The Greed And Lust Of Louvre

The city of Firvan and its fertile lands serve as the primary exporter of crops not just to the people of island of Louvre but to the great continent of Elminav, west of the Mauve sea. But it's not about being the feeder of the planet that the people of Firvan are known for, it's rather their ecstatic wonders of architecture that truly captivates their rise from mere nomadic tribes to an absolute divine mortal being. And these divine beings gather today at one of their creations, The Bathhouse of Bevinka, the goddess of cleansing spirit. Seven nights from a full moon is believed to be the time when the divine goddess herself ascends atop the royal gold-plated bathing pool, placed ten steps above the common bathing pool. She witnesses the men and women of Firvan, passionately ascending into the common pool, letting the burden of cloth be heaved away and the sole intend for cleansing the darkness within the spirit away, as they all engage in cleaning each other, watching the whole of each other being truly clean. Such is her mercy and ascertainment that the goddess must bath and admire the healing spirit of her subjects. The People of Firvan are proud of their identity and devotion to their gods and goddesses. But as soon as the long marble wrapped door of the bathhouse slides open and this tender girl lets few of her steps just within the boundaries of the bathhouse, one might beg to question just how proud the people of Firvan are about their inclusivity. A girl from the neighboring city of Cauldre, the place where dark hair and pale skin is said to be the only look that their people have and yet somehow, this girl feels like an anomaly among the sea of people far north. "Ain't she truly a royal?", says a bathing old man. "She's stepping into her womanhood in a truly artsy manner", says the old woman beside him. As she drops her silky, transparent robe, her long black hair covers her little tender pair of breasts without her even trying as if it’s the hair that wants shy away this petite and slenderly built pale girl and the only failure the hair feels is just the failure of not being longer than the length of her mere ribcage. The stares of men may have the urge of arousal or may have the gratefulness of witnessing this royal girl right after she has bled for the very first time. “Behold, Princess Ovira Marlas, daughter of Head of Man Ortis Marlas of Cauldre, ward to her warden Head of Man Ralf Tarton of Firvan, summons herself in front of Goddess Bevinka,” says the old priest behind her, “She shall purify herself, her apple secrets red for the very first time, the spirit has stepped on a new journey, may the seven gods bless her.” “Life For The Sevens!” the priest screams which in turn is amplified by the bathing naked crowd that looks up to the top of the ceiling and stretches their arms such that the skin of their folded armpits are vivid and clear to show their devotion to what’s holy. “My Princess, you may descend”, requests the old priest. Princess Ovira looks around the joyous crowd of the bathhouse which lightens up her already bright and shiny silver eyes, the pair of silver eyes that has made her the anomaly of Cauldre, it is hard to find someone from Cauldre who wears anything but a black pair of lenses in their eyes. As she looks down to the stairs of the pool, she lifts her arms up to brush her hair back and tie it up with her gold ribbon, the dark hair in her pale pair of armpits and the diamond shape the edges of the dark hair form are visible even with this medium amount armpit hair. Though she may be petite, the round delts of her shoulder, the little oval bump of her biceps and the clear distinction visible between the biceps and the triceps makes her feel like someone straight out of oil paintings. Her fingers carry beautifully sharpened nails except her middle and ring finger in her left arms. The little breasts have perky rounded beige n*****s that still stare at the whole bathhouse as the crowd stares back, the little curve near the edges of her waist compliments her small yet lifted hips well enough to make it seem like she was truly blessed by the goddess of fornication herself. “The girl seems so open to all and yet the branches of her apple between her legs shy the apple away like a deep black forest”, says another bathing woman. “Perhaps, the apple may soar a red sea for a tall and strong man and thus the apple waits”, says the woman beside her. “But if the words that travel are true, it may not be a man that gets the apple, the apple has lost her modesty.” “Perhaps the more you delve, the more you hear, that is why it may no be worth to catch the ever-journeying words.” As princess Ovila dips and raises herself seven times, her partially curled hair straightens entirely and each time she cries in devotion, “The Life For The Seven!”, her very own sweet and gentle voice fails her cry as the people awe in the melody that actually sparks. As she ends her purification and smiles at the crowd, she sees the smile back and approach of the crowd to touch her divine arms and feet and congratulate her, she knows 10 summers past 6 summers is a very long time for a lady to bleed, specially for a royal lady, whose affairs are always talked widely about. But despite the joy that she badly wants to share with her subjects, she must head back to Moonshine, the home of Tarton Family, ruling family of Firvan. She is escorted by her champion Ser Ivan Rode. A fine knight chose by the princess herself last full moon as she is finally off age to choose the knight that shall protect her until he can’t swing his sword no more. She climbs up the chariot which is carried by two elegant Snawfus, a form of reindeer built massively, coated with white deep fur giving them a royal look, with antlers that are outline like complex tree roots, their muscular legs and sharpened foot makes them faster than horses and suitable to travel in any terrain. As she looks out and feels the air, the back of her neck feels a rift of shiver, she feels a cold breeze in her body, she notices Ser Ivan gazing towards her cleavage but moves his eyes away as soon as he notices her, she understands that her n*****s are erect which further warns her of the cold breeze that she’s feeling. She knows what the colder breezes during the summer means, she knows that everyone knows, “The Blood Moon” may lit up the sky tonight, which means the Cursehood of the Witches will journey out of the shadow forest of Bishlet located north of Firvan. The appearance of blood moon has no pattern but they have signs that can be predicted by the Mages, some of who dedicate their whole life to study the moon and sky. The witches seek a woman of royal blood that they take in their wings to practice and use her womanhood to lead their cursehood for millennials, if failed to sacrifice, they will descend their curse and darkness upon the and shall bring the bane upon the mere mortal beings. But what is their motivation for that? Why such a pact was made by the ancestors of Tarton Family? Who’s the royal blood that Head Ralf has decided to sacrifice? She never witnessed a blood moon in her entire life before and thus these questions always arise in her mind. Back when she was a child, the old nans of Moonshine that took care of her used to tell their stories to sleep, they said even though it takes one full moon to another to travel from Moonshine to the shadow forests, but during this one night of Blood Moon, the witches travel all the way to the outer walls of the castle, take their woman and leads back to the forest all within the midnight. These few moments of thoughts have already clouded her gentle mind and so she decides it’s not what she wants to think about, she just wants to head to her chambers and present her pure body to the love of her life, Princess Milvie Tarton. As the chariot reaches the castle, Ovira steps out of it and looks at the large obelisk’s shadow which is shading the region that is marked between three and four. Realizing how late she is, she runs to her chamber and almost stomps the door open, only to see her intricately designed bed taken over by this beautiful brunette tanned naked girl. “You seem tired, not something I’d expect from someone coming from the bathhouse”, says the girl as lifts her arms revealing her freckles of brunette armpit hair and smirks as she tilts her head to the right. “Milvie, my apologies, I-,” “Ssshhh!” whispers Milvie as she folds her legs on top of each other, “Drop that cloak, it’s mine to witness how purified you are.” Ovira would normally blush when Milvie directly states her need like this but bleeding for a quarter of a full moon and not being able to have Milvie’s in between her legs during this period has pushed her towards a point of impatience. Her valiant attempt of almost ripping away her cherry red cloak is what expresses her desperation. As much as Milvie tried to test her patience, it just failed as the moment she witnessed the gentle pale skin of Ovira, she got up and ran straight to her arms and in a flash of moments their lips met and that lasted merely as their tongue would entangle while the sloppy secretion of their spit would travel across their sweet tasting mouth. “I left the whole city just so it’s you who gets to taste the sour wetness that is drooling out of me, my legs feel sloppy”, says Ovira as she holds Milvie’s straight hair and looks straight at her brown eyes. Milvie pinches both the n*****s of Ovira and slides below between her legs and within the depth of black bushes, she presses her face and slides her tongue out in search of Ovira’s c******s. “Milvie!”, gently screams Ovira. “I’ve never seen you flow like this, my lower lips, my chin already smells like you”, says Milvie and proceeds to lick her crotch clean just so the sensation of her tongue shivers the entirety of Ovira. “Please slide your tongue to where I lose myself away from this world into the realms of pleasure and slide those three fingers of yours and stroke me brutally just so even within the realm of pleasure, I get reminded of the pain I should bear as well for my complete pleasure, oh!”, cries Ovira but before she could finish her sentence Milvie aggressively strokes her p***y with her fingers while circling her tongue to move the c******s vigorously. Milvie grabs Ovira’s waist, swings her around, bends her down to her sea green bedsheet, spreads the cheeks of her lifted buttock to reveal a light pink folded skin encircling a whole, little tweaks of dark hair outlining the whole beautifully. This is Milvie’s favorite place to explore her smell and taste palette. “Looks like somethings just stay the same”, says Milvie as she sticks her face in and tastes the ever saltiness of this hidden place. Her nose can smell the sweat and she loves it, she knows it’s the nerve wrecking feel that she gave to Ovira a while ago that secreted this orgasmic sweat. “I wanna taste me”, says Ovira as her lust pulls Milvie right beside her on the sea green bedsheet and the crazy desperation of kissing Milvie and tasting her own making succeeds. “Let’s merge each other”, says Milvie as she spreads her leg and Ovira’s leg, moves on top of her and leans on to her as though the lips of her p***y kiss the lips of Ovira’s p***y. And with the passing of time, both of the, rub on to each other’s p***y and keep kissing each other in between the tiring action. “I’m gonna come”, screamed Milvie. “So will I”, countered by Ovira’s scream. And just within that flash of a moment, they suddenly felt the urge of dopamine, they felt lost and then they felt exhausted, Milvie’s naked body leaned over Ovira’s and it felt as though this final kiss will truly relax their heart. Outside the doors of Ovira’s chambers, a shadow looms, someone’s been hearing of their doings for a while now. Standing still & silent.