She spent long days toiling with the other women, young and old, who served the King and castle doing everything from cooking and serving to cleaning and laundry. Then, at night, the King frequently requested her from among all the women forced into service in the castle. Part of his preference for her was her beauty, of course. But another part was a well-kept secret that Ariana was believed to be the direct descendant of the old leading family on the maternal side. It had to be the maternal side, of course, because all the males of the family had been killed after capturing the castle.
Once again, after the meager dinner allowed the servants, Ariana was summoned. As the young woman rose to leave the other women and prepare herself for the King, her mother reached out to touch her hand as she passed and whispered the words of encouragement that had become a ritual for them: 'Be strong, my daughter, and believe.' They were words of encouragement but also of hope; hope that a future of change might still be waiting according to the proficiencies... if you believed in the myths... myths that were criminal to express.
Ariana was taken to a room where she was changed from her well-worn, ill-fitting dress and apron into a light, free-flowing, gossamer gown that draped from the shoulders and fell to the floor. She put on delicate slippers and brushed her long, golden hair until it seemed to shine in the faint light provided by candles and wall-torches. The King was very particular and it wasn't even her survival that compelled Ariana to comply with these demands on her. The King had made it very clear to her that her compliance protected her mother and any other remaining women on her maternal lineage. Or, to be more to the point of how the King expressed it, Ariana's failure to comply willingly and enthusiastically would doom herself and others to a very painful and torturous death.
Ariana moved quietly from the lower servant levels of the castle up to the King's chambers. The guards standing on either side of the massive, heavy wood doors leered at her as she approached. The gown was so filmy that she knew her form would be apparent as she walked with the many torches in the hallway behind her. Also, the chill of the castle, whose blocks of stone held the cool night air throughout the day, caused her nipples to harden which in turn pressed against the flimsy gown and highlighted the unrestricted sway of her breasts underneath. She did not doubt that many more men of the castle desired to have her if the King allowed it. For now, though, he had greedily kept her to a small group.
As she passed through the heavy doors opened by the guards, she scanned the large chambers for the King, finding him standing with a goblet of wine in his robe at the sunken tub where two other servants poured hot water by the bucket-load. The ties of his ruby-red robe hung loose and the robe gaped open as he stood near the tub and women. They glanced at her nervously as she entered and Ariana thought she caught a look of relief pass over their faces. The relief is that the King's attention would not be forced on them as he took his bath.
Ariana slowed her pace and took a deep breath to remember what her mother and the other older women who fussed over her had instructed. She was two years past the maturity age and for two years she has now been the preferred companion of the King in his chambers. For the past six months or so she has been shared on occasion with several of his closest advisors. In all that time and all that experience, she has never enjoyed sex, never experienced the pleasure reaction from it that many of the women talk about. In confiding with her mother, she was told to pretend, act as if she were enjoying the experience to appease the King. She asked if not enjoying it might not the King leave her alone? She was told that might be true but the outcome might be worse, as a result. So, Ariana became adept at acting out her pleasure to stroke the fragile ego of the men.
When the tub had sufficient hot water, the other women gratefully and quickly took their exit from the room. Ariana stood at the opposite end of the tub from the King. He sipped from the goblet as he looked at her, then smiled and motioned with his hand. It was a short sweep of his hand at waist height as if he were parting an unseen drape. She had experience in this situation. She knew what the hand motion was intended to convey. She took another deep breath as she lowered her eyes. After only a moment of hesitation, her right hand moved to her left shoulder where she released a button and her left shoulder became bare. She repeated the opposite movement to the right shoulder and the filmy gown seemed to flutter down her exquisite body to the floor. She stood before the man she knew as King with the same trepidation she felt every time. Her hands moved in front of her crotch but were quickly pulled back before he could remind her.
"You are an exquisite creature," he said. He gazed at her form. A trim body with firm breasts that seemed to beg to be squeezed, a flat stomach, and shapely hips. Her face had the look of innocence no matter how many times he called her to his chamber. Her hair was long, as if it had never been cut, and golden in color so it seemed to shine in the flickering light from the torches and candles. "Do you know why I ask for you so much more than any other?" Ariana shook her head. "It is because you are special. You are a very special young woman." He laughed and it was the laugh of ridicule. "What makes a lowly servant girl special? You don't know, do you?" She shook her head, again, to protect the ruse. "That's what makes it all so special, don't you see? You may be special and you don't even know why." He laughed, again.
She honestly didn't. There was nothing about her life that she could look at to think she was special in any way... except for her mother. There was something about her mother, the stories she insisted on telling, repeating, and continuing to repeat. Stories about the old times, times before a King and a castle existed. Stories about the times of the myths. Stories she was told to remember but never speak of to anyone... except a daughter if she ever had one. If the myths were true, she was told, there would be a time when the stories would be important to know and then share with everyone. She was rarely ever outside the castle as if it were her prison despite the movement she had within it.
Her attention was brought back to the King, though. He set the goblet on a small table and the motion caused his robe to open further. She saw his penis had hardened since she was exposed. She covered an involuntary shudder that coursed over her body at the sight of it and the knowledge of what was following. She sometimes wished her body could react even in her dread of the act. Maybe, just maybe, if her body responded, the act might not seem so disgusting, even revolting.
But she moved as she knew she must. She stepped up to the King and behind him. She put her hands on the collar of the robe and gently slid it off his body. Maybe if he were handsome or especially masculine or caring, it might make a difference. None of that was true, though. He was tall but overweight. His body was soft and round. She sighed in resignation.
He took her hand confidently in his and stepped into the tub, leading her into the waist-deep water. He sat and she reached to the side for a cloth to begin washing him but stopped herself. She must use her hands, only. He wants her soft hands to wash his skin and body. Sitting in the water behind him, she strokes over his back and into his hair. She strokes water up under his arms and spends as much time at his back as she can before sensing his impatience. She presses forward so her hands slide over his chest and stomach, the preferred way to do it, according to him. This forces her breasts to squeeze against his back and he presses himself back against her. It takes her several moments after adequately cleaning his chest, stomach, and upper legs before she finally, reluctantly begins stroking her fingers over his groin and hardened penis.
