Oren [On Hold][EDITING]

Chapter 5: Elkmire Keep

Author's Note
Please be aware that some of the content in this book is adult material  and may be sensitive to some readers. Enjoy, comment, vote!

There's said to be a fulfilling sensation of being a woman first deflowered. Princess Dimia felt that fulfillment at age eleven, when her father, the great King Galwain III sent for her in the dead of night. Queen Alse had been by the bedside of her ailing friend in one of the households in the city of Ofund and Gruuthar. Galwain Goldrock was a most honored king and was loved by many of his subjects. His heart was kind and Queen Alse's generosity rubbed off on him and he was most giving to his subjects. He was flawed, though, as he had a desire that could never be quenched. Queen Alse was a beautiful woman and was adored and lusted after by many, it was true. And she kept the king quite satisfied in their chambers and was devoted to his pleasure. But, she had never known of his infatuation with their daughter, who resembled her mother so much.

Dimia's skin was fair and her hair a deep auburn that fell to her back in lush waves. Her locks almost looked crimson in the candlelight, which her father especially admired. She had thin eyes with long lashes and plump lips that looked like two pin cushions. Her cheekbones sat high and were always rosy, no matter the amount of powder she slapped on. She was voluptuous now as a grown woman, and her breasts protruded from her corsets creating two beautiful mountains atop her gowns. Her complexion was clear from her head to her toes and she was milky white all over.

She liked blacks and purples against her skin, much like the dress she wore tonight. It was black, long, loose fitting with no sleeves. It laced at the breast and had a corset securing her tiny waist. There was a gold trim by the hem, that when lifted created a dancing line of shimmering light that drew the eye.

Dimia was pressed against her bedpost, said hem lifted above her waist and a ruffle of fabric pinned between her back and one of her house elves. He was a tall and green fellow, with black hair and crooked ears that pointed slightly at the ends. His was a frame that was thin but muscular, from all the laboring he had done around the castle for years. He reached around her, kneading at her breasts, and yanked at the lace bodice. The black fabric tore just a hair. His extra long elvish fingers dug beneath the fabric and grabbed at her.

With every thrust, Dimia rolled her head back onto his chest and let out a moan. This had not been her first elf nor would it be her last. Pandry, his name was, proved to be a challenge to get into her chambers. He was scared, the poor thing, to 'deflower' her royal highness. After much assurance that her territory had already been claimed long ago, and a few whispers between the other castle servants, Pandry succumbed to temptation and swiftly took her. Or rather, she took him.

This was their first time together. Dimia had wondered how many men she'd been with since the first time, but had lost track a few years back. The two moved up and down, the bedpost knocking into her cheek a few times. They rose and fell together and Pandry cried out in pleasure as he found his release. They collapsed on the elegant bedspread together, Pandry wincing as he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back. He was much larger than her in comparison and when he stretched he was almost the length of the whole bed.

Dimia pushed herself from the bed and stood, walking over to her vanity. She uncorked a bottle of spiced wine and poured some into a shallow glass. She waltzed back over to the elf and handed the glass to him. He took it and rested its bottom on his chest and laid his head back. He was breathing heavily and glistening with sweat, sated. She could feel his seed seeping down her leg. Dimia was sure that she was unable to bear children. For years she had let men inside of her and finish as many times as they liked and she never grew with child. The thought made her cold with agony but also gave her a great sense of power. She would never have a true heir to the throne, but no one need know that. If anyone had found out, she may lose her claim. Even her lovers inquired about it and she simply eased their minds by telling them she would wake and drink a special tea, brewed by her personal doctor. And now, with her father's death close at hand, she did not want to risk anyone finding out.