The red room.
Sunday July 31, 2011
“Watch,” says the Queen to the Bedding Maid, as the Privy Maid kisses the Countess My Lady.
“Oh, yes,” coos the Bedding Maid. The endless afternoon light in that ruddy room licks the sweat that coats their bodies. The Privy Maid’s undone hair is heavily damp with it. The Bedding Maid’s curls are limp. The Countess My Lady spreads her kneeling thighs with a rustle on the silken pillows as their kiss too slow to be called hungry opens and deepens.
“Touch someone,” says the Queen, and the Bedding Maid leans forward, and the Countess My Lady chuckles deep in her throat at the feathery touch of the Bedding Maid’s fingers on her sex. She breaks off the kiss with the Privy Maid and swings her mouth to the Bedding Maid’s, open and waiting, sipping the thickly humid air.
“Now,” says the Queen, licking the Privy Maid’s lips, “touch someone else,” and the Privy Maid frowns. The Bedding Maid sits back on her dainty bare heels. The Countess My Lady, smirking, reaches across for the Queen’s hand. “Go on,” says the Queen. “This is the red room. You must.”
The Bedding Maid on her hands and knees crawls between the Queen and My Lady, over the pillows and into the Privy Maid’s lap. “I told you,” whispers the Privy Maid into her sister’s ear, “I told you to go before she saw you.”
“It’s all right,” sighs the Bedding Maid into her sister’s mouth, her hands on her sister’s sweat-slick thighs. “Don’t you want this?”