Her mind went back to when she was young, ready to earn her living. She'd been born and raised in South Figaro, and it was only natural that she work in Figaro Castle. All the girls who went there were treated very well, she'd heard. But she was innocent enough to not wonder *why* they were given special treatment...and to miss the slight sneer in the voices of those who had taken up residence in the castle.
Eliza had a gentle beauty that was shown in her shy smile, her laughing brown eyes, and her flowing dark hair. She also had large breasts, which were what drew men's attention most. She hated the lingering glances that all men, from horny teens to adult married men, shot at her chest. It was why thoughts of marriage remained remote. All men were the same, she thought with scorn.
When the position of governess became available, Eliza, then only fifteen, had leaped at the chance. She'd always loved children.
Eliza enjoyed her life in Figaro Castle. She shared a room with two young women who were maids in the castle. She herself took care of the children who were too young for lessons but old enough to be separated from their mothers. They got on her nerves sometimes, but overall she loved her job, and the children loved her.
It was only a year later, on her sixteenth birthday, when Eliza finally sensed something wrong with the castle. On that day, she was left with a three-year-old boy whose mother, Lisia, was a maid. It was late, Lisia hadn't been by to get her son yet, and she'd been about to go in search of her when a man showed up. "I'm Larson's father," he explained. "I'm here to pick him up."
"Oh...of course." She was taken aback, though she didn't know why. Eliza quickly covered up her slight confusion by making conversation. "His mother's rather busy today, I gather?"
The man nodded. "My wife's working extra hours tonight. So here
I am." At that point Larson ran in from the playroom and leaped into the
man's arms.
"Hey, little man! Did you have a good day?" he said, hugging his
son. The child giggled and turned away.
"We'll be off now," the man said. "Say bye-bye to Miss Eliza, now, Larson. Let's go!" Larson waved goodbye as they left. She smiled and waved back.
After they were gone, the smile faded from Eliza's face, and she slowly walked into the playroom. Why had she been so surprised at seeing the boy's father? She thought about Larson, how he hugged his father, how the two of them looked at her...
That was it...the way they had looked. Larson had not looked a bit like his father. Could the man have been an imposter? No....or else Larson would never have gone willingly. Larson was like that. He was intelligent, headstrong, and often got his own way without being a bully. Even Eliza herself treated him almost deferentially, almost like he was....royalty.
Her eyes widened as she made the connection. Now she knew what had puzzled her about the boy. He looked like King Figaro. Was Figaro the boy's real father?....
Eliza shook her head fervently. It couldn't be. Lisia was married. Figaro was married. He and the queen had always looked so happy together... The young woman sighed. It was no good thinking about it. But if it were true...she wondered why no one else had seen it before. Maybe it was because no one saw Larson as much as she herself did. With a deep sigh, Eliza gathered her things and returned to her room.
When Eliza reached her quarters, her roommates were out. It was the end of the week, and they always took leave to visit their boyfriends in South Figaro. There wasn't much to do in town, but it didn't matter. All the young couples frequented the dark cave that was the path between the town and Figaro Castle. Eliza was often amazed that there weren't more children, what with all the assignations that went on.
She heard a knock at the door. Opening it, Eliza saw a young guard standing outside. "Yes?" she asked uncertainly.
The young man bowed and murmured, "With his Majesty's compliments, he requests your presence in his private quarters immediately. He requests that you dress in formal wear. I shall wait to escort you."
"The...the king?" Eliza said incredulously. "All right, I won't be long. Will you kindly wait outside here, please?" He nodded and she shut the door.
*What would the king want with me?* Hers not to question why, so she went to get dressed. But she hated the "formal wear" that was custom-fitted for each woman upon entering service at the castle. It was made of sleek, black satin that wrapped around and laced up the chest. The dress fell to her ankles, but a large slit ran all the way up to her thigh.
Eliza had been embarrassed when she'd first worn the dress at a formal castle function. It exposed a good deal of her well-developed chest and revealed her slender curves. She'd been all too aware of the stares she received from the men. And now she was wearing it on special request from the king.
She opened the door ten minutes later. The guard was waiting patiently. A look of lustful admiration sprang up in his eyes as he looked her over carefully. He bowed slightly. "This way, Lady Eliza," he said, his voice deep and husky.
They wound through hallways, up staircases, even through the desert. Finally they came to a door in an isolated tower. The guard knocked, and a voice called, "Enter!" He opened the door and bowed again as she passed, that suggestive look still in his eyes. The door closed behind her.
Eliza looked around in awe as she walked in, her heels tapping loudly on the stone floor. So *this* was the king's bedroom? It was no more furnished than hers, but everything was much richer, more costly.
"Lady Eliza," boomed a voice.
She looked around, startled. King Figaro sat in a deep armchair across the room, next to the fireplace. There was hardly any light, just a couple of candles scattered around the room, in addition to the dying fire.
Eliza bowed and kept her eyes cast down as the king approached her. "I am honored, your Majesty, to be allowed into your private sanctum," she said humbly.
"You may rise, dear Eliza," he said.
She did so, lifting her eyes and taken aback by him standing right in front of her. He was wearing a dressing gown of embroidered silk. Up close, she realized that he was not such an old man, perhaps forty at a guess, but still with the vigor and appearance of youth. His hair was still a pale yellow, hiding the white hairs that dotted his head.
She was suddenly uncomfortably aware of his proximity. Figaro had
an aura that oozed masculinity. It was a reminder that he was still
handsome, still virile.
He looked at her now with kind eyes, and Eliza was held fascinated
by their spell. "It has come to my attention that today is your sixteenth
birthday," he said softly. "Is this so?"
"Yes, your Majesty."
He gazed at her. "I must confess that you seem to me...a strange woman," he murmured. "You are in the prime of your youth, yet you devote it to caring for the children of others. And on this, your special day, you refuse to set foot outside the castle. Why is this so?"
Eliza smiled. "I love the children, your Majesty," she said simply. "Nothing would please me greater than to have my own."
"Yes, it is past the time for marriage...Soon you will lose your youth." Figaro slid closer to her and gently fingered a lock of her hair, still staring deep into her eyes. "Have you no young man in your life?"
She shook her head slowly, not breaking the gaze. "No, your Majesty. I suppose...the right man just hasn't come along."
"A beautiful woman like you..." He released her hair and picked up her hand, kissing it lightly. "You are...a virgin?" His words were as smooth as silk, his voice so low she had to lean forward slightly to hear them.
Eliza wanted suddenly to pull free and run away, far away as possible, but she was still held in the king's strange spell. "Y...yes, your Majesty." She barely spoke above a whisper, her heart pounded in her chest.
Figaro pulled her close and whispered tenderly into her ear. "In the castle, experience is necessary to do a job well...You, too, need experience before you will be able to give yourself fully to a man. And I, as the king, am responsible for the well-being of all the maidens here. It's only natural I should teach you the ways of love!" Without warning, he engulfed her in his arms and crushed his lips to hers.
Eliza stood there for a few moments in shock. Figaro's tongue slipped into her mouth and played about with hers. It was only when she felt the front of her dress loosen alarmingly that she got her wits back.
She tried to push the king away, but he was an expert at breaking down a woman's resistance. He nibbled her neck lightly and slid a hand up to squeeze her breasts. Eliza gasped at the sensation.
The king's lips brushed against her neck, and Eliza instinctively leaned back in response to that delightfully ticklish feeling. His leg parted the slit in her dress and caressed her own soft legs. His hand followed, rubbing her thigh and moving higher up inside her dress.
Figaro removed the lacings from her dress, and her clothing fell away. The woman stood naked, appalled as it finally dawned on her why the dresses were created in such a manner. The king looked her up and down, eyeing each luscious curve, staring at her magnificent breasts.
"Oh, yes, Eliza....this is what you have been depriving all men of!" He smiled gently, the throaty desire in his voice and eyes.
He leaned down and latched onto one nipple, stabbing at it with his tongue. Eliza moaned and grabbed tightly onto the king, pulling him closer, giving in more to the heat that ran through her veins.
Figaro rubbed his hands over her back, then slid down to her buttocks and squeezed both cheeks. He trailed his lips to her other nipple, again prodding it into a hard mound.
His hands fumbled with his dressing gown, and it slid to the floor. He pulled away from her slightly, giving her the chance to look him over. He was well-built and muscular. Eliza's eyes widened as she saw his thick, erect manhood. She knew in a moment that he wanted her. And, though she hated to admit it, she wanted him...
No sooner did the thought pass through her mind that she leaned forward and kissed him of her own initiative. As their kiss became deeper, her hand reached down and gently touched Figaro's swelled cock. A moan rumbled from deep in his throat.
Amazed at her actions, Eliza slowly went down on her knees, brushing her face against the king's well-toned body all the while. Her lips found his large penis and she took it in her mouth, sucking it from base to tip. She closed her eyes, concentrating on its lengths deep inside her mouth.
The king moaned and held her head there, pressing her face closer. Eliza massaged his balls and raked her tongue over the tip of his penis. Figaro released cum with a groan, the warm fluid running down her throat.
He yanked her back up to a standing position, turned her around and forced her on her knees again. Figaro ran the tip of his cock across and down her back before getting on his knees and thrusting inside her tight ass. Eliza cried out in pain, gasping in spurts as the king buttfucked her.
Figaro held onto her waist and thrust in and out. His hands reached around in front to her breasts. He rolled her nipples between his fingers until they were so hard she felt as though he could pinch them right off.
The king pulled out and stood her up again while he stayed on his knees. He buried his face between her legs, then lifted his face and dove his tongue into her wet pussy. She groaned and squirmed but didn't try to stop him. Figaro licked up her wetness, then reached down and pumped his own cock. He released a bit, squirting onto the floor.
He stopped eating her, kneeling there and watching her juices flow down her legs. Figaro smiled in satisfaction, then stood up again.
"This is just the beginning," he said. "Now...we come to the *real* lesson!"
Eliza gasped. He dragged her to a corner of the room, whipped aside the heavy velvet curtains, revealing a large, four-poster bed, and threw her onto it. The cool silk sheets felt wonderful against her hot skin, enhancing her senses. Figaro landed atop her and kissed her again.
Her legs wrapped around his waist. When their kiss broke, the king completely ravished her, licking and sucking and tasting every bit of skin he could. Eliza felt there was nowhere on her body that the king hadn't explored. He thrust two fingers up inside her, and she gasped loudly as those fingers wriggled inside her.
She felt lightheaded now. All these new sensations, all this touching and feeling and stroking were overwhelming her. She could feel all of it coming to a head, lifting her higher and higher the more that Figaro kissed and stroked her. Eliza wondered where it was leading, where all these newfound pleasures would sweep her to.
The king suddenly loomed above her. He saw the dumb, craving look on her face and knew she would soon reach her peak. "Eliza," he said softly. "Eliza...now...your final lesson!"
She just barely heard the words. The only things that were real to her now were the electric shivers running through her, the shudders that seemed to connect all the pinpoints of pleasure into the lower part of her body. And then she felt it, Figaro jamming his huge cock up inside her, ripping into her. She gave a long moan, unprepared as it penetrated her wet tightness, much larger than his fingers had been. And now he was moving it inside her, pushing and pulling, while he grunted and groaned.
Eliza screamed, half in pain, half because she didn't know exactly what was happening, but knowing she didn't want it to stop. The sharp pain slowly dissolved in the heat of her desire and flowed as heavenly bliss to every cell in her body. She pressed her body up against the king's, craving the touch of hot skin next to hers.
He fucked her hard, having learned from wide experience how to control his orgasm. He smiled wickedly at the thought. Here he was, 45 years old, and he could still make a 16-year-old virgin scream in ecstacy. He remembered that 13-year-old that he'd screwed a couple of years ago. God, had *she* ever screamed loud! It was a good thing the queen had been away.
And now here was Eliza. Figaro had had his eye on her since she started working in the castle. He'd known even before she'd put on her "formal wear" that she had a great body. She was young and ripe, and her tits were huge.
Figaro had thought he could get her out of his head. After all, there *were* at least four others that he'd been fucking regularly at the time. But everyone knew he preferred young girls. Images of her supple body haunted him. He dreamt of her, envisioned her screaming beneath him. He'd wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, his cock hard as a rock.
Finally had come his chance. The queen was off visiting her family far to the east. Figaro was determined to have that young woman. And so here he was. He'd seduced her so easily! Then again, what to expect from a virgin?
He heard her moans getting louder. His own were becoming painful with the effort of holding himself back. He pressed closer, thrust harder.
Eliza gasped. The silk rubbed against her sensuously, the king shoved himself in her hard. It was painful, yet it fed the electrical currents running through her. Her head, her breasts, her pussy tingled. She got hotter and hotter. Her legs twitched. Eliza fell back, rigid, as a jolt of electricity shot through her and exploded out through her pussy, spewing out hot cum and releasing the tension that had built in herself.
Figaro felt the woman reach her peak, and he gave a laughing moan as he did the same, spilling his seed into her, alternating in short and long bursts so as to prolong her orgasm. He bit her nipples and thrust deep.
Eliza felt the stabs of pain at her chest, but far from hurting her, it was turning her on. It sent more jolts through her, making her come again and again. Finally her body shuddered, and she fell back, limp and exhausted.
When the king poured the last bit of himself into her, he pulled out and lay beside her, looking down at her. With a gentle hand he wiped her forehead. He rubbed her belly while she gasped for air, trying to completely understand the fantastic experience she'd just had.
When she was calmer, Figaro smiled at her. He leaned down and brushed his lips against her ear. "How was it?" he murmured.
Eliza turned to him, a large smile on her face. "It was...it was incredible," she breathed. "I never knew something like that could feel so good..."
His smiled widened. "And this was only the first time. Don't think that I don't have more of this planned..."
And so it went on, for a year. Eliza and Figaro held their trysts wherever and whenever they wouldn't be caught. For more excitement, they dared to fuck in more public places: in the garden, on the floor of the kitchen, against the wall in the grand hallway. They'd even done it while he was sitting on the throne, just as an ambassador from the Empire was walking up the great hall to the throne room.
After her initial fear, Eliza came to enjoy it. But at times, a small qualm manifested in the back of her mind, whispering that she was betraying the queen. She swiftly squashed such doubts, and the affair continued....until one night.
Figaro, getting increasingly horny despite his age, finally decided to turn to producing technological sex toys. And Eliza was his favorite tester. Night after night he tested dildos, chains, and other instruments on her. She didn't know if it was fate or just a crazy coincidence, but the Empire suddenly began requiring such technology at the same time. What a stroke of luck for the king! Now the entire kingdom could be devoted to creating such instruments!
On that one night, he'd been so especially pleased with a new dildo he'd created that he'd fucked Eliza incredibly hard and long. Eliza felt extremely sore after that. She also hadn't been feeling well the last few days; she'd had to drag herself out of bed in the morning and was short-tempered with the kids.
She'd gone back to her room, which she had to herself since her roommates left some months ago. Suddenly she'd realized she still had the king's cloak, which he'd used as a non-technological toy on her. Eliza grinned slightly as she remembered how he'd used that cloak...
Eliza returned to Figaro's chambers, still smiling, and entered through a hidden door that all the king's women used when meeting him. She stopped dead when she heard heavy moans. Keeping in the shadows, she crept to the king's bed.
Her eyes widened at the sight: It was Figaro screwing the queen. Although that tiny thought sprang up again -- that they *were* husband and wife -- she still felt a stab of pain in her heart. He said he loved *her*! He'd complained about the queen holding back her favors from him, that he'd had no sex life with her since they'd been married. And now he was making love to the woman he said selfishly refused to pleasure him...
Eliza wanted to leave, but something planted her to her spot. She watched the queen carefully, seeing what she did, criticizing the way she pleasured Figaro. Then the king moaned loudly and threw his head back. She caught her breath, knowing that that meant he was about to come. Eliza watched him, saw the expression on his face as he emptied into the queen. His wife sighed and begged for more.
Eliza left as silently as she came, still listening to those ecstatic groans as tears sprang to her eyes.
She'd been such a fool. After all, if Figaro could cheat on his wife, who was to say he wasn't screwing other women besides Eliza? She remembered Lisia. She fell on her bed, crying heavily, crying for her lost innocence.
She left the castle soon after and returned to South Figaro. A month later, the doctor confirmed her suspicions: She was pregnant. And there was only one man who could be the father.
Eliza returned to Figaro Castle and spoke privately with the king. That hungry look that she knew so well had sprung up in his eyes, but had quickly died when she told him she was pregnant. He then regarded her with aloofness, almost suspicion.
"The queen is pregnant as well," he said with a coldness that stabbed her heart. "I believe you are due at around the same time. Since it is my policy to care for all the women in this castle, you are welcome to stay and have your child here. Meanwhile, I expect you will resume your duties as matron?"
Eliza stared at the king. The queen was pregnant? Then it must have been...it must have been *that* night that she'd conceived. That night she had seen the two of them making love in the king's bed. In the same bed that he had screwed Eliza!
Numbness gave way to a sudden anger. This was incredible! Was this the same man who had said he loved her? Now he was so distant, so uncaring. He didn't give a damn that she was carrying his child. *His* child! And he even had the gall to ask her to work again?! Apparently he liked sex, but left the women out in the cold once they were with child. She thought about Lisia, wondered how many other women had fallen victim to his insincere lovemaking. How could she come back to this castle that shattered her illusions and innocence?
Eliza did not look up. "Of course, your Majesty," was all she said.
Nine months passed. Late in the evening, Eliza was in full labor, attended only by the midwife and Lisia. She had told Lisia about the king, and the other woman admitted the truth of Larson's paternity. Then, sobbing, she told Eliza that Larson had died in a shipwreck several months ago. Eliza comforted the heartbroken woman, and the two became close friends, sharing each other's pain, sharing in a secret that could never be told.
Three more hours passed. "The head is crowning!" the midwife exclaimed. "Push, Eliza, push!! You can do it....almost there...." A pop, and the child was out of her. "You have a son!"
Eliza smiled wearily. But she didn't have time to be relieved before another contraction ripped through her frame. "What's happening?!" Eliza screamed.
"Twins!" Lisia cried. "Oh, Eliza, you have twins!"
In ten long minutes the labor was over, and her twin sons lay beside her. The other women had left them alone for a few minutes. Eliza smiled as she brushed back their golden hair and looked at them. They were so beautiful....
A shadow fell over her. It was Figaro. Eliza stiffened and cradled her sons closer.
"What do you want?" she asked coldly.
He stepped closer. "I wanted to see how you were doing," he said softly, "and to tell you...the queen also went into labor tonight."
Eliza turned away. "What do I care?"
"She bore twin sons as well. Unfortunately....both infants...died." His voice caught slightly.
"Oh..." Eliza's face softened. "I...I'm sorry."
Figaro leaned down and touched one child gently, gazing down at the babies. "They look...much like me," he murmured. "They look not at all like you..."
The woman scrutinized their faces. "Yes...I suppose so..."
Figaro knelt by the bed. "This is good. It means everything can work out, if only you agree."
A cold feeling swept over her. "What are you saying?" she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.
"I mean...Eliza, I want you to give up your children to me."
She was shocked. "What? Never!"
"Eliza, listen." He took her hand, but she yanked it away. "I am getting old, and as yet I have no heir to the throne. No other women have borne me children. Lisia's son is dead. The queen's sons are dead. Only yours...still live."
Eliza stared at the king for a shocked moment. Recovering, she pulled her sons away. "*My* children matter not to you," she spat out. "You would have abandoned us if I had not returned. Why not go back to that 'selfish' wife of yours? Or you could easily bed another woman and impregnate *her*!"
Figaro shook his head. "I have...a medical condition. I can no longer have children. This is why...your sons are the only hope. The queen is unconscious. She does not know yet her babies are dead. All we have to do is switch your sons. Then I will have two heirs, and the kingdom can be carried on. All those involved are trustworthy people...They will keep the secret." He looked at her pleadingly. "Please, Eliza...please. You know it would be for the best. I can give them a better home than you, a single woman, could! And you would still oversee them as their matron. It would seem as though you had never lost them. Please...Eliza...think of the future of the kingdom...if you ever loved me..."
The woman bowed her head, the tears falling. Love? She had loved him with her heart and soul, and he knew it. She believed he had felt the same. But he never had. He had made her fall in love with him while keeping himself emotionally distant, but physically close. Now he was using his charm, throwing her love back in her face as he pleaded his case.
She looked at him scornfully. Love? He cared only about himself and his own desires. He had taken her, a virgin, solely to feed his overpowering lust. And she had been foolish enough to fall prey.
But on the other hand...she knew what he said was true. Eliza wanted only the best for her sons. And they would be pampered and treated as royalty deserved. That thought alone made most of her anger dissipate. Still...giving up her flesh and blood...giving in to a man and woman who cared nothing about her personal pain and sacrifice...
The scorn fell from her face and was replaced by wrenching sadness. With a sob, Eliza slowly handed the first child to Figaro. "Take them," she sobbed. "But...never tell them...who their real mother is. They must be raised as the royal heirs..." She felt empty inside, her voice rang out flatly, hollowly.
Figaro was gentle. "I shall," he said. He took the other child, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. Eliza's heart skipped a beat at the small display of tenderness. Even now, he had power over her...
The king stroked her hair. "I will not forget what you have done. I know how much this pains you..." He stood up to leave. "However...I will let you name your children."
Eliza studied Figaro's face. God, what a father she was giving her children to. *Her* father had been strong, loving and caring..."My father," she said suddenly. "The older child, I will name after my father. The second I name after my uncle. They were both strong and loving men...I hope my children will be like them someday..."
"The names?"
"The elder one is Edgar....the younger, Sabin..."
Eliza shut her eyes as tears threatened to fall. Doing so, she pricked herself with her needle. She gasped, the momentary pain bringing her back to reality.
The woman gazed at her finger, watching the small drop of blood ooze out. Blood...her flesh and blood...raised as the sons of the king and queen. Even that was a joke. Their parents spent hardly any time with them. *She* was the one responsible for the children, as matron, teacher, and wet nurse. They *were* her children...but she could not publicly acknowledge that fact, which pained her dearly.
Moreover, despite Eliza's coldness, Figaro was determined to keep his trysts with her. The fact that he could no longer have children increased his daring sexual activity. He would often pin her against the wall of the nursery and take her while their sons played just a few feet away in the other room.
He even moved her room to a deserted wing of the castle, ostensibly so she could care for the children, but in reality so it would be easier for him to ravish her at night. Eliza would wake from a drugged sleep to find the king moaning atop her, often in the last stages of his orgasm. She could scream rape, but what would that do? It would accomplish nothing, and he knew it, too, which was why he was so bold.
But he was not completely ruthless. Figaro sometimes looked at her sadly when he caught her staring after the children wistfully. He knew she resented him, resented the love that the children showered on the royal couple even though they were hardly around. He couldn't blame her. But she was careful to hide it.
Now, twenty years later, Eliza cried when she thought about how her sons -- *her* sons -- grew up to be. Edgar was as horny as his father. Sabin, though quiet, was given to frightful tantrums.
The matron thought about the young woman who'd come timidly into the room earlier. She had no doubt that Edgar had eyed her up the first second he'd seen her. She was a beauty, all right. And she'd been afraid for her...
Eliza shuddered. She felt an empathy for the girl. Edgar was carrying on in his father's footsteps, devising sex toys and testing them on unwilling participants. It fulfilled his sexual desires, but she was frightened at how...insane Edgar became over it. It was a good thing Sabin had been shielded from it, had grown up slightly more normal. He'd been a dab of sanity in an insane portrait. But then he'd left...and it was all because of her.
The matron shook her head. Edgar had never found out about that time. If he had, he probably would have fucked her himself, just for the sick thrill of having sex with his own mother. It galled her that even now, she stayed by his bed...the king's bed...the same bed in which she'd given herself to Figaro.
Eliza wondered if it would ever stop....if there was something she could have done differently to prevent all of this...starting with one young, innocent girl who had been taken in by a king's expert seduction.
Eliza brushed the tears away and resumed her melancholy
sewing.
Return to the trees in the Lemon Grove
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