by Unknown
Lally’s intense longing guided his entry. Leaning back, she grasped his shoulders as she set her feet against the side of the tub. She controlled the in-and-out motion until Aelwyn pulled her up for another kiss. He kissed her like a man who might never kiss again: Desperately, and with a hint of sorrow.
“Put me down,” she instructed, barely able to tear herself from his devouring tongue.
“I knew you would have regrets,” he said. “I’m sorry if I pressured you…”
“Regrets?” Lally interrupted with a chuckle. “I have none. I only wanted to change our poses.” Gripping the sides of the tub, she aimed her posterior at the king. “This has always been my favourite way to fuck,” she said, hoping to shock him with her use of such un-ladylike language.
When Aelwyn did not enter her from behind, Lally turned to see the king climbing out of the tub. “King Aelwyn,” she said in confusion. “Where are you going?”
The king made no response. Climbing onto his bed, he closed the velvet drapes behind him.
“Aelwyn?” Lally called, hopping out of the tub and down the stairs.
“You have insulted me,” he confessed. “I thought we were making love.”
As Lally’s wet hair dripped onto the marble floor, her poor heart drowned in sorrow. “Forgive me,” she pleaded. “I intended no affront.”
Drawing open the velvet curtains, the king summoned Allerleirauh inside. Lying on the bed, he folded the dripping wet girl in his protective arms. “You might think it an over-reaction, but that word offends me deeply.”
“I apologize. The term is commonly used in…” Lally cut her statement short. She was about to say ‘in the South.’ To distract him, she kissed his lips. Raising her polished hand to his stubbly cheek, Lally breathed in the clean scent of man. The texture of his short hair was unlike anything she had touched. As her tongue wove with his, the fluidity of their love coursed through her veins.
“Will you let me make love to you?” she asked, rolling Aelwyn onto his back.
His fingers brushed Lally’s sides. He smiled, gleaming with affection. “Please.”
Her golden hair drenched his shoulders. Softly, softly, her lips brushed his. Softer still, her grasp met his cock. Sliding down against his body, she led the straining muscle into her cunt. Lally felt clean and fresh as a day lily, even as she writhed on him. As she glided against the king’s strong form, her nipples grazed his chest. Aelwyn cupped her bottom in his hands, helping the motion. When those strong hands grasped her waist, Lally began to tingle. She dug her clean nails into Aelwyn’s shoulders as he pushed her hips down. Her hungry cunt devoured his cock in its entirety. She was full of him.
The king pushed and pulled on Lally’s hips until the motion was entirely his. A warmth rose from his body, drying her skin but igniting her passion. The coarse black hair surrounding Aelwyn’s sex rubbed against Lally, heightening her enjoyment. The tender lips of her cunt were heated and aroused by the friction.
Falling forward, she sent an impassioned tongue to ravage his mouth. Every thrust made her cunt throb with pleasure, inside and out. Lally couldn’t contain herself any longer. She panted and moaned. Though her thighs were weak and straining, she threw herself against Aelwyn again and again. How could she stop now, when she teetered on the brink of pure ecstasy? The pleasure coursing through her veins came screaming from her lips. “I can manage no more,” she said. Her legs weak with thrusting, Lally fell from her man.
“I can continue,” the king offered, rolling Lally onto her front. Like a shooting star, Aelwyn’s cock scorched through her convulsive cunt. He was everywhere at once, his pelvis driving swiftly against her buttocks, fingers caressing her lower lips. As Aelwyn panted and growled, Allerleirauh breathed deeply of bed linens. The scent of the king made her dizzy with tender affection.
His strong arms grasped her in a deadlock. “Kiss me!” he pleaded. She turned her head. His tongue was frenzied and hard. As the motion in her cunt quickened, his growl became a whine. His hips thrust and ploughed and then came to a halt. His tongue ceased its thrashing as well. A mutual sigh bonded them. Entangled as they were, they hadn’t the energy to move. Lally closed her eyes. Summoning every ounce of will, she said, “I have never made love in a bed.”
Chapter Eleven
What time of day was it? Impossible to say, cloaked as they were in velvet curtains. It was colder now. The fire must have died down. Squinting, Lally barely made out the face of the man lying beside her. Her heart raced. Who was he? She was trapped in the prison of his arms and his legs. Then, as light filtered in through the curtain seams, she saw the king’s loveliness. Like a child, he slept in peace.
Together, they had made love. She now knew the meaning of that term, and why the other had offended the king. She fucked shepherds and villagers, the enchanted creatures of the woods, but not the king. He loved her. She loved him. People in love made love.
But how could King Aelwyn truly love her? Her identity was the one part of herself she had held back. He could never know. He loved her as Allerleirauh, the sober Northern maid. Even in the Northern Kingdom, they heard rumours of Lally’s escapades. What man could love her despite the raging whore she had once been? All of Wolf’s accusations and taunts had been right. Lally would never be the great leader her mother was. She was doomed to a life below ground. She would no doubt die in the squalor of the palace kitchen.
Her eyes burned with suppressed tears as she untangled herself from the king’s limbs. When he stirred, she stopped in her tracks. He rolled over and fell into sleep. Her heart barely dared to beat for fear of the noise it would make. Lally crept over to her dress. Last night it sparkled like diamonds. This morning the gown seemed dull as a winter sky. She pulled it on, fastening five or six buttons. Snakeskin boots in hand, she reached for the door handle.
Lally scampered down the main staircase. Where was the door to the kitchen stairs? Down this hallway or that? Why did every corridor in this Palace look the same? There it was. Allerleirauh stepped onto the dark landing, shutting the door behind her. At last she could breathe easily! Home again, home again.
“So you’ve come back, then?” Berthe was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips, a dirty rag thrown over her shoulder. She did not look pleased.
Disheartened by Berthe’s unwelcoming stance, Allerleirauh crept barefoot down the stairs. “Please let me be.”
“Well, put your stinkin’ shoes back on your feet. What kind of a kitchen do you think I’m running here?”
Lally ignored the cook and headed straight for her little cupboard. When she opened the flimsy wooden door, she saw only what was missing. “Where is my mantle, Berthe?”
The cook kicked at the cinders. “Get your shoes on. Look at all this work you’ve got to catch up on! I can’t run this kitchen on my own, you know.”
Clenching her jaw, Lally asked again, “What have you done with my mantle?”
“I didn’t figure you’d need it anymore,” Berthe shrugged. “Gave it to the husband to sell.”
“Why would you do that?” Lally cried. “Those pelts were filthy. That mantle was worth nothing to anyone but me. And it was mine! I made it myself. It was mine, Berthe! It was the only thing in the world that was mine alone and now you’ve taken it and it’s gone and…”
Her throat burned as tears overwhelming her faculties. Lally fell to her knees. She was too distraught even to chastise Berthe. Her chest heaved. Sobbing convulsively on the floor, she mourned the loss of the ugly pelts. Could she make another one? She would have to. There was no way Lally could survive in this world without her disguise.
“Hush, now,” Berthe consoled. “Put your shoes on. We’ll go outside and work on the garden plot.”
“No!” Lally shrieked. She felt like a child, but she didn’t care. “I shall never leave this kitchen again, not without my mantle!”
Berthe sucked her teeth, fastening the loose buttons on the princess’s gown. “Now you’re just being sill
y. You, the prettiest girl we ever laid eyes on, think you’re not good enough for this world? Take a good look in the mirror, child.”
Lally could only respond to say, “I wish I were plain!”
Chapter Twelve
After three days and nights in her cupboard, Allerleirauh could no longer remember what she was crying about. When she emerged, listless and drained, Berthe dried her tears. “How are we feeling, my poppet?”
Lally shrugged her shoulders, biting down on her chapped lips. “You never even said you were sorry.”
“I would like to feel badly,” the cook began. “But I do think you’re best without that ratty old coat. Some things happened in the past you’re not proud of. So what? You’re more than your past, daft child. When’re you going to understand? There’s no one on this earth who doesn’t deserve a good life.”
Devoid of all feeling, Lally stood before the fire like a living corpse. “What shall I do today?” she asked.
“Why don’t you prepare that bread soup the king loves so much?” Berthe suggested. “Maybe take a bowl yourself, lift your spirits a touch.”
Nothing in this world could lift Lally’s spirits. She would be unhappy forever.
When the soup was made, the reluctant princess went to her cupboard as before. She stared at the golden ring Offal had given her the day she took flight. Her mother’s ring, the last of her possessions, aside from the gowns. What use had she for gold? Lally was destined to live out her days in poverty. Let the king have it. Into her own bowl, she poured a generous serving of soup. Into the king’s bowl, she tossed the gold ring also.
Brazened by lack of sleep and malnourishment, Lally placed the two bowls on a serving tray. She didn’t wait for Liam. “Berthe, I’m going upstairs.”
Berthe smiled, as if she knew something Lally did not. “You’ll find the king in the Great Room.”
Propelled by some unknown force, the princess ascended the staircase. Why was she doing this? Why, when she feared being seen by the world? Why, when she wished to avoid King Aelwyn? Her feet carried her through the hallway as though she were riding on the wings of a dove. The motion came from somewhere outside herself. It was strong, impossible to fight.
Sunlight cascaded through the windows of the Great Room, filling the space with warmth. King Aelwyn sat alone with a leather-bound volume. It was not until she stepped into the room that she realized she had not put her shoes back on. Barefoot, she approached the good king. Her lover.
Suddenly, a brilliant light astonished her. Her gown—her mother’s gown—shone again like diamonds. Its beauty infused Lally’s body with confidence. Her shoulders straightened and her gait grew firm as she approached the king.
“Bread soup, my liege,” Lally proclaimed, setting the bowls down. One for Aelwyn, one for Allerleirauh.
As the king looked up, his eyes glistened with emotion. “You’ve returned…”
“Eat your soup,” Lally interrupted, seating herself across from him.
In silence, the pair drank a spoonful of soup, and then another.
“My name is Allerleirauh, but it was not always so.”
The king nodded. “My precious Allerleirauh,” he replied. “You’re welcome to tell me anything.”
Her throat was dry and strained. She drank another spoonful of bread soup. “You know me also as Hairy Animal, but now my mantle is gone. I can never again be that ugly, wretched thing I once was.” She blinked away her tears. “I was born Princess Lally of the Southern Kingdom. My parents are Gwaldys and Galyn. Mother died when I was young. Father became reclusive. I sought attention. I did things I regret simply to exercise power in a world where I felt I held none. And then father came out of hiding. He told me I was to be his wife.” Lally choked on her words.
“Yes, I’ve heard your story,” King Aelwyn said, smiling charitably.
“But never from me. Now you have. I have no secrets from you anymore, nothing to hide. I fled my kingdom. Now I am here, and it is here I wish to stay.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay, princess Lally. I knew you were under there somewhere. Under all that hideous peltry lurked a shining soul waiting to be seen. Such a strong woman could never stay hidden for long, not even in a dark kitchen underground.”
Allerleirauh squinted her eyes. “If you knew who I was, why did you say nothing?”
Reaching out to touch her hand, Aelwyn answered, “You needed to tell me yourself; it was your secret. I knew if I only gave you time…well, ‘all phenomena shall transpire in their own time,’ right Princess Lally?”
She smiled, reflecting on all she had learned from Great Bear, from Wolf, and the others. She could never dismiss her year under the mantle. “Allerleirauh, please.”
“Allerleirauh,” the king repeated.
As Aelwyn raised his last spoonful of soup to his mouth, a nervous pang clenched in Lally’s stomach. Why was she nervous now? The difficult part was over with.
“What have we here?” the king inquired, plucking Allerleirauh’s gold ring from his soupspoon.
Warm soup washed away the nerves. “A gold ring,” she responded.
“How did it end up in my soup?” the king asked, though the answer was clear.
Allerleirauh had met with this question twice before. Twice she had answered I know not. This time was different. “I put it there,” she said. “I put it there, that you might recognize my desire.”
“Your desire for more than just physical love.” He understood.
“My desire to rise every morning with you by my side,” she added.
“Instead of living your life in darkness beneath the earth.”
“To share my affection with you,” she offered.
“And your delicious bread soup too, I hope,” he chuckled.
Allerleirauh demurred. “Better that I nourish your soul.”
“As I will nourish yours.”
“And you will be my family?” she prayed.
“If you will be mine.”
“I will,” she assured him. “And we shall rule together, your kingdom and mine.”
“Rule the North and the South,” Aelwyn agreed. “Together.”
“Together,” she replied, “as husband and wife.”
Beaming with affectionate disbelief, Allerleirauh’s soul danced as King Aelwyn slid the golden ring on her extended finger.
“Together, as King Aelwyn and Queen Allerleirauh,” he offered, their marriage pact sealed with a kiss.
The End
ABOUT GISELLE RENARDE
Eroticist, environmentalist and pastry enthusiast Giselle Renarde is a proud Canadian and a great lover of the vast forests of the Great White North. For Giselle, a perfect day involves watching a snowstorm rage outside with a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate truffle in the other. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.
Giselle Renarde has contributed short stories to numerous anthologies, including Tasting Her: Oral Sex Stories (Cleis Press), Love Bites (Torquere Press), Coming Together: With Pride, and Coming Together: Out Loud (Phaze). Online, Giselle has contributed erotic content to such websites as For The Girls and Hips and Curves, and editorial content to Lucrezia Magazine.
For desirous commentary and hyper-analysis of every facet of social existence, visit Giselle’s blog, Donuts and Desires or visit her site here!
If you enjoyed A TALE OF FUR AND FLESH, you might also enjoy:
ONDINE
By Giselle Renarde
Novice painter Evelyn Fon gets more than she bargained for after receiving her first big commission for the brand new Drinkwater Hotel. Who would have guessed Gavin Drinkwater, heir to the family fortune, would take such a keen personal interest in her? But when Evelyn arrives at the hotel's elegant Gala Celebration, she soon discovers she's there as a date for Gavin Drinkwater Senior, her crush's elitist--albeit incredibly handsome--father!
In attempting to escape the party--not to mention her embarrassment--Evelyn stum
bles upon Gavin's mother Imelda, who reveals the 20-year-old tale of her torrid affair with a young ballerina named Ondine. But, as Evelyn soon finds out from the Drinkwater patriarch, there's more deception to her love story than even Imelda is aware. Can Evelyn uncover the truths buried in the past and reunite Gavin's estranged free-loving parents? Perhaps her role in the family drama will even earn her a place in the bashful heir's heart...
An erotic journey through the worlds of ballet, art, and passionate liaisons, Ondine is a sensual exploration of pansexual free love wrapped in a boy-meets-girl tale of mix-ups and misunderstandings.
Warnings: This title contains graphic language depicting m/f sex, f/f sex, pansexual orgy, and m/f/f ménage.
EXCERPT FROM ONDINE:
Ondine’s impulse to flee subsided as Yvette traced gloved fingers across her forearm, consoling, “Ah! No, no, no! Don’t cry, ma chère. We don’t want your eyes all red and puffy as you greet your future husband.” Yvette found a tissue in her purse and dried her eyes. “There. You look more beautiful than ever. I would be proud if you were my bride.”
Her bride? What a ridiculous thing to say! Yvette’s bride… Champagne bubbles effervesced in Ondine’s belly, rising up through her chest until they burst as laughter from her throat. She couldn’t contain the joy of being close again after weeks of estrangement and longing. A smile crawled across Yvette’s cheeks as laughter burst the tension pervading the cold church room.
“Clotilde did my hair. Do you like it?” Ondine asked, fishing for a compliment.
“Absolument!” she giggled. “I always said you looked good with your hair up.”
Giddy now, Ondine danced over to the old sofa at the far end of the room and collapsed there in her bridal gown. Yvette followed to lean in beside her, midnight black against pristine white. What a relief to feel at ease after so long. How wonderful to giggle and chat, and simply feel comfortable with Yvette again.