The four-master, Coq d'Or, voyaged through the night to Al Nen Drowd.
In her berth, Lacie slept fitfully, puzzling over her curious adventures.
Wondrous, that men should want to see her strip. Strange, that they could have such diverse reactions to what they saw. She'd hated the lascivious slobs of sailors. But she could happily have stayed undressed for Captain Sindwell all night. He'd exuded such innocent delight that she longed for more, even when his eyes caressed her most private places. She felt wanted. He desired her; but to love and enjoy, not to devour.
Then there was the Sultan; depraved and bloated, for all the magnificence of his raiment. His cold eyes had terrified her until she realised the power she had to tease and melt them. Her body played his eyes the way she played her violin. But there was still the threat of his two axe-bearing bodyguards, should she displease him. If she succeeded in her two 'tasks', whatever they were, he was going to 'take' her; a great honour according to the Captain. And if she failed?
Was it to be bedding or beheading?
Could he? These days? Surely the Captain would look after her?
'Dear Captain Sindwell,' thought Lacie. 'He's such a darling, and so like a nautical Santa Claus. He was so happy to see me nude; I didn't feel ashamed at all.'
What must it feel like to be truly glamorous, like H'adĭn, her lissome, Persian guide? 'If only', Lacie thought, 'I had an exotic figure like hers; tall, slender, and olive-gold. My pale Caucasian body must have looked so much more naked and vulnerable in front of them all than H'adĭn's did. No wonder her name rhymes with Queen.'
Her thoughts would not let her sleep. Her hands kept creeping towards her waist and hips. Hot, moist stirrings cried out to be soothed. She drew her hands together till they covered her mound. She clasped it firmly; moulded her hands around it; even began to sink into the softnesses between lips she'd never really thought about before. In her mind, she could still feel the pollution of the sailors' lust, but it soon gave way to the soothing memory of the Captain's unfeigned delight. She squeezed her hand between her thighs as though it were the Captain's. She needed to put her hands where his gaze had caressed, and where the Sultan's merciless stare had probed.
Oddly, she began to remember strange things she'd seen sister Elsie doing in her bedroom. She'd spied through the keyhole and seen her, naked, reeling and writhing in ecstasy. Lacie, even at sixteen, hadn't understood how Elsie could derive such excitement from that humble organ between her thighs. She'd been even more puzzled when she'd spied brother Till in his room, coaxing pleasure from weird articles between his boyish legs.
But now, awakened, her whole body wanted that pleasure, and this time she knew where it was to be found.
Her hands explored all that her mound had been hiding. Tender petals, secret lips, deep softness, and a hidden nub that made her cry out when she rubbed it.
She couldn't stop. An imaginary Captain Sindwell encouraged her, affirming her with his happy eyes. She'd felt those eyes tracing her labia, and her hands had to follow. She threw off night clothes and sheets. This was what nudity was all about. She tended her awakened body to give her all the ecstasy she was capable of. She found the hidden nub again, and let out a sound, half laughter, half squeal, in her new exhilaration.
She'd called the Captain a maritime Santa Claus. This was his gift to her. He'd unlocked a secret she knew would last a lifetime, ever to be renewed. Music flowed into her heart again. She heard Scheherazade's violin anew; intense, now not satisfied with single notes, but needing to caress two strings at a time, and to soar, no, leap, higher than ever before.
So felt Lacie. Now it was her turn to reel and writhe as Elsie had done, crying out and moaning in pure happiness. Fingers, hand, fist, drew all the world's ecstasy out of her pussy, her cunt, her snatch, vulva, vagina, her nest of joy. Every name she'd heard it called rang through her ears in jubilant harmony with Scheherazade's music.
She buckled, gave a cry of uncontrollable bliss, fell back onto her bed and, still naked, slept the sleep of a child.
In the morning, the Golden Cockerel approached Al Nen Drowd, the exotic port, and gateway to the principalities of Persia. An ebullient Captain Sindwell summoned Lacie and H'adĭn to the port deck. "Come and see, we're approaching the city.".
Minarets and domes shimmered in the sun, mirrored in subtropical blue water. On the hillsides glittered the towers and turrets of vast palaces.
When they'd harboured, the Captain turned to Lacie. "See, the high palace, with golden towers, flying the flag of Al Nen Drowd?"
Lacie looked up the hillside. The flags showed a 'gryphon rampant' and a 'chat riant'.
"This," continued the Captain, "is where we are to ride. While we await our carriage, H'adĭn will tell you your first task."
"The palace," began H'adĭn, "is called Al Swanek. There lives the Prince Igor Kyaskovitch. He is the son of neighbouring King Albavirek, who has ordered him to marry the Princess Tatiana of Polovtsia. But he has never loved a woman before. Intimately he has only encountered men, for whom he has a great and noble love. Nobody else must ever learn this except his confidant, the King's chemist Dr Odinbor. The Prince attempted once to mate with a woman but caused only heartbreak. He is a kind but sad person. He is famous in this land as a musician; you will have many pleasant matters to discuss.
"But you have also a task. He does not want to lose his love for men, but he seeks someone who will teach him to love a woman, too. That is why you are here. Tomorrow there is another task. If you succeed at both these tasks, things will go well for you with the Sultan."
Prince Kyaskovitch was indeed a mild, gentle person, poles apart from the crude sailors of last night.
With him was a gentleman of the court. "This is the chemist of my father, the King. He has cured me of many indispositions in the past. Unknown to my father he has brought a potion which will help me when I encounter you. His name is Alexander Odinbor."
The chemist bowed deeply and left.
"Sit here with me," the Prince exhorted Lacie; 'here' being the richest, most voluptuously upholstered chaise longue Lucy could imagine. "I will sit beside you. It behoves me to learn to be close to a woman."
"Thank you, Your Highness," said Lacie. "Tell me about yourself."
"I am a prince. I must bear myself like a prince. Full of confidence, and not sparing of a joke or two. People say if I were a musical instrument I would be a bluff bassoon. But that is not how I feel. Being a prince is a sad and heavy journey. I would love to marry another prince—even a commoner if he loved me. But at the palace of Al Swanek, it would be 'off with my head' and probably his also. Mademoiselle Lacie, I have tried so hard. Four years ago I even wrote an overture. I told in my most passionate music the story of Romeo and Juliet. Why cannot I love a woman like that? They will not rest until I do."
"Prince, I'd love to hear your Romeo and Juliet tune. Sing it to me."
The Prince sang. He had a ringing tenor voice. At first, he did not look at Lacie, but as the tune took hold of him he raised his eyes to hers. He sang, expanding the tune, improvising. She joined in. She divined that he was no longer thinking of a man or a woman, just of love. She nestled close to him. Their duet bound them phrase to phrase, curve to curve.
She could feel him melting into blissful relaxation. Was it possible for the music to ignite such passion that it had to be expressed no matter with whom? Was it possible for him to be able to love both a man and a woman? After all, H'adĭn had already aroused the strangest sensations in her own bosom, why shouldn't the Prince also feel for both sexes? She put an arm around his waist, drawing him ever closer as they sang.
Had the Sultan known this would be her first time, as well as, hopefully, the Prince's first success?
Thank God for the time she'd seen brother Till through the keyhole, playing with his erection. Otherwise, she might fail at the first shock of seeing the Prince's.
She encouraged him to lay an arm around her shoulders and nuzzled up to him. The moment seemed right to whisper: "Let me be your Juliet. Just for tonight?"
She put a hand in his lap. He drew it towards his centre and for the first time in her life she touched that which she had seen upon her brother. Tentatively, she stroked it and felt it harden.
Quietly, in a seductive contralto which would have done justice to H'adĭn, or to Scheherazade herself, she said: "Would you like…?" and she began to undo the regal breeches. She felt inside them.
"Ohhh." So far all was well. Very well. The princely penis was swelling, and, Lacie could tell, was eager for attention. Dare she expose it and look upon it? She did. She stroked it, tending to its contours, its veins, the skin tightening over its hardening shaft. If she could keep him so conscious of his own body that he did not care whether she were man or woman, she could engineer her own 'first time'. What a thought.
She began to feel the need herself to be touched. What would be his feelings when he felt her more intimately and found her so different? Carefully, she took hold of his arm embracing her shoulders. She guided it down her back, drawing it lower, till it brushed against her ass. It felt good, but it made her want so much more. God, she hoped this was going to work. If they suddenly stopped now…
Yes, he was responding, his hand was testing the flesh of her ass. She raised herself, so his hand was underneath her. God, his response was so warm. How could he ever have thought he couldn't love a woman? He was giving her love already. She felt his hand creeping forward under her ass. Soon his fingers would be…
They were. Through her clothes, she could feel him questioning her secret folds. There was only one way for her. She grabbed at his hand, withdrew it from under her, brought it to her front and thrust it between her legs. His response was instant. He found his way inside her underwear, held her to him with his free hand and fastened his lips to hers. Romeo's song still echoed in her head and she was sure Juliet's did in his, while they undressed each other. Passionately. No thought for broken buttons, tangled laces, a floor littered with garments.
She bent, showered his cock with kisses. Drew it into her mouth, tasted its exotic, bittersweet juices.
She felt his hand around her head, lifting it till his lips were free to bestow his own kisses, at first on her mouth, tender, grateful, then warmer, hotter, passionate; on her breasts, over her body, ever downwards. At last, the Prince's lips met the labia of the girl he was causing to feel like a princess. She pressed his head closer against her. Her thighs opened. With his lips and tongue, he honoured the secrets the sailors had so crudely taken for granted.
He released her.
Intrigued, enchanted and enraptured, the two contemplated each other's newly discovered bodies. Her vulva held no fear for him now, just wonder, love and mystery. Likewise, Lacie looked again on the penis. She allowed her fingers gently to toy with it until the Prince covered it, ready for the consummation which would make his future marriage a happy one.
Lacie was only too willing now to be the enabler. Still, though, she felt the need to be in control. As he lay on his back she lowered herself onto his vertical penis. She sat upright over the eagerly standing shaft. Her first response was of relief that he was accepting her, and staying hard and erect. He was even looking with joy at her breasts.
Then she was overwhelmed by her own feelings. She had expected nothing like this as she rode him. Ecstasy welled up through her vagina, flooding her body with unprecedented excitement. She rode him, up and down, back and forth, side to side. He responded with sounds of moaning, purring, gasping.
Suddenly he pulled her down upon him. They rolled over. Now he was on top of her. It was his turn to ride her wildly. All fear, all inhibition had fled from both of them.
Lacie arched and writhed, trying to guide the tip of his cock exactly where she wanted it. Now as deep as it would go. Now tickling the very edge of her pussy. Now seeking out and finding that, oh, that very special place. She could feel him matching his glans to her nub. Nothing she'd imagined on her own could compare with this. Then he left that nub. With his hands; he clasped Lacie's bottom, trying to thrust the penis in her vagina as deep, deep as it would go. It detracted from her excitement, but she didn't mind. She was giving him the happiness he'd longed to learn from a woman. And he was making her feel like a true princess; as royal as himself. She let him plunge the full length of his cock into her and held him there with a vaginal kiss. Each time her muscles closed on him he uttered a groan of unearthly happiness. Three times; then a final ecstatic moan before he sank onto her in spent bliss. She clasped him to her. They rolled onto their sides, still holding tight.
She spoke quietly; tenderly as to a child. "Are you still frightened?"
"No. that was wonderful."
"As good as with a man?"
"Different."
"You can enjoy both?"
"Thanks to you."
"No; thanks to you. Did you know it was my first time?"
"It couldn't have been."
"Yes. But you made it gorgeous. You treated me with respect. You treated me as someone special. I'm so glad I did it first with you. Now I shan't mind nearly so much with that horrid Sultan."
"The Sultan? What…?"
"Shhhh, Never mind. Don't talk about it. Don't spoil this moment."
They lay in each other's arms until it was time for her to return to the Golden Cockerel.
Lacie began to feel more and more like Scheherazade. She'd taught a prince to love, and cured his fears. She slept to the imaginary music of the violin.
Then came her own bouts of fear. Whatever the Sultan 'taking her' might feel like, it would be very different from making love with the Prince. 'Still,' thought Lacie. 'Without the Sultan, I wouldn't have had the Prince. It can't be all bad. Can it?'
She could only await her next task.
