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~Bedded	By : keithcompany Category: Titles in the Public Domain > Gulliver's Travels Views: 3079 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work fiction, based on Gullivers Travels by Jonathan Swift. Any resemblance to person(s) living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter List
- 1-Bedded
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-4
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Politics followed the wedding with full malice aforethought. The criers had hardly announced the successful marriage before they were updating the throne's box scores. Ema's parents confirmed that that their oldest son would succeed the Duke. My parents named Ema's younger brother as their heir, with me named as regent until he reached the age to rule.
I looked for something non-threatening to occupy my time. I figured my life expectancy in courtly intrigue was about half a minute after they served the wine, when I'd be found, drowned.
"Don't worry," Ema insisted. "Ill take care of you."
"I am believe that," I said. And I did. "But I am not make it needed that you are doing that. Besides to that, I have plan."
"A plan?" she asked. "You're a prince. How hard is it to find something to do?"
"Hard more than I am comfortable to," I promised her. "All this kingdom need my help."
We were having our first private lunch, a quiet moment in a bay window. She had a roasted chicken about the size of an airport shuttle, I had a sliver from the middle of one of the breasts.
I walked around a shelf at the bottom of the window. The glass was thick, too thick to see much through, so I sat facing her and watched slightly crazed sunlight on her features.
Then I pointed to a table near the one in was on. "There am two games this kingdom has. Checkers," and a set of the local board game was a wedding gift, "and hit people on head for money."
"That's called a tournament," she said.
"Really?" I replied. "I think it calls 'politics.' Okay, then, three forms of entertainment in kingdom." Ema stuck her tongue out at me.
We established that she knew how to play checkers. We played a game and I beat her handily. I think it was because she was distracted by my running back and forth over the board. And asking her to hold me up so I could see the whole board from what I consider a player's point of view.
Then I started to talk about backgammon.
I figured it would be easier than chess, because we'd still be playing with simple disks and all the pieces moved the same way.
I was going to educate the nation on how to play games. They had no cards, no chess, no dice. NO dice! That turned out to be the hardest part, getting fair dice made.
Craftsmen in the kingdom just did not get the idea of something rolling a different number each time. I made the mistake of explaining that the best roll was double sixes, and the first artisan insisted his dice would ALWAYS roll sixes.
That first day, though, we just pulled slips of paper from a hat. I had drawn a board on the tabletop with a stick of charcoal and we moved checker pieces around.
Ema was a quick learner and inside a week she was sending my disks to the bar and laughing at my frustration. "I am unhappy to lack my lucky dice," I told her.
"Lucky dice? Are you saying they are not as random as you insist upon? They roll high?"
"No," I said. I pinched my fingers to indicate the size of Rollo and Klicks. "It is just they so tiny, you are take my word for it that I roll the sixes. Or any number need."
She laughed as she turned over an empty sugar bowl and trapped me under it for my intended crime of cheating. Then she punished me by leaving me there while she got ready for bed. She KNOWS I live for the hope of catching a glimpse before she puts me in my dollhouse and heads for what's supposed to be our bedroom.
After that week, when the honeymoon was over, we lost some of our gaming time. She was invited by the queen to spend a good part of the afternoon sewing.
It was part of the castle's industry. Ladies of nominal leisure sat around sewing clothes. To the people that were cooking over open fires or doing the laundry in giant vats, they certainly appeared to be at their leisure. But they were very busy. They produced set quotas of outfits for the cooks and maids and grooms and, well, everyone.
And, it turned out, they gossiped.
I was just finishing another session with the guy carving ivory dice for me when Ema stormed into our apartment, chased out the servants and then sat by the fire and fumed.
Since she was normally quite even-tempered, I was afraid something had happened. A rebellion, or assassination.
"Darling?" I called.
"What?" she snapped.
"You are okay?"
"FINE!"
"Okay. I am take you word for that as I am trust you. I just hide over here under the table." I turned to climb down the tablecloth but when I dropped to the floor I landed in her hand.
She carried me back to the hearth and sat down. I was lain on her thigh and stared up at her.
"I don't know if I can explain this to you."
"Yes," I agreed. "I am the one stupid."
"NO!" she snapped. Then instantly looked contrite. "No, it's just… There's a way of talking. Where what you say is not as important as how you say it. On paper, it looks nice, but when you hear the tone…
"Well, when anyone BUT you hears the tone, they'll hear a completely different message."
I didn’t know too many combat terms. I'm sure there was a way to say 'backhanded swing.' But we did have a common base for metaphor.
"A compliment that is bump you to bar," I suggested.
"Exactly!" She smiled at me, and it was glorious. We were a team, right then, two minds in synch no matter that one brain was in a skull I could use as an office.
"Well, the ladies at the knitting circle are always complimenting me. Badly."
"What topic?" I asked. I wasn't sure where she had a vulnerability.
"I am lucky that I will never have stretch marks," she sighed. "I am well-fortuned to know I'll never sit through a long banquet after rough sex makes me tender."
"Anyone is call you the virgin queen?"
"We'll never inherit," she pointed out, "but that sounds like something they'd say."
"I am see," I said. "Barbara, you so brave are to ignore fashion."
"Oooh! I need to write that one down," she giggled.
I glanced around. "Or," I said.
"Yeeessss?" she leaned down.
I suggested that she sew a backgammon board and introduce it to the queen at the sewing gathering. Just one game so that others could continue the work, while two play.
It would give our game some exposure, and maybe the queen would grow tired of pulling little quilted chits out of a pocket, and pressure the dice makers.
"Why do we need that?" she asked, already taking measurements of our drawn board and making notes.
"Well, partly, you can flense your critics on the board, but also, if we are selling the game, need exposure. Need customers." She paused, her quill over the parchment.
"Customers?"
"Right. I make games, have money, keep you rich, not attempt to influence political arena."
"Oh," she said, turning to sit down on the sofa. I scampered across the table and jumped to the armrest.
"What?"
"I, uh.. Well. Silly me." She tried to wave me off. I leaned into the wind and stayed my course. "Well. I thought. I had thought. The, uh, the games? That they were…" She took a deep breath. "I thought you were trying to compensate me."
"Compensate?" I asked, though I suspected what she meant.
"For us never having sex," she explained. I nodded.
"Uh… I not think NEVER. Wait for you are ready."
"Ready?" she asked. She leaned towards me. "My mother readied me for marital relations for six months before my parents opened negotiations for a marriage."
"Woman of the world you is, huh?" I asked.
"I am grown up. I am a married woman," she said proudly.
"So how many times have you masturbated?" I asked.
She gasped, grabbed up a decorative pillow and whaled on me.
I was lucky I'd moved off of the table. The upholstery was overstuffed, or I'd have been pulped. As it was, it was like being beaten in mud by a circus tent full of spaghetti.
It had taken me quite a while to get someone to teach me the word for masturbation. I don't think I'd have ever gotten someone to translate the words Ema was spitting at me. She was in a frenzy. I lay still and tried to time my breathing to her backswing.
After four blows… or maybe six? Twelve? Eventually she realized what she was doing, and who to. The blows stopped. She apologized, fast and furious. I have no idea what she was saying.
Gentle hands scooped me up, a soft napkin dabbed at the blood from my nose, my lips, my ears… And I was deposited gently into a warm, soft space where I slowly recovered. It sped up a bit when I realized I was in her bosom. A couple layers down from the top, a few layers still between me and her actual skin. But warm, cozy and soft.
Her breathing surrounded me. I felt it more than heard it. I think she had popped at least one eardrum in the attack.
I listened as she talked to the knitting circle, and snuggled a bit closer. I do remember thinking that this was such a nice place to sleep, I hoped I didn't have a concussion. Then I dreamed I was a tower. A brick tower in Lilliput, the center spire of an all-girls school.
Nothing too Freudian in that, I'm sure. And when classes started, they rang the bells hung between my ears and I got a headache that spread to my entire body.
Then I was awake. An eye looked down on me from way above. It was a pretty eye, beautiful and soulful and deep.
"If not hurting so very much, am great place I am being," I moaned.
"I am so, so, so sorry," Ema said.
"I know."
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I was a few weeks recovering.  Ema tucked me into my bed in the dollhouse and stayed by my side.  She read me stories and showed me the progress of her sewn game board and rolled the newly delivered dice for six hours to make sure they were random.
And she drilled me in my verbs.
"Are you trying to keep me busy," I finally asked one evening, "or assessing my brain for permanent damage?"
"You still slur certain words," she pointed out.  "It's not princely that trained apes should be better at diction than you."  She picked me up gently and held me below her face.  "Seriously, you appear to be recovering quite well."
"Yes," I said. "And the only time I slur words is when you flirt."  She smiled and challenged me by pulling at her collar.  She must have revealed as much extra skin as there was on the back of her index finger.  "Habba whamma fuffa," I obligingly muttered.
"Well, one of these nights, we may have to show you a bit more."
"Nights?" I protested.  "There's a lock on the door…"
"That would be scandalous," she pointed out with a smile.  Which faltered.  "Good Lady, you're serious."
"Always."  I waved towards the sofa.  "But I believe certain precautions need to be taken."
"Precautions?"
"I need to be in charge."
"Ah.  Mother covered this as well.  Men and their fragile egos-"
"Ema, you nearly flattened me down to a parchment doll!  It's nothing to do with my ego, it's my deductible!"  She looked confused.  "Never mind.  Look, I really think that it's important for one of us to be fully in charge if we have sex."
"And that would be you," she snorted.
"The first time," I nodded.  "But after that…"  She blushed.  But there was a thrill in her eyes…
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~Bedded