﻿The Rose and the Frost

by Pan



Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2024-02-16 22:54:46
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,690
Publisher: mcstories.com
Story URL: https://mcstories.com/RoseAndTheFrost/index.html
Author URL: https://mcstories.com/Authors/Pan.html
Summary: A walk in the garden turns into so much more.
Erotica Tags: fd, mc, mf





TABLE OF CONTENTS


Chapter 1

Chapter 2



	Chapter 1

“Some women like big men, some like small men. Some like strong men, some like weak men. Manly men, dainty men, rugged men, beautiful men…beautiful girls!”

Ika laughed at the last item on the list.

“Pretty girls?”

“It’s true.”

A small smile appeared on Doemia’s face, and Ika couldn’t help but mirror it.

“But how did you learn all this?” she asked. “From your mother?”

The last remaining Frost held her breath, as her new friend looked taken aback by the question. After a few seconds, she laughed lightly, and linked her arm with Ika’s.

“Of course, sweet thing.”

Ika relaxed, a solemn look on her face. She hadn’t had much opportunity to laugh since coming to Queen’s Lament—her mother’s had been hanged; her betrothed had been devoured by a beast; and now she was engaged to the high priest! But here in the gardens, surrounded by flowers and sunshine, walking with Doemia…for the first time, she felt like perhaps there was laughter around the corner.

She was in the midst of taking a deep breath, preparing to ask another question, when she heard it. It was clear that Doemia did too: she cocked one of her perfectly-formed eyebrows, and tilted her head to the side.

“What is that glorious melody?” she asked softly. Ika didn’t have the words to respond, even if she’d known. The music was truly enchanting, and she didn’t wish to interrupt it.

Fortunately, Doemia didn’t seem to mind her companion’s silence. The two of them continued walking through the garden, the notes filling their minds.

It was soothing and compelling at the same time, and no matter where they walked, it seemed to always be just around the corner. The small crowd of wealthy New Eastlanders who spent their time in the gardens dispersed, and soon the two young ladies found themselves walking alone. The music felt like warm satin, slowly enveloping their brains. Aside from the occasional contented sigh, neither of the girls felt the urge to speak.

After almost half an hour of walking in peace, accompanied only by the soft tune, the girls turned the corner and found the song’s source. A well-dressed minstrel stood, playing the alluring song that filled their senses.

Despite being in a part of the garden that neither of them had seen before, despite the fact that they were alone with a stranger, the noble women smiled. In return, the man put down his flute and smiled back.

The three of them stood there for some time, staring at each other without words. The minstrel looked young—perhaps in his early twenties. There was something so familiar about his smile, but whenever Doemia tried to place where she’d seen it before the thought slipped away, and she was left with a sense of warmth and contentment that she hadn’t felt in many years.

Finally, the minstrel moved—he still didn’t speak, and the two royals-to-be felt no urge to break the silence. The stranger walked between them, his eyes tracing paths across their skin. Ika blushed slightly at the frank looks he gave her and her companion, but still wasn’t moved to to say anything.

It wasn’t long before his hands took the place of his wandering eyes. Ika gasped slightly at the feeling of the man’s touch; he touched her as no one had before. Gentle, yet forceful—as though he had the right. As though he was in possession of her.

She was glad that the crowd had dispersed, for had any of them seen a commoner treating a noblewoman in such a manner, they would certainly have objected. And Ika didn’t want anyone to intervene; of that, she was sure. The young woman shivered in pleasure as the young man’s talented hands danced across her body, touching and caressing her sides, her neck, her waist.

Her nipples hardened as his nimble fingers roamed her skin, and she silently begged for him to explore under her clothes. She’d never felt the touch of skin on her bare breasts, between her legs; before this day, she’d never wanted to.

Now, it was all she wanted.

As quickly as he’d begun touching her, he stopped. A soft moan of need emerged from Ika’s mouth—the first noise since the man had stopped playing his flute. She turned to see that Doemia was now being touched in a similar manner; just like Ika, she didn’t seem to have any objections.

Ika felt herself growing warm at the sight of the strange man exploring her walking companion’s curves, especially when his hands moved up to her bust. It wasn’t as full as Ika’s, but perhaps that was his preference? After all, if women could like all manner of man, perhaps men had similarly diverse tastes.

Whether she was reacting in jealousy or arousal, Ika didn’t know. They were both such new emotions to her, and she was still too foggy-headed from the music to better explore them.

The man stepped back, and Ika could almost feel the disappointment emanating from Doemia.

To her delight, his hands returned to her, and this time he didn’t avoid any area of her body. As his hands cupped her breasts, Ika couldn’t help but lean in, her face burning. When he moved his hands to her rear, she pressed that against him as well. All she wanted was more—more of his touch, more of his attention.

A hand brushed against her hair, and then his other hand against her lip. Her soft mouth opened invitingly, and soon she found herself sucking urgently on two of the man’s talented fingers. She couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more.

The minstrel could have taken her without objection. He could have taken both of them, of that Ika was sure. But instead he stepped back, wiped his fingers on her dress, and another soft moan of need escaped her.

The stranger returned his flute to his lips. His new tune bore no resemblance to the other tune they’d heard. This was a song of sadness, a song of regret. Almost immediately, Ika’s arousal faded, and it wasn’t long before she felt a single tear trickling down her cheek.

This song…this song was for her. It was a song of family lost, a song of loneliness. It was a song of receiving torment and abuse; without a single word being sung, Ika could understand the entire story being told.

It was a story she was all too familiar with, and Ika struggled to avoid losing herself in it. It was the song of everything she was trying to move past, everything that her life had become against her will.

Then, just as she thought that she could not be brought down further, Ika heard sobbing. To her left, the Rose heir was being deeply affected by the song. Ika wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to share her love. Doemia had clearly never been through such trials, and experiencing them just through the song was enough to make her break down.

Instead, she stood tall. She was, after all, still a Frost—the last of the Frosts, as the song wordlessly reminded her. If she went to comfort her friend, there was a chance that she’d similarly collapse, and she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She’d lived through them once, and she’d live through them again.

To her great surprise, the melody shifted. It continued to tell the tale of loss, repeating itself again and again…but with each repetition, the volume grew softer, until the loss was entirely erased from the memory.

Ika was horrified to realize that the loss hadn’t just been erased from the song; it had been erased from her mind. Her memory of loss had been plucked out and entirely removed. She was sure that she’d mourned someone, but who? Had she even grieved for someone, or had that part of the song just particularly resonated with her?

The tune moved on, conveying loneliness…and this, too, began to fade. Again and again, the song revisited the worst parts of Ika’s year; the hours she’d spent crying in her room, the nightmares she’d had of the beast that had killed her beau finding her, killing her.

Standing there, listening to the music, Ika was delighted by the new tone that the song had taken. The darkness had gone, and the resultant melody was light, happy. Joyous.

Just like her.

Since she’d left Frost’s Keep, she couldn’t remember a single bad thing that had happened. And now she got to live in the castle—the castle! Her life was like a dream, and she loved it.

The song continued, painting in memories to fill the gaps; she drank them in deeply. She _was_ engaged, but not to the high priest. (Where had she gotten that idea?)

No, she’d been sent to the capital to train in being a proper lady. She would always have the spirit of the South, but her time in the capital had been to take the edge off. After all, she was to be wed to the finest noble in the land. And when they’d met…she would never forget that day. He was so handsome, so talented.

Ika had been prepared to spend the rest of her life with him, but she hadn’t been prepared to love him. And love him she did—deeply, immediately. He was everything that she’d ever dreamed of. She’d made a vow on that day; she was lucky enough to be wed to her one true love, and she was going to be the best bride she could be.

Her training had been surprising, but the image of her wedding day had never left her mind, and so no matter what it involved, she obeyed willingly. She learned to cook, to clean—the stuff typically done by servants. She learned how to bathe a man, how to keep house, and how to always present her best side. No matter what mood she was in, her role was to please him, after all.

And then, she’d learned the arts of the bedroom.

For the first few weeks of her tutelage, she’d had an almost-permanent blush. But she was a Frost, and she pushed through the embarrassment.

The women of the capital taught her how to serve. She learned to be submissive, obedient. She learned of pleasuring a man with her hands, her mouth. She was still untouched, but the teaching aids were extensive and detailed, and by the time her training was done, Ika knew that when it came to her wedding night, she would be able to leave her husband completely satisfied.

She couldn’t wait. Each night, she dreamed of pleasuring him. The women had taught her how to bring herself pleasure as well, and she never went to sleep without touching herself, imagining the acts that she was to perform on her husband.

Standing in front of her one true love, Ika felt like a new woman. Her love, lust, and devotion were entirely focused on her fiancé, and her primary desire in life was to please and serve him.

Ika’s husband-to-be smiled, and lowered his flute. He nodded his permission, and Ika flung herself at him. Their mouths met, and their tongues danced with joy. Ika understood that they weren’t to know each other before the wedding day—the old gods and the new disapproved of such things—but when his hands began to roam around her body, she knew that she couldn’t refuse him.

She would never deny him anything. Her body was there for his pleasure.

To her dismay, he gently pushed his young fiancée away, and his flute returned to his lips.

With the new melody, more memories came flooding back. This wasn’t the first time they’d sneaked off to the garden. In fact, since the day her training had ended—almost a month ago—they’d rendezvoused regularly in this hidden area of the capital, confident that no one would find them.

Then, while alone, they’d engaged in acts that would make the gods blush.

A wicked gleam appeared in Ika’s eye, and she fell to her knees. Although they’d done this dozens of times, it always felt like the first. She slowly, reverently loosened his trousers, and the familiar (yet strangely unfamiliar) sight of his hardness came into view. Her mouth suddenly watering, she licked up and down his shaft, before taking his entire member down her throat.


	Chapter 2

As the new, happier Ika began to fellate her future husband, Doemia watched in shock. Just minutes ago she’d first realized the innocence of her young friend, but now…the way that she was pleasuring the strange man, it was as though Ika had been doing it for years.

She knew she should say something. No, more than that—she should leave. But for some reason, the young woman found herself totally unable to control her actions. She wanted to get help, but all she could do was watch her redheaded friend.

A not-insignificant part of her wished that she was kneeling in front of the man instead. Or…as well.

Doemia had never been afraid to use her body for her own gain, but most of her trysts with men had been for pleasure. She loved the soft-yet-hard feeling of a man’s member inside her mouth…or, better yet, his mouth on her thatch. It wasn’t hard to imagine the minstrel kneeling in front of her, using his tongue to pleasure her, and then mounting her until her legs wrapped around him and her toes began to involuntarily curl…

As she’d slipped into a sexual daydream, spurred on by the sight of her innocent companion giving the most enthusiastic head that Doemia could imagine, she hadn’t noticed the strange man’s flute returning to his mouth.

Even as his erection was devotedly serviced by the last remaining Frost, the minstrel was capable of producing the most enchanting music that the Rose girl had ever heard. It wasn’t hard to get lost in it—unlike his last tune, this wasn’t a number of sorrow and pain. The notes wove a tale of nobility, of privilege.

A life without want. A childhood of learning, of education. The development of ambition, of cunning. The lessons learned from endless ancestors, time spent exploring the world.

Doemia’s eyes widened as she realized that the song was of her life. The notes emitted from the young man’s flute told the story of her birth, her childhood. It told of everything that shaped her, events which had made her who she was. It was a song of her experience and dreams, and it brought her up to that very afternoon, expertly manipulating the young Frost girl in the garden.

Her eyes were unwillingly drawn to the back of Ika’s head. It stopped bobbing, briefly—Doemia had hoped that the young woman was so focused on her matrimonial duties that she hadn’t been taking in her lover’s music, but it was clear that she’d heard every note, and understood exactly the tale it had told.

After a pause, Ika’s efforts continued. The eyes of the strange minstrel gleamed slightly, and Doemia began to blush.

The song continued—much like the earlier piece, it replayed parts of the melody just heard, again and again, softer and softer each time. The weeks and hours spent learning of the world: gone. The years at Thorn Castle faded away, gaps left in their place. Before long, everything that Doemia was—everything that Doemia had been—was erased, a peaceful absence left in its place.

The last few notes were soft but specific—without words, they said “Doemia”, and soon they too were gone, and nothing but the faintest of echoes remained.

The woman without a name stood there, smiling softly. She knew that she was beautiful—that had been left with her—and she had vague memories of pleasing men, much like her friend was doing now, but when she tried to remember details of the encounters…there was nothing there.

She was a woman without a name, without a history. She was nothing and nobody, a fact which didn’t bother her in the slightest.

The handsome man standing in front of her took a breath, and to her delight, he began playing on his instrument once more. It was a simple tune, but simple was all the woman knew, and so she allowed herself to follow along with it. It told of a handmaiden, the daughter of a commoner. As a child, she’d been gifted to House Frost, and for as long as she could remember, she’d been in the service of Ika Frost.

As children they had played together, but it had always been clear that she was the servant, and Ika her master. It had never offended or upset her; it was just the way things were. After play, it was her duty to clean up their playthings. She was never permitted to speak up or speak out, and so she’d lived the quiet life of obedience.

When the girls hit their blood, their relationship had subtly shifted. Ika continued to order her about, as she always had, but the servant woman had started to increasingly enjoy her obedience. Late at night, when all her work was done, she would touch herself, imagining Ika. She never knew what these strange feelings meant, and had no intention of acting on them, but a kind word from her mistress was enough to fill her with a warm glow for days.

The young servant girl had a recurring fantasy: Ika would order her into the room, and then order to her strip. She’d tremblingly obey, a flush spreading across her pale skin as she exposed herself. Then the Frost girl would lay back and order the young woman to remove her clothing as well.

She’d nod, too excited to speak, and slowly, carefully, unwrap her mistress.

And then, when her mistress was completely naked, she’d pull her servant girl towards her. She’d pull her close, their lips would meet, and Ika would whisper “touch me”.

“Touch me like you touch yourself.”

The young servant girl blushed.

Her own fantasies, though she’d had them for as long as she could remember, continued to embarrass her. She knew that it wasn’t proper of her role, to fantasize about her mistress like this. Her life was one of service, not of pleasure. It was not her place to imagine Ika naked, or to ever think that she was worthy of being touched by the young Frost girl.

Worse, she normally contained these thoughts for when she was alone, touching herself. She’d imagine that it was Ika’s hand between her legs instead of her own, gently touching, probing, caressing.

She’d imagine that Ika would spread her legs, and allow her servant to do the same to her.

She didn’t even have a name. Why did she think that the future Lady of Winterfell would ever allow her to pleasure her in such a way, let alone return her affection?

It was foolish. It was sinful. It was wrong.

And here she was, thinking these wicked thoughts in front of her Lady. In front of her Lady, and her future Lord.

The melody shifted, and so did the servant girl’s fantasies. She remembered the day that she’d met Ika’s husband-to-be. She couldn’t have imagined a more perfect beau; he was a divinely attractive creature, and kind. So kind. He’d smiled at her, where most noblemen didn’t even acknowledge her presence.

He’d smiled at her, and that smile had soon entered her fantasies.

The young servant girl had memories, somehow, of what happened when a man and a woman made love. She knew that it could be messy, and when she was alone, she’d imagined that they would allow her to clean it up. She pictured the two of them married. She’d imagine her new Lord, after finishing inside his bride, calling her into the room.

“Time for clean-up,” Ika would say, smiling down at her kindly as she entered, naked. She was always naked in her fantasies; it helped remind her of her place. If her Lord and Lady were naked, so should she be.

She’d enter, naked, and they would point. Between her Lord’s legs, his hardness would be coated in a combination of their juices. As their servant, it was her role to clean it up, and she’d get to work, licking fervently.

Sometimes she’d fantasize that her efforts cleaning would be enough for his erection to sustain, but sometimes she’d be more realistic. If he had just finished, he would be softening.

Then came her favorite part. He’d point between Ika’s legs, and it would be her job to clean there, as well. She’d use her long tongue to reach deep within her Lady’s crevices, trying to capture each and every drop of mess. Her Master’s seed would slide down her tongue, down her throat, and she’d swallow it happily, knowing that she was doing her job, and doing it well.

But, best of all, her efforts would serve to excite Ika. Her Lady would moan and pant, her eyes would flutter. The young servant girl would use her fingers to scoop out the Master’s seed, and this would cause Ika to react even more strongly.

Then, just as she was about to draw back, having cleaned up everything that could be cleaned, her Master would grab her head, and hold it there. She would obey, of course, and continue to run her tongue up and down her Lady’s lower lips, shivers running up her spine.

Ika would grab her hair, her fingers intermingling with her husband’s. She’d press her fragrant rose up against her servant’s head, and buck up once, twice, three times. Then, as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut, she’d collapse back onto the bed.

“Thank you,” she’d say warmly, and the pair of them would smile down at her.

The servant girl would finish herself, picturing those smiles. But of course, she couldn’t finish herself now, not in the garden. Not in front of her Lady, and her future Lord.

The stranger put down the flute, and smiled at her. That smile.

He wasn’t mad. It was as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, what she wanted to do. It was as if he owned her, more than Ika ever had.

He owned her, and she knew exactly what he wanted.

Slowly, cautiously, more than a little nervously, the servant girl moved one hand to her breast. Her Master nodded, a small, subtle nod. He nodded, and she obeyed. As she knew she always would.

He didn’t need to say anything; she knew exactly what he wanted. Without making a sound, she began fondling her breast, enjoying the feel of the expensive silk fabric against her skin.

Her other hand moved between her legs. Again, he nodded, and again, she obeyed. Silently, she rubbed the small nub above her opening. She knew how much pleasure it would bring, and she was not disappointed.

For the next few minutes, the three of them continued their pleasure in the small, secluded area. Ika’s mouth and tongue were hard at work, pleasuring the only man she would ever love. Her servant was getting closer and closer to finishing as she touched herself, watching her Lady fellate her Lord.

The stranger, meanwhile, was just smiling, watching as Ika took his hardness as deep into her throat as she could. Occasionally he would glance over at the young, nameless servant girl. Whenever he did, her body would shake, and she would whimper with joy.

Finally, he could feel himself getting close. He grasped Ika’s carefully-arranged hair, and looked over at the servant girl. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just nodded, and she knew that he was about to finish, and wished her to match her own climax to his.

Ika’s heart quickened as she felt her future husband’s throbbing. Pulling her head back, she took just the head of his erection into her mouth, and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. She couldn’t wait to taste him, to show him what a good girl she was, what a good wife she was going to be.

As he unloaded into her mouth, she tried to simultaneously enjoy the taste and swallow his seed as quickly as he produced it. She failed at the latter of her two tasks, and fell backwards, choking slightly. To her delight, her lover didn’t seem upset—he grabbed his member and aimed the rest of his offering onto her face, with some of it dribbling down to her dress.

The betrothed pair stood, smiling at each other, and the future Lord of Frost’s Keep raised one eyebrow, and gestured to the servant girl.

Ika turned to see her faithful lifelong companion was bucking her hips, a look of intense pleasure on her face. Ika didn’t think she’d ever seen her look so beautiful.

A sudden whim overcame her, and she grinned as she opened her mouth.

“Servant girl,” she said, faux-haughtily. The servant girl’s climax immediately finished, and she opened her eyes, her face glowing with a combination of fear and obedience.

“Servant girl,” she repeated. “Your Mistress is messy.

“…come and clean her up.”

Ika didn’t think that all the artists in the land combined could capture even a tenth of the joy that visibly filled the servant girl’s entire body. She leapt to her feet, crossed to Ika, and fell to her knees. Her long, pink tongue came out, and cautiously began dabbing at the stringy white substance that had landed on one of her Mistress’s cheeks.

The laugh of joy emboldened the young servant girl, and soon her caution disappeared, and she began kissing and sucking at the stranger’s seed. She hesitated slightly as she reached Ika’s mouth, but when her Lady’s own tongue came out to play, this reluctance too disappeared, and soon the young ladies were kissing as passionately as though they had sniffed of the flower of the Western god’s tree.

The minstrel watched for several minutes, before clearing his throat. The two excited girls turned at the sound, and he gestured for them to come and sit as his feet.

He looked between them, smiling, before reaching down to point out a droplet of his seed on Ika’s cheek. Without hesitation, the servant girl scooped it up and swallowed it.

“My love,” Ika said nervously, “I have an idea. You know that I have struggled to think of a suitable gift for our union, but what if…what if…”

The stranger raised one eyebrow, and Ika’s words came out on top of one another in a heap.

“Whatifyourgiftweretobemyservant.”

The minstrel smiled, a smile which told the two young women all they needed to know. He clapped his hands, and the two women joined him, smiling and laughing in celebration.

Ika was the first to notice that the minstrel’s erection—which had faded only briefly—was beginning to return. Her eyes dancing with mischief, she reached up and held it.

“You are going to serve faithfully, are you not?” she said, staring into her young servant’s eyes.

“Of course, ma’am,” the servant replied breathlessly.

“You are going to obey with everything you have?”

“And everything I am.”

“You are going to be devoted to our pleasure?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well,” Ika said gently, “I think I know where you can start.”

The stranger, Ika, and the young servant girl all simultaneously groaned with pleasure as she wrapped her lips around his hardness.


End file.
