"Bring him to me ... onward, my darlings ... we must take things
slowly
with this one ..."
*****
As Curt glided beyond the village, his shadow initially flickering across a cluster of untouched, crystal-clear lakes beneath him, then across the rolling hills that stretched to the east, time seemed to have simultaneously expanded and come to a peculiar stand-still.
All the while, that enchanting voice, its origins unclear, continued to echo in his head, beckoning him to fly closer ... closer ...
At last, the blonde-haired neophyte and his five comely escorts swooped down between two imposing stone watchtowers, into a stately courtyard, and through a pair of polished brass doors, before entering a regal hall -- red and purple velvet curtains hanging down the walls, a glittering glass chandelier swaying from the ceiling.
And there, on a carved wooden throne, at the far end of the hall, she sat.
The one who had
taken
him.
No collection of phrases in the English language could have done her beauty justice. Some horny teenage male leaning back on his bed with his manhood in his hands imagining six different supermodels, of six different races, with six different faces, all coexisting within the same body,
might
have been somewhere in the ballpark. Maybe.
Only by squinting his eyes could he even get the faintest look, as her entire being radiated a blindingly golden glow.
Her hair, the color of which seemed to constantly shift from blonde to brunette to red to silver, was flawlessly coiffed. Her top, some sort of white blouse or cropped button-up shirt, fluttered about her ribs unbuttoned, revealing her stunning breasts to the room -- most likely the first naked pair that Curt had seen up close with his own eyes (if they were indeed breasts, or if Menudia was indeed "naked"?)
It was all so
strange
.
A cream-colored cloth hovered slightly over her crotch and thighs, gently swaying between her legs. To call her the sexiest woman he had ever seen would have almost been silly, as she seemed to exist on a plane beyond "sexy" or "unsexy." He wasn't even sure if she could be considered a "woman." The mere sight of her rendered his mind numb.
Perhaps aware of her own visual power, Menudia spared Curt any further confusion, and tilted his figure up toward the ceiling. Soon he found himself hovering flat on his back, unable to glance further at the creature to whom he had openly given himself.
"You have succumbed ... to Menudia," she spoke proudly.
"It is a pleasure to serve Menudia." He began rotating slowly in mid-air.
"How about these clothes?" she asked, briefly turning to the girls, as if in consultation. "I think they're quite nice but ... wouldn't you like to wear something else, my dear?"
"I will wear whatever clothes you would like me to wear, Menudia."
"Mmmm ..." She thought for a moment. "Let's get you into something a little more ... comfortable."
And with that, Curt's arms jutted straight toward the back wall while his white t-shirt flew over his head. Then his sneakers untied themselves and fell to the wooden floor below, quickly followed by his socks. Finally, his cargo shorts and boxers drifted past his ankles and floated through a passageway to his left and out of sight.
Angela, Emily, Julie, Liza, and Vanessa, lurking across from Menudia and beneath Curt in a semicircle, could all see that he was quite ... well-endowed.
A long, cream-colored satin robe flew in from another of the several nearby rooms in the castle and, when Curt extended his arms once more, it slid around his body, the flimsy, delicate belt tying itself loosely around his waist.
"There. Is that better?"
"Yes, Menudia." His stiff member bounced freely against the fabric of the robe as he resumed his turning.
"A
virgin
- how delightful! You may or may not know, but male virgins are perhaps my most cherished prizes of all. There are two others in your group, as I understand it. I will take them in due time, of course."
"Yes, Menudia."
"And I believe we also have a
female
virgin within the ranks somewhere? When it rains, it pours, as they say. Ah, but first things first."
He soaked in the steady rhythms of her voice, his brain continuing its feeble and inevitably fruitless attempt to comprehend the nature of presence.
"You are one of the lucky ones. The others had to fumble their way through nervous, awkward, half-unpleasant, pressure-packed let-downs. But you, Curt ... oh yes, we are going to take things nice and slowly with you, ease you in to the waters, build up your comfort level, until you are truly ready to enjoy the beautiful gift of male sexuality that has been lying dormant within you."
Turning weightlessly in mid-air, the silky fabric of the robe caressing his body, Curt couldn't help but feel so serene, so trusting ...
"Let your mind roam freely. Don't censor your thoughts any longer. Don't worry about what I might think, or what the other girls might think. All of those thoughts that you've kept yourself from thinking about ... you are now free to think them."
Hmm. What
were
the thoughts that Curt was trying to keep himself from thinking about?
Well, there were those soft pink areolas around Menudia's barren nipples, and that cream-colored cloth softly tickling her thighs and her snatch. Wouldn't it be something to inhabit that little piece of cloth for just five minutes?
Then his thoughts started straying toward the other, decidedly more mortal females gathered there in the room. He thought about Angela's bosom, resting so invitingly behind her white peasant-style crop top. Or Liza's buttocks, poking so prominently against those dark green jean shorts. Or Julie's light brown hair, tickling those soft ears, those cute glasses, and that sensual neck ... or Emily's tiny blue eyes, full of mischievous intent ... or Vanessa's exposed midriff, waiting for supple fingers to stroke it and tickle it ....
