| Once a Princess.... CHAPTER TWO: LIFE IN ORGA Sveda the Svelte was the guardian of girls, head of the household, purveyor of potions and empress of entertainment. Tall and slim, as her name suggests, she was the antithesis of her co-crowned Queen, but shared her aims of maintaining a kingdom of female liberation, sexual freedom, prosperity and safety. She didn't have Brunhilda's breasts, she didn't have her powerful tongue or insatiable appetite, but she had one thing her partner could never have: Beauty. Boom Boom was not bad, not a witch, but her features had somehow been culled from the scrap basket. A wall-eye, bent nose, a chin that went on and on, and a mouth that resembled a tilde, she was unique. Not that she cared, for being Queen (joint) made her immune to criticism – well, she never heard any, because the guillotine was right outside her window – and features aside, she was really jolly, with a wicked sense of humour, a way of keeping the wizard on his/her toes, and once you got used to the face the rest was just what one needed. Provided you didn't giggle. When she was just thirteen Brunnie had spotted Sveda at a beauty pageant. The older girl was so stunning that Brunnie's heart was struck, smitten, and sundered. She had to have her. She was not yet Queen, a fact that rankled, because the stupid parliament, then run by men, had decreed that she was too young. No matter that her mother had expressly stated that her only daughter was to follow her as ruler. She had just failed to stipulate 'immediately upon my death'. So she waited and plotted. Most of the old fuddy-duddies were scared to death of her, so she at least got most of what she wanted, but this conquest, she thought, would be something she could do herself. She had her 'companions', the euphemism currently in use for the co-opted girls who were really slaves, but they were hardly capable of taking her clothes off, let alone get her excited. Whereas this one – well, this one was hers. She was waiting in the wings when her catch came off stage to the roars of the men and the tight lips of the other contestants, and put a hand on the arm that was about to pass unheeding. "Hello," she said in her best little girl voice – not that she'd ever really had one of those – "what's your name? Mine's Brunhilda." "Why, hello, Princess, fancy meeting you here." "Oh. You know me?" "Seen your picture, same as everyone else. Never thought I'd get to meet you, though. What do you think of the contest so far?" "Hmph!" She snorted. "No contest. You've got it in a condom. Your ears are perfect, your nose the best I've ever seen, and as for your height, well no one, but no one will come near you.(1) You are just the best girl there. I was going past, saw you onstage, and had to come and talk to you. You see, I'm looking for someone like you to come and help me rule this place, just as soon as I can work out how to make them make me queen. That's what my mother decreed, but those men. You know?" The girl nodded slowly. The men in her life, father, brothers, teachers were all OK, but one never contradicted a Princess. Life was too short as it was. "I see." What the hell did one say to a Princess who 'wants' you to do something. Not 'another time, thanks', or 'can't you find someone else?' "Of course, Princess I..." "Call me Brunnie." A command. "...Brunnie, of course I'd love to help you, but there might be a problem." The eyes of steel cooled. "What." Oh, shit, she'd treasoned. "Well, you see, I'm gay. A lesbian. A seller of flowers. A lover of girls. And that may not suit." The steel melted, turned to rose petals, and brought forth a smile, transforming the ugly into the horrible. "I knew you were. I wouldn't have asked otherwise. I want you to help me turn this godforsaken dump into a lesbian paradise. Start academies. Throw the men out of power, put the women in. Get the better of those Amazon Dykes, make the age of consent three. Get what I mean?" A slow smile appeared, putting the Venus de Milo to shame. 'You mean, um, you're yourself um, are a les..." "Of Course I am." The laugh was the one Aphrodite herself might have used. Delicious, bizarre out of those lips, but making the laugher instantly likeable. No more distorted features, just a lovely maiden you'd take home to meet mother. "Anyway, what's your name?" "Why, Sveda, your Royal Highness." And thus was born one of history's great love affairs. Even though the dissembling Princess had not had a clue as to her new companion's leanings, and that it was many years before she could be weaned from claiming everything as her own, love flourished. Lovers can't pretend to be superior, not in the long term. The very first thing Sveda did was to seduce the prime minister. This wasn't hard, as avowed celibates are always the first to succumb to the charms of a chaste, innocent young woman seeking to strengthen the moral fabric of society. Especially when she has just won this year's beauty pageant. Before he knew it, she was sitting on his cock, bouncing up and down, giving him the biggest thrill of his life as he ejaculated inside a woman for the very first time. This was such an epiphany that he promised her anything if she would do it even once more. Her first demand was, of course, that Brunhilda be made Queen forthwith. But, a politician to the last, he would not agree to that unless his new love could rule as equal, and that she would fuck his brains out every day. A moment's contemplation, and she agreed. The second thing she did was to tell him that a meeting of the nobles, the government, the and heads of every department should be called for the following morning. Six a.m., in the great hall, so he could confirm the arrangements. A very edgy refusal was overcome with the offer of a second fuck. "And every day?" He was whining by now. "Of course, my precious," replied the sixteen-year-old. " I promise," she added as she climbed back on. Things went quickly. Brunhilda was delighted with the arrangements, was quite ready to not only share her crown but her bed, provided she didn't have to bear the brunt of making all those hard decisions her mother had kept on about. If her ideas of liberal liberation were shown to be working through the supply of worshipful nubiles and a good press, she was content. And she soon realised that Sveda was the very model of a modern major manipulator, getting things organised, keeping the population content with game shows and talkback for their thrills and bread and fast food for their sustenance. The tourist trade blossomed, the pageants became world-wide events, and any wrong doing was dealt with swiftly and finally by the keeper of the peace. This was a lady who had rescued Brunnie from the bowels of the royal toilet after a night of too many drinks and too many sauces. She was foreign, and her surname, though unpronounceable, translated to 'don't fuck with me', which Queen no.1 abbreviated to 'Donfu', perfectly reasonable and meaningless. Donna Donfu's first job was to 'control' the first minister. She didn't need Sveda's wiles. She just threatened to cut off his balls. She left him in place to pass any laws either Queen decided they'd like, the first being the annual lesbian gala festival to be held on Midsummer's Day. He was finally expelled by the speaker of the house, a formidable lady of the old lesbian school, who did not hold with men masturbating during debate on a tax bill. No forwarding address. Sveda and Brunhilda, joint rulers of the land of Orga, seemed, at first glance, an odd couple. Tall, gracious and beautiful, matched with large, ugly and bejeweled, their looks belied the rapport that existed between them. Not any old rapport, either. Theirs was the essence of Lesbos, a female Yin/Yin of completion, where the word 'joint' got its full complement of meanings. And they both loved Ephemerone, although only one had done the actual birthing. Sveda was never going to make mother, but her orgasmic techniques were supreme. Her breasts were so firm, her nipples so protruding, that she could stick one between the legs of a nun and get her to climax in no time at all. She'd learnt to play the oboe, so her lungs and lips were like bellows and pincers of steel. If a ten-year-old had not yet developed breasts, a session with Queen no. 2 advanced the years by three. Sans hair, of course. It was her relationship with her half-daughter, however, that was the pivot around which everything in Orga ran. Ephemerone had found her just right for the guidance she craved, the development that was inevitable, and the education that she would have not otherwise received. Brunhilda was brave, bold, and brassy. Her daughter craved culture, class and counseling. "Sveda," she remarked one evening after the afternoon orgy, "the Queen says that if I want children I'll have to get fucked by a man. I'm kind of like looking at babies and feeling all warm, but I can't bear the idea of having some prick in me. I've got my girls, I've got you, and I've now got Emerald. Do I have to have a man?" Sveda bent down to kiss her semi-daughter. "Have a suck on my cunt while I think," she murmured. After approaching the edge a few times, but pushing herself back from the drop into heaven, she said, "Well my sweet, delightful daughter, we're off to see the wizard." (1) 'Condom' is a local term for 'in the bag' and more descriptive; the three parameters for beauty contests back then were perfection of nose; shape, size and colour of ears; and height. The second item, the ears, could be doctored fairly easily; the nose was more expensive to alter, while the height was nearly impossible to change. Bare feet were essential during the contest, and anyone found cheating was forced to become a Wizard's assistant, a fate possibly worse than fellatio.) |