"Get this thing off me!"
Jayachandran, King of Kings, Elect of the Gods, Supreme Ruler of the Heavens, Lord of Life, Father of the Two Rivers, gestured at the gem-encrusted headdress that weighted his brow. Two functionaries hastened to remove the heavy crown and bear it away. The ruler breathed a sigh of relief. Pain pounded in his temples. This morning's audience had been worse than usual.
Two more servants hurried up to take his stiff ceremonial robes of embroidered and jeweled silk. He waved them away. "Leave me alone. I need to rest." Courtiers, guards and attendants kneeled to touch their foreheads to the palm mats before backing out the door.
"Wait," he called to Neng, his longtime retainer. "Bring me an iced lime juice." By the time Neng returned, the king had stripped to his light cotton undergarment and was stretched out on the platform bed.
"Put it on the pedestal there," he commanded. "And then go wait outside." The old servant silently obeyed, bowing low as he exited.
The ruler drank deeply. The cold, tart liquid was remarkably refreshing. There were certain compensations to his position, he mused. Not many men had the wealth and power to bring ice from the far mountains to this sultry land.
He examined the delicate porcelain vessel, watching the beads of condensation gather into rivulets and pool around the base. Tribute from vassal lords and gifts from distant nations had made his reign the richest and strongest in many centuries. The temples and pyramids that he had constructed would last long after his death, proclaiming the glory of the omnipotent Jayachandran to his descendants and the world.
But only the gods knew how much work it was to be the absolute ruler!
The onset of the hot season made his regular morning audience more grueling than ever. From first light until midday, he sat enthroned in the outer courtyard, reviewing petitions and granting boons. The fringed silk umbrellas did little to mitigate the punishing effects of the sun. Beneath his elaborate official costume, he was drenched with sweat.
One by one, the supplicants would crawl along the carpet to prostrate themselves before him. It was forbidden to look directly upon the face of the Lord of Life. Noblemen, common folk and foreign ambassadors, all were equally low in the presence of the Chosen of the Gods.
Their requests seemed so petty. A dispute over land boundaries. A suit for compensation after one man maimed another in a drunken brawl. A gift of foreign trinkets from some emissary hoping eagerly for a military alliance. Protocol required that Jayachandran the Great hear and adjudicate all appeals that were addressed to him, without regard to rank or importance.
The king closed his eyes wearily. This afternoon, he had to preside over a ceremony at the main temple, interceding with the deities to ensure a good harvest. At least he could wear lighter clothes; it wasn't seemly to be ostentatious when soliciting the favor of the gods. He smiled wryly to himself, wondering if they were as tired of hearing prayers as he was.
The noontime sun filtering through the shutters made patterns on the inside of his eyelids. Frangipani and jasmine from the gardens outside scented the humid air. Inside his chambers, it was marginally cooler than outdoors. Jayachandran settled back on the kapok-stuffed mattress and tried to relax.
"Your Most Glorious Majesty. Wake up."
He was just drifting off when the voice reached him. He sat up in alarm, groping for the dagger hidden under his pillow and cursing himself for having dismissed his guards. He had foiled the most recent coup attempt only two months ago. Under the guise of showing himself as All-Merciful, he had been persuaded to exile his half-brother instead of executing him. That had probably been a mistake.
"Who's there?"
Beside his bed knelt a young woman, her forehead pressed against the woven floor covering. He couldn't see her face, but she was slender and well-formed. The arrangement of her plaits showed that she was still unmarried.
"How did you get in here?"
"Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty. Your guards follow Your Majesty's person; they see no need to protect an empty room." Jayachandran made a mental note to deal with this security hole. "This humble servant has been waiting for Your Majesty to return from the public audience for several hours."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"This lowly woman is Devarasai. She attends Your Majesty's wife, Her Serene Highness Queen Ranasinree. My royal mistress has sent me to Your Majesty with a petition."
"Why does my wife not approach me in the public audience? Indeed, it would be a good thing for my subjects to see that even the Queen abases herself before me."
"Sire, this is a private matter, of some delicacy."
"Yes, so what is her request? You may rise, Devarasai, and speak to me directly."
The young lady raised her head, but remained on her knees. Now the king could see her flawless complexion and almond-shaped eyes. These she kept cast down, of course, but he glimpsed the sparkle of wit and sense under the dark fringe of her lashes.
Devarasai had a sharp chin that some might call stubborn, but this did not mar the overall harmony of her features. Her gossamer silk top and intricately patterned skirt made it clear that she was a lady-in-waiting, not a common servant. He slipped the dagger back into its place.
"Your Supreme Majesty, Her Royal Highness bids me to invite you to her bed. It has been many weeks since you joined her there."
Jayachandran groaned. With all his worries and responsibilities, the last thing he needed was an importunate wife.
"Her Highness knows that Your Glorious Majesty has many weighty concerns. She has learned that you have not lain with any of your concubines, either. And she asked me to remind you that Your Majesty still has no heir. While this remains true, there will likely be more attempts to usurp your power."
The king looked down at the lithe figure on the floor. It was true; he had not felt the goading of desire for a long time. This girl, though, had true beauty, and something else, too, some spark of spirit that glowed behind her subservient demeanor. Inside his loose cotton trousers, he felt his loins begin to stir. He wondered whether he could persuade the Queen to relinquish Devarasai's services.
He loved his Queen, of course. He and Ranasinree had been children together, in the court of his uncle Jayaramdevdeekon the Magnificent. In their early years of marriage, he had been eager to fulfill his connubial duty, joining his lean, hungry body with her abundant and welcoming one. Their union had produced three daughters, but no sons, and in the Land of the Two Rivers, only males could wield supreme power and intercede with the gods.
In any case, he was the King, the Lord of all here in this country, and he would decide by himself whether or when to bed his wife or any other woman, for that matter.
"Tell the Queen that it is not her place to criticize me." He allowed his voice to show his annoyance. "She should know better than to disturb me in this way. I have many issues more important than her sexual frustration to deal with. And right now I am exhausted."
The women was silent and respectful, but he saw a tightness about her mouth that suggested she was not satisfied with his reply.
He flopped back onto the bed, lying on his stomach. He did not want Devarasai to see his partially swollen penis. She might report it to Ranasinree, who would be distressed, or even insulted, that he would be aroused by a serving maid yet not by her.
The heavy tropical atmosphere in the room was suddenly oppressive. "Make yourself useful, Lady Devarasai," he ordered, without looking up "Fan me."
He heard her rise and go retrieve the long-handled bamboo fan from the corner. In a moment, he felt the blessed coolness of a breeze moving over his naked, sweat-damp torso.
"Ah," he sighed. "That's perfect. Continue."
He floated between sleep and wakefulness, relaxed and comfortable for the first time that day. All at once, he noticed that the current of cool air had stilled.
"I told you to continue," he began to complain. The next thing he knew, there was a whooshing sound and a fiery pain streaked across his buttocks.
"What! Ay..." Another stripe of fire burned into him, withering his voice. "Ow!" He cringed, expecting another blow, but nothing happened. "What are you doing?"
He turned to look at Devarasai. She was standing beside the bed, holding the fan just below the woven vane and wielding the handle two-handed, like a sword. Her graceful body shimmered with energy. Her dark eyes blazed. When he gazed at her, she did not look away. Her audacity angered and aroused him.
She swung the shaft of bamboo through the air until it whistled. "My honorable mistress bade me return with your promise to attend her. If you would not promise, she told me to punish you for your neglect of her, until you did."
"How dare you..." he began, but then her weapon swished through the air and landed on the back of his thighs.
He might as well have been naked; the thin cotton shielding his flesh did nothing to diminish the effects of the blow. First there was the sharp agony of the bamboo making contact. He wondered if it had drawn blood; he felt as though the cane actually sliced through his skin. Then came intense heat, as though a thousand suns were bearing down along the line of contact.
Gradually, the heat spread, becoming a melting warmth that flowed along his tensed limbs, loosening and opening him. Blood surged into his penis, swelling it to its full length. Just as the pain was overbalanced by pleasure, she struck him again, twice, symmetrically on the two cheeks of his hindquarters. The anguish flared, acute and focused, then died away to stinging aftershocks.
His engorged organ rubbed against the mattress. The friction only added to his distress and confusion.
"Oh," he moaned, "please ..." He stopped himself mid-sentence. He would not plead with this serving wench. He would not admit that he was nearly undone with pain and lust.
She slashed at him again and again. The elastic bamboo danced over his buttocks and thighs, trailing fire in its wake. Jayachandran was panting. His bottom twitched and quivered with each stroke. He ground his pelvis against the bed, eager for release, no longer caring who witnessed his abasement. The torture went on, but now he hardly noticed the pain. There was only the burning in his loins, the tightness in his balls, the ecstatic, agonizing pressure building toward imminent explosion.
Suddenly, Devarasai stopped beating him. "Will you come, my Lord?" It took him a few moments to understand her true meaning. "Will you visit my Lady's chamber tonight? Will you give me your promise?" She swept the bamboo through the air again, and laughed. "Because if I have punish you much more, I suspect that you will be too sore to do so."
Jayachandran tried to sit up. The effort sent spears of pain into his nether regions. His erection made an impressive tent in the front of his pantaloons. "You demonness!" he cried, tearing them off. "See what you've done to me!"
Devarasai smiled and dropped her eyes demurely. "Your Majesty appears to be in fine form to please Her Serene Highness," she murmured.
"No, it's you I want, you little minx." He grasped her arm, but she ducked away. Then she sank back down to her knees and bowed her head.
"My Lord," she said softly, "You are Lord of Life, King of Kings. Our lives and our fates are in your hands. Of course if you want it, my maidenhood is yours. But I am also of noble blood, and if you take this one possession, you will leave me destitute."
"Be wise and merciful. Vent your lust upon the Queen your wife, who desires you as greatly as you desire me. And may your royal seed quicken a son in her womb."
The king gritted his teeth in frustration. She was right, of course. Until the kingdom had an heir, his lust was not his own but must be placed in the service of his people. An image of Ranasinree came to him, her rounded limbs and sweet smile. Perhaps after so many weeks of celibacy, making love to her would have some novelty again.
"Very well. Tell Her Royal Highness my wife that I will visit her this evening after the tenth hour."
Relief flooded Devarasai's lovely face. "I will, Your Majesty. Thank you, from the bottom of this unworthy one's heart." She made full obeisance, remaining with her forehead pressed against the floor until he bid her rise.
"You must swear on the bodies of the gods that you will tell no one what transpired between us."
"I swear, Your Majesty," she agreed, bowing repeatedly as she backed out of his chamber. "On the bodies of the gods. And you will come to the Queen tonight."
"I will," he said, unutterably weary. "I will."
He didn't keep his word, though. The afternoon ceremony dragged on past dusk. His evening meal upset his stomach. He told himself that he was too tired to satisfy his wife. Then he lay alone in his bed until dawn, sweaty, miserable and uncomfortable, twisting about, trying to find a position that didn't irritate the wounds left by Devarasai's beating. Trying not to think about it, and her.
When he returned from the morning audience the following day, he half expected Devarasai to be waiting in his chambers. There was no sign of her, however. The Queen has realized that she cannot control me, he thought smugly. Still, he had his doubts.
It was a rare free afternoon for him, no official duties, no demands on his time. Jayachandran decided to spend a few hours in his gardens. He brought a retinue of guards, instructing them to surround the pavilion by the pool, but to remain out of sight. Then he reclined among the cushions in the welcome shade, listening to the music of the fountain and leafing through a book of verse.
"You broke your promise, my Lord." The king looked up, startled and alarmed. How had Devarasai gotten past his soldiers? She stood in front of his couch in a costume of green satin, like some spirit of the woods. She neither bowed nor averted her eyes, which smoldered menacingly.
Superstitious fear gripped Jayachandran's heart. Perhaps she really was some she-demon, sent by the gods to punish him for neglecting his duty to his wife and the dynasty. She seemed to be invisible when she wanted to be. And what human woman would have had the strength to thrash him the way she had done the previous day?
The memory made him flush. In her presence, the blood flowed eagerly to his penis, bringing him to full erection in a matter of seconds. Her eyes flicked down to the swelling between his thighs, and then back to his face.
"You cannot plead incapacity, Your Majesty. The evidence is before me. Clearly, I must punish you again, to make you keep your promise."
"Turn over onto your stomach," she commanded. The king tried to object, but it was as though she had stolen his voice. Magic, he thought to himself, as he complied. Enchantment.
He lay there, his head to the side, watching her. What would the witch do now?
Devarasai leaned over him and grasped the waistband of his loose trousers. In one movement, she pulled them down to his knees. The light afternoon breeze wandered over the bare flesh of his buttocks. She ran a finger along one of his stripes, which stretched from the base of his spine to his outer thigh. He shivered at her touch. His aching penis jerked underneath him.
"Your Majesty, I know that it is forbidden for a subject to touch the august body of the Gods' Chosen. If later you order my death, so be it. Now, though, I must fulfill my mistress the Queen's instructions, and teach you your duty."
She brought her open palm down on his butt cheek. The loud smack of flesh on flesh rang through the garden, but none of his guards appeared in response. Before he could catch his breath, the woman landed another slap on his behind, and then another.
It would not, perhaps, have hurt very much, if his hindquarters were not already sore and lacerated from yesterday's punishment. As it was, each blow of her hand woke echoes of the agony he had previously endured. On top of this was the sting of the spanking itself, remarkably different from the bite of the bamboo cane. The pain of her spanks was richer and more diffuse. It was like the difference between eating a raw chili and tasting a slowly simmered curry.
There was an intimacy in the contact of skin on skin, in the transfer of heat from her body to his, that had not been present in her earlier beating. As she continued to chastise him, the warmth spread in waves of pleasure that amplified but did not erase the pain. Finally, his engorged penis became the focus of all sensation, both the hurt and the comfort distilled into the pure essence of unsatisfied desire.
He turned and grabbed her wrist, pulling her to him. She allowed him to enfold her in a passionate embrace, to thrust his tongue into her cinnamon-flavored mouth, to flick her lust-tightened nipples through sheer fabric of her blouse.
"You want me, don't you?" he murmured, nuzzling her ear and grinding his hardness against her thigh. "Tell me you want me, Devarasai."
"Of course I want you, Majesty. What woman does not dream of being the consort of the Lord of Life?" Gently she extricated herself from his arms. "But I am not your fate, and you are not mine."
"Now go to the Queen. She is waiting for you."
Ranasinree lay stark naked on her silken coverlet, her long jet hair loose and tousled around her shoulders. The late afternoon sun slanted in and painted the alabaster swells and curves of her body a pale gold. "My Lord," she murmured as Jayachandran joined her on the bed, "I am deeply happy to see you."
She rolled over and onto her knees, raising her lusciously rounded buttocks toward him. Her thighs parted and her scent rose around them, quickening the pulse in his rigid member. She was more than ready for him. He could see trails of her nectar dripping down the backs of her legs and the ruddy lips of her sex, swollen and welcoming.
"Take me, my Lord. Please." She arched her back in invitation. The king slipped into her slick heat, marveling at the pleasure. Why had he stayed away so long?
His wife moaned and bucked against him as he thrust into her depths again and again. She gripped him frantically with her inner muscles. She seemed as tight as a virgin. Eyes closed, he allowed his body to take command, ravaging her as though he would tear her apart.
He felt her first shuddering climax, but managed to control his own release. He wanted to prolong the delight. He opened his eyes again, regulating his breathing and slowing his strokes.
All at once, he noticed a collection of strange articles on her bedside pedestal. There was a plank of carved rosewood with an ivory handle, a bunch of twigs roped into a bundle at one end, a bamboo rod, a length of leather thongs braided together.
He recognized these items for what they were: the many and varied instruments of corporal punishment. Images of Devarasai flooded his mind. He saw her paddling him, scourging him, whipping him into a frenzy of lust. He slammed his hardness into his wife's succulent flesh, again and again, spurred by the imagined force of Devarasai's blows.
His mind whirled with confusion, even as his body shook with rising desire. How did Ranasinree come to possess such implements? Had Devarasai disobeyed him, forsworn her oath, in order to share his secrets with her mistress? But then, hadn't she told him that the Queen herself had ordered his punishment?
Had the Queen known of his weakness? Jayarajsouvanchandran burned with shame at the thought of the two women sharing the lewd details of his pitiful arousal, planning new indignities to inflict on him. The shame only amplified his lust.
The Lord of Life, Ruler of the Heavens, shuddered in fearful delight. His imagination foretold a new future: Ranasinree standing over him, majestic and proud, a true queen, smiling as she tanned his bare backside to a fierce red.
The image swept him into a climax so intense that it was painful. His penis pulsed and spasmed, propelling his seed deep into his wife's body. She quickened in response, shaking in the throes of another orgasm.
For a long while, then, they simply lay together, each breathing the other's scent, listening to the other's heartbeat. The afternoon faded to a soft dusk. Night-blooming roses perfumed the air. In the distance, the temple gongs began to sound, calling the people to evening prayers.
Jayachandran smiled to himself. Sometimes it was good to be king.