Of Golden Sands
It was a peculiar sensation. Felicia tried not to giggle as she cradled her head in her
hands with her elbows resting in the sand and her body, strangely itching with excitement,
stretched out on her stomach. Wriggling gently was both a sensation of embarrassment and a
primitive, natural action, which her secret female pleasure zones seemed to impel. The
hazy sun slanted diagonally from the southwest and as it dipped toward the cliffs, it made
the shadows of dancing male figures elongated from the shallow pools of salty water across
the rippled low dunes.
Felicia grabbed her friend Breytalia`s hand as they hid behind a stand of tall reeds,
with last year`s straw dried stalks mixing with the new growth of strong dark green
burgeoning in the early spring moist mists before the dry season. Felicia stole a glance
at Breytalia and saw the same transfixed expression on the beautiful face, made more
enchanting by the sunlight glowing through her fair blonde hair in a halo effect.
The pounding feet of the dancers echoed a single drumbeat and somewhere, hidden from the
two young women, was a Mindman, chanting the rites of the Stepping Stones. Each man held a
spear to symbolize dominance over the wild animals, which roamed the forests to the west,
and a whirling net to show the Sea Lord the respect they had for his power. Both women had
started to experiment with the pleasures of their influence but to see this naked line of
young warriors in their dance was awe-inspiring.
The beautiful Breytalia had many admirers but because she was the daughter of a Wasihali,
she was to become a gift to a noble or one of the subjugated kings of an adjacent land.
Her future was planned and it was imperative to the well being of the Mhadi Federation
that this jewel should remain sparkling and as yet uncut. Her relationship with Persinion
was gentle, undeveloped and secret to her household.
The elflike figure of Felicia had its followers. As a cousin and now a handmaiden to
Breytalia, her liaisons were not scrutinized so closely and already she had tasted the
delights of carnal passion. This knowledge didn`t lessen her mental appetite as she
surveyed the swaying chorus of men, who were reaching an ecstasy of enlightenment. She was
fascinated with many of their bodies. A broad Vennanen from the swampy delta to the
southwest danced with a purposeful, staccato movement which made her chew her lip and
imagine such a snake-like wriggle pumping into her willing sex.
Her thoughts savored his fine straight loin wand, and although the Rites of the Stepping
Stones were in praise and pursuit of spiritual understanding, his pleasure rod was stiffly
aroused. As he passed her line of sight, Felicia shifted in her prone position, watching
his thrusting naked ass and wishing he was forcing her down beneath his thighs as the
magic of his penetration awoke her slumbering desire. She squeezed Braytalia`s hand in an
involuntary reflex action at the surge craving at the tips of her nipples and the depths
of her vagina. Breytalia responded with a returned clenching of her fingers as she
struggled with the emotions of her love for Persinion, the dreaded thought her father, the
High King Argenon, would give her in marriage gift to a Royal King of the Federation, and
the immediate delight of the tempting male nudity just twenty yards before her.
Only twice had she taken the manhood of Persinion fully into the folds and cavern of her
tender loins and the memory of those partial fulfillments now troubled her young mind.
Should she--could she--feel such burning sensations in her vagina as she watched the
gyrating warriors, when her heart kept telling her that she loved Persinion. Breytalia
vowed to confide in Felicia tonight. Although they were the same age at nineteen, her
cousin`s life was free of High Royal blood and she had skills and knowledge with men
denied to Argenon`s daughter.
The singing faded into the distance and the warriors would soon assemble at the Rock of
Destiny to hear the Mindmen`s wisdom and stories of an ancient past. All the two young
women could think about was not the myths of the Mhadi People, but their hunger for these
men to find them in the reeds and consume their lust in a frenzied quenching of sexual
passion.
The dark hair of Felicia was cut short and as she sat up, beads of sweat trickled down
her forehead in a race to moisten her small, turned up nose. Her face was impish and the
features petite, made more so by her enormous oval eyes. These dark black orbs were
slanted deeply in the corners, and it was said she bore the ancestry of a long lost people
of the Mhadi, who once lived in a land now submerged by a mighty sea.
"Which one did you want to touch?" Felicia grinned at her cousin. Breytalia`s
pale complexion blushed and she fiddled nervously with the plaits of golden hair, banded
with purple beads, the signature color of the Royal House of Miletynus.
"Go on, don`t be so shy. Shall I tell you who I had an itch over?" Felicia
beamed wickedly and skipped around holding Breytalia`s hands in a wild, excited jig. She
then stopped and threw herself back down on the sand, rolling over and over. Her eyes were
the size of the fruit platters used at official dinners and Felicia beckoned to Breytalia
to sit next to her.
"Did you see that adorable Vennanen with the tight curly fair hair ... and not just
on his head!" Felicia screamed with laughter. "Don`t tell me you didn`t
fantasize about him sneaking into your bed and feeling that wand go rigid as he pressed up
against your body."
Felicia sat up suddenly and inclined her head in an inquisitive way.
"Hey, Breytalia, it just struck me. Have you and Persinon got it together?"
"Yes," Breytalia snapped more petulantly than she meant to sound.
The two friends were about to mutually calm the words, when a nasal voice called across
the dunes.
"Breytalia."
Felicia rolled her sparkling jet eyes and muttered, "By the shield of Atimus, it`s
that prim and proper brother of yours ... Ditteronon the watchdog!"
* * * *
A young man, bearded, slim and with his father`s aquiline nose, strolled up to them with
what he probably thought was an imperious walk. Ditteronon desperately tried to be a
worthy High King in waiting. As Argenon`s son, he had a right to be considered for the
leadership of the Mhadi Federation. But when he came to stake his claim, it would mean his
father would be dead and no one in the Seven Kingdoms thought Ditteronon would be
acceptable to the Wasihali.
"The High King has been looking for you, Breytalia," Ditteronon tried to sound
dignified. He stole a glance at his sister and felt that same inner resentment. From their
father, Argenon, she had inherited her tall stature and fair golden hair. From her mother,
she was blessed with grace, beautiful features and blue eyes that seemed to reflect the
sky. But then, Breytalia was the child of Argenon`s concubine, not the daughter of the
regal Lady Sybille.
"What does he want?" The question came from Felicia. Ditteronon thought her
manner impertinent. Whenever he came across Felicia, there was always a tension in the
meeting. She never showed him the respect he felt he deserved ... and then there was her
rejection of his advances. He had tried to make her see that to have him as a lover would
be a great honor. She shrugged and always said she took men that pleased her body, not her
dignity. That was not the word she used--body--it was far too coarse for Ditteronon to
repeat, even in his pompous mind.
"It is a matter for the High Royal family," Ditteronon answered.
"Dickhead," Felicia muttered and then both young women giggled as Ditteronon
coughed, stuttered and searched the ether for his self-esteem.
As Breytalia and Felicia ran up over the sand dunes toward the road skirting the River
Tyron, Ditteronon took a quick check at the activities over the other side of the reeds.
He heard the rhythmic drum beat of the Mindmen`s call to assemble and in his outraged
imagination, he saw his royal sister being led astray by that wanton, Felicia. He
straightened his silk gown and tried to dismiss his own strange attraction to a warrior
from the spearmen of Baktinen.
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