Day 24 - First Time/Milf - Crusader Kings

Along the Nile River, in a broken world both alike your own and not, the Tribal County of Quena struggles. She is small, the fertility of her soil at the mercy of the river’s flooding, and she sits between two far greater empires. To her North, the Jeridian Empire controls most of the continent as perhaps the greatest power in this young world. To her south, the Beccariany Nomads have organized their clans into an almost equally fearsome ****.

Quena grows as a hardy plant does through the cracks of a stone. Marginally, cautiously, circumstantially. She has been subservient to both Empires, and she has been free. In time, she will grow more powerful than both of them. Positioned as she is along the most profitable and important trade route of the growing world, the County will become a Duchy, the Duchy a Kingdom, the Kingdom an Empire. What starts in Quena will eventually reach into the surrounding counties of Al-Qusair and Aswan. Then bites and clumps of Jeridia and Beccariany. Opportunistic growth spurts, both honorable and dishonorable. Slow as water flattening a mountain.

But, for now, that Duchy is not formed. That trade route is fragmented, crippled by war and poor rule. That mountain stands tall.

For now, Quena has survived and holds her independence for one main reason. She serves as an intermediary between the two larger states. She can cross the boundaries of language and religious tension that cause Jeridia and Beccariany to battle for supremacy. And while neither of the two will admit it, they both thrive on indirect trade even as they battle each other. Her insignificance makes her undesirable to conquer for land, her strategic value equally miniscule.

It is a delicate, precarious dance. She must grow and enrich herself very little, almost not at all, but then tremendously, and all at once.

***

Battista, who would one day more than earn the title Chief Battista the Merciless, stood at the edge of the throne room and looked in. It should have been empty. His father, Chief Germano the Tenacious, was rotting away in a Beccariany prison. And still, on the throne, a woman sat.

He almost mistook her for Germano’s second wife, Ambrosia. She had the same cream-pale skin as the Beccariany, the same tall and sturdy build under her full-body sea-blue robe. But she was only lightly wrinkled, while Ambrosia was far older even than his father. Her hair was not gray, but decorated with streaks of it like shooting stars among an earth-dark sky. She sat with her back only half-against the throne, drumming her fingers impatiently.

Perhaps nobody in the world considered Germano a fiercer rival or more awaited his downfall than Battista. And yet, with the likely prospect of this strange woman bearing news of his father’s demise, Battista felt a certain hesitancy. When she eventually seemed to see him, she **** his hand.

“Why does the heir-apparent hide while a stranger sits on his throne?” She asked in a strange, stilted voice. Her accent was thick, he almost didn’t recognize it. He had never learned the place it came from, but it was the same as Ambrosia’s “I was told you were of the age that you could be called a man.”

“Is my father dead?” He stepped forward and tried to keep his voice low. Since he had come of age, there were times where it was easy for him to drape his speech with the assuredness and regality he was entitled to. But right now, it defied him. There was something almost boyishly high and frightened to his words.

“That is your first question?” The stranger looked at him amusedly. “Not who I am? Not why I’m here? Not why I seem so comfortable moving through your palace and playing with your toys unimpeded? I could be anybody.”

“If you are a messenger, his status would be your most likely message.” Battista countered. “And if so, your lack of respect could be explained as folly.”

“Your way of approaching a problem interests me, but it also frustrates me.” She looked down her nose at him. “You can’t learn a bird’s anatomy without a dissection, but you can’t learn the cry of a bird you’ve cut open.”

“What are you talking about?” Battista scowled. “Is my father alive or not?”

“I do not know and I do not care about Germano. He’s not mine.” There was none of the fear or respect in her eyes that he was used to. “Ambrosia says you’re bright, are you?”

Battista bit his tongue before he started protesting and demanding explanations. A pair of guards - his own, thankfully - were stationed at the door looking at her with equal parts contempt and deference. Without having to try it, he could tell that if he called them, they wouldn’t raise a finger against her. They would protect him, sure, just not from her.

“You’re a witchy-woman, like she is,” Battista finally said back to her.

“In a sense,” The stranger smiled. “We do not like the term, what we do is not witchcraft.”

“There is much superstition about it, among my tribesmen.” Battista responded. “Ambrosia came to our court nearly twenty-five years my father’s senior. She bore him only a single child and learned only a few words of our language. The people cannot understand who she is and why my father married her, outside of speculating about his taste in women. And still, she is indispensable. Even bedridden, I still always see her with either a book or a letter in hand. I simply believe it is not us that she works for.”

“Correct,” She folded her hands over her robes. “Are you familiar with The Narrow Path?”

“It is an organization my father and his father both belonged to,” Battista raised his left hand. “I don’t remember how the salute goes, I was not invited.”

“Cute,” The stranger looked down at him more than a little condescendingly. “Ambrosia was our Arhat, highest among us.”

“My father married his own master?” Battista raised an eyebrow. “Or was she not so when they married.”

“Your father honored Ambrosia, as your grandfather honored Hellene before her.” The stranger raised her left hand and touched it to her forehead, her navel, and then swiped the top of her head with it. “I have been groomed to inherit her role as you have been groomed to inherit your fathers’ throne.”

“Is this my invitation, then?” Battista clasped his hands behind his back. “Because I am not-”

“This is not an invitation,” She stood up and stepped over toward him. He didn’t take a step back, even though she was a head taller than him. “I am told you are a good duelist, yes?”

“Yes,” He did his best to stare her down.

“But you are not unbeaten?”

“No man is,” Battista stuck out his chin. “My brother Farin is stronger, and used to beat me all the time-”

“Until you stopped trying to beat him fairly.” She reached out toward him, looking at him with unnatural, almost frighteningly green eyes.

“I don’t consider how I beat him cheating,” He pushed her hand away and finally took a step back. “It isn’t so simple as sabotaging his weapons or kicking sand in his eye.”

“But there is a certain path you must walk to do it,” She smiled, her face suddenly crinkled, warm, matronly. “Capitalizing on distractions, keeping your intentions masked, playing both attack and defense while looking like you stand still.”

“Yes,” Battista scowled. “A ‘Narrow Path’, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I’m glad you recognize it.” She reached out again and this time Battista let her touch his arm. He was not quite so brawny as some of his brothers, but he had filled out well in his training. “Of course, this does not only apply to dueling.”

“I gathered,” He shuddered slightly at her touch. “Is that why your group is interested in Quena? You see us as some venue for your group to gain power?”

“Don’t be dull,” Her face scrunched into a scowl. She looked younger when mad than she did when happy. “Power seeks knowledge, knowledge does not seek power.”

“What, then?” When she reached out toward him again, Battista grabbed her wrist firmly. She suddenly felt tremendously frail and soft in his grasp.

“One of the progenitors of your clan was among our founding members.” She kept her face dour, almost scolding. “Chieftess Valentina understood the tightrope she would have to walk in order for you to thrive. To be the seed which grew in the crack of a stone.”

“Then I suppose you see yourselves as the water,” Battista tightened his grip. “Quena only survives if it pays its dues and does what you say?”

“We are the turns it must take to reach the light,” The stranger winced. “Be gentle with me, young man, I am nearly fifty.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Battista let her wrist go. She didn’t immediately reach out toward him again. He looked her up and down, then cleared his throat.

“So are you allies, then?” He tried to puff out his chest and make himself taller. It didn’t work. “Since you insist you aren’t masters.”

“Servants, but with pay.” The stranger said placatingly. “Though Ambrosia is your father’s superior in title, one does not command the other.”

“Considering where my father is now, perhaps she should have commanded.” Battista said it almost teasingly.

“Your father overplayed a weak hand.” She said dispassionately “And when he dies for it, Ambrosia will follow soon after. Then, as you ascend to the throne, I ascend to Arhat.”

“You’ll forgive me if this all still sounds like you’re the ones truly in control here,” Battista looked down his nose at her.

“In her reign, Valentina suffered humiliation both at the hands of Jeridia and Beccariany.” The stranger adjusted her robes. “We exist not for ourselves or for you, but against them.”

“You’re an entity of pure spite,” Battista added.

“If Quena should fall, but in the process topple both her foes along with her, that is as much a victory to us as your bloodline conquering the whole of the world.” The stranger reached out to him again. “We trust you to serve your own interests. But you can never do what your father has done. You can never push too far too fast.”

“Here is my question,” Battista reached out to her, to see how she’d respond, but she didn’t even remotely pull away or flinch as he set his arm on her shoulder. “What actually then, have you and your group done for Quena? She has not grown in size since Valentina’s time. Jeridia and Beccariany have grown no weaker.”

The stranger laughed and picked his hand up off of her shoulder, bringing her pale pink lips down to the earth-colored skin of his hand. Battista flinched again.

“If you measure success purely in size, perhaps. But we have laid a tremendous amount of groundwork. In Valentina’s time, the law and culture of this land was Baabaolist. The change to Threvadanism allowed the men multiple wives and encouraged dozens of offspring. Your bloodline is so large and so deeply intermarried into both empires that the treaties and pacts between distant relatives have ground conflict between Jeridia and Beccariany to a near-complete halt.”

“That isn’t exactly a fool-proof plan,” Battista pulled his hand back finally. “My father has dealt with claimants to his throne the whole of his life. And my own kinsman have sought my head more than once.”

“And that is why the law was changed from primogeniture to elective inheritance.” She smiled at him with a deceptive, fake warmth. Like she was explaining the incredibly obvious. “You cannot count on the firstborn being the best equipped to both rule and to deal with potential usurpers.”

“What would happen if my father only had one child?” He narrowed his eyes, “Or if all of us had turned out lame or impotent?”

“It has happened before,” She responded as casually as she breathed. “It is a narrow path; wrong turns and dead ends can be undone, but they cost precious time.”

“And what if, after all this preparation, I turned out to be impotent?” Battista said jokingly.

“We will see, shortly,” The stranger replied with a smile. “Our soothsayers have seen no issues with your fertility, but those who look into the future look without certainty.”

“What?” Battista sputtered. He suddenly felt quite small and quite nervous.

“I have said that we were paid servants, and the payment for the lucky few is sweet.” She reached down and undid the fastener of her robe, opening it for just a moment. Her snow-pale skin was fully naked but for a pair of sandals underneath. A pair of deceptively large breasts with broad, puffy nipples sat on her chest, dotted by auburn freckles numerous enough to look like ants swarming. The round paunch of her stomach was fuzzy with a softer and sparser cut of the same mud-dark hair that thickly covered her crotch. Her hips were thick, her thighs plump. Everything about her was plush and pillowy in a way that make Battista’s stomach turn in a knot. He could feel something shifting, hot and urgent, in his groin.

“You…” Battista’s tongue suddenly felt too thick and too long.

“The exchange is simple,” The stranger looked at him as flatly as she had before. She reached down between her legs with one hand and touched her crotch for a moment. When she drew her fingers back up, there was a thick, creamy white substance clinging to them like honey. “I have come to you at the peak of my fertility, and I have also taken several concoctions which should further boost my capabilities. You will participate in your part of the exchange, and if after a month I show no signs of impregnation, another of the potential Arhats will come and you will do the same. If you fail to impregnate all three of us, we will move on to the next potential heir.”

“But I’m… betrothed…” Battista finally managed to find his voice.

“Yes, to one of the princesses of Jeridia, who is still two years away from being ready to marry,” The stranger closed her robe. “My reward is that I am potentially to bear your firstborn. Possibly even to be your first time. We believe that both things are… tremendously powerful supernatural boons. I will not comment on Valentina’s proclivities, but she was blessed with a tremendously long life despite her misfortunes.”

“I…” Battista’s mouth suddenly felt tremendously dry and his throat incredibly tight. Farin and Bakr had both bragged about their first times being with chambermaids or serving girls. Battista had only ever had manservants. How long had this been planned out in advance? Was there any assumption that he was going to say no? There had even been times where, sneaking away and being close, he’d been interrupted.

Seeming to sense his hesitation, the stranger reached out and grabbed Battista’s hand, pulling it inside of her cloak and placing it on the soft, warm flesh of her breast. Battista’s mouth dropped open slightly as his fingers closed and gripped at the pillowy skin. Then she grabbed his other wrist and pushed that hand between her legs. He could feel the shaggy fur of her crotch, but then in the center something wet, something red-hot and throbbing like a second heartbeat. His cock had started to strain against his breeches, something that she could absolutely see.

“If you would like to do it here, I am not, technically, opposed,” She said in a softly goading voice “But a bed will be more comfortable.”

“Ah…” Battista mumbled and nodded. “Bed.”

She pulled his hands away from her body and took him along behind her by the wrist. Giving a nod to the guards, who gave a slightly embarrassed not back to him, they moved quickly through the hillfort. It was mostly empty, though he couldn’t tell if this was by design or simply because it was late. Then they moved past his bedroom, and Battista almost stopped her, but the stranger led him a couple doors further down into the Chief’s bedroom. Vacant, for the time being, until the news came down the line. Then, eventually, technically his.

Shutting the door behind them, the stranger unclasped her cloak and let it drop to the floor. Her hips and butt were almost decadently soft and round. His body screamed at him to leap on her like a wild animal, but some paralyzing instinct held him back as she flopped down onto the bed on her back. Spreading her legs to either side, she reached between her legs and pushed aside the hair, spreading the red lips of her pussy and showing wet, pink skin inside of it. She looked at him expectantly.

“Come closer, you can’t do anything from over there,” She said impatiently.

Battista stumbled over, fumbling with his breeches. With an expert hand, she reached out and pulled the ties loose, slipping them down around his ankles as his cock sprang up into his undershirt. She wrapped a warm, soft hand around his shaft and made Battista shudder and stifle a whimper. His dick was throbbing so hard, the tip in particular, that it felt like he was going to explode. His balls were churning uncomfortably. The stranger pulled the skin back from his head and he couldn’t hold back the whimpering moan that it prompted. She seemed to look at his shaft in her hand. The wetness of his tip, the size, the contrast of his dark skin and her pale skin. After a moment, she gave a sort of contented grunt. Then she reached over and grabbed a pillow, slipping it under her lower back to better align their hips.

“This is one of the last ways in which you still haven’t become a man,” She commented.

He tried to give some kind of response, no matter how stupid, but as he did, the stranger rubbed her thumb against the sensitive underside of Battista’s head, making his knees wobble and buckle forward.

“The excitement is wonderful,” The stranger said warmly. “Even if you become Chief, no matter how much you grow this kingdom or punish her enemies, I will always get to remember you like this. Tongue-tied, ready to beg, a boy still in a man’s body. And even if you would punish me for humiliating you with the memory, it would only cause it to burn you worse.”

She let go of him suddenly and Battista’s hips struck against hers almost with more **** than he had thought them capable of. His cock slipped up past her sex, grazing over the fine hairs of her crotch and stomach. He bucked back frantically and buried himself inside of her like he was in a ****, tumbling, downhill race. The stranger gave a noise of elation and set one hand on his chest as she grabbed one of her breasts with the other. Finally being inside of her was an elation beyond what he’d expected. The feeling - the actual sensations of it - weren’t even necessarily as amazing as he’d pictured them. Not to say they weren’t spectacular. She was wet, tight, the friction of skin on skin was amazing as was the heat of having himself completely buried. The stranger even gave a little wiggle of her hips and clenched in a way that made herself momentarily tighter. But all of that paled in comparison to the almost head-orgasm of finally getting her after the teasing, of finally getting over the hump after the wanting. It felt almost like the pumping of his hips was as fast as it was simply because he wanted to climax right away. He wanted to match the bliss and the glory of the moment with an actual orgasm and release of all of that built-up tension. Trying to keep a pair of unrelated sensations with their own momentums and trajectories in some kind of time with each other. The movements of his hips became sloppy, uneven and clumsy. But the stranger seemed to enjoy the energy of it more than the action, cycling her own disconnected pair of ecstasies as well.

Battista started to lean forward, bracing his hands on the bed to try to find some manner of stability, but he was so frantic and so worked-up that it was more like he was half-collapsing into her. As he did, the stranger unbuttoned and untied his shirt slowly until it fell open around her. Then she went back to stroking his chest, setting her pale hand right at the center and tracing it down the night-black hair toward his stomach.

It was too much, the frantic rapidity of his thrusts caught up to him and Battista more completely collapsed forward as his knees buckled. He slammed his hips hard into her and let out a high, boyish whine. At the same time, he felt her thighs tighten around his hips. As Battista folded forward into her, his cock swelled and throbbed uncontrollably. The stranger brought her hand up into his short-cut, curly black hair and stroked his head in an almost tauntingly matronly way. At the same time, she pushed his head down into her breasts.

His seed came bursting out into her, the head of his cock suddenly a conduit of pure fire and energy. Battista could feel the stranger’s sex clenching around him and could hear her heart beating fast, muffled by her breast. His eyes squeezed shut and his mouth hung open, the boyish whine turning into an animal, growling grunt and gasp. The pressure in his balls didn’t so much let up as it exploded, shattering into a blissful, white-hot emptiness. An electricity that seemed to run up from his groin to his stomach and then back again. But it was fleeting. Each moment a little less intense and a little less complete than the last. It was an incredible high, unlike anything else in the world. But it was the briefest one he’d ever experienced. And one that required constant chasing. One that he also, in that moment, realized had him under its control like the most pathetic of addicts.

And in that, the stranger’s softness, her own fast heartbeat, and her gentle stroking seemed almost more like an encouragement than anything. Both a confirmation of the gentle, playful pleasures that came before and after, as well as a reaffirmation that he was not the only person chasing it. She shuddered as he shuddered, she squeezed and relaxed her cunt as she felt him throb and swell. As she loosened her thighs just slightly, she rolled her hips, tilting her sex more up toward him and making him suddenly quiver. He realized that his cock had become almost painfully sensitive. He didn’t want to pull it out of her warmth, but every little movement was suddenly more unpleasant to him than pleasant. Seemingly fully aware of this, the stranger laid as still as she humanly could with her chest heaving and her hand still stroking his head.

“I understand why the first time is so revered,” She finally said softly.

Battista looked up, suddenly feeling much more conflicted than he had a moment ago. In the immediate afterglow of their intimacy, he suddenly felt a wash of shame. Shame that he had let himself be manipulated and led around like that. Shame that he had let himself be stroked and coddled. Shame that he had made such undignified noises. And all by a stranger, no less. One more than twice his age.

And yet.

For every part of her that suddenly made him deeply aware of their difference in years, every bit that wrinkled and sagged; another part was plump and feminine or invitingly textured in a way that made his stomach start doing the same twisting motions all over again. He gazed at the dappled skin of her breasts, the puffy swelling of her large nipples, the curve of her belly. It wasn’t the same lust that he felt toward somebody his own age. There was something that bordered on the animal.

“What… ah… what is your name?” Battista asked sheepishly.

“Ah…” The stranger looked just as embarrassed. “If I fail to have your firstborn while another succeeds, I have not earned one. And if you cannot plant an heir, you have not earned knowing one.”

“Ah…” He reached down and started to squeeze her breasts idly. “If we… go again… will that help our chances?”

“No,” She responded flatly.

“Ah…” Battista responded again. He pinched one of her nipples between his fingers until she bit her lip.

“My body is still yours for the time being…” The stranger added after a moment. “I don’t suppose trying hurts.”

Battista sighed in relief and bent back down toward her, wrapping his lips around her nipple as his hips began to move again, he bit down on the bud until the stranger let out a squealing giggle. His hands gripped wildly, trying to find every piece of her that was pleasingly soft and dig his fingers in until they left red marks.

And each successive time was slightly less magical, but far more fun.

If you liked this chapter, vote for it to be continued here!