Odd, unseemly thought tonight from yoga.
She took a lover every night.
Short strands of loose curls, made up her hair. They fell about her, only the sides were long enough to touch her ears- oiled and dyed, black and yellow.
She took a lover every night. Most did not perform, these were executed. Some immediate others later, even after the act. It was known by most, I not all. And the competition lay like some strange thing over society. Insatiable. A ruling passion of reckless resolve. Throats were sometimes cut. Blood spilling over the maiden. She was demonstrative in her love- infinite in her conquests. The times reflected a time of peace, gossip and gluttony.
Restraint was never shown, rumours stated that some deaths were pre-planned. Lovers, princes, women and men, sometimes boys as young as twelve were taken. Force sometimes but suspects were usually volunteered. A gold crown said to have been placed into the hand of each surviving conquest.
Sheets of red silk, white ribbon. The centrality of the kingdom to trade made richness easy to come. By and by the nights rolled. Moans mingled in the night air. Brothels worked their magic in the lustre of each night. Red lights, fertility embraced and possessed. The coming of age of women made the mad queens lust no less frantic. Her garden was well tended in the days by the most qualified – hailing from worlds away. Seeking the hierarchical differentiation of status. A
Moment in time; blessed and blissfully simple. Embroiled in the possessive passions, the courts were numb from the over stimulation. A glory life of lewd evening gore.
Minted, minted men were strangled, whipped, asphyxiated and killed. No
More mentionable than at the hands of the city’s serpent queen. Her divinity, regal bones, gait and gaunt reductionisms made for direct deconstruction of politics. Life and death were here, yolked there in her vey halls. The brilliant chaos in her hungry eyes. Shrewdness to the utmost. Perception to the uncanny and desire of boundless
Limitations. All of this- until on night she took a man as mad as she.
Mindless or not they could not tell- not on of her guards. Personal degradation for both were taken into the limelight when he made her scream that night. Ringing out- a shrill beg. A bell of shrill bedlam erupted out. The double doors blew in, handles ringing on the stone walls. One two. Standing there; pikes in hand. She called for his death they could only assume, but no, not possible. He, he was behind her. In her. Hair held, blade in the same hand, wrapped tight.
His left grasped onto her like a hinge. Blood from both points. The boggled eyes looked
On. Chain mail clinked occasionally. Stunned moments passed. His locks fell to her shoulders. Her ragged breath making her language unavailable. And he, he was apart of her. All the time. Destructive, mutilating confidence. Blood pooled at her right knee. Fine dropplets ran down her things. Spread eagled and upright, façade broken while he, he only Looked On. Eyeing a challenge for movement. Stiff, but still. Erect, he was mostly invisible. Plunged into her at all point. A perfect contact. One eye was visible over her shoulder.
His frame- still and tense.
And he waited.
They all did, his breath came slow and Warm on the back of her neck, trapped in the rise over her sloping shoulder. Her breath was sharp, no movement.
The guards held their breath and exhaled.
The queen
Moaned into doorway. His steeled frame, his resilience and closeness made the room brilliant. Dark eyes, wishfully blue pierced into the room. A state of distance, eternally threatened any movement. The exhale of one guard prompted others. One guard lowered his spear and cleared his throat, only to sound like a squashed toad. A rasp sounded from either the queen or the assailant. His fingers dug deeper now, into her waist and the razor edge bit a fine line across her neck. He drew deeper and the crowd relented… Blood had doubled in
It’s pool. Now running between her legs and transferring intimately between their lower link.
There was no love lost between parties, silence was dragging on, a blade over all nerves but the half concealed man.
Another breath, this time cool. The queen shuddered and whimpered. From chill, passion or pain they didn’t know. Nothing came from the lips of the onlookers. Transfixed, brilliant silence. A chain of confused and dangerous envy. Compromise and caution were thicker than the blood that pulsed from the woman’s wounds. A moment. Then rife elation crossed the queers eyes.
Lips smiling she drew in a
Composed breath, she shuddered. Cascading her hips back softly she smiled and he smoother her belly with his left hand. An moment, any jerk of movement there could be death. Life though, however strange prevailed the moment. The mans meeting points still had a finality that threatened all, yet they could only look on. Hypnotised and loathsome in their strange position.
The convergence of men tired and swayed, and so to did the queer relent her passion for a moment of desperate wonder. Then her eyes widened and wandered down. Down her scented, lithe frame. Hair gently falling. A lemon drizzled pain in her neck, hips arched and tense. He, he was completely drawn into her. Pulsing with patient heartbeats. The slowest rhythm, subtle and yet enormously stimulating.
Their breathing had synchronised. His was a whispering promise of closeness, riddling death with life’s
one passion. Her neck’s blood had traversed her lilting frame. Down her sleek abdominals to mix. Her uncomfort was silenced by pleasure. Her numbness made erotic in their joining. His solid, tireless grip. The shaft of the blade unrelenting. Death and decisions seemed eternally far off.
thecoffeetable 