Seven Precious Things

She knew what it was. Apple nectar.

"How did you even get that?" protested the captive, as she complained and strained against the anklets that were tying her to the bedposts.

"That is a tale for another day," said her mistress, smiling, as she began to drip from a spoon a waxy, clear substance, like raw honey, heated up, onto her captive's stomach.

"It's the most addictive substance in the world," said the captive, her arms straining, this time against the gentle cuffs and chains that bound her to more wood, more polished bondage in furniture form. "Tell me how you got it."

"Impudent," said her mistress. "I wanted to save it for a special occasion, but, since you insist, and I am such a fickle creature..." She rolled her eyes. "You'll be a good captive and stay still, won't you, as I tell the story? Here."

A pale woman came from the other side of the room, her eyes heavy, her black hair streaming to the floor, and she began to pad over to the bed in her soft shoes, her eyes dilated, her cheeks bright.

"You'll stay still, won't you," the Mistress repeated, as the woman bent to the captive's stomach, her breath quickening through her nose as her barely controlled movements were contained by the Mistress's hand upon her naked back.

"Stay with me, dear," said the Mistress to the woman, whose long hair brushed against the captive's nipples, the part of her thigh that joined the groin, and the first lump of the substance that was sitting there, dissolving on the captive's stomach, and the woman made a growl of frustration.

"Waste not, want not," said the Mistress. "Don't worry. I'm sure she can lick your hair for you," she said to her. The woman gave her a stare of defiance, and licked furiously at the dissolving lump on the Captive's stomach, her breasts brushing against the captive's legs, and the captive moaned.

"Once upon a time," said the Mistress...

"There was a woman who dreamed of her Prince. But, most of all, she dreamed of what she would do. Not just with him, though she had plans, of course. Not just her kingdom. But with herself."

"There were so many ways with which she could love herself, and love others. But, first, she decided, she would show her love to herself by wooing her own body, and ravishing it."

A cry escaped the lips of the captive as the mistress dropped more nectar on to her stomach and on to her vulva, and the other woman responded in kind.

"She traveled, and she read, and she decided that she would collect the seven most precious substances in the world, and waste them on herself. She would touch them, she would smell them, she would taste them, and, most of all, she would see them. Not just let her gaze rest on them, though that was important, too."

"So she said... and so she did."

"The first was a vial of the most potent herb. Lavender didn't even begin to compare. Rosemary would be long remembered as lesser."

The captive gasped as the other woman traveled down, where Mistress had so benevolently let loose a drop of the nectar, the beading of it mirroring that of the captive's.

"She placed these substances on herself, and she looked at herself in the mirror. She was nude, you see. And she had called no one to come and see her."

"She doused herself in a bath, and rubbed the herbs on herself again. And, this time, she placed on herself a drop of the world's most renowned sweet-thing, the second precious thing. She reveled in the smoothness and the taste and the aroma. She placed more on her lips, and on her tongue. She dipped a spoon mercilessly into the container it came in, and dipped it into her mouth, licking her lips. And she did it again." The captive was moaning.

"And after her bath, she took soft cloths and tassels, the third and fourth precious things, and she flattened her fingers against them and placed them on top of her breasts. And she took a wax for honey, something like this," and the Mistress spooned the nectar onto each of the captive's nipples, and the captive moaned with anticipation and the sensation of the warm nectar on her nipples, warming them. "And the tassels and the soft cloths stuck. She waited until the honey could harden and affix the precious things securely onto her sacred parts."

"And she did this, too, for her vulva. But she also trailed another substance with her finger, the fifth precious thing, made of the rarest fruit, and did the same thing. The sweet, sticky essence of the crushed fruits of the best harvest were trailed along with her fingers, stuck, again, into the jar, and she licked her lips, and did it again, to the insides of her thighs, just like you," said the Mistress. The captive gave a soft moan, the kind that is a whimper, staccato, a moan and a cry mixed with a gasp, as the mistress dropped more nectar into the space between her thighs and smeared it with her finger.

"And she looked at herself in the mirror, and placed herself on her bed, which was laden with petals of gold and silver, spun so soft that they felt like real petals, the sixth and seventh things. And she began to pleasure herself, looking at herself in the mirror to see what visage looked at her back."

"And there she saw the most beautiful sight in the world to her -- herself, moaning and thrashing, bedecked in the treasures she had fought for herself, that she had bartered for with words and favors granted by others, a long investment chain borne of her own ingenuity, and a sword for those who had tried to wrong her, and hard travel but very little sacrifice ... blue seas seen from high vistas, and greenery, and sand beneath her toes, and greetings of 'Your Majesty' and 'My Mistress...'"

And, at this, the Mistress hissed and placed her mouth onto that of her captive, and the captive did not resist, play-straining against her chains as expression rather than protest. And the long hair of the other woman still brushed against her body as she licked, now the clitoris of the captive, too, before the mistress lifted and heaved the other woman over to straddle the captive, as the nectar was all gone from the captive's body. The other woman gave one last lick to the captive's nipples as she was heaved on top of the captive, bending over and crying out in desperation, but then her mistress was there, naked, with more of the nectar on the spoon.

The other woman lunged forward to get to the spoon, but the mistress caught her hair before she could. "Thrust," said Mistress to her, and she did so, hard, and the mistress gave her the spoonful. "Again," said the mistress, and the other woman thrust against the captive's hips, her labia brushing against the captive's, whose face was flushed and dewy.

"Again," said the mistress, but this time she moved the spoon farther away, and said, "If you wish me to give you all the nectar you can eat, you must keep thrusting against her, again and again. And if you can do it hard and well, without a stop, you may have all of it."

The other woman took hold of the captive's breasts, and the mistress put a spoon in her mouth without grabbing her hair. The mistress looked pleased at the extra touch of the woman's hands against the captive's breasts, and at the woman herself, legs spread and ready, her own breasts pert and piqued in further anticipation of the nectar. She breathed hard and gave a simple, violent thrust, to show her mistress further what she could do. A cry came from the captive.

The Mistress got another spoonful and placed it in the woman's mouth as she began to thrust without interruption against the captive. But then, instead of filling her mouth with the spoon again, the Mistress used it to place a dollop on her own fingers. The woman sighed and licked at them, stopping a motion like that of a lizard, channeling, instead, her movement to her hips, sinuously grinding against the captive.

The captive groaned as the mistress put two fingers' worth, this time, of nectar into the mouth of the woman who was mounting her, and the woman gave a higher-pitched moan of satisfaction, grinding her hips faster and faster. The Mistress got four fingers and placed them into the woman's mouth as she began to touch herself. And five...

The woman licked at the hand of the Mistress with ferocity, hips pushing back and forth, labia rubbing against that of the captive, who was squirming and crying out in reply. The mistress kept touching herself, and closed her eyes for a moment before opening them and grabbing the woman's breast. The woman took the captive over the edge, the captive's shuddering connecting only where her hands met the captive's breasts and where their legs split apart and joined.

The Mistress sighed and rubbed one of her own breasts and took her other hand back to place between her legs. She pounced on top of the woman who was straddling her captive and rolled her over, opening her legs and pushing her buttocks to the top of the other woman's legs. She leaned over, her breasts touching the breasts of her new captive, and growled.

She thrust herself on top of her. The other woman was drunk on honey and nectar, and the Mistress scratched at her arms, but she was too far removed to care.

"I am the woman in the story, once upon a time," the mistress purred into her ear, as the captive who had been there longer looked on, into the eyes of the Mistress, who couldn't be as old as the one in the story. "And I take what is mine."

The evening, then, was a flurry of hips and pinning and containment, and the new captive tried to flee, but the Mistress would have none of it, and, instead, ground herself against her for her own pleasure. The new captive relented as the pleasures of the nectar took over completely in her bloodstream, and she had no objection as Mistress penetrated her with fingers dipped in honey, and her tongue traded taste for ecstasy and warmth.

The Mistress slid across her and moaned, and licked, and penetrated her mouth with her tongue and deep kisses. The Mistress would not stop, as she licked, grinded, and did it all again, and made the new captive do the same -- and to the captive who had been there before, too. She kept piling on the nectar, smearing their bodies with aphrodisiac that tingled at the thinnest layers of their skin and heated their cheeks, and smeared and slid off their bodies herself, between their lips, between their legs, onto tongues and grinding and ecstasy.

"I have never, ever stopped collecting precious things," said the young woman, the mistress, with a smile and a sigh as the two young women lay in a pile of limbs and honey and spent nectar. She laid back on her elbows, her legs open, her room fragrant, and pleasured herself as ever before.

"Sweet dreams, my sweet, precious things."