Flash Fiction Friday - Kings

Monday

"Keep your eyes closed." I'd let her get me in this precarious position, poised on the cold surface of the sink, unable to catch myself if I fell because of the ropes. I was never into bondage, I told her, but if it made her happy. And it did, so we did it. Over and over again.

This time, she promised, it would be different. So I dutifully kept my eyes closed as instructed. My hip bones were complaining, and the marble stayed cold, keeping me on the edge of my seat, so to speak.

And then she was there between my legs, entering me, hard and fast, and the strap-on was so familiar I could have drawn a picture of it from nothing more than the sensation of it spearing me. "Oh man, not Henry again," I said, my lip curling in a scowl of disappointment. "Every time it's Henry. You could have gone for Louis at least." She had the bad habit of naming our toys after kings.

"Just keep your eyes closed and concentrate," she said, pressing Henry into me again. I gritted my teeth and tried to concentrate on the sensations, even though I could really only think about how much my ass hurt.

And then, when I least expected it, I felt the texture inside me change like magic. "Meet Henry II," she said with a grin. I just gasped and came, hard.

---

Tuesday

The royal appetites are well-noted, and King Philip was no different. He ate well, he drank well, he slept in the finest beds, and he was constantly indulging in some new and exciting activity, from hunting rhinos to parachuting. His appetites were so vast, in fact, that he was seldom in his castle, where Queen Beatrice was forced to hold court and deal with affairs of state in his absence.

"I sometimes wonder," she said to Mary, her aide, "if my husband will rest until he kills himself."

"I wouldn't care to speculate, your majesty," said Mary dryly, adjusting the equipment.

"Never mind," said Beatrice with a smile. "I'm far happier with him gone." She was tied hand and foot in the royal bathroom, and Mary was preparing to aid her mistress in a particularly pressing affair of state. "Hard and fast as usual, Mary. You know I have a luncheon meeting with the Prime Minister in an hour, and I want time to prepare." She gasped with pleasure as Mary slid the royal scepter home with practiced force.

The royal appetites, being what they were, led the two, ruler and subject, to dally far too long in the boudoir, leaving the Prime Minister cooling his heels in the solarium. The muffled sounds of their coupling were heard only by the footman at the door, who did his best to remain stalwartly impassive, and of course to hide his erection.

---

Wednesday

Once upon a time a girl, beautiful but poor, went to the castle to see if there were any jobs she might do to support her ailing father. She was put to work as the lowest maid. In this castle dwelt a prince said to be under enchantment, of marrying age but without a wife, for it was said that he never removed his clothes, never bathed, never spoke.

The king ordered all the young women of the kingdom to break the terrible curse. Each one performed some deed to prove their worth, but each was turned away. Finally, after all the other women had failed, the poor daughter, lacking anything better, kissed the prince, hard and fast.

He smiled and nodded, and the wedding was held, although the poor girl thought she was doomed to a odious marriage. But on the wedding night, the prince spoke for the first time, bidding her close her eyes while he bound her. She wept but did as she was bidden, for the prince's voice was gentle. Then she felt lips on hers, and the voice said, "Now open your eyes, my princess."

And there was the prince between the girl's legs, and there was the means to consummate the marriage, and the girl understood, as she left her maidenhood behind, just why the prince had stayed clothed all these years. He was no prince at all, but neither was he a frog.

---

Thursday

It's good to be the king, even a minor king of a minor nation. Power has its perks.

His first act after succeeding his father had been to refurbish the toilets. That wasn't an exaggeration; his father's corpse was on the slab and Prince, now King, Michael was instructing the decorators. Not that he hadn't loved his father, but the castle's plumbing was ancient. King Michael the Elder had enjoyed the old style, but King Michael the Younger didn't like his morning routine hard and fast.

Renovations completed, his Highness went a number of weeks before it dawned on him. "Women!" he said to himself as he took his royal evacuation of the morning.

"Sir?" asked his valet from beyond the door.

"Fetch me a blonde... and maybe a brunette too, just for color!"

"Sir?"

"Hop to it, Gilbert, I want to see two ladies in here by the time I'm finished."

As it happened there were two young scullery maids, one blonde, one brunette. They were duly fetched. "Send them... wait, tell them to take off their kit first, then send them in."

The maids nervously entered shortly thereafter, to find the king still on his throne. "All right ladies, I think blondie will receive today," said his Highness, making no move to rise. "Gear is in the cupboard. Hop to it; I want to watch a bit while I finish up here."

It's good to be the king.

---

I would like to state, up front, that I didn't even think of the royal wedding when I came up with the title or theme. But it is shockingly apropos, so maybe my subconscious had something up its sleeve. I could give two shits about the royal wedding, but hey, I'll ride the wave.

I wrote the first one Monday night, right after seeing the picture. I think this may be the earliest I've ever written one. And then I decided to try and write one a day, each day I have the challenge. Because sometimes you've got to pace yourself.

The first was entirely inspired by the expression on the receiver's face. It's not a cut-and-dried expression; it could be a lot of things. But it said, "Oh man, not this again," to me the second I looked at it. So I had to write that in.

And then I was going to write something which captured, "not again," but I didn't want to be disappointing. I wanted joy, sex, love, excitement. The picture is very sexy, despite involving bondage which really isn't my thing. So I tried to put myself in the picture. I might agree to something like this if it made my partner happy, and I might eventually get tired of the routine. And I would really enjoy a sex toy which was able to change its profile in use. There are such things, I know, and I might have to hunt one down. But anyway, it all came from the idea that her partner was going to surprise her by employing a toy which seemed to be the same, but then all of a sudden wasn't. The picture is the moment before the reveal.

Before I bore everyone to death with this, the reason I told you that story was because I wanted to tell you this one. I was trying to come up with a name for the same-old-same-old sex toy. I have a toy named Ramon (pronounced in a very Spanish and sexy way, please) but that's much too exciting a name. And I don't give names to inanimate objects often. But I do name animate objects, and I show a flair, even accidentally. In this case, I went through a bunch of names and settled on Henry because it seemed like a strange name to give a toy, but at the same time was a fairly normal name, not what you'd give to your 18 inch black studded strap-on or anything.

Then I had to come up with another name, and Louis (pronounced Looey) seemed good. I don't know why. And then, after having written another sentence or so, it struck me: both royal names. There was my rationale for them, only I hadn't had it in the first place. I could lie and say it was all planned, but that's less fun. And then, suddenly, the punch line. What better name to call the new and exciting toy which is mistaken for Henry? The rest was easy.

Speaking of easy, it would be really easy for you to go to PB's site to check out the rest of the Flash Fiction Friday Fun^{(Patent Pending)}. Okay, that was a terrible segue. What do you expect from me? I'm just a hack.

Then, having written the first, called it "Kings" and then decided definitely on Tuesday to write one a day, I felt I had to be thematic, so the second one sort of naturally followed. I think Beatrice is a woefully underused name; people think it's fuddy-duddy, but actually I find it pretty sexy. I wrote the first line and realized that it had to be repeated, so I worked that in. I talked too much about the first one, so I'll leave discussion of the second blissfully short.

Blissfully short like the amount of time it would take you to go check out the other entries on PB's site. I am the master of segues! Bow before me!

Yeah, I'm going to write an afterward to each one. Just try and stop me. The third, written on what I consider Wednesday although perhaps loosely, arose from a thought I had, but which I can't remember now, having written it. I remember vaguely, but if I said it, it would just be recapitulation of the story itself, and the thought wasn't that concrete. I had the general plotline before I thought to make it a fairy tale, and now I'm almost sorry I did, because damn it if it wasn't hard to write a fairy tale in 240 words. I had to leave out a lot of stuff, and it shows. Do you get it? Hopefully you do.

The traditional fairy-tale telling of this would include ten times as much text, probably with some stuff about the poor girl's family at the beginning to give her protagonist interest, and then a bunch more fluff about the curse, then fluff about the contest (which was reduced to the point where it makes less sense here, but I can't help it; length is a harsh mistress), then fluff about the wedding and how the girl thought that she was dooming herself to a life living with a smelly mute, but she was going to do it anyway because she wanted to support her father (rah rah), then, if it were a real fairy tale, less bondage and fewer dildoes. But instead, the Reader's Digest version, if Reader's Digest allowed bondage and dildoes.

If it did, it'd probably be a lot more like Flash Fiction Friday, so it's probably good that it isn't, since it couldn't hope to compete with the real thing, over at PB's site. So head over there and digest, ye readers! Bet you thought you'd make it out of this paragraph without that sentence, didn't you?

I kind of had to use the line in one, but it fell to the last one to do it. This is the one that most needs the picture to make sense, otherwise it's tougher to tell what's going on. I don't mind writing things which are independent of the picture, but in this case I felt like giving the set-up to which the picture is the punch line. I'm not sure where this came from; I wish I'd had more space so I could be more salacious, since I felt like being crass. Of course the king wants women to fuck each other for his pleasure while he takes a shit. It's like Playboy in the bathroom, only live-action.

Simple and inelegant, just the way I like it.

[Terrible segue terrible segue], Flash Fiction Friday [bad pun]. PB's site [reference to the enormity of PB's cock]. [Imprecation to you to join in]. [Conclusion that you won't join in], but [imprecation to read the others] at least. [Statement to the effect that everyone who participates in FFF is a better human being]. [Non-FDA-verified statement to the effect that everyone who participates in FFF will grow several inches/cup sizes], wink wink. [Self-deprecating statement about my lack of ability to come up with a good segue].