The Library of the Realm is vast and unending; tales have been told about certain tails being lost for more time than they would like to admit in the more esoteric sections, where the imponderable can be found. These subjects found there are not just limited to life, the universe, and everything—after all, that particular section is well travelled by visitors and is rarely vacant or still. Similarly, the score of halls, rooms, and alcoves dedicated to the sexual arts in all of their forms is rarely without companionship, encounter, or—more often than not—varieties of concrete research in the methodologies referred to in the literature there. There are, to be clear, no “be quiet” signs to be found, as, after all, the point is to create as much passion and desire as possible within the walls thereof.
The art of the word, especially the sexual word, is something in which many of the Realm delight, but the ebon-maned Queen of the Realm is, perhaps, far more enamoured than many others possibly could be. For while entwinement is a delight, the teasing words which bring that moment to be can be as heated as skin being pressed against skin. “Sex,” after all, is but a three-letter word which cannot quite bring out fully what heat lurks beneath. It is that heat, brought about by fingers exploring sensitive skin, causing gasping surprise, which can barely offer a glimpse onto the delights thereof.
The imagery of ships passing in the night only brings about the storms of thunder and lightning encountered when those ships crash upon coral shores, being wrecked by the ceaseless waves driving them onwards. The siren call of desire that comes from the surrender to one’s needs opens the path into, and beyond, the breaking dawn and heat that overcomes all. The river weeping from the secret delta bears witness to the tremors brought when the earth moves, eyes flash with light, and lips part in desire. Slick mounds are caressed, tempted, and, in time, surrender to the ache which cannot be ignored. In truth, the words themselves are less important than the actions taken, the results that come, and the ecstasy attained. Words are but a pale reflection of events, the attempt to put into words the meaning of the moment, even if that meaning is held in the mind of one alone.
That’s not to say, however, that souls cannot manage that. For some, the words are short, to the point. There is no confusion about what occurs between the sheets. There is, to be blunt, quite a lot of screwing around, or, if one is to be more clear, fucking around. Still those words aren’t generally used in polite company, and as such there is need for other words to be used. Being blunt —as a whole and as the Queen of the Realm can attest —leaves so very little to the imagination. The mind is the greatest erogenous zone there is, well, save for that of succubi and incubi who’s tails are about equal, though there are a multitude of tests and research into that question going on at any particular time in any particular space.
This, then, brings us back to the Realm Library, to a certain ornate book lectern positioned close to a certain ebon-maned red-tail’s office. Upon this place of honour rests a tome bound in black leather, accented in red, or is it vice-versa? It seems that this collection of words reflects those that find themselves positioned against, over, beside, or beneath. The bemused red-tail watches from her abode as souls discover the words therein and explore their meaning. Cries of delight, wonder, and bliss echo through the space in which the book collects their words. Sweat-slicked bodies quiver as their hands manage to write, or more often scribble in a rush, what words express their moment. They press into the book not an epiphany, but rather the euphemisms they’ve discovered: the words that express not sex, but more what their souls felt and remember from the experience.
For the word sex alone is not nearly enough to describe the epiphany of finding their own euphemisms. It is the attempt to find the word on the tip of their tongue, caress the phrase on sensual curves, plunge deeply into slick, hot velvet in all forms which captures the imagination …
… and delights the Queen of the Realm as she watches another come to appreciate this gift of Goddess.
The Realm is the creation of TeraS, also known as TeraSuccubi, the owner of Succubus.net, who is the owner of all copyrights to this literary universe. All characters, places and stories that are written by her are not public domain and may not be used without her express written authorization.