou knowest,” the shorter added in a serious tone to convey the importance of their daily duties.
“It pointed straight up and, with the water and soap falling from it, resembled a glistening sword ready for battle,” the taller said, her head tilted slightly to the right.
“It haunted my dreams last night,” the shorter whispered wistfully to herself, unaware she was speaking aloud. The taller one gave her a nudge with her elbow, and the young maiden bowed her head in embarrassment.
“Clearly thou art his favorite, maiden Reina,” the taller said encouragingly as she touched maiden Reina’s arm.
“Would that it be me in his bed overmorrow instead of thee,” the shorter blurted out innocently.
The taller gave her a stern look, and the shorter looked at the floor.
“My apologies, maiden Reina,” the shorter whispered.
“That is quite alright, sistren. I give no name and no judgment. I know how ye feel.”
“Well, we shall not tarry! We must return to the palace before they miss us,” the taller one began. “We art all so happy—”
“—and envious—” added the shorter.
“—for thee!” the taller finished. They bounded out of the courtyard and into the noontime sun, giggling and whispering to each other as they disappeared.
Yes, in a few days, maiden Reina would once again be in the King’s bed. She enjoyed being the object of a man’s lust. Though a maiden would never speak of such things, she had enjoyed trysts with a few young men of Rivasor as well as with wayfarers. She enjoyed knowing that her loins could elicit a man’s desire. She relished the fact that the thought and sight of her naked body could make a man’s pleasurer rise and drip with anticipation.
This, however, was no ordinary man. This was a king. This was the King. This was her King. And, she would be in his bed in less than two suns. She was to be the King’s plaything, his bed maiden. He chose her, and the thought of it moistened her loins constantly throughout the days and nights even as she tried her best to distract her thoughts to other matters more befitting a maiden of her common status.
But she could not get the thoughts from her mind. Everyone knew that this king did not lust as other men did. As the palace maidens had just told her, since the moment of his victory in the contest for king, the royal bathers and washers had rarely seen the royal cocksword erect even though they caressed and cleaned it daily. They had heard stories from the few who had been lucky enough to experience the strength of his size and thrusts of his desire in their roles as bed maiden to the king, but those stories were few and far between.
Yes, he was a bit different from other men who had held the throne. It made her wonder if, perhaps, his cocksword hoisted during battle too. She wondered if the blood lust of the battlefield was in any way similar to the lust of entwinement, and that if, perhaps, given the infrequency of his his lust was reserved, in part, for conquests of a different kind—the kind that a king and protector accomplished for the benefit and freedom of his realm and his subjects.
She wondered often about the King. She wondered about many parts of the King, in fact.
She thought about her scheduled copulation with him and imagined herself in his embrace, and she thought about the parts of his body that caused her wetness.
She thought about his hands. In her dreams, those hands that wielded a mighty steel sword and gripped it with the strength necessary to kill men during the fray were caressing her breasts and molding them at his will.
The arms that could slay savage and powerful men in battle were lifting her up and down effortlessly upon his mighty cocksword.
The strong torso and waist that undulated with power as he mounted his steed and galloped into battle was now hers to mount and ride. The King was her stallion, she mused.
The chest that housed the heart of a lion and warrior, was heaving with his lust for her, as his weight crushed her into the softness of his bed sheets.
Yes, these were images a maiden could not easily wrest from her thoughts try as she might.
However, there were other thoughts that haunted her. She knew not whether she could continue to sate the king. She of short trek upon the sphere; she of little bedplay, against the ways of normal thought, had made the king fire, and now her world had turned upside down. She could not believe fortune had so blessed her. Or had it been a curse?
In any event, she had been summoned once again by the King, the man who had kept her and everyone in the cluster and the realm free from slavery at the hands of invaders. Soon, maiden Reina would be his slave; a slave of a different sort, and she welcomed the impending surrender, capture and conquest with an unrelenting and dripping desire.