Kalla: Ch. 1
It was the first and only day that I can recall that I slept in. It’s not why I remember the day so, but the day is probably why I remember that I slept in. It was her birthday. Her fourteenth birthday, and the day that she was to be inducted as Queen of Kalla. I don’t know why but the dream that pressed me to sleep longer then I should have, was of the day that caused Dakota to so prematurely acquire her duties as ruler.
My eyes broke open in panic with mother shaking me half to death. I was disoriented and scared. Mother’s hands slipped from my sweating arms. Reality faded back to me and when my mind caught sight of light breaking through the glass hole in the wall; my slowing heart broke into a sprint again. I ripped the sheets from above me and jumped out of bed. Mother’s cries of shame and fear back dropped my frantic race to dress myself; no time for bathing. Skipping from my bedroom attempting to fit my last shoe on, I headed for the kitchen.
Breaking through the swinging doors, I searched in shame where everybody stood waiting. Why did I sleep in, why today, of all days, the most important one of her life? Thankfully, two chefs were already waiting by the door for me. That would save me from having to walk between the dozen faces staring down at me. Holding my arms out, the taller of the two chefs placed the highly decorated silver tray in my grip. Speedily, I walked back up the grand staircase to my master’s room, eyes all around me staring.
Everybody in the palace knew me, at least if they had met Dakota, chances are they met me as well. And even while working in the palace without ever meeting the royal family, one would know at least of the highest servants under them, the ones who you must step aside to. I was Dakota’s head servant, my mother was her mother’s, the preceding Queen’s head servant, and a man named Phillip held that title for the prior King.
I stood before her door as the shorter of the two sentries before it pulled a key out and unlocked it. I looked timidly at the more handsome sentry who pretended to look away, searching for anything that might attempt unlawful entry.
Balancing the tray on my right arm as the shorter sentry turned and resumed staring away from the doorway, I turned the handle and pushed the very heavy solid wood door open. I slipped in and shut the door behind me.
I walked through the small front room and into the bedroom of the Princess. My chest exhaled a huge sigh of relief. She was still asleep. She also seemed determined to enjoy every minute of that twenty-five hour day.
Every organ in my body freed itself from the tense grip all the other servant in the house put on me. With Dakota, I was always free, she didn’t care if I was late or imperfect; she cared for me as a friend, which is what mother said was exactly what I existed for. The head servant’s primary goal is to be a friend first and a waiter second; at childhood, she had said, this is the most important rule of all. Since the age of three, I was a subject to the Princess. And at seventeen years, I was soon to become the head servant and best friend to the Queen of Kalla, one of most powerful empires on the planet. I was one of the farthest from royalty in the land but I held nearly as much power and influence as a royal, at least inside the palace.
I set the breakfast tray on the side table and rushed to the mirror to fix my hair. It wasn’t much more than a minute before I was done. I kept it short and comfortable. Dakota loved it. I had almost gotten in trouble because of it. Dakota became so entranced in my hair that she once began begging the Queen to have her own hair cut short. At a younger age with the Princess’s hair cut like mine, we would look very much like sisters, something that the Queen would not stand for. Mother talked to Dakota though and she stopped bugging the Queen about a haircut. I think that she became more aware of how the Queen began treating me while she pleaded to her that she wanted to look like her servant, a mere commoner.
I stood before the side of Dakota’s bed watching the young girl squirm around on her stomach in her sleep. As her friend and servant, it was me who was instructed to teach the happenings of puberty to the young Princess. I had only begun experiencing it a few years before her but mother had said that with my education from her, and with my own findings with my own body, I would be the best candidate. The Queen herself found the topic of sex all too enjoyable for her own being, but felt herself unfit for discussion of the moralities of growing into a woman to her developing daughter.
It was not easy for me to teach the Princess but she made it as easy as possible. Like the stories mother taught me of the Queen, Dakota followed quite well in the curiosity of her sexual being. I had learned the entire history of the royal family and every quirk of the current one so that I might have best served my young master, so rarely was I surprised with inconsistencies in Dakota. At first, she felt that I was too smart for her, but quickly enough, she embraced my knowledge and looked to me as the older sister with all the answers to her life. There were no secrets between us.
Staring down to her small squirming body pleasuring itself in a dream, I thought of the all the times that she had challenged me with her questions and without an answer, she pressed forward for an experiment to find one.
I looked to the large grandfather clock against the wall, the ninth hour it held. I moved to the bed unwillingly. I didn’t want to be the cause of breaking her dream short. I removed her sheet to her feet with the crumbled and kicked away blanket. Her face gleamed with the tiniest layer of sweat.
Dakota had complained before about waking her up in such dreams. I had always defended myself with what mother had taught me. Dreams are left unremembered if they end, waking up during the course of one is what is best, what allows you to remember and cherish them so. Dakota, reluctant to accept such an idea, but knowing after a fight with the Queen after being late one morning from me not waking her, that if being forced to wake up, at least raise her in a manner which would please her more. Having already the knowledge of both our sexual beings between us two, I had a pretty good idea what she was hinting at. Two weeks after that comment, I had acted and was confirmed correct in her true meaning.
Dakota had clearly been having a whole streak of these wonderful dreams for her cotton night pants had been removed and kicked down under her sheet to her blanket.
Dakota loved the feel of silk but when presented one birthday with a whole wardrobe of silk night clothes, she quickly learned that she did not like silk so much as to have it covering her entire body. The night pants and shirt were the doings of the King after a year of unsuccessful fighting with her to wear underwear, or to at least stop running through the palace in the morning in her nightgown. That was a year of tremendous stress for the sentries and servants of the house. Everyone one feared to even look at the Princess in horror of what the King might assume. Much tribulation was bestowed among the palace when the two piece pants and shirt were forced onto the young Princess.
Dakota now chooses to wear undergarments on rare occasions, choosing being the important word. Forcing her to do anything will show just how royal she is. The Queen learned such very quickly when she personally dressed her with underwear for weeks and received reports after of servants and sentries around the palace finding the Princess’s used underwear lying around in plain view.
I set my hand on the sweat of the young Princess’s butt. Slowly I pressed my hand down between her legs and began massaging the tiny slit. An audible moan broke the room, a sign that surprisingly pleased me. I could please the Princess more than her own fantasies played out in a second world. Moving my small fingers up and down slowly over the heated bulge between her legs, I began applying more pressure. There was more liquid under her butt cheeks than just sweat, I could feel that clearly as the prints of my fingers became glazed with an almost oily substances radiating from the crack below them.
The increasingly heavy breathing from the Princess shifted from her small noisy nostrils to her now open mouth. Air flooded through the new larger opening. I continued rubbing the smooth untarnished skin. She would wake up soon.
With her mouth open, she accidently moaned herself awake softly. She opened her eyes just slightly and looked at me. She still had the small crusting eye fluids in the corners of her eyes, the light had yet to break fully into her pupils and break her mind open into the real world. I saw her close her eyes again. She wanted to play a little longer. If she didn’t think about anything, she could drift back into the dream she just left and live with her fantasy as I finished her off.
I climbed as gently onto the bed as I could. It was the softest bed I had ever touched. I hovered over the young Princess and slowly listened for a minute, maybe two, but no more. Her breathing shifted back into sleep. As easily as I could, I maneuvered my balance to my knees and took hold of her body. Her body was royal to every extreme; the softest skin I had ever felt with no blemishes, and all this with her own refusal to touch make up. The most the Princess used was a moderate moisturizer on rare occasions. Slowly I turned her body over onto its back.
I set my own body to the right of her and pressed my hand comfortably onto the whole of her exposed vagina. I pushed my hand into it and began caressing the bare bulge; only few of the softest hairs had grown in. My hand slid easily over it repeatedly from the lubrication seeping through her crevice. The Princess’s breathing quickened again. Without the stimulation of her nipples and stomach squirming on the sheets, she would wake easier out of her deteriorating fantasy. But I knew how to counter such loss of stimulation while having her wake up in time.
Her breathing shifted. Bad for me that was. She was reawaking, and on her back, she would receive the full light of the sun in her eyes forcing her into cognitive thought and preventing her from more sleep.
Quickly, I singled out my index finger and slid it over the little nub inside her slit. She was fading from her mental fantasy quickly but her physical one was just about to peak. I pulled my index finger back and arched it as to rest the tip against the top of her pleasure nub, her personal reference to it. Slowly I drove my finger into her while gliding the length of my finger over her nub. In and out I repeated with growing speed. Dakota’s breathing became panting. I had few seconds before she would wake.
I pressed my thumb onto the top of her bulge, squeezing the fatty tissue between my moving index finger and thumb. Her vaginal fluids ran down the back of my intruding finger and drained out the tiny opening it made into the open air; a tiny opening it was, but still an opening nonetheless compared to the incredibly tightly closed lips of her vagina.
In the fuzzy world between consciousness and unconsciousness, Dakota’s vocal cords quivered in moans as her hips began shivering. Neither of us two knew whether she was awake or not but the high of her orgasm pushed her out of whatever world she currently occupied and into a black one where the only one of five senses she used was her touch.
Her small legs squeezed together as her surprisingly strong vaginal muscles squeezed my index finger, almost as if they were sucking me in. Her twitching sweaty legs broke at the knees and began rising a bit as her butt cheeks pressed themselves into the soft mattress. The Princess’s head jerked about with her eyes scrunched shut as a constant tone reverberated from her throat. She was holding her breath. Her entire body was tense. I think I might have outdone myself today. I wish my birthday started out this well.
Her meek moans became pulses as her little hips bumped up and down. I wiggled my finger around inside of her. Her moans broke into spurted grunts. Her self-made liquids oozed over my finger as her orgasm peaked. Just to tease her a bit more, I ripped my finger out of her legs; I thrust it back in. She was in climax and I repeatedly jammed the entire length of my finger inside of her, took it all the way out, and jammed it back in. It was not an easy task; her contracting muscles sure did not agree with my teasing finger as they fought for it to remain motionless.
Dakota’s body began writhing a bit. She was crossing into a second, simultaneous orgasm. In and out, in and out; I jammed my finger through her body and fought against her strong vaginal muscles that gripped and sucked at my finger. More liquid spilled from her tiniest little slit and down her butt crack onto her sheets.
One last time, I jabbed my finger into her and pressed my palm into her engorged bulge.
Squeezing my palm into her swollen vagina, I felt her muscles begin relaxing. Her eyes opened and she stared at me.
“If only all my birthday presents were that incredibly great,” she gasped.
“You’re becoming Queen today,” I reminded in attempt to draw attention away from having just masturbated her.
“I’m still Dakota to you,” she cried as I slowly slipped my soaking finger from her vagina.