Surveying the young woman below her, cherry-dark lips parting as her breathing increased, a calculating part of the Queen's brain, divorced from her own desire, judged the moment right to intensify her advances. She slipped a probing finger below the top of Clara's shift, taking in the contrast between the scratchiness of the lace and the softness of her bust. Her finger continued to trace a line around the top of the heaving, olive-tanned orb, and journeyed slowly, almost playfully, across the infanta's armpit, causing her to writhe in the tickled confusion between pleasure and discomfort. Elisabeth gathered the thin sleeve of her submissive partner's shift, pausing to caress the strong shoulder beneath, the taut skin reflecting the reddish glow in dancing patterns. Without warning, she ripped the cloth, hard. The tear exposed the right side of Clara's young body, her navel just visible in a pile of tattered clothing, her breast fully exposed, the stiffness of arousal accentuated by the sudden cold. Clara's shock at the suddenness of the exposure, of the invasion, overcame all other emotions, and, wide-eyed, she lay without fear or embarrassment. As Elisabeth, her eyes accustomed to the dim light, gazed hungrily and at length at this perfect form, the Princess' arousal rose too. She realised with a quickly passing feeling of shame that she was pleased to be an object of desire, pleased that her body aroused this Queen, who had so suddenly grown from a humble and pliant young lady of power to a great woman, who seemed at once to tower over her, and yet to be as close, as intimate, as to already be lain flat atop her.
As Clara's shame flickered and died, she began to move her hands at last. She lowered them slowly over the twin mounds of Elisabeth's buttocks, the flesh tautened as the Queen half-knelt, half-lay above her. Slowly Clara explored, for the first time, another body. Her forefinger traced the cleft between the Austrian's cheeks, and she heard a soft cry from the velvety darkness above her. The cry, though quiet, punctuated the drowsy stillness of the night, and was the opening of a door of intimacy and of arousal for the Princess, who suddenly knew, as though by instinct, what she sought. She pulled the older woman towards her, hands kneading hard, almost as if trying to transmit lust through her fingertips.
The Queen responded, her own thoughts and actions quickened by Clara's unexpectedly confident explorations. Elisabeth bent her head to the Spaniards chest, laid her head softly on one breast, cupping the other, exposed, in both hands. Her touch was delicate, but betrayed its urgency as she stroked every point on the olive-oil skin of the infanta's young chest. Slowly, as though seeking not to startle a wild creature, she reached her mouth towards the Princess' body, and grazed her tongue slowly towards the stiffened nipple that quivered as Clara took sudden, shuddering breaths. She began to lick in tiny circles, tracing the outline of the nipple with each one. Seconds turned to minutes as the women lay like this, clinched mouth to nipple, hands to backside. Elisabeth began to trace criss-cross lines with her tongue across the younger woman's nipples, causing a waterfall of gasps and cries to rise into the velveted canopy above the bed. She reached a hand onto the infanta's ribcage and slowly, slowly stroked her stomach, each finger dipping into the navel, knowingly betraying her thoughts, her intent.
Clara forgot all about her own hands, which stilled on Elisabeth's smooth round buttocks. Once more she was submissive, this time transfixed through arousal and anticipation. The Queen's skilful fingers worked underneath the torn shift, manipulating it aside as she caressed Clara's abdomen. She felt downy hairs below her palm as she moved her hand ever lower, the heat of Clara's arousal apparent before she ever touched her. Clara lay almost still, bucking slightly towards the hand that sought her, then relaxing as she was touched at last. And now neither woman had the capacity to delay any longer. Both had tried to prolong this moment, to savour it, but the desire, the arousal, the unfulfilled yearning of their stifling lives, made it impossible.
The Queen reached into the slick warmth between Clara's lips, gently pinched the bud of her clitoris between finger and thumb, softly rubbing, gently probing. Clara, almost blinded by passion, pulled the Queen's head from her breast and began to bite her earlobe, harder than she realised. She breathed hard, and gasped deep into Elisabeth's ear, which aroused the Queen yet further. The Queen now placed her longest finger atop Clara's clitoris, supported by a probing finger to either side, deep within her lips, and began to press, to rub, her wrist rigid, her hand moving with practiced speed. The Princess' hips bucked ever quicker, her breath, so hard, now seemed to slow and to quiver as she pushed her heels and her shoulders into the bed, forcing herself into Elisabeth's attack on her most delicate self. With a cry that seemed to come from outside of her, Clara felt herself begin to orgasm. After eighteen years, six marked by curiosity and frustration, she knew at last the power of her own body, and felt pressure building from every part of her, saw the world swim, and begin to go black. She came with a tremendous movement of every shaking muscle in her body, she forced her wetness upon the hand of the Queen. She lay back, exhausted by the suddenness of her own arousal and her impassioned reaction to the Queen's touch.
Yet Elisabeth was not satisfied. Clara heard a rustle above her, and opened her eyes to see the Queen pushing up her skirts. She took Clara's hands, interlinking their fingers, and without pausing, pushed two of Clara's fingers deep inside herself, arranging the other hand over her clitoris just as she had touched Clara. She took the Spaniard's wrists, and began to move both hands of her willing puppet, as she straddled her fingers pumping inside of her, caressing her clit. Intensely aroused by the younger woman's touch, and by the power she had wielded so recently, she too came with speed and power, almost crushing the young woman's fingers inside her as she came with a single, low moan, almost like a man, as she knelt hunched above this young, beautiful Princess.
They slept until late, curled together like kittens. In the morning, a dress-slave would be whipped for ripping the fine Belgian embroidery of the honoured Spanish guest. But that is a story for another day.
