Chapter 8

After another wonderful night with my wives, especially Angelique, and another intensely creative day, especially with Tash, the next evening’s Tales began. I sat with Helen this time, her clones around us except Angelique, who sat with her sister wives. Two large, handsome men sat amongst Helen’s beautiful associates/followers/near mirror images/clones.

Stan’s presence surprised me. My Lakota friend had missed the other evenings of the current Tale, having begun his studies at Harvard in earnest. “It’s the weekend,” he reminded me. The blonde Helen clone and the redheaded one surrounded him.

The other hunk sat nearby. Nate, the African American former Chippendale dancer had essentially been Stan’s replacement, in stature and in roles and in his most frequent lover, Consuela, who sat close beside him with me beside her. Even with the wonderfully slutty Spanish clone so close, it seemed I was mostly Helen’s for the evening, and for the night.

Our most recent members of Lindy’s company, including Nate and the two gay men, Roger and Harry, Lakota and Chinese American respectively, and the three young dancers: Chloe, of a diverse mixed heritage, Oriental and African the most obvious ingredients, nearly as graceful as Sam, whom she essentially replaced; and Cindy and Brittany, brunette and blonde Caucasians, with Cindy full bodied like Lindy, and Brittany the more typically slim and small breasted with tight, perfect ass, assimilated easily and even enthusiastically into the weirdness of it all, especially Snake’s Tales. Nate had mostly Consuela to relieve the horniness brought forth by the Tales, and Roger and Harry had each other, but the three young ladies only had each other. Miwa told me she gifted them with some of her pleasure tools. They seemed to find relief with each other, at least during the Tales. I occasionally saw strangers, young men, padding out during the morning, who might have been one or more of their one night stands. The new female members, despite their early wake-up calls, often went out to dance clubs, perhaps scoring a night’s diversion. But it made we wonder, when they found relief with each other, if they had such lesbian proclivities before, or if their need provoked by the Tales drove them into it. Like any females capable of conceiving, they took great interest in me, more early on than later, but they seemed convinced I was unapproachable surrounded by gorgeous wives, especially Shira during dance rehearsal and the way my sexy black wife and I seemed to turn each other on constantly.

“You’re mine tonight,” Helen whispered, confirming my suspicion of our first exclusive night together. She noticed my gaze and suggested, with a weird sort of jealousy implied, “No adding to your harem.”

“I’m just wondering if these Tales changed our newest members,” I told her. “Whether they would have any interest in their own sex before.”

“Surprised they’re not interested in you? Losing your mojo?”

“No,” I chuckled. “I have felt their gaze. Less so now, but still there.”

“Even Chloe?”

“Yes. Why?”

“She’s always taken great interest in me.”

“Anyone, man or woman, takes great interest in you. You define beauty after all.”

“Thank you.”

I shrugged. “You know it’s true.”

“Doesn’t mean a girl doesn’t like to hear it.”

I snorted. “You haven’t been a girl in millennia.”

“You make me feel like a girl,” she said before kissing me.

“Because to you I’m a boy?” I asked afterwards.

“Whom I love unreservedly when I can.”

“I love you too.”

“I know, and that makes me feel even more girly, because I don’t feel like I deserve it, at least I didn’t. The way I treated you before. The way I treated Helena and my girls. The uncertainty of a girl.”

“And you feel like you deserve it now?”

She nodded. “That’s why I want a night with you.”

I nodded and smiled and gave her another kiss. “So Chloe... ?” I asked about the diversely raced beauty.

She giggled. “Definitely lesbian. And a force to be reckoned with. Those girls are her girls now. Any misgivings they might have had finding pleasure in each other, she made sure they lost.”

“Forcibly?” I asked, concerned.

“Yes, but they don’t mind. It’s like you with Seraphine without the torture. Or Lindy with Angelique without Angelique’s rebellious wildness in bed.”

“She’s a dominant.”

“A natural one, unlike you,” Helen nodded.

“Will she challenge Lindy?”

“It’s not like that. Not professional. She knows she hasn’t Lindy’s talent. I think she’ll develop choreography, probably completely different from Lindy’s, just to boss her girls around.” We shared a laugh.

“I heard they go dancing,” I asked.

“And find a man,” Helen smirked. “Approved by Chloe. The three put on a show for the lucky boy before Chloe leaves them to it. Sometimes two boys.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Who do you think she goes to most often when she leaves them?”

“And Lindy’s piece, the one she replaced Sam. She hasn’t Sam’s obvious passion for Barnaby, but she’s convincing nevertheless.”

“Something Harry is missing,” Helen giggles.

“Not as important. Chloe takes the focus as she should.”

“She’s projecting.”

“You?” I asked, skeptically.

“No. There’s no love between us. Pure aesthetics and skill. You, silly.”

“Me?”

“You’re taller to be certain, but at least in terms of body type, quite similar. Facially ... she’s imaginative. Even if she seems more restrained, and she’s restrained the girls, whatever brings that attraction, that need, from every woman, hasn’t diminished. If anything it’s grown stronger. If you took over for Harry, let’s just say she’d love it, and her performance would be stronger.”

“Why would I take it away from Harry? He’s a far better dancer.”

“Your wives haven’t convinced you yet,” she shakes her head.

“I’ve been dancing for months. He’s been training for years.”

“Months dancing Lindy style. You’ve become expert. God, watching you dance “Love” with Shira makes me cream my panties. And it’s not just how sexy you are. It’s your expressiveness, your intensity, and your grace.”

“My grace,” I smirked.

“Yes, Joe. Your grace. You don’t know how beautiful you are.”

Chuckling I said, “Not a clue.”

“You should do it,” Helen insisted. “You should take Barnaby’s part.”

“Even if I could, why would I take it from Harry?”

“Because he wants you to, and so does Lindy. It’s frustrating both of them that she can’t get what she wants from him. Angelique told me she and Lindy are working on a pas de deux with Harry and Roger to help bring out Harry’s passion. Still in Lindy’s head, but it could give another, more satisfying feature role for Harry when you replace him.”

I shrugged. Helen sighed. “Talk to Lindy,” she said.

“You two done?” asked Nick from the stage.

I blushed, seeing him gaze at me. But I joined the laughter. It made me think, though. He could have interrupted any time. Instead he let my conversation with his oldest living angel finish. Did I have such importance that he waited it out? I couldn’t remember a longer delay. The longest before had been my fault as well.

“Go ahead, Professor,” I bowed.

“Thank you, Son,” he winked. And nodded, as if to say I did have such importance. His son. His heir. Or the progenitor of his heirs. Their father. Their protector and teacher of all things the male teaches his offspring about becoming a man.

“Chanda,” said Nick, giving his Siamese angel the narration that, along with Naomi’s drawings, brought us back to thirteenth century Russia.

After fifteen years, the king and queen and two of their five children greet Chanda’s return warmly. The other three children either have no memory of the exotic “Auntie Chanda,” or they had not been born before Chanda left. Of the two oldest who do remember her, the second oldest, the oldest daughter, whose first male progeny would be the next king, shows nearly as much interest in her as her parents, and for similar reasons. But she has to wait to sate that interest for her parents to fully welcome Chanda back into their bed after a far too long absence.

The celebratory dinner, filled with the elite of Moscow, including military, mercantile and religious leaders, stretches the patience of the royal couple, especially Kristina, and Chanda. Female fingers discretely find female parts to rub, with Chanda sitting beside the queen. The many questions flung at Chanda, vaguely answered if answered at all, evading especially those involving the Mongol Horde, and only gaining a beautiful smile from inquiries about the well-being of her original people, try the threesome even more. Finally, with Kristina practically stomping on her husband’s foot in exasperation, Sasha stands and pulls her wife to her feet, and the wife pulls their lover up just as graciously, and he makes his excuses. “We need private time with our returning friend,” he announces. “There we will discuss matters of interest to my people. Questions relevant to these matters will be answered. But take to heart the gist of Chanda’s message to all of you. We are safe and will be safe from any threat from these eastern conquerors. Goodnight.”

Any questions get answered only after clothes are shed and bodies meld together. Chanda finds it interesting that Kristina strips first with desperate speed, and moves to shedding Chanda’s just as desperately. The king only watches, amused.

Once naked, Chanda unceremoniously plops Kristina’s naked body, skin slackened and loosened by age and childbearing, pudginess at her abdomen and heaviness at her less small breasts, but still lithe, and still strong beneath a greater layer of fat, and kisses her middle aged lover thoroughly, caressing her body, finding its differences, and discovering, not surprising, dampness between the still slim thighs.

Many minutes later, lingering on places long ago discovered to thrill her lover, though not as much as they used to, and putting more pressure on her less sensitive nipples, Chanda’s mouth moves to the place Kristina needs it, Chanda’s tongue tasting the plentiful sexual liquid there, and generating much more of it with one lap across a distended clit.

Remaining there, she brings her lover two more orgasms, between which, the king finally joins them, plunging his hard cock deep and gradually harder and faster into Chanda’s pussy, thrusting into her from behind. His fervent ejaculations arrive a minute or two before his wife achieves her final orgasm. Sitting on his knees, his flaccid penis shiny with mixed fluids, he seems impatient for the two women to finish.

“So,” he says once his wife quiets after a howling finish, “Tell us of the Mongol approach.”

“Sasha,” Kristina growls. “Did Chanda even cum on your cock?”

“Uhm...” he mutters.

“That’s okay,” Chanda smiles, sliding over one of her favorite lovers and kissing her, giving her her own flavor.

When the soft, lingering kiss ends, Kristina gently pulls Chanda’s face away from hers, and Chanda sees the sadness. “It’s not,” Kristina mutters.

“How long since he fucked you?” Chanda asks.

“I can hardly remember,” Kristina sniffles.

“I wondered why only one child since I left,” Chanda strokes her lover’s face. “I thought, since it seems to take a while before pregnancy, except that first time,” they both giggle, “it just hadn’t taken. Has he found another lover?”

“He’s just not interested.”

“Are you sure?”

Kristina nods. “After our last child, we decided no more adventures for me. We’ve been practically attached ever since, though not actually attached, unfortunately. Rarely at least, at first, and then not at all. We still get along, but like best friends, not lovers.”

“He’s a man, Kristina. They’re never completely inured to sex. At least it’s quite rare. It often comes, with a long marriage, via strange pussy. Why else would prostitution be the oldest profession? It’s not just for soldiers and young, horny men. He never goes off on his own?”

“I thought he lost interest in sex, and not just me. He insists that’s the case. But ... he started this thing when I was in my last pregnancy. Once a month he wanders through the kingdom. He calls it an inspection. Finding out what’s really going on in his kingdom. He does seem to learn things and improve things. Sometimes he returns by nightfall. Sometimes a day or two later. When it’s warm, he can stay away as long as a week, going out to the edges of the kingdom. Always accompanied by his trusted guards, but never the female ones, even though he trusts them just as much or more. He says they might attract the wrong attention. But maybe seeing him fuck some whore would not go well for them, and they would tell on him. Is that right Sasha?”

“Why would I be interested in any woman when I have you?” Sasha asks. “The sexiest woman in Russia.”

“Now I know you’re lying,” says Kristina. “The sexiest woman just returned to us. Aside from that, sexiness tends to cause reactions in males, ones hard to hide, so to speak. I haven’t felt it grow hard for me, even if we sleep together. Maybe in the morning I would feel your morning wood, but how long since I felt you cuddle me when we sleep?”

“Why do you sleep together if you no longer fuck?” asks Chanda.

“Because I love my wife,” Sasha mutters.

“Because we still like to talk,” Kristina explains. “Despite everything else that has changed with the vicissitude of time, our friendship remains. Maybe not as heated as they once were, arguments ending in hot sex, conversations remain. Often easing our worries, or talking out problems until a solution is found or at least becoming closer to solution. So who are they, Sasha. Whores? Or is it a mistress?”

“I’m with you, Kris,” he argues.

“Obviously,” Kristina sighs. “Let’s find out if I have any appeal to you left. Make love to me, Sasha, the way we used to do, the way Chanda did, with fingers, lips and tongue. Make me ready for your cock.”

He does, starting with a loving stare. Chanda can see it, but can sense the lack of heat. His cooling her ardor. The kiss, though clearly loving, also seems perfunctory, and he moves on sooner than Chanda would, especially considering its purpose. Lips move to her breasts immediately, adding to fingers. One hand moves lover, wetted by his mouth before entering her pussy.

His efforts manage to stir her, gaining appreciative moans. He does know this body as well or better than Chanda.

Again his mouth moves lower quicker than Chanda would have, losing the anticipation, the teasing. Lips suck. Tongue laps. Fingers stroke. All skillfully done. He has her quivering.

“Is he hard yet?” asks Kristina within a gasp.

“No,” says Chanda.

“Then get him hard. He’s fucking me.”

“Yes my queen,” Chanda smirks, crawling down the bed and taking his penis into her mouth, putting her sexy round ass in proximity to his face. His hand caresses and squeezes, feeling its wonderful smoothness and resilience. The hand moves, reaching between her thighs and pulling to adjust her position so that she lies on her side, lifting the superior leg and opening her pussy to his eyes and fingers. Her tiny, tight pussy.

“Where are you going, asshole?” Kristina grumbles. “You still have work to do.”

“Sorry,” he moans, his cock being squeezed by skilled lips and caressed by an active tongue.

“Shut up and lick my cunt.”

He does, and more. Fingers return, rubbing high inside her. Other fingers caress her nipples, keeping them taut.

With a noisy pop, Chanda releases his hard on. “He’s ready, my queen,” Chanda announces.

“Guide him in and straddle my face,” Kristina orders.

“Yes my queen,” Chanda replies. The giggle hurts her obsequiousness.

Loving the flavor, and even more the moans, Kristina manages to concentrate enough to bring Chanda her orgasm. She can’t see them, but she somehow knows Chanda has her husband’s attention. His one hand continues caressing her nipples. His other hand probably grasps Chanda’s breasts before eventually moving to Chanda’s clit, sharing Kristina’s efforts. At least Chanda helps Kristina attain an orgasm around her husband’s ever quickening cock, rubbing her clit. While Sasha continues his thrusts, intensifying them, Chanda eases off her clit for a moment before returning to it. Before the second orgasm arrives, Sasha moans, “Make him cum for me.”

Chanda understands, sending a finger inside his asshole, seeking the gland that will let forth his semen. “Ready my queen?” she asks.

“Yes,” Kristina moans.

Ambidextrous, Chanda rubs the two places to create orgasms, her mistress’s clit, and her master’s prostate gland. Both efforts successful, her lovers share simultaneous climaxes. A grunt and a high, keening howl announces them.

Quickly abandoning the place between them, she lets them embrace and kiss, gently and loosely, weakened by their orgasms.

“I’m sorry, my love,” says Sasha.

Stroking his thick blonde hair, she asks, “Is it a she or a they?”

“Both,” he admits.

“What does that mean?” she chuckles.

“More than one, but they’re not whores.”

“I can’t imagine you would be interested in some worn out street whore.”

“Actually one would have been,” he says, shifting them so she lay on him and Chanda lay beside them.

“You saved her?”

“Yes. She served us ale, rather clumsily I thought, and then noticed she walked stiffly, and realized something or someone more likely caused that clumsiness.”

“A tavern wench,” Kristin chuckles, shaking her head.

“Yes. A very young one.”

“Of course. Young enough to be saved.”

“The other servers ... wenches had a bawdiness to them, a rude sexiness. I saw transactions, and men walking away with them. And others, without excuses for being there, having similar transactions with men.”

“You must have been there a while to see all that.”

“I was. This girl fascinated me and troubled me. And she would sing, the entertainment, and had a lovely voice, sad, like her eyes. Heartbreaking. Especially when she smiled. I finally sat her down to gain her story. She looked fearful, reluctant and said she shouldn’t.”

“Of course she should. That’s the whole point. Did any other whore approach you?”

“No.”

“And your guards?”

“No.”

“And who suggested this place? Was it one of the guards? Did they know what you pursued?”

“I never said, but they might have. This was the third of these monthly inspections, and I suppose they might have seen the way I studied women along the way, and would interview some of them. I think ... I hoped they would steer me to such a place, and one did. Yes. The one I heard liked variety in his bed and had success in that. I suppose I’d become desperate, horny, to have wanted to be in such a place to find what I sought. I’m sorry.”

“Never mind. Go on. She told you her story.”

“She told me she had disappointed her uncle.”

“Her uncle?”

“The bartender.”

“Of course. Did he happen to look anything like this waif?”

“I suppose not. He was large and dark-haired and ugly, although the scars on his face had more to do with it than the structure of it.”

“An ex-soldier.”

“Probably.”

“Like the guard. Any family resemblance there?”

“Maybe.”

“And her?”

“Fair and petite. Though busty. Curvaceous.”

“Sexy?”

“Despite herself.”

“And pretty?”

“Yes. Especially her eyes, large and soulful.”

“So what did this uncle do about this disappointment?”

“He ... raped her. That very day. Destroying her maidenhead. She said she still had the blood on her thighs.”

“She told you all that?”

“I insisted. She was bawling when she told me. I couldn’t have been angrier. The bartender stormed over and had the gall to threaten my expulsion from his seedy, iniquitous tavern. I asked him how much for her. He seemed taken aback by it, but I could see his terrible smile.”

“He asked quite a lot for her.”

“Yes. But of course I had it. All I had.”

“Did the guard who brought you there know how much you had?”

“Yes. He insisted I take more this time, since last time the money had depleted early. And he held it.”

“Of course he did. And revenge?”

“I wanted to kill this terrible man then and there, but the guard promised he’d take care of it later.”

“Maybe we should find out if this tavern still thrives, and if the bartender still commands his whores. So where did you take her?”

“A trusted merchant, a friend, suggested a discrete inn, a place for wealthy visitors to stay in Moscow.”

“And for wealthy Muscovites to stash their mistresses.”

“Yes.”

“What happened when you took her there?”

“I saw the proof of her ... the bartender’s savageness. I cleaned her, and in doing so, excited her. She purred at my gentleness, and wished her memory to be washed away by me. I saw her pussy had been damaged, and soothed it with Nick’s essence. I think its effectiveness surprised us both. We agreed we would wait for it to get better, but later that night it already had. My fingers, bringing her her first orgasm finally, did not hurt her in the slightest. So I licked her to another one and fucked her to a third.”

“And you needed more than that,” Chanda adds. “What with you licking Nick’s essence.”

“Yes. She sucked my cock. Amazingly well, swallowing my cum without batting an eye. And she got me hard again, and we fucked much longer than before, and she must have cum three or four times before I finally came.”

“Even her expert cocksucking didn’t make you suspect,” Kristina shakes her head. “Does she remain their?”

“She works there. She sings and serves customers.”

“And services them.”

“She ... Fuck!”

“But she no longer stays there,” Kristina mutters.

“I gave her a small house for her and our children and the nanny. How could she fool me? How can she keep fooling me?”

“She performs, Sasha. She acts. It’s what she does. And it seems she’s quite good at it. So how many diseases has she given you? And me?”

He swallows. “None that I know of.”

“Have you used Nick’s essence with her since that first time?” asks Chanda.

Sasha nods. “It’s like she’s addicted to it.”

“Good. That would stem any disease.”

“How many children?” Kristina asks.

“Three, and she carries another.”

“More prolific than me. And how many look like you?”

“I don’t know,” he sniffles. “They look enough like her. What a fool I’ve been.”

“Yes you have. And these other mistresses?”

“A couple I visit only in the summer. Widows of landowners. Nick has visited them as well.”

“And? When your whore is indisposed with child?”

“A friend of hers. Sometimes she joins us.”

“Once a month is enough?”

“Yes.”

“It won’t be any longer. As punishment you will be fucking your wife as much as I wish. Nick’s essence will overcome your distaste for me.”

“It’s not distaste,” he mutters. “You’re still lovely. I don’t know what it is.”

“Whatever it is, you will get artificially horny and fuck me like you used to.”

“Yes my queen.”

“And you?” Chanda asks Kristina. “How did you weather this long drought?”

“What makes you think I did?” Kristina responds defensively.

“I wasn’t certain but now I am.”

“Another man?” asks Sasha, guilt and jealousy combined.

“And what if it were?” Kristina growls indignantly.

“I would deserve to be cuckolded,” Sasha bows, his response remaining complicated.

“It isn’t though,” Chanda smiles. “I know your predilections.”

“I have no interest in men other than my king,” Kristina agrees. “My chambermaid has helped the burden of your disinterest in my body. She’s quite convincing in her love for it, though she does point out flaws, things needing improvement, which convinces me all the more. And we enjoy our toys, the ones like Chanda introduced us to.”

“I remember when you went through servants until the current one,” Sasha nods. “I admit I find her lovely and sexy, but she never returns the gaze.”

“Hoping to seduce her?”

“I would never bring my indiscretion home.”

“I know,” Kristina smiles and moves down to envelop his penis in her mouth. Her pussy hovers over his mouth. Sighing, he tastes her and him in her and Nick’s essence. He chuckles.

In the morning, they finally get to more important things. At least less personal things.

“I know there’s no love lost between Kiev and Moscow,” Sasha says. “I know they’d rather conquer me than accept any help. But those are our people.”

“Except the serfs, of course, they have had their choice,” Chanda points out. “Moscow has advantages over Kiev in training and knowledge. And except for spies, those that come for these things and stay have always preferred your rule over your cousin’s. They are loyal. Those that remain in Kiev are not. And if you protect these people, help them defend against the Horde, not only will it delay the inevitable, causing more death, but it would mean more interest in the Mongols to go farther north, if only to protect against countering their conquering. Meaning your death.”

“But you said they are reluctant to go farther. To risk the terrible winters here.”

“And the terrain is less conducive to their style. Slowing down the horses. Speed is everything to their success. Nevertheless, there are temptations here. A jewel for the greedy. No need to encourage it with defensiveness or protection.”

“But we will be taking it from them.”

“Eventually. In time. They cannot keep enough soldiers to protect it. They have already greatly thinned out those who can stay and retain their territory. But you need patience. Wait for most to retreat.”

“And meanwhile,” Kristina smirks, “they finally get rid of that asshole family that treat serfs like cattle, and others not much better. No longer do we worry about retribution, of them claiming us to be the savages, taking what belongs to them.”

Sasha nods. “But if we don’t make the effort, to at least seem to be protecting them, they’ll consider us cowards.”

“The advantage of the Mongol’s swiftness,” Chanda explains with a smirk. “As well as their sly scouts, often looking like you. Any message given of their advance would be ended by the messenger’s capture. True of their approach to Kiev as well as any sent from Kiev to you. Of course, when near enough, Kiev will know to prepare their defenses, however weak they will be against the Horde.”

“They use traitors as scouts?” asks Sasha.

“For a better life, yes. Conscripted men with no love for their country being treated like shit all their lives. Being the fodder before the higher ups, the horse soldiers and officers, trample over their bodies to get to the less abundant enemy, culled by the suicidal rush of the first line before they get killed. For the Mongol horde, horse soldiers are the first line, and pass through those poor slaves with little need to kill them. The second line, often people like them, gives them the choice of surrender or death, and those who surrender, the smartest, strongest or most ruthless, are offered inclusion in the horde. Traitors as you call them, but I like to consider them adventurers. Getting to ride horses like the ennobled cavalry of their country, and learning rudimentary martial skills to augment the rudimentary skills they already have. And in that training, the Mongols can find the best of them to take more leadership roles or become scouts and so forth.”

“And after they take Kiev?” Sasha asks.

“Messengers would come, telling you of the pointlessness of taking the city back.”

“Messengers from the Horde?”

“Not necessarily,” Chanda shrugs, “but it would be the message. And the messengers most assuredly would not have the skills to give you placement of the defenses or anything strategically helpful.”

“Not knowing that it isn’t required, with Nick’s minions amongst the Kievians.”

“Of course,” Chanda winks.

“It still makes me feel guilty, knowing the inevitability, knowing I could help, knowing our armies could repel the horde. Even if Nick says they’re as good as any he’s seen, rivalling even the Roman Centurions.”

“But not their numbers, and you can’t risk sending even most of them. It could be possible. The Horde has suffered defeat, though rarely. Like I said, it would mean great losses, and the risk of stirring the nest, sending the Horde here next. Meaning your death and the death of your family.

“I understand your guilt, Sasha. These are your people even if under the sway of your cousin. For the most part, only the soldiers will die, and the royal family, and any foolish enough to rebel. Probably not soon enough for you, but Kiev will be retaken by Russians. And your son will take over as their prince.”

“He will rule well,” Sasha finally smiles.

“Of course. He’s exactly like you. Quiet, restrained and intelligent. Just lacking in your passion, which I hope to coax out.”