Authors: Kayleen Knight
Claiming Crystal (18 page)
After her first puberty Crystal had been compared to a young woman etched out of the finest porcelain, her white skin without blemishes, moles or birth marks beyond the exotic symbol which branded her hand to promote the royalty of her
bloodline over even the royalty of her family name. Five of the kingdom’s most prized artists had spent tireless efforts producing imitations of her in their various styles; some of them had painted Crystal from a standing pose that she was not allowed to break for twenty-four hours, and it would surprise no one who knew her to learn that Crystal did not move a single muscle.
The discipline she had even at a young age was unparalleled when the topic of the circumstance involved her presentation. She had instinctively unde
rstood the fineries of her makeup and hair styling, and before the maids and servants had been instructed to come and beautify her appearance themselves she had outpaced them by several years.
Crystal had always tended to her beauty, so much so that her parents were wildly optimistic about her role in the future endeavors that all women of this miraculous lineage had to partake in. They believed she would be dutiful, and more than dutiful, she would understand the implicit importance of her own beauty standing in stark contrast with the lacking comparisons of regular women who did not bloom as regularly as she bloomed, and would not live such a long live of such a full appetite.
They had not realized then that Crystal’s adherence to her appearance was not a pubescent vanity, but rather a mature and distinct impression of what gave her power over the people that surrounded her. She had realized at the youngest of ages that her appearance was the highest power she was allowed in her present circumstances, and thereafter sought to perfect those appearances.
In the months before her awakening Crystal had become bored and tired of the endless preparations, but this was excused with feminine hysterics that the lord of the kingdom swept under the rug and insisted as a passing fad – the truth, however, was that Crystal understood
her new votive of power would be something different and more substantial than her appearance alone. Her power would come from something in her loins – from the sensations in her body that enlivened her experiences, and consequently rewarded the experiences of all who bedded themselves around her. She would become like the moat tree in her mother’s garden, which sheltered many exotic plants and flowers that would not survive but for the shade and root system the tree provided, and from that day of realization forth Crystal had spent her time casually bedding many servants out of some dull acknowledgement that she must hone her skills in order to exact her destiny.
The personalities of her family were varied, their history eccentric, but what truly united everyone in Crystal’s family was the devotion they gave over to their own need to become owners.
They did not exactly know what ownership meant, not at first, but as they toiled and eventually they found their ambitions – as they strived and succeeded, gaining what they coveted, and coveting everything they gained, they came to realize their purpose and begin enacting that purpose without apology. Even Ruby, her elder sister, had found a different sort of purpose that she was shameless in giving herself over her. Her father might mistake her manipulation of the suitors to be a political move that reflected well on her future, and too the future of the family’s prosperity, and her mother might mistake her to be shrewd and political, underhanded and scheming, but none of these expectations were met in her heart of hearts. Crystal did what she did because she desired it. She gave into her desires the same way that she gave into her lust, although many times they were one in the same – as readily as a horny woman plunged a firm cock deep into her being, so too did a ready woman make men her slaves in order to state a similar hunger that was equally unknowable, primal, central – something that could very well be called the soul.
One by one, like caretakers returning to the home they had been tasked to clean, her suitors, her slaves, left their orgy and returned to her. They kissed her and plowed her, planting their seeds. They wiped the juices of
half-eaten fruits over the hard nipples of her breasts, and then they took their time in lapping it up and declaring their ecstasy with the flavors. They gave her seed in her womb and across her face, and her breasts, and her legs, and then the strange Victor Lamous wiped the seeds across her body in slow and thankful massages that seemed to knead her into a better shape.
Rafael was the last to come to her after the queen suckled between her legs for a final time, resplendent in the act, her eyes rolled up, her mouth pinched in a way that would savor every taste. The other suitors were cleaning up their appearances and gathering up their clothes, fondling with the baskets and furniture they had accidentally toppled to the floor at the height of passions. She glanced their way before the burning eyes of Rafael drew her back to stare up at his face, and the symmetrical perfection that had so cruelly bestowed the gift of beauty upon a man too poor to really gain much other than slavery for it.
A man of his height and body would surely become a great king or knight if he was the son of a nobleman, but as a peasant, the best he could hope for was to find a position like this, given over to a queen of sorts who could not resist the way her body reacted to his own. She took that face in her hands and turned it gently from side to side, as if to memorize every line and contour. She brought that face down to her own, tingling with pleasure at the way he allowed her to move him without resisting. She kissed him once on the forehead, once on the tip of his nose, once on his lips and then finally on the edge of his chin.
She could already feel the bristle of his beard growing back despite the clean shavings the jailers had
given him, and then her hands were moving lower, tracing into the fine hairs of his chest and testing the weight of his body as it leaned over her, poised in a way that was almost predatory. When Crystal was no more than six years old she had been brought along a nature walk in the woods outside of the kingdom, and there she had seen a lion pounce on a wild antelope, tower over the poor beast and then have its way, and this, she believed, was a perfect reflection of that. She shifted her body and he leaned down to hold her. She tilted her head away, as if offering him her slender neck to bite and eat from, but he only returned her kisses tenfold.
She had lived a life of confines, and now she was locking these men within the confines to become her company. Her prison might change from her bedroom to the larger quarters of a castle, but it would still be a prison in that she would not be allowed outside without the accompaniment of guards. She would be given new freedoms, such as the choice to keep her children, and bare them out into the world. She would have more company in the five faces of these fine men whose powers of wealth and devotion could lift her above the masses of other matriarchs and into the realm of a queen unparalleled throughout the land.
But she would still be an object – her title would be an honor, and an elevation, but it would be a title to name someone who fulfilled a role that was not entirely human. To be the owner of these men was to comply to the same thin dimensionality that had simplified the jailers into perverts within the dark. People who did not know her would judge her summarily, executing their opinions of her without sympathy or regard for the confines that narrowed her life into a different set of choices than the choices that dictated the possibilities of the poor and unwatched. She would never be able to escape her name, much less her lineage, and it had been accepting this inevitability that finally allowed Crystal the acceptance to innovate her circumstances and find a harem of men where before there had only been the supplication of a wife to a husband that owned her. It was a small victory of nuances, but she could not help but feel victorious as Rafael began his slow and gradually – titillating, irresistibly gradual descent into the same nether regions of her body that the other suitors had already cleaned for him with their tongues and their spit.
He paused to savor every little piece of her body, from the swells beneath her breasts to the belly button, softly touching the sides of her stomach and feeling the way it breathed faster and faster, anticipating his nearness, once again reflecting the hysteria of pray beneath the looming body of her predator.
She wanted to tell him to do so many things to her, but she did not spoil the moment by speaking.
She simply closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to flow through her body, rinsing it of the tensions and struggles and loneliness that came to women of Crystal’s birth rite. She allowed him to clean her soul, and with each thrust of her legs as his tongue came out for her vagina – with each push of her body to feel him and be engulfed by him, she felt herself forgiven. Crystal had not gone to confession since she was ten years old, for that was the last time her maid mothers had taken her there themselves, but this, she felt, was a similar vindication of the things she had done and the things she had been driven to do by narrowing circumstances.
She climaxed for him, and then sharply rose again, her body arching like a lifting bridge, his face lost in her sensitivities, but for the beautiful head of hair. She reached down, needing to feel him, and she seized on Rafael as the second and final exclamation of the evening’s private celebrations rocketed off through her with an experience that was simply shining – a beacon of light that could very well be God, for all its ability to be worshipped by people who were at the mercy of these lusts. She collapsed, her body drenched with sweat, her fragrance overpowering the room with a flowery musk of creams and fruits.
Rafael lifted from her and then laid out across her body, exhausted but pleased, still smiling the strange smile he had shown her when she went down on him. For once she returned the happiness by showing him her own fine white teeth. She was a woman of gluttonous appetite, but it was not for good. It was for the meat of men that she desired like food.
A quick look around the room convinced her that her plans would go forward no matter the protests that she would receive from the kingdom’s lord. In the faces before her she saw the kind of devotion that would not break under the constraints of a lord’s temper, and if she could not convince her father then her new suitor-slaves certainly would. She was not sure where they would live, but she imagined that they might defy conventions further to build their own fortifications to house their own unique matriarchal unit. She turned her head into a pillow of soft fruits and lotions, and there she began to dream of a future that was not necessarily freedom, but power and will, and she felt herself exciting once more.
The men were done, empty of their seeds and doused of their lusts, but Crystal could not be quenched as easily. She began to touch herself, pressing through the lips between her legs and licking out to swab the lips of her mouth. She dreamed not only of their castle, but of their might – the combined actions of five powerful kingdoms that would be able to stand against any threaten, and lay waste to those that would not stand down from its towering accomplishment. To think that domination could be achieved with such ease so long as a woman of Crystal’s lineage accepted the fact that she was an object, and played her cards accordingly.
‘Rafael,’ she breathed, reaching out into the darkness that she did not dare open her eyes to see – else the dream become spoiled. ‘Will you sleep with me tonight?’
His warm hands enfolded hers.
‘Of course,’ he replied.
‘Will you all sleep in my room tonight? She asked, and the fact that she asked them, rather than ordering them, charmed the men into agreeing.
One had become many, and the object that was supposed to be possessed had become the possessor – the many stains of her ecstasy marking the floor of her bedroom in reproach of the chastity chain she had been made to wear in a show of sophistication. This was her life because she had made it for herself, and like her chosen slave, she was contented with those things that she won, and owned, and even that which owned her in turn. If the complications of her life were too heady to grasp, she needed only reach out to be grasped by something simpler, hotter, and more passionate than any philosophy.
END
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