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That evening, I sat amongst my wives to witness Nick’s Tale. My two mortal ones snuggled my sides. Tension and concern came from Helena telling them of the abundance of love expressed the night before by women towards me that weren’t my wives. Tash and Yoshie in particular. I don’t think she considered it cruel. It amused her and the intensity of it made her prouder and more admiring of me. Shira and Angelique seemed the ones effected. Though they denied it, I could see it in their eyes and feel it in their need for contact. Actions reassured Shira. The intimacy of the morning shower we shared. Sating our horniness during dance rehearsal. It hadn’t been our usual quickie, but a slower and far more intimate conjoining. In a way, during the Tale, and especially after when it no longer took focus and inspired our lust, becoming an exclusive focus between each other, Shira handed me over to Angelique for her reassurance.

One last chance for the reassurance to be verbal, though Shira needed it less, or perhaps not at all anymore, I told them, “Our love is for a lifetime and is my life. You and I create a mesh that holds my heart and makes it strong.”

“Of course,” Shira responded and Angelique nodded. “Obviously,” they both seemed to express. But I still saw the shadow of doubt in Angelique’s eyes, so I lingered on them before kissing her. A powerful kiss. A needy kiss. She moved onto my lap, straddling it. Her body pressed against mine. Her loins. Her breasts. And I think even more importantly, hidden beneath and between her breasts, well protected by the elastic cage of her chest cavity, her heart.

“Russia and the Mongol Horde,” Nick announced, sounding ironically professorial. It elicited chuckles from his audience. Once again, Chanda and Alexandra sat with him on stage.

Angelique shifted in my lap, turning around to face Nick. She needed to witness Naomi’s projected drawings to bring her to cold Moscow of centuries ago. It wouldn’t be long before she reached down to pull my cock above the waistband of my boxers and insert it into her needy pussy. And my hands would cover her petite and perfectly formed breasts, so near her heart, and squeeze.

Nick continued, “It was another couple generations after the last tale. During that time, my insatiable companion and her insatiable husband, the king, shared their bed often with me and with others, mostly women, those that the king preferred, voluptuous and mature, but also the lithe and small breasted, which Anastasia enjoyed. A few men joined them. Sometimes it would be a foursome with me. Sometimes a threesome with or without me. But age brought less lasciviousness until only I shared their lovemaking and their love, and even that extinguished with feebleness and death. His before hers by over ten years and she became my companion exclusively. But her liveliness had faded, dimness of a formerly blinding light. She found happiness in me and in her grandchildren, but never as expressive and infectious as it had been before her husband’s death.

“Alexander, called Sasha, officially the king’s grandson, but actually my daughter conceived him, nearly thirty, became king. A much more serious man, but no less effective as ruler, and perhaps more so because of his greater intelligence and concentration and talent for strategy and politics, he had found his queen much earlier than his grandfather. As lithe and graceful and beautiful as her mother, Anastasia’s first lover, Liz, the trainer of women warriors and, eventually, the rest of the royal guards, who conceived her with me late in her life, in her mid-thirties. Except for me, Liz had been exclusively lesbian. She wanted a child, but only when she felt she had lost her exceptional grace, when her ability slowed and she became more normal compared to other warriors. Only then did she allow her first and only man to send seed into her womb.

“Only she thought she lost her ability. She became advisor to her replacements and showed moves to them. During those training fights, I always thought she bettered her students, but she disagreed. When her daughter, Kristina, became old enough to appreciate the beauty of her mother’s martial movements, and with a nudge from me, she begged her mother to train her. And since Kristina’s best friend was the prince who would be the future king, she brought Sasha into this exclusive training. The same age as her, the king’s grandson proved to be her perfect partner, sparring with her to learn each new move. From then on, already the closest of friends, the physical intimacy of fighting made their bodies attuned to each other. And once sex became an interest and even an obsession, first for the girl, frustratingly, but the boy soon caught on, sparring partners became loving partners.

“That change needed my advice.”

“It was just a kiss, but it was like just another challenge he had to defend,” the girl, now a woman, at least in her ability to conceive a child, whines.

“Boys take longer to mature than girls,” Nick explains. Kristina has come to him in his chamber. Not an unusual situation. Often, when he’s not occupied, she pads over at bedtime, making sure to listen before she knocks for any company he may have. Perhaps it should be the other way around, him sitting with her, telling stories to help her fall to sleep. And it has been when she was younger, until she decided she was too old for such things. It becomes her choice for these late conversations, so she comes to him. He ends up telling stories just as he did when she was a child, but they emerge out of her questions. This time he needs to impart wisdom rather than narrate history from his centuries of experience.

“It doesn’t seem fair,” she pouts. “Why would God make things so difficult?”

He stifles his laugh, from her innocence and her cuteness. Both characteristics, pointed out, would infuriate the stubborn girl. “God likes to test us,” Nick answers. “I think we amuse him.”

“Fuck Him,” Kristina mutters, her arms cutely hugging her body.

Few can hear such blasphemous words. Anyone except Nick and Sasha would punish her soundly. Nick lets out his laugh. Her lips curve upward in a mischievous grin.

“Seriously though, He has his purpose,” Nick says.

“What could it possibly be?”

“The girl gets time to think about things. To take responsibility for what her urges might cause. Unlike the boy, it would change everything. Her body. Her future. Even her survival.”

“You mean getting pregnant.”

“Exactly. You know I have quite a lot of experience with that subject.”

“No shit.”

“But I have never had to endure it, though my ability to communicate with minds gives me further insights. I empathize with their discomfort and the incredible pain of birth. Even so, it has never been me truly enduring and suffering. Women amaze me. Their resilience is truly remarkable.”

“So you’re advising against it.”

“I am. For now. I think it’s inevitable, and I think it will be his child.”

“Who else’s would it be?”

Nick laughs. “You are so much like your queen.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. She had the same certainty about her mate, and probably about the same time. In her case it seemed crazy. A daughter of a servant and a tutor for merchant’s children, it seemed unlikely if not impossible.”

“But the king can choose anyone, from slave to a general’s daughter.”

“Exactly. It was possible. Like you, I knew her since her infancy. As her mind and character developed, and her crazy obsession began, I knew she would become my companion, and I knew her plan would come true. We two alone believed it.”

“You being the king’s advisor.”

“That too, but I knew she alone could capture the king’s heart, a wild and difficult heart to catch.”

“My prince’s isn’t so difficult. He’s steady to a fault.”

“Do you fault him for it?”

“No. I love his seriousness.”

“And you know you’ve captured it already.”

She nods. “But not his lips.” They share a chuckle.

“He’s smart,” Nick tells her. “He’ll figure it out. Especially when you explain it to him and don’t try to steal the kiss he isn’t prepared to let go.”

“I want more than just a kiss.”

Nick sighs. “I know.”

“He makes me so horny I feel like I could burst.”

“A feeling you to need to control before his desire kicks in and he wants it as much as you. Your body needs at least a couple of years before it’s fully ready to have a fetus grow inside it and exit it when it’s time.”

“Two fucking years not fucking?”

“You can pleasure each other in many ways without risking pregnancy. Your mouth is another orifice, a most lively one. And he can return the favor, and if you show him what you like, it can be quite satisfying.”

She thinks on this and shutters. “You’re not making me any less horny,” she complains. “But, even so, I think you’re right.”

“In what way?”

“I’m not ready to be pregnant. And I don’t imagine I will be for a while.”

“Good girl.”

“But my need may be overwhelming.”

“You can relieve your need.”

“How?”

“Have you ever pleasured yourself?”

“Once I fucked a pillow. Made a mess of it,” she giggles. Unlike any other girl or young woman, especially telling a man, she finds no embarrassment in the confession. “I didn’t actually fuck it. More rubbed against it.”

“I understand,” he chuckles. “But you can control it better than just rubbing an inanimate pillow.”

“How?”

“Use your fingers to stroke yourself. Where the pillow rubbed and elsewhere, like your nipples.”

“Mmm,” she murmurs, her hand caressing a budding breast. “Could you show me?”

He sighs. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Aside from being inappropriate, it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Because you want to fuck me and you shouldn’t?”

“Of course I want to. You’re just like a just ripe fruit, aglow with it, the flesh never so supple and tender, demanding to be plucked and tasted. Especially you. Your beauty and grace and litheness and irrepressible energy. Such allure. Such temptation. Such a dangerous time.”

“What makes it dangerous?”

“Because I believe your body and mind aren’t really ready for fucking and for growing a child inside you. You need to fully develop, fully mature, become your womanly shape and attain a woman’s consciousness. Losing the selfish girl, concerned only for your own well-being. A child needs to be needy and demanding, communicating to her nurturer what is needed to survive. Maturity means becoming independent while understanding dependence. Yours continuing but changing, becoming less demanding and selfish. But more importantly, others depending on you. Your family’s love for you. Your mate’s. The selflessness. And then the absolute dependence of your child inside your womb. The brand new human being born. From baby to child to boy or girl. So vulnerable. Needing your love, your nurturing, your protection.”

“I understand. I’m not ready. I don’t know about my body which now can create a child, but perhaps isn’t really ready for it. Perhaps my mind reflects that in its unpreparedness. But ... what has that to do with teaching me to pleasure myself?”

Nick chuckles. “So stubborn.”

“No. Practical.”

Nick chuckles again. “Like the prince.”

“Exactly like the prince,” she tells him. “Different but the same.”

“You talk differently,” Nick points out. “His is more controlled. More careful. Yours is ... colorful.”

She nods. “He knows his destiny. But no one hears him when he’s alone with me,” she smirks. Her eyes gaze into his, her face both demanding and pleading. “Show me.”

“Yes my queen,” he smiles, but a sigh contains the words. “Lie back.”

She strips before she obeys. “I should be naked,” she decides.

Another sigh as he digests her budding breasts and developing hips. He knows she will never be voluptuous. Her breasts will be small, and her curves subtle, but they will be much greater defined, rounded or sleek perfection like her mother. Lithe sexiness at its best. His brief glance at her buttocks before she rests on them reveals her most mature and alluring aspect. Round objects to be revered by a lucky few. The prurient moment, because the rest of her still has that disturbing girlishness, Nick silently thanks for its brevity.

He explains explorative touches to her. Finding erogenous zones other than nipples and cunt. He tells her to wet her fingers before stroking herself, and to keep those strokes soft and slow until she finds the speed and pressure that pleases her. He asks her to close her eyes to imagine someone else doing the touching or doing other things to her. She gives him a disturbing wink and a glance at his groin, which seems to disappoint. No obvious proof of excitement.

“Kiss me,” she says.

“I don’t...”

“Please. I need more information for my imagination. And it can be another lesson: how to kiss and be kissed.”

He smiles at the lovely girl/woman. “Well argued,” he praises and leans down to bestow the kiss. Her eyes close, receiving it. Wordless instructions at this point. She learns from his kiss and copies it. It, and the several that follow excite them both, even more when his tongue comes out to play. He makes it several kisses so he can observe her between them, her face and her fingers. He never watches when lips meet lips. It pleases him that she never opens her eyes, figuring she imagines her prince doing the kissing.

“No,” she objects when her mouth opens to gasp, tongues still dancing against each other, and he pulls his away. He understands and brings her back his tongue. Soon after, she takes a last step into orgasm, stiffening and then undulating. The stiffening includes her tongue, which he continues rubbing against with hers until hers retracts. “God,” she moans loudly, her undulations becoming shivers, her eyes opening, gazing at his so close by. Her hand pulls him back to kiss, softly, her lips heated by her pleasure. Her other hand, removed from her pussy, reaches out to his hip, nudging him onto her. He decides resisting her request would be counterproductive, and he climbs between her thighs. Her long lean legs embrace his thighs, a gentle, weakened embrace.

Lips separate revealing her loose, loving smile. “Thanks,” she says.

“Such beauty,” he remarks, overcome by it.

Luckily she takes it as he hopes, appreciation rather than lust. “Will my prince agree?”

“Impossible for him not to.”

She giggles and releases her embrace. He lifts off her. “I felt it,” she tells him, boldly grasping his cloth covered penis, only half hard but still noticeably effected. Thankfully she lets go of it, simply demonstrating what she means.

“The kisses,” he explains. “You learned quickly.”

“Will my prince respond similarly?”

“Yes.”

“Will he need relief as much as I do?”

“Probably, but I won’t...”

“Don’t worry,” she giggles. “Hands can be ... handy. Perhaps I can teach him relief like you taught me.”

“Boys usually figure it out on their own.”

“Girls too, I bet,” she smirks.

“Probably,” he blushes.

“But you taught me how to make it better. I can teach him the same thing.”

“Maybe wait until he matures for that.”

“Will he get hard now?”

“Yes. A boy’s penis gets hard. But you should wait.”

“For what?”

“For him to have the same urgency to touch you as you have to touch him.”

“Okay.”

“I’m glad the lessons stopped where it did.”

An understanding glance at his groin, where his penis no longer tents the cloth, she asks, “Would you have let it go further?”

“No, but at least you didn’t insist.”

“Then what would be the point?”

He laughs. “True.”

“I want us, Sasha and me, to learn everything from each other, and only each other. We have always communicated effortlessly at least until the kiss confused him. He will no longer be confused. I no longer feel rejected. I will be patient for him to grow up. Besides, feeling you, I think his will be a lot less disturbing.” They share a chuckle.

The following day, after the prince and her train with her mother, once alone, he accepts her kiss. Short and sweet, each day that follows lengthens it.

One day, a few months later, he blushes before the kiss.

“What?” she asks him.

“This morning, I woke up wet. I thought I pissed the bed, but it was too colorless and too sticky.”

“Really?” she responds excitedly.

“Last night I dreamt about you. Well, actually, you looking like your mother. More busty. More curvy. But not your mother.”

“I’m not jealous, especially about a dream.”

“Even if it was a dream, it was you. We kissed, which I know, and I touched you, which I know some. Some places I don’t exactly know how they look and taste, how they feel against me, and especially how they feel inside. Nevertheless, this hazy pleasure took over, only clear where we kissed. But it was enough to thrill me with an intensity I didn’t even think possible.”

“Let’s find out what we feel like and taste like.”

“Everything?” he asks, excited. She can see the tenting of his silky bottoms.

“Not inside me. Not yet. At least how it feels around your penis. Maybe your fingers.”

“Come,” he says, taking her hand.

She giggles and lets him lead her. On the way to his chambers and specifically to his bath, they pass the king and queen, notorious in their lasciviousness even to them. They pause to greet the royal couple, though without the genuflection expected of those who live outside the palace. They see surprise and amused approval. The young woman responds proudly. The grandson bows his head a moment with embarrassment, but quickly recovers, seeing his love’s reaction and realizing he feels just as proud about this moment, about her as his lover at last. The recovery, the dignified stance and expression, promotes an approving smile and nod from the king.

The bath proves educational as well as pleasurable. They discover each other’s bodies. Kristina’s hand, guided by Sasha’s until he feels she has found the proper pressure and speed pulling on his shaft, brings him to completion, both mesmerized by the resultant ejaculations. He wants to do the same for her, but she needs more time, so they continue it in bed. Fingers guide fingers again until the young woman trusts the young man. His lips help greatly, moving from hers to her taut nipples, again with instructions, verbally this time. Her orgasm far improves on any other she has given herself. She giggles at his prideful expression. She also notices he has become hard again, even harder than before, so her hands do their job while he continues exploring her nipples.

Afterwards, after cleaning their messes, especially his, they cuddle and talk more intimately than they ever have before, discussing marriage and children, and the delay in fucking which the latter possibility especially requires. Both accept the frustration and promise to relieve it in all other ways. Despite the proximity of their naked bodies, no more pleasuring ensues. Instead they let themselves drift to sleep, a prequel to marriage, and the first night of their engagement.

A couple evenings later, both youngsters visit Nick. They want to know all the choices possible. At least at the moment, they both reject anal fucking or fucking when she bleeds, Nick explaining in the latter case, though other times may be safe, especially just before and after her period, the only purely safe time would be during. They leave with a jar of Nick’s essence, insuring no chafing when she fists her prince’s cock, or he does the fisting when alone.

Their power to resist temptation amazes Nick. Deciding to wait until the prince reaches his eighteenth year, hers arriving a couple months later, before marrying, means over three years of resistance. He realizes, though passionate about each other, their minds share a seriousness and reasonableness and careful studiousness comparable to few if any mortals he has encountered. Understanding the consequences keeps them virgins.

But even the most carefully erected defenses can be defeated. Finding its weakness and breaching it comes in the guise of the rounded sexiness and the profound beauty and the calm professionalism of Nick’s Siamese angel Chanda. Perhaps weakened further by the unusual event of having the rest of his angels there as well. Nick discovers Liz’s daughter may have more of her sexual proclivities then he thought. Maybe her resistance to his charms should have clued him in, but, like Betty had been when she was young and susceptible to it, he figures it has to do with the young woman’s love for her soulmate. And it wasn’t so much discovering an interest in women. It would take the most heterosexual female to resist temptation being surrounded by the extreme pulchritude and sexiness of his angels.

Their unusual gathering has two reasons. The first, of greater if not nearly as pressing concern, involves Genghis Khan and his Mongol horde. Having conquered northern China, they begin sweeping east. Like the winds of a hurricane, their destructiveness relies on speed and of inescapable breadth. The swiftness of archers on horseback, thousands of them.

“I wonder how Xo is fairing,” says Nick.

“I don’t know,” Chanda answers. “Maybe he retreated to Vietnam. He has most loyal allies there.”

“Don’t I know,” Nick chuckles, remembering their divertive directions centuries before.

“Genghis may have been the most acquisitive emperor who ever existed,” Chanda remarks, “but I think you would have liked him Nick.”

“Was?” asks Nick.

“He died a couple years ago. His third son succeeds him, and quite well. He has the intelligence and charisma of his father. A most unusual smoothness in the succession.”

“What would I like about this conqueror?” Nick asks.

“Though there is a royal hierarchy, the emperors’ family rules, beyond that he established a meritocracy. Those that proved their loyalty and their ability, even amongst people he conquered, he promoted all the way to generals. The poorest of poor attains leadership and wealth.”

“What did he do, what do they do, to those who are conquered?”

“After destroying the defenses, meaning the death of many soldiers until victory, Genghis, and now Ogedai, has the leaders of the defeated slain, the entire royal family. Cutting off the head, so to speak.”

“And what about the body?”

“Changes according to Mongol law, but less restrictive than one might think. The most would be towards the Moslems in the various Stans they conquered recently.”

“Because the Moslem religion effects so much of their actions.”

“Yes. Especially things most relevant to survival, like the way meat is slaughtered for consumption.”

“And perhaps less stoning of women expressing their natural sexuality.”

“I think so, yes. I thought you might be agreeable.”

“More and more so,” Nick smiles.

“Anyway, as we speak, the great army has become two, one working east and south, the other north.”

“Towards us?”

“Yes.”

She has brought a map, pointing out places, western and central Europe and western Russia.

“Simon territory,” Nick chuckles.

“Not Viking territory?” asks Betty.

“Not in the way. And so far not my homeland either,” Chanda taps at Siam. “But this may well be,” her finger points at Kiev.

Nick shakes his head and smiles grimly. “A very cruel joke to play on my nemesis. Chopping off heads.”

“The horde wishes to conqueror,” Chanda shrugs. “These places are practical, conquerable. Beyond them...”

“You have their ear?” Salomé asks, impressed.

“A suggestive nudge,” Chanda shrugs again. “More nudges will be required, meaning my stay cannot be long. I need to end up with the southern army, and eventually back at my homeland for reassurance and to help protect them if necessary. But first we have a plot to stop.” Angels and Nick nod.

Thus the second reason for this gathering. An accumulation of assassins in western Russia. Kiev’s own plot for cutting off the head of Russia and taking over. Spies for Nick, and thus for the king, hide amongst the assassins. One in particular a trusted member of the plotters. Influenced by both Simon and Nick in his blood, he hides his alliance to the latter well. In fact he performs the task of being the liaison for the entire scheme, communicating from the princes, the king’s traitorous sons, to those who would do the cutting off of the head. The royal family in Moscow. The generals, loyal to the king. Even the spiritual leaders.

At that, the prince and future king, proud to be invited to this important meeting (standing beside an equally proud and much more surprised fiancée who, after all, is not yet officially royal) asks, “How can they expect to rule after killing priests and bishops?”

“Poison,” Nick mutters, “that looks like a disease. One that dissolves the organs. Our chief spy even saw the horrible testing. Simon loves chemistry. More than once, he has experimented on the battlefield. Tainted arrowheads. Being shot becomes lethal, no matter where the arrow struck. You think fetid earth or feces might be enough, causing rot and spreading. But he prefers a swifter consequence, one where chopping off a rotted limb would not be enough, because it could never be quick enough.”

The king adds, “They intend to use the weekly gathering of leaders, of my most trusted, from the military, the religious and the mercantile, and Nick as my primary advisor, as the place where this disease originated, spread by an orgy.”

“What orgy?” asks the head of the military. “Have I missed out?”

After laughter, Nick explains, “Being a secretive and exclusive meeting means rumors can be believed. The first step in the coup will be the supposed debauched nature of the meeting. Whores brought in, shared by all of us. Diseased whores.”

“Meaning ... these supposed whores will be murdered too!” Kristina exclaims.

“They would be the first victims,” Chanda mutters.

“Monstrous,” Kristina growls. “I want in.”

“Me, too,” exclaims Sasha.

“No!” the king pronounces. “I will not endanger Russia’s future.”

“We will have Nick’s angels protecting us,” Kristina points out, gazing at Chanda. “Chanda taught my mother everything...”

“Not everything,” Chanda smiles.

“Almost.”

“True.”

“And this,” Kristina continues, “means learning something new. To slip into the enemy’s enclaves without being detected. To kill silently.”

“Stealth,” Chanda summarizes.

“You wish to learn the ways of the assassin?” asks the king.

“I want to learn everything I can to defend my king.”

“But you are barely seventeen, and my grandson is barely older.”

“They can defend themselves,” Nick argues, “as well as any warrior. They have learned from the best, from Kristina’s mother, and have bettered her.”

“Is this true?” he asks his grandson.

“I don’t know,” Sasha replies. “I do know we learn quickly, and have been learning for over ten years. Kris’s mother has exhausted her knowledge, and we have actually found new moves.”

“And we have defeated the trainer of your guards,” Kristina adds. “She hardly ever bests us.”

The king sighs. He knows any other contest would be suspicious in that a warrior would be afraid of hurting the future king and his fiancé. But the royal guard trainer would never hold back. And though a woman, she could and has defeated the much bigger and male instructor of his army. Secretly so as not to hurt the respect the soldiers have for the man, but often, since the instructor learns from it.

“And,” Sasha continues their defense, “It would give us the opportunity to learn from Chanda. Things never taught to Kris’s mother, including stealth.”

Everyone looks at Chanda, who smiles. “I promise to protect them.”

Maggie, the Irish twin angel, offers, “I can accompany them. My sister can work independently.”

“I want to use the identical twin aspect as an advantage,” Nick disagrees. “And as a distraction.”

“Brothers with sisters,” Maddy nods with a sigh.

“And rescuing and rewarding our chief spy after. He will be blamed, the only one aside from the princes knowing all pieces of the plan.”

Both twins grin and respond, “With pleasure.”

“Don’t kill Simon’s royal minions,” Nick warns them. “Give them lots of my essence to assure their relentless need until they pass out. Perhaps a somatic to insure it happens.”

“And what about the wives?” asks Maggie.

“They no longer have any interest in fucking their husbands, preferring each other’s company and the company of a certain spy. Particularly when a bevy of luscious whores become the entertainment and distraction for the brothers and their trusted circle of advisors, generals and clergy.”

“We’ll find the spy with the wives?” Maddy asks.

Nick chuckles. “Not to join in. He’ll have given them a sleeping potion like you have the princes.”

Maggie shrugs. “We’ll be pretty fucked out by then anyway. So he’ll leave with us, escorting us.”