2 comments/ 12996 views/ 3 favorites As Pleases My General By: NaokoSmith Unfortunately D'nar's immediate reaction was a grin of warm admiration. He felt an adrenaline rush and the erotic buzz of blood flowing to his penis and loins as he understood how thoroughly he had been deceived. Standing in the doorway of his house, he ducked his head shyly down like some foolish boy who wants to hide his emotions. But it was very many years now since he had been in the habit of ducking his head to hide boyish emotions. Even before he got to his house he had had his suspicions. The city was awash with rumours of an uprising in Andarria. In the wooden stalls of the muddy marketplace they were saying that significant forces had been collecting into an army and had suddenly started massing on the border with Tarknan. But when he got to his house, the modest one-storey timber and mud building with the pretty courtyard hidden inside, the door was locked as was usual at night. From the outside all appeared to be as it had always been when he returned from a tour of duty. When he opened the door and stepped into his house he heard the silence. It held a stillness of a wholly different quality to the usual quiet peace that had come to reign in his home, which was full of the small creaks and clicks and hushed sounds of a lived in dwelling. He saw the abnormally tidy state of the tiny hallway: no little cloak or boots strewn carelessly about, no toy left just where an unwary returning parent might tread on it and break it. He knew then that she had taken the Crown and had gone. Yet she had locked the door. She had scrupulously cleaned and tidied his home and had left it safely locked so that his goods and belongings would not be stolen or vandalised. She herself had not gone through the house she had cleaned and cared for these past five years wreaking vengeance on objects she would know were dear to his heart. He went through the rooms, calling out sometimes softly: "little dove, sweetmeat, my pretty, are you there?" or in more commanding tones: "'Lissa! some beer if you please and heat up water for a bath!" It was clean and tidy all the way throughout except for a week's light dust lying on every surface. She had taken the Crown and had gone. He could not believe how foolish he had been. He had actually selected her to care for the Crown. He could not help that warm grin of admiration lifting the corner of his mouth and sparkling in his eyes again. He reminded himself that she must have been a mistress of military arts to have deceived him: D'nar, a Commander of the Akhan of Tarknan's forces, who had been entrusted with the care of the Crown of Andarria. That slumped lumpy figure in the shapeless garments with the bland dark eyes. It was only the love that softened those dark eyes when she looked on the Crown that had been genuine -- the submissive passion for the Crown which a shitty trickster of an Andarrian would be completely unable to disguise, and he had been the more deceived by it. That adoring submissive softness in her eyes had actually made him believe even more in her lying pissing presentation of herself as a slack-shouldered weak slave woman whose presence in his home and closeness to the Crown he had rapidly come to accept. He had considered this shuffling soft-eyed slave posed as little threat to his or the Crown's safety as did the kitchen table. Ah, the kitchen table. He paused in the kitchen with the small blue enamelled cooking range and the red tiled floor, the cupboards with the pretty china door knobs painted with flowers in which she had always displayed such a lack of feminine interest. Oh yes. Now that she had actually gone there were all sort of things which he realised ought to have made him suspicious. Here at this kitchen table where he took her for the first time in passion. He ought to have realised then except that his mind was reeling from the pleasures he found in her unexpectedly powerful body. For the first time he frowned in anxiety. Was it for that reason that she lay with him, was it only so as to distract and deceive him the more, had she never felt for him the irresistible, the electric shiver of absolute desire for her to which he had succumbed? But she had locked his house up, secured it for him, when she left it. And more than that, when he remembered how she had been with him -- even that first time, he knew that she had liked it with him, that she had liked him. It started one time he came back late in the night from a tour of duty. He unlocked the door quietly, meaning only to sneak in and leave his bags before going to a brothel to slake his lust. He had meant to come home again first thing in the morning of course, to see the Crown. He went stealthily into the kitchen for a glass of water and there she was, lying across the table in the deep sleep of the fully physically weary, the hood of her unflattering garment fallen away from the close-cropped dark-haired head. The guttering candle threw light softly onto the hard lean planes of her handsome face and the delicate eyelids hooded the hard eyes which she would make blank towards him. He had felt suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. He was physically exhausted himself with the long days of hard riding, the mental challenge of negotiations along the borders, the effort required to discipline his men. Coming into this peaceful bright kitchen with the woman who was so tired out with keeping it clean that she had fallen asleep sitting at the table, he felt keenly aware of the neatness of his home around him. What had once been a dull bachelor place to throw himself down in and sleep if he could not be troubled with the brothels had become a home shining with a military polish that he deeply appreciated. The blue of the cooking range, the red tiles of the floor, the dusky yellow walls seemed to glow with a limpid efficiency, to salute him with the easy warm companionship of a comrade in arms. In an unthinking gesture of affection and gratitude he put his hand softly on her shoulder. He would never have done it if he had not been so tired. She surged up from the table instantly, the one hand seizing his right, his fighting arm, the other gripped on the hilt of his sword, her narrowed dark eyes stared intently into his eyes, glinting dangerously in the candlelight. As she realised who he was, she drew a deep breath. What must he have smelt like! fresh off campaign, he must have stunk of horses and some bread and garlic they chewed in the saddle while riding home and most of all of salty musky sweaty man. Now he realised how familiar all those smells would have been to her and so instead of standing away from him in disgust, bowing her head in her usual deceptive tricksy pissing submissive way, she had moved closer towards him, her eyelids narrowing over her eyes and the dangerous glint in her eyes becoming the glint of desire. Straight off the tour of duty and expecting to go to the brothel, he was already stiff with lust, the blood already starting to flow about his penis in anticipation. Instead of attempting to throw off her grip on his wrist and wrestle with her for the sword, he pulled his arm in so that she came even closer, his mouth closed on hers before he could think about it. She kissed him back. She had been in his house for two years by then, lurking about waiting for the right moment. He could not imagine being on a two year mission without the release of tensions provided by the brothel. Now that he knew the truth about her he was not surprised that she had succumbed to the unexpectedly available man with all the familiar scents and flavours of the army. She must have missed the army with the tortured longing of a lost soul stuck in the Fifth Hell. Her tongue came probing, caressing his tongue and without loosening her grip on his wrist or his sword, she pressed her body to his, her legs already parting around his legs. His free arm went about her to pull her in harder to him and then with that one left hand he reached round to drag at the front of the drapery of clothing in which she hid her body. Suddenly she let go of his sword and reached back to pinch out the candle so he could not see her body. But he felt it: the hard strong flat planes of muscle where he had expected slack folds of poorly exercised flesh. He was puzzled but she had pushed his hand to a big breast. That was soft alright. He groaned with pleasure in their kiss as he gently flexed his fingers on the softness of her breast, his penis started engorging with blood. In the dim light coming through the kitchen window from the torch which flamed all night in the courtyard he could see the shape of her head as she went down, sinking to her knees. She had let go of both his sword and his wrist in order to wrench at his army breeches, she pulled the lacing open and lifted out his cock: turgid now with longing, all the blood gone from his brain to surge into his penis and loins. She took the head of his thick cock straight into her soft warm mouth, that smooth head which she licked caressingly with her tongue then she began sucking softly on him. Moaning in rhythm with her sucking, his hands dropped to her shoulders where he gripped gently. As he became too excited to stay in her mouth, he nudged her head tenderly away. She raised a face which shone palely in the dimness, glinting as hard with lust as any soldier's would be; two years on a mission with no release of tension. Whipped up by the appeal of the military he had subconsciously recognised in her face, her behaviour -- that of a subaltern requested to pleasure a comrade in arms, he made a crazy suggestion. He was so desperate to get inside her on the equal terms that her hard military face offered and not on the submissive terms that her domestic slave status would have to provide that he said, in a husky voice: "How about if I take you army style?" The glint of desire became a laugh of pure entertainment and for just a second she was staring up from where she was kneeling on the floor, her dark eyes glinting with intelligence and humour and desire and a bit of danger; fully his equal, possibly his superior, then she dipped her head and mumbled: "Alright," as if she were a reluctant slave giving in to his wishes but actually to hide her sniggering merriment. She got up on the table before he could think about her wholly uncharacteristic behaviour or feel bad about taking a reluctant slave in the manner he wanted. She flipped a small pot of lubricant so expertly from a drawer onto the table that that too should have made him suspicious -- if he could have thought about anything except getting inside her. Meanwhile he was taking a condom out of his pocket and easing it onto his tense thick penis with trembling fingers. She was dragging her clothes away rapidly, exposing her naked backside: big round powerful buttocks with between her legs the bush of dark hair. He could not resist parting her legs and the lips of her labia just to touch her glistening wet vulva. She quivered with the overwhelming sensation of his touch; unbearable since he would not be entering her there. Already his finger, moistened with lubricant, was touching her anus, she let out a groan, quivering again at this more promising touch. His finger sank into the tight rim of her anus and he pushed it deeper to the tune of her long groan. She arched down her back, pressing her head and shoulders into the table, lifting her backside to him. He took his penis, thick and throbbing with blood, and allowed the head of it one little nudge at her red warm vulva, she made a frustrated "aaaah!" and he slid up to the anal passage and slowly he sank deep into her, pulling at her hips to go in as far as he could get. His breeches, his sword belt even, pressed into her thighs and buttocks. Gently, tenderly, he pulled back and then pushed forward again, slowly at first then quickening his rhythm, groaning in time with her, thrusting to her pleasure, her thighs spreading to welcome his pushing. Her hand had come back to tease at her clitoris, he felt her fingers moving against his hands that were grasping her lean muscular thighs at the groin, he was filled with a warm excitement to think of the double pleasure she was enjoying, he thrust his cock deep in again and then suddenly uncontrollably he was cumming in quick thrusts into her, crying out to her, reaching around her utterly unexpectedly muscular body to those gorgeous big soft tits. He sank it all in her and lay: dirty and sweaty and exhausted, spent of everything, across her naked backside full of his softening member. In the morning he woke naked and clean in his bed, sunlight dancing through the leaves of the Eucalyptus tree in the courtyard onto his sleep-dazed eyes. Back then he had assumed he had been so exhausted he had not noticed her cajoling him into his bed. Now he realised she had used some soldier's trick to keep him quiet while she rolled him off her, stripped him, cleaned him and carried him to put him in his bed. Out in the courtyard now it was dark, dark and quiet. Only the breeze whispered in the Eucalyptus leaves, there were no high piping cries to wake an exhausted man, no scolding voice saying, "Let him sleep". D'nar took his hand from the familiar surface of the wooden table, sighed and turned out of the kitchen. He must go to the White Castle and see the Akhan. They took him to the throne hall and as they bowed him in, he saw that the young Akhan was already there. He was sitting not on the throne but on the topmost step of the dais to one side of the carved white throne. The tall candles all the way down the throne hall flung warm light up the stone walls and onto the blond figure of the Akhan in his traditional white silk suit with his head lifted round as D'nar was shown in. He was still a slim young thing although he would start filling out in maturity soon. Tall, lean and lovely in white silk, he smiled as he saw D'nar. "My beloved Akhan," D'nar said, bowing his head perfunctorily and going rapidly down the hall to the Akhan. "The Crown has gone?" the Akhan asked. "Yes," D'nar answered. "I will go in pursuit. Or will you have me go with the forces to the border?" The Akhan stood up and stretched out his long young body with a sigh. His blue eyes looked softly down at the warrior standing at the bottom of the steps. He came down the steps and put a hand on D'nar's shoulder, gripped the hardened leather of the hauberk. "You've only just come back from a tour of duty," he said. "My uncle and I hope to avoid going back to war. We'll be sending ambassadors to negotiate terms for Andarria's independence. You wouldn't be an appropriate person to assist them," he grinned and lifted his hand to cup it on D'nar's unshaven cheek, still looking softly into his weather-beaten face while he caressed the bristly curve of D'nar's chin. When D'nar grinned back, the old white scar on his cheek danced in his face. His eyebrow was also cut across by a scar over a piercing hazel eye. His close-cropped hair, his hard-muscled stance, all suggested violence although the Akhan knew even better than most that off the battlefield D'nar was the most considerate of men. "Will you allow me to go after the woman who has taken the Crown?" D'nar asked. The Akhan frowned, saying, "No. This is unlike you, D'nar. The woman has been close to the Crown in loving care. It will be traumatic for the Crown if you in particular take out any vengeance on her and that will gravely damage our efforts to secure good and peaceful relations with Andarria. Come. If we can secure peace you might think about retiring and settling down with someone special." He looked into D'nar's face with those appealing blue eyes. "You can take anyone you choose," he said. "Anyone," he reiterated with emphasis. D'nar grinned that warm affectionate grin of his. "It's not for vengeance sake that I want to go after the woman," he said. "Oh!" the Akhan was surprised. "We hoped you would become attached to the Crown but it didn't occur to me that the woman, um, Orlissa ...." 'Fuck me five-ways,' D'nar thought. They knew her fucking name. They knew all about her. Those pissing fucking swine, they put the Crown in his personal care in the hopes that he would provide exactly the kind of tender love that had blossomed in his heart and they allowed a pissing trained assassin to be his domestic slave and never breathed a word to him. It made a thrill go through him now to remember that time he had demanded that she shave him. The hairs rose on the back of his neck and the blood stirred in his loins. The Akhan was looking anxiously at him, those blue eyes -- like wild flowers, so pretty, staring into his face while the strong long fingers slid from his bristly unshaven chin to grip his shoulder. "Don't you fear that she may take vengeance on you?" he asked. "Well, I expect it," D'nar admitted, "but I don't fear it. I'll take the risk, my beloved Akhan." He would rather die on her sword taking the chance that he might get even one final fuck from her than risk dwindling out his life with someone who was enslaved or paid or had come to be with him because of his fame or money or connections to the Akhan; some other woman perhaps who would make his home cosy and allow him to fuck her any way he wanted but never lift an eye glinting with danger to make him actually want to fuck her. A quick death seemed to him a better choice than a slow dull life. (Surely even the Andarrians wouldn't take longer than two days -- even to kill him. Even her vengeance for the servitude she had been obliged to endure under him -- literally under him on special occasions although he hoped she had not considered that part of the servitude, would surely be spent in, say, three days of torture.) "Indeed," murmured the Akhan thoughtfully. D'nar was glad to see that for a moment he looked like his uncle, the Akhanet Regent, that clever compassionate politician who had for years moved them all about like pieces on a chess-board -- but to their own not his advantage. "Is she so ... so accomplished?" 'Fuck me from the front in the fires of the Fifth Hell,' D'nar thought ruefully. They had even known that she screwed him now and then. "Well ... I just like her," he said lamely. "May one not ask why?" the Akhan enquired frostily. The blue eyes were chilled now. D'nar laughed and reached to grip his monarch's upper arm sympathetically. The white silk was slippery under his calloused hand and little threads of it caught on the roughness of his fingers. "Don't be jealous," he chided. "You'll spoil our friendship for a nothing. You know I like women best, for fucking. But in friendship I like a beer and a laugh, perhaps a wrestling match with a comrade. Here is a woman with a pissing fine cunt and now I realise that she's not a shitty slave and that she might come out for a ride and a beer and a laugh and then beat me at wrestling. I've got to give it a go." The Akhan's finely chiselled mouth twisted in rueful apology. His hand moved back up from gripping the shoulder of D'nar's hauberk to cup around his cheek again and he stepped in up close to D'nar. "Will you give me a farewell fuck?" he asked wistfully. D'nar had not moved to take him in his arms so he already knew the answer. "I'm a bit tired," D'nar prevaricated, "with a long hard ride ahead." "You were always faithful to anyone you gave your heart to," the Akhan said softly. "You should take a serious lover," D'nar suggested. "The Lady T'rel?" The Akhan looked nervous at this suggestion. "T'rel and I are good friends," he said. "I like ... I like B'jor." "Oh the General," D'nar said meditatively. "You like General B'jor, do you?" "I know, B'jor wouldn't have me," the Akhan said with a shy flick of those pretty blue eyes. As Pleases My General D'nar's laugh rolled out in the empty throne hall. Finally he put his arm about the young Akhan's back and pressed him in a hug. "It's the same old problem," he scolded the young man affectionately. "Look at yourself, you great fool. You're as pretty as a maiden playing with herself under the blossom trees in Spring, with an arse like the new moon rising and a brain as sharp as a razor blade. You're the best friend a man could have by his side, loyal and true. And you're the Akhan! You can order B'jor to have you if you want to. He'll be a good fuck and you'll have the army's balls in your hand. Have a bit of confidence, for the Gods' and Goddesses' sake; just go and get him if you want him." He pressed his mouth to the familiar firm sculpted lips of his beloved Akhan. They opened like a flower for his tongue to come into the warm mouth which sucked softly on his tongue. He gave the Akhan's buttocks an affectionate squeeze through the white silk draped over the appealing curve of the young man's arse. As their lips parted he said, "Did I give you a taste for the military then?" "Oh no," murmured the Akhan, nestling his blond head into the side of D'nar's squat bristly neck. "I always liked you, my beloved D'nar." Fuck and triple fuck. The Akhan had gone to his uncle and ASKED for D'nar to be singled out to seduce him. It had been one of those complicated games they played where you had even less control than you thought you did. He had been manipulated into position by the two Akhanets just as he had been manipulated by Orlissa. The rueful grin of admiration curved his lips. Out on campaign with the young Akhanet -- his father was still alive then, he was just a fledgling, still soft and downy with those appealing blue eyes turned up to the hard men of the military in warm admiration. They took him along the border to the mountain region where you could have a bit of a skirmish but it wouldn't be as bad as the outright warfare then going on in the plains. In the evenings they could collect up in the pavilion tent of his uncle, the Akhanet Regent, hearing any of the soldiers who could do so singing songs about battles. D'nar and the other Commanders would tell the young Akhanet what strategies they had used in those battles and pretend this pleasurable feasting with wine and song was how they always conducted the campaign meetings. One night the Akhanet Regent fixed D'nar with a stare from an eye as blue but as steely as the young Akhanet's eye was soft. D'nar looked back at him in puzzlement and he jerked his head slightly at the young Akhanet. D'nar looked at the young man lounging over some silk cushions on the red and black carpets, his hip jutting up draped in the white silk trousers he wore under the military leather hauberk. Well, it was a hauberk, made of leather and probably hard enough to stop a swung sword although it was beautifully decorated in gold tooled designs. The Akhanet took a bunch of grapes from the plate in front of him and began draping them in his mouth, curling a tongue that was suddenly red against the luminescent pale beauty of his skin around the grapes that he pulled in to squeeze and burst on his teeth. D'nar's testicles itched as he watched that red tongue caress the grapes and pull them onto the teeth. Whenever he looked, the Akhanet always seemed to be doing something that drew D'nar's attention to his sculpted mouth or his taut young arse or his long slim legs but he never looked directly at D'nar, tilting his pretty blue eyes shyly sideways if D'nar spoke to him. D'nar had assumed this meant he was not sexually interested, that he was avoiding the possibility of their gazes meeting and locking for that second longer than was acceptable, meaning 'Come outside then and I'll show you mine'. However the Akhanet Regent had made it plain what was expected and D'nar obediently lingered on until the Akhanet happened to get up and go out of the pavilion. D'nar followed him, casually glancing over the luscious curve of that young arse draped in white silk; this was not an onerous duty that was being demanded of him. Instead of courteously going somewhere else for a piss, he went after the Akhanet but rather than brazenly wait for him to take his cock out and then give it a casual and unmistakable grope, he bumped him as they walked, taking the young man's long slim fingers in his own sword-calloused hand. He did it gently, expecting the Akhanet to pull away from him in denial. He was surprised when the Akhanet tilted his head down, blushing, and gave him a quick glance from eyes full of a sudden starry adoration and then willingly followed him with his long slim fingers curling about D'nar's hard hand. They went to D'nar's rough campaign tent. It was a proper soldier's billet, not like the Akhanet's silk-draped cushion-strewn couch in the large airy pavilion of his uncle. The bedding was narrow and although you could stand up there was not much room in the crammed tent full of weaponry so the two men were squeezed physically close as soon as they had both slipped through the entrance. D'nar laid his hands on the Akhanet's hauberk lacings but the Akhanet was moving into his arms, so eager for his kiss, D'nar realised this was going to be an even more pleasurable task than he had imagined. Deflowering the Akhanet was a responsibility, he had assumed that the Akhan and the Akhanet Regent wanted to ensure the impressionable future ruler of Tarknan fell into the hands of someone who would not be seeking to screw him over in more ways than the physical. If the Akhanet was this hot for it and didn't need gentle persuasion to receive pleasure, it would be one of the easiest missions D'nar had ever had entrusted to him. The Akhanet was already panting in their kiss, his beautiful chiselled lips opening like a flower for D'nar's tongue to wriggle in like the bee. D'nar gripped one of those sword-calloused hands on the lad's tense silken buttock, the Akhanet gave a moan, his head going softly back, his knees spreading. D'nar gave his lower lip a gentle nip: a sting from the bee, just to bring the lad back from going off away too early. His first time, make it a good long pleasuring, not a fuck as quick and hard as if he were a work-weary whore in a back alley who only wanted to go home to her children with enough in her purse to feed them. "Sh-shall I suck you off?" suggested the Akhanet. "But I've never done it before." "Shut up," D'nar murmured in his ear, gripping his hand on that silken buttock. The Akhanet gave a shocked and delighted snigger. D'nar coiled his tongue softly round the royal ear and the Akhanet moaned with surprised pleasure. D'nar ran his tongue down the Akhanet's long elegant pale neck and under his chin, coming back up for the sculpted lips -- suddenly soft in anticipation -- and the Akhanet's kiss. He took his hand from that firm young buttock and as he kissed the Akhanet's lips, he began pulling the lacings of his leather hauberk undone. He ran his fingers over the grooves of the gold tooled patterns with an indulgent smile before pulling off the hard leather shell and chucking it to the side. He lifted the silk shirt underneath to slide his hands over the smooth warm flesh of the Akhanet's chest and back and the suddenly sensitive flat stomach; the Akhanet jerked and moaned. He tucked his hands round into the waistband of the young man's silk trousers to grip on the tense curving muscles of the buttocks. He eased the silken trousers and underpants off down to hang on those slim youthful hips. Looking down he briefly admired the delicate lines of the young male body with its flat stomach, slender hips and curved buttocks, the skin so pale and soft, still downy with youth. He knelt heavily down and softly softly he kissed the tip of the Akhanet's long slim cock, catching the bead of pre-cum on his lips, lifting his head with a grin to lick it so the Akhanet could see what pleasure there was in giving pleasure. The Akhanet's eyes were already wild with love. He could no longer distract himself with chatter, he could not speak, he only moaned and leaned on D'nar's shoulders, D'nar took that slender penis in his mouth and sucked it, pushing the lad's buttocks to make him sway to and fro. It was the lad's first time, he was passionately in love and over-excited, too soon D'nar had to move him away from his mouth. He lay hurriedly back on the bedding and shucked down his own heavy duty military breeches, the Akhanet was coming to his arms, entangling and encumbering him as he tried to prepare himself. Lucky he had some pot of lubricant right by the bed -- he'd been rubbing it into his sword-belt and hauberk to waterproof them. He found a condom in his breeches' pocket -- soldier's habit always to have one handy, and eased it onto the Akhanet's long penis, even that made the young man moan and quiver. He rolled hurriedly over to offer up his strong arse. But the lad was pulling at him, he wanted him facing, he wanted to look into D'nar's eyes and have his kiss. D'nar was willing, it just meant a delay while he got his boots and breeches off. The Akhanet was chucking off his own soft leather boots and silken garments, D'nar hesitated about his hard hauberk but the Akhanet could wait no longer, he was pushing D'nar back on the narrow bedding, lying over that hard leather-clad breast, looking deep into D'nar's warm hazel eyes with his beautiful blue eyes as he lifted his cock and slid into D'nar's arse. "Aaaah!" the moan was simultaneous. D'nar's own cock, thick and throbbing, was pressed against the lad's soft groin, the Akhanet had started pushing to and fro, moaning with pleasure as he brought the sensitive tip of his penis in and out of D'nar's receptive anal passage, D'nar was grinning with pleasure at the sensation in his anus, the Akhanet's arms were about the army Commander's tough leather hauberk, his mouth came seeking the affectionate kiss, there were calloused hands gripping softly on his buttocks, encouraging even more the irresistible movements. Their mouths were pressed and the older man's tongue was caressing his kiss, his lips, his tongue -- too soon he gave a great cry of bliss, cumming in uncontrollable pleasure in the arms of that man, so famously brave and battle-hardened and courteous with the piercing hazel eyes in the scarred face, the man for whom he had been stricken with a burning desire so intense it made him too shy to speak. He was so tired out with pleasure now, he felt bad that D'nar was having to handle his own climax, the Akhanet wished D'nar'd let him suck him just a bit at least. But as he felt D'nar's sperm spurt over the luminescent pale soft skin of his stomach and offered a kiss that was gently, tenderly taken, he felt confident that there would be more opportunities to give many pleasures to the lover his uncle had whisperingly assured him could be his. And there certainly had. D'nar reflected on one or two particular fun-filled days and nights spent with his beloved Akhanet, a salacious grin on his mouth, as he strolled out of the torchlit palace corridors. Then he gave a sigh as he thought about his failure to understand how deeply the lad had -- still did, love him. As the Akhan had said, once his cock had found somewhere to nestle he didn't usually feel inclined to scatter his seed about the place. He had been content to pleasure and receive pleasure from the Akhanet alone but he of course did not expect a royal prince to pass up on any other enjoyment that came his way. Since the Akhanet enjoyed himself sometimes with a casual entertainment, he had assumed the lad was taking the affair as lightly as he was. He had allowed it to melt pleasantly away, going back more and more frequently to his own little house when he was on leave instead of moving into the White Castle. It was true that he liked women better for sex but he was very fond of the tall lean lovely Akhan and there is always something precious about a young man who has lain in your tender arms for his first orgasmic embrace. She had a week's head start on him but she was moving through hostile territory and encumbered by the Crown. Probably there was a small force, ten or twelve soldiers, who had travelled to give her the word: "the time has come". They might make the border ahead of him but he had a good chance of catching them up while they were still in Tarknan. He went down to the royal stables and selected out two of the finest horses, steeds with both stamina and strength, a couple of bays with white socks and one had a white blaze down its nose. He was the Akhan's former lover, a favourite friend of both the Akhan and the Akhanet Regent. He had never asked for much before now but whatever he did ask for he got without question. He commanded the horses ready for him at dawn and went home to catch a few hours' rest. Oh he was tired. He had ridden hard and swift home this time, spurred on by an all-too prescient lurking anxiety. He cast off his sweat-grimed, travel-stained clothes and climbed straight into the clean sweet fresh sheets as he was. He would never be here again to be annoyed by his own stink and dirt on the white cotton sheets. Tears suddenly filled his eyes. What was this! oh, he was just weary. That was why he was suddenly, poignantly moved at the thought that before leaving she had made up the bed for him with the sheets she herself laundered. She had made up the bed with corners tucked in as crisp and firm as a General's personal servant might do it but she was not here to heat the water and pour him a bath. It was the lack of a warm soothing bath, that was all, his eyes would drift shut soon in much-needed longed-for sleep. After a while his calloused fingers drifted over to his flaccid penis: a bit of self-pleasuring was a powerful soporific. After that time when she had let him take her army style on the kitchen table (he could appreciate the joke now, all these years later), it was a while before she took his pleasure again. The next day she was the same docile placid domestic slave he had always over-looked in his house, her head in the hooded garments she affected stooped, her shoulders slumped in such a disfiguring posture that he began to doubt if she had got the muscular hard body he had momentarily laid hands on -- or the big soft breasts he had been encouraged to play with instead; ah! those tits, surreptitiously he had peered at her from his late breakfast as she shuffled past him, trying if he could make out their heavy swinging fruitiness in the ugly folds of her garments. Her eyes came blankly back to him and he looked away in embarrassment. She was so placid and boring and dull of eye that he began to wonder if it had happened at all. Then he caught her in his bedroom one night. She was always in and out of it, cleaning and tidying and making the bed but this was late. He came home before he usually did from a drink with the lads. They had gone on to a brothel but after the thrilling engagement on the kitchen table some pretentious whore was not what he wanted so he came home and found her looking through his bedside drawer. She pulled her dress open to give him her tits as a distraction of course. (His penis was thickening at last at the memory of them, he rubbed up and down gently, as kind to himself as he was to every one of his lovers -- even the one he thought was a slave.) Fuck me five-ways, it worked like a dream for her! His hands were on them and his head in the curve of her neck in a moment while she softly shoved the drawer closed with one hand and pulled at the lacing of his breeches with the other. He cared nothing for whatever tidying up she was doing so late at night, his hands were full of warm big breasts, his fingers going to tease at one nipple and feel it harden with lusty pleasure under his persuasive gentle pinching. His mouth caressed her neck, her jaw, coming hunting for her kiss. As he remembered it now, pulling tenderly at his reluctant penis, he knew that in that moment when her mouth opened for his tongue to press into it, the business with him ceased to be subterfuge, business, and became loving lusting fun. She sniggered in the kiss and he looked briefly into glinting laughing intelligent eyes then she shut her eyes, knowing well that he would be able to look into them and see a soul that was about as much like a slave's as a flowering tree is like a pebble in your shoe. She let him dominate. That must have been weird for her! ordinarily he supposed she took whatever young soldier in her army appealed to her and she took him how she wanted him and he pissing well did it with pride because his comrades would all be deeply envious and ever after whispering, "Did she do you quick or slow?" "Did you get to hold her tit?" "Did she let you have a kiss?" Maybe it made a pleasant change or maybe she was desperate for a fuck after two years and only one screw on the kitchen table army style. He knew he pleased her. Well, he was famous for the exquisite gentle pleasures his hard trained body could be teased into providing. He tried to pull off her enveloping garments but she pretended she was shy about showing him her body, remembering this as he lay in the cool clean sheets she had tucked into a General's crisp tight corners for him, he gave a snort of laughter against the tears on his cheeks. Why the deceiving cow must have been trained to wrestle with her soldiers naked apart from a leather harness to protect her breasts, they had no time for modesty in the Andarrian forces. That would be something, to have a wrestle with her naked apart from a leather harness to protect your bits, he speculated forlornly about this as he rubbed up and down on his penis knowing that he would be lucky if they chopped his head off as soon as he caught up with her. No wrestle back then of course, not appropriate skills for a fucking domestic slave. She had pulled up her skirts and down her big underpants, lying back on his bed with her legs wide for him and he left the rest of her body covered in his greed for her cunt. Resting his calloused hands on those spread muscular thighs, he fell to his knees and put his face down to where her body forked and opened, he pressed his tongue into the crack of her labia and she started tossing and moaning and creaming, her own calloused hands coming to gently hold his head. He had always assumed they were calluses from cleaning about the place -- ha ha! In the mornings she must have been practising her fighting skills with his spare weaponry and keeping herself fit while in the afternoons when he was more likely to be home she trotted about with her head bowed down, washing and cooking and caring for him and the Crown. She was a deliciously wet woman, her vagina never needed lubricating if you were permitted to poke it in there, she glistened with cum under the probing caress of his tongue. It was that time in the month when her cream was sweet to the taste and he lingered with his tongue pushing into her vulva. She was quivering with the unsolicited pleasure, having expected him only to be lured into fucking her quickly and forgetting that she had been spying in his papers. His tongue caressed the sensitive ridge between vulva and anus, the erogenous peritoneum, her legs opened wider, now he was poking his tongue at her anus, licking her shitty backside, she gasped, helpless with pleasure as he rimmed her, the soft strong muscle of the tongue generating irresistible sensations all over her arse. As he knelt up away, fumbling in the pocket of his breeches for the soldier's ever-ready condom, she lay in wanton passivity, her thighs wide open, her pulsing vulva wet and waiting. He was covered and coming at her, that thick squat penis was set to her sex with gentle fingers that caressed her clitoris as they brushed by. "Uh-uh-uh, c'mon, c'mon!" He had eased softly into her and he lay down on her, pressing to her kiss, thrusting so softly, so lovingly, so dee-eep. His mouth closed on her mouth, he had gripped her lower lip softly in his teeth. Her hips were lifting, her thighs throwing open, she was moaning, she longed so much to tear their clothes aside so her skin could know his skin, dimly some part of her brain said, "Fuck no!" He had hit her sweet spot, fortunately she could not control her hands sufficiently to tear off their clothes or she would have risked her mission to do it, to press her whole body to the body fucking her on her sweet spot, thrusting her gently into uncontrollable ecstasy, she was coming in waves washing up through her loins and belly and he was saying something, moaning in her ear: "'Lissa, 'Lissa!," with a great effort she refrained from giving him back his name to seal the love they shared. Pleasure was bursting like light in her thighs, her sex, her body in his arms, she cried out, he moaned out and they lay still. As Pleases My General When they woke in the dark in the middle of the night, he wordlessly rolled her over onto her front in the bed and reached through her legs to caress her clitoris and her vulva, her peritoneum and her anus until she writhed in the sheets and rough woollen blanket, her lifted backside begging him more loudly than words. Affectionately he grasped her tits through the folds of her ugly clothes, his penis was covered in a fresh condom from the drawer of papers which he scrabbled and flung all over the floor in his haste. He lubricated her arse with a delicately caressing horny finger and eased his throbbing thick member into it with a gentle thrust that had her quivering and moaning. She had spread her fingers on her own buttocks to hold herself open to him in abject pleasure, the thick cock slid slowly, teasingly, so gently past the rim of her anus, aaaah! so pleasurable and oh! he was pulling back and coming down into her again. As he thrust gently at her back passage, he brought a hand down and fingered her vulva -- oh oh! the moan of pleasure from her was like the call of the ocean, a great wave of salacious joy, he slipped a finger in and softly he fucked her raised backside, coming in and down, in and down, making the nerves in her anus dance with joy, his hard finger still in the wet smooth muscles of her vulva until she was coming and coming, he was cumming and he lay in the dark over her quivering body with the legs still wide for him to lie between. And then nothing for weeks. She must have longed for him like he longed for her, his penis thickening up when he saw her leaning over the kitchen table kneading bread dough with hard strong thrusts, her cunt wetting her underpants as she bent over the stone wall of the well in the courtyard to pull up water with her arse sticking up and heard his boots tramping up behind her. She had her mission, her foremost duty was to the Crown, she liked him but she loved the Crown with devoted passion. She would turn a face with blank eyes to him, a face only mildly flushed, perhaps with the heat out in the courtyard and the effort of raising a heavy bucket of water that he went to help her carry indoors. If he laid a hand on her she turned a bovine stare at him, pretending that she would open her legs for him only because she was his slave, and the courteous Commander shyly stepped back, turning hazel eyes that were both apologetic and pleading hesitantly away. Finally his forlorn tugging at his penis was yielding some result. By thinking hard about her creamy wet cunt which she had sometimes willingly exposed for his mouth, his fingers, his cock, he was able to bring himself off but as the sticky sperm shot into the clean white sheets, the tears spurted down his cheeks. Oh she had gone, she had taken the Crown and had gone. He had never really thought about how happy he was to be able to come back from the tours of duty to a clean bright home with the Crown there and the occasional hope of a fuck glinting in Orlissa's eyes and now they would never be here like it again. She would almost certainly kill him, the best he could hope for would be that for the sake of the pleasure he had given her and the courtesy he had shown her even when he had thought she was a stupid beast of a domestic slave, she would do it quickly and cleanly. As he rode away from the city of mud and timber buildings with the White Castle perched on the hillside above, he turned over in his mind the occasional dangerous pleasures she took from him. That time he had demanded that she shave him. He was in a sour temper; months of no sexual release, too dainty now to go and shove his stick in a paid prostitute, too delicately considerate to force himself on an unwilling slave. If his lover had no pleasure in it he never liked it, he always overpaid the women in the brothels who loved him for his consideration and regretted the infrequency of his visits. He was going out with the lads then he said he'd stay home then he got so frustrated sitting in the kitchen with her vacant-eyed in a chair by the blue cooking range with her knitting. (Knitting for the nine Devils' sake! she was crap at it, how could he not have noticed that although she appeared to be knitting so assiduously there was never so much as a sock for him.) "I'll go out after all," he said abruptly and angrily. She knew he was angry with her, he had been fizzing with frustration for days, making those gasping noises at night and his bed creaking rhythmically while he attempted to relieve himself. She just turned her dull eyes on him, sustaining the necessary pretence that she was so low, so near the beasts of the field that he could kick her or beat her if he wanted, instead of jumping up and smacking him in the face and saying: "Fuck off then you selfish shit, don't thank me for the delicious stew you gobbled up not two hours ago. I'm going out and I'm not coming back! Cook your own pissing dinner from now on." "Give me a shave," he said sullenly. It was an intimate task he had never imposed on her before. Her eyes suddenly flashed, his hand went automatically to his sword but he was in his own home, he wasn't wearing his weapons. Already her eyes were dull again, he thought he must have imagined it. She was putting aside the knitting and going to put a kettle on for hot water, going to fetch his razor and the soap. He sat in his chair by the table where he had once been permitted to fuck her in the arse. The bowl of water steamed by his side, the towel about his neck had even been warmed for him on the small blue cooking range. He saw her calloused strong fingers come over his shoulders with the cut-throat razor already open in one of her hands, she tilted his chin with the other, exposing his throat to the blade. The hairs rose on the back of his neck but his stupid brain dismissed the fear shrieking along his nerves. His penis twitched in his breeches as it always did when the adrenaline surged in his veins. The razor touched his neck and her fingers pulled the skin tight, the blade came scraping gently down his lathered neck, the sound was a soft rasp in the quiet kitchen. His eyes half-closed although his nerves were still jumping. He sat still in her hands, even his nerves settled slowly down, soothed by the firm fingers and the caress of the thin metal blade. He felt the blood pumping in his loins and his cock, but softly, he was just aroused not hard and throbbing for a fuck. Candlelight flashed briefly off the razor as she held it in front of him before coming back to scrape down one of his cheeks. When she was done with him and had wiped his face clean of a few flecks of lather, she came round and looked intently into his half-closed hazel eyes, holding the razor open in her hand. She cleaned it, shut it, put it on the table and leaned down to press her mouth on his. Aaaah! her kiss, at last. He sat still in the chair, his eyes drifting shut as her tongue came caressing his softening mouth, poking in his mouth, curling about his tongue. He reached up, gently took hold of her shoulders, pulling her in. She was reaching in his breeches' pocket, her fumbling fingers pushing through the pocket against his hardening penis. She found the condom and came away from his kiss to pull open the lacings of his breeches. The expertise with which she rolled the condom on his penis was not that of a domestic slave, taken whenever and however by whoever told her to do it. Nor was the excited skill with which she peeled back his breeches to allow his squat penis to lift free in its nest of coiling hairs, putting her hand around his cock and easing up and down a few times to get him good and hard. Her horrible underpants were stripped off and she was straddling him but he pushed her onto the kitchen table, on her back this time, bringing his face down to her cunt to rub his smooth freshly shaven cheek down her hard muscular thigh, parting the lips of her labia so he could kiss her cunt, softly softly kissing the wet shining folds, hearing her gasp and laugh with pleasure. He looked quickly up, his hazel eyes were suddenly piercing bright but she had tipped her head back so he could not see if her dark eyes were glinting in that inappropriately intelligent laughter or bovine with an animal's dull pleasure. He pressed the cool smooth clean cheek to her thigh, his tongue stroked down her labia, to her clitoris, to her vulva. He stuck his tongue in her vulva, pushed into the creaming smooth muscles in her sex and heard her laugh before he raised his head and sat back again with his eyes half-closed for her to take as she would. She straddled him and took him as if he were one of the soldiers she led in battle and possessed in sex if she felt an idle inclination to do so. He looked up at her hard fierce laughing face in the candlelight, the glinting laugh in her dark eyes and all he did was grin softly with joy when he should have flung her off and run for his weapons and the city guard in defence of the Crown. She put his penis to her sex and pressed and down she came on him, he was in her with a gasp and a laugh, she laughed back, catching his hands and pulling them round to her arse. He grasped those big muscular buttocks and she grunted with pleasure, gripped his shoulders and began lifting herself and pressing and pressing, the wet strong muscles of her sex pressing around his thick penis, her clitoris pushing on him. He was grunting with pleasure, she was getting harder and faster, rubbing her clitoris against him as she came up and down, her wet muscles gripping on the sensitive penis, he gripped her big strong buttocks and they were both shouting out and laughing and she came down firmly one last time on his quivering member, close and wet and clinging about him as he quivered and shot off in the condom inside her. He clung to her, holding her fiercely to him. He knew now. It would be weeks before she came back out of the shadows of enslavement, laughing her glinting dangerous pleasure to take him and please him and be there truly with him. But he did not mind it so much this time. Third time lucky, since she had allowed him to mount her three times she would surely do so again if he was patient and waited courteously. Swiftly he rode through the fields of ripening grain, turn by turn on the two magnificent bay horses from the royal stables. The silvery tipped wheat, the whiskery barley, he rode in the hot summer air with the sweat trickling off his weathered brow and the grin of warm admiration often lifting the corner of his mouth. Five days into the journey and he was on the flat low grassy plains, three days' ride from the border where the Andarrian forces were massing into an army. He hoped very much it would be an army that could flutter its brave flags of rebellion and then just march home singing songs of victory and peace. He ought always to have been suspicious, she had played the part of the submissive domestic slave too perfectly. Shuffling about his house, keeping it clean and bright to a military standard, caring so fervently for the Crown. The actual domestic slaves owned by his army pals were nothing like her. Shrill, quarrelsome and manipulative, the lads were always grumbling because of some unreasonable demand these frustrated bored women and men they supposedly owned were making. They even said it: "Gods, D'nar, you're the lucky one." "Does she never call you home early from the tavern/grumble because you took a dip in a whore's bum/cry because you didn't give her enough jewellery and sweetmeats and pissing flowers, for the nine Devils' sake." Once he went back for a meal to one of his pals' homes and had to endure his pal's domestic slave casting languishing eyes at him and surreptitiously fumbling his groin while serving him food, all the while making mean bitchy comments about his pal which she pretended were teasing flirty fun. He came home and went into the warm tidy kitchen and found Orlissa lying back in her chair by the blue cooking range with a hand up her own skirt and her underpants off playing with herself. She flung her hooded head up as he came in, he strode over and stuck his own hand up her skirt and a finger right into her wet wide cunt. She threw her legs open before she could think to pull the pretend slave's outrage and sullen submission onto her face. He pressed his face into her soft bosom and fingered her clitoris and vulva, playing gently in the moistening folds, enjoying the mounds and hollows, the wetness, the smooth muscular hole, the little spur of the clitoris. He put first one finger and then he could get two into her soft vagina, gently -- his calloused hard fingers, he eased them gently in and out of her tender sex. She was moaning helplessly in his hands. She pressed his other hand harder to her clitoris, moaned and gasped and laughed, her soft wet slimy muscles clutching around his fingers, he brought her to the quivering orgasm sitting in her chair with his face pressed into her big soft tits and his fingers in her cunt. Six days into the journey, at the end of the day as the westering sun sank over the far horizon, casting a soft glow as thick and warm as honey over the flat green plains, he caught up with them. He reined up on a grassy rise of land, seeing the little ring of tents, the picket line of horses and a high-wheeled wagon below him. It was a curious vehicle, designed both for speed and to house someone at night. It was covered not by a simple tarpaulin but in some splendid blue hooped top with golden birds depicted in flight across it. A smile softened his weathered scarred face to see how they indulged the Crown. He pulled the buckle from his sword-belt and allowed his weaponry to fall into the grasses of the plain. If things went well he could come back for it but if he came riding down on them armed he would be dead before he could say a word. Both the magnificent royal steeds were tired now, grateful when he set a soft walking pace down towards the small encampment. He looped his reins about the pommel of his saddle, guiding the horse he was riding with his knees and raising his arms in the air. The Andarrian soldiers came cantering out to him holding arrows on the bow-string; he had always admired the skill with which they could control their horses at speed while they held the arrow steady on the string. Their eyes were fixed on him. He felt the prickles of fear in his shoulders and grinned his warm grin. "Take me to Orlissa," he said. They forced him off his horse and two of them took him by the arms and walked him down the slope of the grassy hillside at the quick march while the others murmured admiringly about the quality of the royal horses which they led behind him. Orlissa was already striding out of the circle of tents towards him. Ye Gods and Devils she was magnificent. She strode completely upright with the same rigidly straight back as her soldiers when they rode on horseback with an arrow to the bow-string and it was suddenly apparent how tall she was and how big her gorgeous breasts were. Her head was held high with what would have been arrogance if he had not known by now just how skilled and how powerful she was. The hair was of course kept cropped very close to her head, just as his was, so that it never got in the way of her weaponry, especially the bow and arrow -- the Andarrians excelled at archery although those powerful muscular arms now bared of the disgusting disguising cloth promised a tremendous skill with the broadsword slung low off the black leather belt at her hips. She was absolutely magnificent, like a Goddess, his penis was engorging with blood just at the sight of her striding down on him. She wore a black leather hauberk chased with a black design of a flight of birds, leather breeches and thigh length black boots which did not disguise the powerful muscles of her long strong legs. Her broadsword hung off her belt in a black leather scabbard with the design of flying birds repeated on it. On her left wrist was the leather guard which prevented the bow-string slapping her arm. She came down on him with a face as pale as a Devil's, seized him by the armholes of his hauberk and snarled at him: "How many men with you? How far behind are the rest of your forces?" The danger snapping in her glinting dark eyes was making the adrenaline rush about his body, his penis was rising and pushing at the lacing of his breeches. He grinned with warm admiration and pleasure to see her at last in her true self. It was a bad mistake. She punched him in the jaw sidelong; just hard enough not to break his jaw -- she wanted him still able to talk. She kicked him savagely in the thigh as he keeled sideways in the tight grasp of her soldiers. "You pissing insolent dog!" she hissed. "Answer me before I cut off your balls for my breakfast." Mainly he was still admiring her. What an opportunity to take out five years of frustration, slaving after him, cooking and cleaning and taking his cock up her arse -- although hopefully that had not been frustrating for her. But for her as for him, violence was just a weapon, she controlled it, she was not controlled by an unreasonable rage which she took out in some mindless assault on him. It was not he who had given her the mission, he had not asked her to hide out in his house to rescue the Crown, to pretend for five years that she belonged to him, a submissive dull-eyed domestic slave. She hit him because she needed the information quickly not because she wanted to punish him for the inhuman indignity she had suffered to be his slave. "There's no one else," he moaned, spitting some blood out as he said it. "I came alone." Her fist was still raised to him, her dark eyes narrowed in the intent glare into his piercing hazel eyes. "'Lissa," he mumbled. "'Ware the Crown." Behind her, he had seen a flutter at the curtained back of the covered wagon. Orlissa flicked her eyes back and then dropped her fist like a stolen apple, stepping away from him with a hissed: "Stand up." Obedient to the tone of absolute command in her voice, he straightened in the grip of the soldiers, wincing as he was obliged to bunch the muscle of his thigh. "Da! Da!" the little figure screamed out to him in delight as she scrambled out of the back of the wagon. Her funny face was lit up with pleasure. "You came, you came! Mam said you would come, she said you would." D'nar flicked a look at Orlissa who stared away at the horizon, pretending to be interested in something that was not happening on the hillside. She was a snub-nosed freckle-faced jolly kid with wispy brown hair and laughing brown eyes, about seven years old now. Nobody in the Tarknan city below the White Castle had ever looked twice when he carried her through the market streets, the domestic slave on whom he might have fathered her coming after them carrying the groceries with her head submissively bowed. As she came running across the grass to him, the soldiers flicked hesitant glances at Orlissa. A wordless glare caused them to drop D'nar's arms. They went on their knees, bowing their heads, their faces filled with the soft adoration which the Andarrians show to the Crown. D'nar took a step forward, stooped and caught up the little girl as she ran laughing gleefully to his arms, he lifted her to him for a kiss. "Yes yes," he said, as comfortably as if he had just caught up with them on a trip to the marketplace and she was pleased to see him because he was much more likely to indulge her with sweetmeats than the mother figure who was obliged to be the strict one. "Of course I came." Orlissa was standing back from him with her arms folded but they were loose in the fold, ready to go for her weapons. Her face was cold and reserved. As Pleases My General "It's very naughty to get up and come out after you've been put to bed," she said. "We've another long day's travel tomorrow and you need your sleep." "C'mon my darlin', don't be hard on her," D'nar said casually. "I'll put her back to bed now and she'll be good, will you not? Mam is right, you know, you need your sleep." The soldiers flicked outraged glances up at the hard-faced dark-eyed woman standing above them who had just been addressed in a manner they had never imagined anyone would do who wanted to keep their bollocks attached to their body. Her face remained immobile and they bowed their heads again to allow the infidel dog to limp over to the wagon, carrying the Crown. The Crown was laughing and chattering just like any common little girl with her Da. D'nar did not attempt to disappear into the wagon which he knew would freak them all out but told off the Crown to be quiet and settle down or her Mam would be coming to give her what-for and tell them both off again. As he limped back to the soldiers and Orlissa he hoped she had not told them that he was the man who had stormed the Crystal Temple and had carried off a small child destined to be the symbolic head of the nation with a Prince already selected for her consort. He had never regretted doing it although he had been taken aback when the Akhan and Akhanet Regent told him off to keep the child under his own personal care. Devious swine, they had always intended him to develop this loving relationship with the live ruling icon of Andarria so that Tarknan would be imprinted in her heart as a place of paternal affection. They knew what a tender love he was capable of bestowing on any young thing that strayed in his path, they had even entrusted the fucking Akhanet to him to deflower after all. They could not, however, have imagined that he would follow the Crown back to Andarria to continue to provide paternal care for her. He hoped very much he might be allowed to do this, not solely because it would mean he would be allowed to live. The Crystal Temple was a cold institution for a little girl to play in and the Andarrians would have brought her up in such total adoration that even her sunny sweet temperament would have been spoilt. He had done everything for her happiness and comfort, even down to selecting as a mother figure for her some shitty Andarrian slave to come into his own house and turn out to be a military operator who had probably nearly assassinated him on several occasions. There was that time he woke up to find Orlissa by the bedside. Now he thought back to it there had been a glint as of a knife before she climbed into the bed and fucked him until he screamed with pleasure. The Crown had grown up like any little girl, playing and fighting with other children in the street, being cuddled and scolded and fed decent food instead of being indulged in idle whims for sweet things, falling ill with the ordinary childhood ailments and being nursed through them by a trained assassin who shed her devotion to the icon and developed a parental affection much stronger and hotter and fiercer for the girl. Long days and nights she had sat with the little tossing feverish baby girl, soothing her with military skill while he refused to go out on the tours of duty and hung about the house taking his turn at the sick bed to allow the mother figure to sleep, doing the cooking and the cleaning in her place. He had always been so proud at the progress the Crown made in learning to read and write and do surprisingly complex mathematical equations. He wondered now what else Orlissa had taught their little girl, particularly since he suddenly realised there could not have been knitting or sewing lessons such as Tarknan girls learned. She had been unusually proficient from an early age in chopping up meat and vegetables for the tasty stews Orlissa tended to cook for them -- classic army fare of course. He limped back to the soldiers and Orlissa, smiling deprecatingly at her: that apologetic pleading look that always made her want to kick him and snigger and take off her knickers for him. She bit her lip on the inside to force it to stay immobile and said coldly: "So you have come for the sake of the Crown." "Oh well partly," he said. He gave her a look from his piercing hazel eyes in the weathered scarred face with a week's beard bristling his cheeks and chin, an incongruously shy boyish look. "You're riding horses from the royal stables," she said. "The Akhan told you to come." "No no," he said anxiously. "He was reluctant to allow me to come but he agreed to it." "Oh yes of course," she said dismissively. "You were his lover. He fears I'll send your head back to him with the top chopped off your skull and your brain scooped out while you are still alive and your penis and eyes sewn up in your mouth." "Um, yeah," he said with a little grin which he hid by ducking his head. "The Akhan allowed you to follow us rather than oblige you to pursue us and retake the Crown so he is going to seek a peaceful resolution to the uprising," she said. "Yes," he said, answering her intelligence with relief. "Um, Commander." He tried it out tentatively but it was another mistake. The soldiers flicked their eyes at him, she bent a cold dark stare at him. "General," she said. "Yes of course," he said humbly. "General." "You have come partly for the sake of the Crown," she said slowly. "Partly, yes," he said. "And partly because you need a shave I suppose," she said drily. "Oh no," he said, allowing the grin to peep up from his incongruously boyish ducked head. "I'm happy to grow a beard if that's what you'd like." "No I don't like beards," she said dismissively. "You'll be taking up your General's duties again," he suggested, "so perhaps you'll need someone at home to keep an eye on the Crown?" She was that much younger than him, highly unlikely to retire for a few years yet. "And, um, cook you dinner and heat water for your bath?" he said hopefully. "In the Jade Palace?" she said scornfully, curling her fine lip. Of course, the General under whose personal care the Crown had been living would have a pissing palace. "We have a mechanised water heating system there." "I could give you a shave," he said daringly. She stared into his glinting hazel eyes. He had always liked to dance with danger, she had always liked that about him. "I don't like shaven women," she said curtly then she blushed. He made a quick glance at the kneeling soldier who was a woman, stirred by a jealous pang. "I was joking," he said crossly. She didn't say she was too. The woman soldier was looking stolidly at the two of them, making her face just as blank as the other soldiers' faces. Orlissa rolled her eyes and said to the soldiers: "Go and get his weaponry. He must have dropped it up the hillside. See to his horses, make him take a bath and for the Gods' sake lend him a razor before you bring him to me for dinner. Um, as my guest not as the meal," she added in clarification with a glinting sidelong flash of humorous dark eyes. They ate the meal together Andarrian style, sticking hunks of flat bread in the same bowl to scoop up the stew. After six days of eating biscuits and dried meat and fruit in the saddle, he enjoyed the hot food. Anyway he had always liked a nice army stew. She lounged on the rug with him by her side, leaning on one elbow and scooping up her stew much more cleanly and efficiently than he could manage. He sat cross-legged. If he lay over the rug like she was doing he knew he would drop bits of stew on the rug like the savage infidel dog they all thought he was. They ate as they had always done, in a companionable silence. Sometimes when she found a particularly tender morsel she reached up and fed it to him although she made no verbal apology for his having to chew carefully with the jaw she had bruised so brutally. When she had had enough she got up and said in casual tones that did not anticipate a refusal: "You can come and sleep in my tent." "As pleases my General," he said lightly, getting up to follow her. "I'm not your General, you're Tarknan," she said. "Well, I'd better take you and make you mine," he answered daringly. "Come and give it a go, then," she said, flashing the laughing challenge back at him from commanding dark eyes before striding away to the small tent, her back held straight and tall in a way that did nothing to hide her big strong sexy buttocks. In companionable silence they unlaced their own hauberks, hauled off each other's boots and stripped off their breeches. The warm summer light fell softly through the canvas sides of the tent and it was easy for him to see her muscular strong soldier's body. He was entertained when he noticed that she was taking off an embroidered black satin knicker and bra set of considerably more elegance than the horrible big underpants he had sometimes been privileged to pull off her bottom in the past. He lay back naked in the bedding looking up at her with his piercing hazel eyes where she squatted naked nearby. His eyes trailed slowly over the muscular lean planes of her exceptionally strong fit body, the big soft breasts, the bush of dark hair between her legs. He grinned in warm admiration. "So will you be trying to take me army style?" she said mockingly. "I'll take you any way I can have you," he replied with a chuckle. She laughed and said, "I'll have you army style back at the Jade Palace, Commander, where I've got the equipment." She came over to gently grip his already turgid cock in her sword-calloused fingers. She pulled a condom out of her breeches' pocket which she expertly rolled onto his penis before straddling over him and easing him into place immediately against her vulva. He shivered and sighed and grinned. Like him she was desperately eager for a full sexual engagement in which she would no longer be hiding her true glorious self and she was also tired with the long hard riding -- to which she was unaccustomed these days. She didn't want to linger over it this time, there would be plenty of other times for that. With a long moan of pleasure she thrust herself slowly down on him, he made an "aaaah!", his sword-calloused fingers coming round to grip her round muscular buttocks. She looked down at his weather-beaten face with the scarred cheek and the scar in his eyebrow, the glinting piercing hazel eyes were fixed with an excited glee on her big breasts bouncing above him, she grinned. As she rose and then pressed down about him again, he played a finger gently around her anus making little cries of excitement come from her. He grinned his warm laughing grin, she could still see his face in the soft summer light as well as hear his chuckle, it was such a pleasure not to have to take him in the dark so that he would not see her soldier's body and guess her true identity. She was leaning down to him as she pressed onto his throbbing cock, leaning over to kiss his cheek but he winced -- it was where she'd punched him, the bruise was already starting to come up there. She sat back up on him, his finger pressed in and out of her anus, she gasped, pumped softly deeper on his thick cock inside her, "ooh!" his gently probing finger in her anus, deeper, deeper, gripping with her muscular thighs around his muscular thighs, she had got it, he was pressed to her sweet spot, his finger was playing around her arse, she had lost control now, they were both gasping, he was clutching at her back, calling to her: "'Lissa, 'Lissa," he was cumming in a wave of excitement and love, she was gripping him in orgasm, the warm thrills rippling out in her thighs, her loins, her arse, her cunt, she made a long happy moan and sank down to lie on his chest, pressing her big soft breasts to him, wrapping her arms about him to hug her muscular body hard against his muscular body, courteously avoiding pressing her kiss to his bruised jaw, grinning in warm admiration and murmuring: "D'nar."