Solstice Castle - Chapter 5

Chapter 5

With Rebca guiding, I stumbled away from the castle by way of a cellar entrance and made my way back to the monastery, seranaded by roosters greeting the morning sun. I slipped into the kitchen just before old Bekray waddled in.

"Ahh, handsome young Jaze. Up early this morning, are you?" He patted my shoulder with his usual familiarity. I nodded eagerly.

"So responsible you are" I began to detect a little sarcasm in his voice. "You've already made up your bed. In fact, it seems as though it wasn't even slept in." He turned and peered at me, an inquisitor with flour dusting his pudgy features. I shrugged, noncommittal.

"I hope you weren't huddled in some alley with a loathsome street urchin, rutting like a couple of filthy animals." He shuddered in mock terror.

I could not resist the opportunity. "Well, actually, Bekray, I was invited to the castle to dally with the queen, a gypsy, and a couple of ladies in waiting. You know, my usual evening."

The baker stared for a moment, then took a playful swat at me with a dough-covered hand. Still, he scowled. "Now, let's not be defaming the honor and virtue of our queen, may she and King Abret long rule at the mercy of our God. Well, whomever lowered herself to lie with you, let us just hope that she practices a modicum of hygiene. It would not do to have you bringing some foul louse into our midst, where it could set up a colony in Brother Tomath's beard and we might not discover the infestation for weeks."

Bekray turned away dismissively, and I hurried to set up the dining hall for the monks who I served in return for my pallet in my small cell and whatever education the monks could provide. I somehow managed to serve them breakfast without spilling any of Bekray's porridge, and staggered off to my cell for the sleep that my escapades in the castle had denied me. As I lay my head on the oft-patched down pillow, Bekray's admonition about the sanctity of the queen rang in my ears.

Indeed, what sacrilege had I committed? My head began to swim with the realization of what I had unwittingly become a part of. Anyone in the castle might desire my head for a variety of perceived offenses, from the King's Guard for my mere presence in the castle to the Crown Prince, Phrenshaw, for my interruption of his assignation with Lindea, to the foul thug who had struck the Prime Minister and a guard and escaped with at least some of the castle jewels. Even in my fatigue, sleep took an uncommonly long time to find me.

I woke with a start and discovered Brother Niventa's gaunt face above mine; his large hand was clapped to my shoulder, shaking me. His usual monotone had risen to an unusually high pitch in excitement. From the color of the sun at my cell's small window, I could tell it was late afternoon. Sure enough, someone from the Queen's palace staff had requested that my wrestling mentor send over his most promising wrestler to add to the evening's entertainment at the Feast, and old Fremna personally had rushed over to tell me of my honor and to prepare me for whatever bout I might be thrown into.

I washed and dressed in my finest-and loosest-blouse and breeches, not wishing to be constrained by my clothing, all the while with Fremna fretting over me and offering trite warnings about wrestling strategy. When we emerged from the monastery, we found a King's coach with a two-horse team of black stallions in front. Fremna and I leapt in, and off we went to the castle.

Words are inadequate to describe the gaiety and lavishness of the fest. Bright banners flew everywhere on castle grounds. Elegantly attired, highborn men and women promenaded around the site, with armies of scantily attired servants, both male and female, omnipresent with food and drink. Small chamber groups played throughout the lush landscape. Randomly distributed tables featured games of chance for the nobles to test their luck against one another.

I had little chance to enjoy my first examination of the party, for a small, officious, balding official bustled up and claimed us from the guards who had delivered us. We went backstage at a small ampitheatre around which the festivities seemed to revolve. Trying to be alert to my surroundings, I peered into passages we passed. My heart stopped; just inside a room bearing the revelers cloaks I saw the distinctive green cloak of the villain who had attacked the Prime Minister. The man was here at the festival!

I had no chance to look further. Amidst a blaring of trumpets, I was pushed onstage, where I confronted a huge, hairy soldier-obviously my opponent. His skirt-like kra identified him as a member of one of the King's elite cavalry.

The assembled crowd began to drift toward the theater. I could hear the buzz of interest that a local boy-me-would be challenging an experienced warrior. Derisive calls reached my ears, as well as the long odds being demanded by a few of the local nobles who seemed inclined to bet for me more out of a sense of loyalty to the region than out of any belief I might prevail.

Pretending a jauntiness that I did not feel, I strode to the stage center for the ritual greeting. I offered a wish for the continued glories of the soldier's platoon; he grunted and asked me where my remains should be shipped. A drunk duke serving as referee waved his hand, and the battle commenced.

Given the man's size and experience, I knew my only hope was to get him overconfident and off guard. The strategy nearly was my undoing, as he took advantage of my feigned stumble to grab me by the shoulder and fling me seven strides across the stage. Only his desire to toy with me kept him from dismantling me on the spot. I thereafter used my slight speed advantage to dart in and grab an arm or leg, give it a twist, and then high tail away. The crowd roared at his frustration, but still sensed time to be his ally.

I waited until I had managed to slip inside his guard and tug at his shaggy beard before pulling on of Fremna's favorite tricks. I let the beast grab my arm on my next pass and fling me over his shoulder. I pretended to land heavily, with my leg extended at an awkward angle.

Sure enough, the soldier dove toward the opportunity to break it-or at least dislocate my knee. I quickly retracted it, leapt on his back and slipped on an arm bar, and twisted him on his shoulderblades. The crowd screamed in approval, the bleary-eyed duke raised his wine-spotted kerchief, and I was the victor.

The soldier roared in outrage, but several of his fellow warriors rushed onto the stage to tease him with mock punches and hustle him off, and I was left alone with the Duke, who clapped me on the back. Suddenly, a murmur began to run through the throng, which parted in its middle to allow the passage of a figure; King Abret himself was coming onto the stage. He bounded up, gave me a politic smile, and turned to the crowd.

"My friends," he bellowed. "I see we have further proof of the manliness of our subjects in our host town of Speysard." The local nobles roared. "Or at least of the effects of too much local wine on our soldiers unused to its effects I'd like to see this adroit young man to be truly challenged. If he's not too tired." He turned to me with a polite questioning glance; I nodded obediently then-realizing that this gesture might be construed as a sign I was tired-shook my head, then nodded again. Damn! How do I signal I was-of course-up to whatever he was suggesting? The crowd laughed at my eagerness. "If he's not too tired, I'd like to match him up against my only son, Prince Phrenshaw."

The crowd roared its approval. I froze in confusion. That lumpy guy with the bad haircut who I'd chased out of the gypsy queen's arms? Oh my Lord, what if he had spotted me there in the laundry room and recognized me now? My anxiety had little time to develop. The heir to the throne shambled through the crowd and, blushing, hopped onto the low stage. The King momentarily took him aside and exchanged a private word; a warning not to let a commoner defeat him upon pain of loss of a dukedom?

Phrenshaw strode forward with a stern expression, and the King himself led us to the center of the stage for the greeting ritual. I stammered out a blessing for his lineage's unbroken accession to the throne for countless eons. His features lightened and he said with an even tone and surprisingly warm smile, "I implore you to not ease up on account of my station, young man. I want your best in this contest. Bear in mind, I did pick up on your clever gambit to lure in your adversary; I will not underestimate your skullduggery."

The King waved his arm, and our battle commenced. The oafish-seeming youth began a measured approach, and we lightly grappled with our hands, each looking for an opening. I was astonished at his grace, enhanced by what was obviously outstanding training. The Prince recognized his lack of athleticism and wrestled within himself, not allowing himself to be overly aggressive or caught offguard. I did slip inside his guard, but found that with his big butt and heavy lower legs he was not easy to move. Soon, though, I caught him with a feint, slipped under his arms, and flipped him onto his side. I grabbed him before he almost reached the marble stage, and levered him up on one shoulder before he could properly brace himself for the fall. In trying to spin himself around, he planted his arm in an awkward angle and I realized that he could not fend off a pin. Just as I rapped him in a twisting arm and neck hold, I saw that the pinning move would likely dislocate his elbow, if not break his arm altogether, a not-uncommon result of grappling. The Prince's face grew white with the identical thought. In an instant, I made my decision, releasing him sufficiently to allow him to re-position his arm to safety, then I locked him in a cradle, his neck and bent knee wedged between my two elbows, my hands locked together. Alas, in trying to pin him, I leaned too far forward. He jacknifed his legs, and the leverage of his large ass caused me to somersault beyond him, where he reversed our fortunes and laid a quick pin on me, ending the match.

My self-directed anger was short-lived. The panting, beaming prince leapt up, and clutched my arm to help me up with the comraderie usually extended to equals. The crowd applauded and whistled its approval of our fevered match, and the King came up and embraced his son. "Well fought, lad!" He turned away from me dismissively-as I would expect-but Phrenshaw stopped him. "Father, we must invite my friend and able adversary to the post-festival revels tonight. By taking on two of us, he certainly deserves it." I beamed at the compliment and internally rejoiced; I would have further opportunity to search for the assailant! The King distractedly waved his assent, and led his son off the stage to awaiting group of nobles.

I scuttled from the stage, where Fremna waited to pound me on the back in congratulations, then good-naturedly boxed my ear for allowing myself to lose my match to the Prince. "Still," he continued, "it would not have done for you to have broken the Prince's arm. Ahh, lad, what I wouldn't give to be able join you in the fun later tonight" All grown men of Speysard had enviously shared rumors of the late-evening party that the men of noble classes enjoyed following the feast. The gossip centered on tales of dozens of nubile women, young and often virginal, who would service the men of royalty. As stories had it, virtually no sexual debauchery went unexplored, long into the early morning hours. My heart raced in anticipation.

I waited out the next two hours behind the small stage, chatting with Fremna, sipping on juices, and enjoying the brash stares of serving wenches who eyed me as they passed by. Soon, the families of nobles began slipping out, guided by servants,and the men started to drift through a grove of trees near the top of the natural ampitheatre.

I began to fear the Prince had forgotten his invitation, when a tall, slender, lithe young beauty with shoulder-length blonde hair, a slight inward curl at the tips delightfully framing her stunning features, emerged from the grove and approached me. Flashing green eyes and high, sharp cheekbones-she was a sculptor's dream. The billowing of the thin saffron robe revealed slim hips and modest, but high and well-rounded, young breasts. "Master Jaze?" she inquired with an obeisant smile.

I rose from my seat, as though accustomed to being summoned by royal servants. "I am Charel. I am to see you to the party, and to attend to any other needs you may have this evening." I tried not to gape; she nonetheless dropped her eyes modestly. She took my arm, I waved to Fremna, and we headed off through the stand of trees.

The golden-haired siren guided me up two flights of broad garden steps of red marble. Cresting a hill, we found ourselves at the top of another, but smaller natural ampitheatre: a bowl some forty paces across. Three sides of the bowl consisted of sloping turf interspersed with grassy terraces. The fourth side-the "front"-held four tiers of burnished aar wood, with the upmost level making up a small stage of sorts. There, a quartet of musicians played a throbbing, drum driven music, topped by groin-piercing flute music. On a platform on the grassy slope opposite the stage was a large tent. At the bottom of the bowl lay a rectangular, stone-sided pool, some eight paces by six paces across. My attention was not, however, drawn to the physical setting. Rather, I stared at the activity of the thirty or so noblemen and perhaps forty servant wenches. Each young girl-beauties all-wore a sheer, short robe, with their breasts and dark pubic hair visible through the nearly transparent fabric. One or two attended to each man, serving him fruits or wines, caressing his neck or back, or teasing him with nibbles or kisses about the face and neck.

I turned to Charel, who fingered the neck of her heavier saffron robe. "By your leave, Milord?" She wished to remove the garment worn in more public circumstances. I nodded. She took my hand and drew it to the loose knot at her neck that held it together. I untied it and slowly drew it down her front, exposing the gossamer fabric underneath. My hand stopped at her pert breast, brushing the tip with my thumb through its thin veil. I then dropped to one knee and pulled the outer garment over her hips. The thin dress underneath was almost as nothing, and I could feel the warmth of her slim thighs beneath my palms and see the downy blond vee underneath the hem.

She raised one leg to step out of the long robe, exposing her succulent young sex and trimmed bush to my eyes. I impetuously dipped my head under the hem of her skirt and planted a wet kiss at the apex of her slit. Her loins involuntarily pressed against me. My tongue lapped at the moistening lips and rapidly swelling bud. She sighed in a near chortle, and her palms pressed my face further into her. Through passionate gasps she protested, "But Milord, I am here to serve you!"

I silenced her by renewing my attack until she shuddered herself to a quiet orgasm, her fingers grasping my scalp in paroxysms of ecstasy.

I stood, and she passionately kissed me. "Milord Jaze. That was wonderful. The nobles never you know, lick me I will insure that you are served particularly well tonight. But first, you should wash a bit after your workout earlier."

With that she led me town the near slope to the water. We stepped over one trio prone on the grass-the drunken duke who had presided over the wrestling matches and identical twin lovelies, ample breasted sloe-eyed brunettes. Their dresses were bunched around their hips, and they were peppering the torso of the nude duke with open-mouthed kisses. One twin fondled his large, semi-erect prick, poking the sopping gash of her sister, who was straddling the man's thigh. My own organ was nearly stiff in excitement as well.

Charel stopped us at the water's edge. Perhaps ten royals were cavorting with half again as many maids in waist deep water. Only a scrap of clothing remained on any one of them. Fresh-faced young girls stroked the men they were tending. Hands churned just beneath water level, with a teenaged count in mutual masturbation with a curly-haired vixen. A plumper, dusky-skinned nubian was bent over the edge of the pool, being entered from behind by a middle-aged viceroy.

Charel turned and unfastened my blouse, then dropped to her knees and undid my breeches. She quickly dropped them to my ankles, then looked up to see my fully erect cock waving in her face. Attempting to re-establish the composure expected of servants, she stifled a gasp of surprise at my size, but her grin could not fully be surpressed.

Another, shorter goddess with straight black hair and a wide, red-lipped mouth appeared beside us, and Charel handed her my garments. She left to store them at a small shack to the side, my eyes following the bewitching twitch of her taut ass and the sleekness of her magnificent legs as she departed. Charel playfully nipped at the tip of my organ with her even white teeth. "Milord, some say it is rude to stare at another woman when one has one at hand, and perhaps it is not so wise when one's manliness is close to her mouth." She grinned playfully, and then wetly kissed my tip again in recompense.

"I apologize, Miss. Her beauty reminds me of your own, which far surpasses any other." Charel jumped to her feet.

"Well, some say my cousin Licia and I do remind them of one other, but you are wise to detect which of us is the prettier." I found myself becoming enchanted with this searingly intelligent lady, and wondered if she realized that my own background was, if anything, more humble than her own. She cut short my thoughts by leading me down a steps into the pool, still wearing her short toga. The clear water somehow had been warmed and carried a mildly floral aroma, and felt gloriously sensual.

A very young-looking, almost breastless young sprite spun away from a hairy drunk as I entered, and in her escape charged into me, my arms instinctively going around her waist. She felt my cock prod at her flat belly and grinned, obviously a bit drunk herself. "Hello, Big Guy! Where do I find you later?" Her arms snaked around my neck and she kissed me passionately, her young tongue slipping into my surprised mouth. I returned the kiss, mindful of Charel's impatient gaze behind me.

The hairy man staggered up and pried her away, giving me an almost apologetic look. I grinned back. She leapt into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist, sliding down his torso until she obviously felt his organ prod at her opening. She bounced a few times, frustration growing on her face as he apparently was unable to penetrate her child-like pussy. With an exasperated frown, Charel reached over to a small indentation in the deck-beside the pool and pulled out a small glob of jelly of a sort. She strode to the unsuccessfully coupling pair and reached under the girl's buttocks, greasing her opening and her partner's cock. The girl slid down again and, aided by both the lubricant and Charel's guiding hand, signaled his entry by a grinning moan of pleasure. "Oh, Uncle Robdolus, that's just wonderful!" she cried.

'Uncle'? Oh Lord, what strange values these nobles have, I thought.

Charel laughed at my shocked face and guided me to the side of the pool, where the water came to just below the level of my still jutting rod. Her cousin Licia returned with a flagon of wine, and knelt to serve it to me; as I took it I could see through the gaping opening of her blouse two perfectly shaped, gravity defying breasts. Rather than slap me for my impudence, Licia remained where she was, then slowly drew one side of the loose top further to the side, further exposing her right tit, with its bright red areole and perky nipple.

I took a gulp of the proffered wine, barely noticing that its quality far exceeded the sacramental wine to which my experience was limited. I then leaned forward, as though drawn by magnetism, and my lips captured the wonderful nipple, nibbling and then suckling as though I were an infant. I felt Charel press against my other side. She reached around me into another bowl-shaped indentation in the decking and retrieved a soapcake. As my mouth captured more of Licia's soft breast, I dimly noted Charel's rubbing of the soap into a heavy lather, then felt her silky hands rub the foam over my chest and down my stomach.

I drew my mouth away from Licia's chest. She mewled and pouted in protest. I clutched her under each arm and swung her off the deck into the water with us. Licia shrieked in mock terror, but did not further protest when I drew the short robe off her body, exposing her slim but voluptuous body to my eyes. "Now help your cousin," I said. Licia's eyebrows rose; apparently she and Charel did not normally apprise others of their kinship. Still, she slipped behind the golden-maned, taller girl without protest, and drew her own robe away.

Charel did not pause in her vigorous scrubbing of my torso, and now handed part of the cake to Licia. The two started soaping me further down, rubbing my asscheeks-occasionally tweaking my rectum, legs, and tightening balls-but only lightly brushing my throbbing erection. I leaned against the pool edge, savoring the pampering and enjoying the sights around me.

Two older nobles leaned against the edge as did, I only two or three paces away. I overheard them debate the pre-eminence of their respective race horses. They seemed to be paying little heed to the two busty young women kneeling before them and deliberately taking the men's cocks deep into their slender throats, holding them captive for four or five seconds before releasing them to the warm summer air, then repeating the seemingly impossible swallowing of the men's organs. Up on the small stage to my left, a slender, ebony-haired vixen wearing only a gold scarf around her hips was performing a frenetic dance in time to the rhythmic music. Her wavy curls descended to the base of her spine, but in her gyrations the dark cascades swept around her shoulders and over her full breasts. Her hands entwined in her hair and then dropped to caress the swaying mounds. One hand dipped to slide beneath her scarf, and two of her long fingers caressed the length of her nether lips.

Just then I noticed a blonde maidservant enter the water carrying a small tray, on which she held a small but intricate water pipe. She wore only a series of twenty or so silver chains that draped her middle from hip to hip. Her hair was pulled back into a single long yellow braid that fell to her waist, its tip tickling the water's surface. She stepped up to the two nobles beside me, and each drew deeply from the pipe's curling stem. Even the two big-titted fellatrixes paused in their oral ministrations to suck from the pipe, allowing the stiff cocks in their charge to bob between their large breasts. Almost immediately upon inhaling, each of the quartet grinned in heavy-lidded enjoyment. The nobles stopped their chattering and for the first time seemed to concentrate on the maids sucking at their lances.

The blonde then stepped up to us, a sweet, slightly glassy-eyed smile on her face. "Good evening, Milord," she said in a foreign-tinged accent, gesturing with the long stem. "Would you care to partake?"

I shrugged, "I'm really not a smoker, but"

Charel and Licia giggled. Charel elbowed me in the ribs, "Milord, you will find this to be a bit more interesting than anything you've tried before. But if you're not accustomed to any smoke, perhaps Jenfeer here can help you out." I shrugged again in naive passiveness.

The blonde, Jenfeer, placed the tip of the curved wooden stem in between her rose-petal lips and sucked in. She pulled the pipe away and leaned up toward me, pulling my lips to hers. As they met, she opened her mouth and blew the smoke into my mouth, keeping a tight seal with our lips. Our tongues mingled for a moment, then she suddenly grasped my cock with a warm hand and squeezed it firmly. I inhaled in surprise, and pulled the slightly-cooled smoke into my lungs.

After a moment, she disengaged, then coyly looked up at me. "Oh, did we tell you that the most important part is to inhale?" Charel and Licia giggled, and then each took her own turn at the pipe. I found myself enraptured at the sight of their pursed lips caressing the stem tip, and then I realized that the tobacco in the bowl indeed had intoxicated me in a way that wine never had. I felt my skin flush and a tingling sense of energy infuse my spine, centering in my groin. I felt both in a fog, and as alert and energetic as I ever had in my life. It felt magnificent, otherwordly.

By then, both Charel and Licia had taken on the same stuporous look as the nobles, as I suspected I had. My hands cupped the buttocks of each of the two maidservants attending me, and my middle fingers slid down their clefts and into their flowing pussies, and I knew amidst the drug-enhanced fever that within seconds I would be thrusting my rock-hard sword deep into one or the other.

Continued in Chapter 6

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