Esther – The Gift

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. (Jer 29:11)

I removed her veil. She maintained her dignity, holding her head high but looking away from me as I circled around her and admired her beauty.

“You won’t look at me? Why? Am I repulsive to you?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve not been alone in the presence of a man who is not a close relative.”

“What is your name?”

“My name is Esther.”

Esther. Star. I had been told she was beautiful. I had also been told that she was her own person, not one to back down from her principles. That should have been caution enough. My pride and desire blinded me to the fact that those qualities also described my first wife. My foolishness had driven her away. She remained standing in one spot, her back turned to me. “You have no desire to be here, yet you appear ready to accept whatever may happen. Others simply cower in fear and endure a man’s lusts.”

“I desire to do the will of my God. I accept that it may mean I am to be your queen. Until then I will not willingly come to your bed.”

“And if I choose you to be my queen?”

“You will be delighted with my breasts. I will take your shaft into my mouth. Your mouth will feed upon the delicacies I spread before you and your tongue will taste the fine wine of my love. You will enter my garden and your fountain will burst forth and water it. You will eat of the fruit you find there.”

“You’re sure you are still a virgin?”

“Quite sure.”

“You seem quite confident about the ways of a man with a maid.”

“I was once betrothed to a man. My mother taught me well how to give my body to him for his pleasure and how to receive pleasure from his in return. But there’s more to satisfying a man than a few fleeting moments of bringing him to the edge and having him cum, filling me with the wine of his pleasure-taking. She also taught me there is a proper time for everything. That time never came for me. My fiancé was killed in war. We live. We die. We are forgotten. The sliver of hope offered is that we live for something, or someone, outside ourselves and the applause of those around us.

“A beautiful woman, a poet, and a philosopher? Anything else I should know?”

“You are looking for someone to fill your empty soul. None of the virgins before me has satisfied you. You regret your actions towards your first wife. Your regret is not the loss of a playmate or trophy you can display. Your regret is the loss of someone to be there for you when life becomes something less than you expected.” She thought of continuing, but noticed a tear trickling down his cheek.

“You intrigue me Esther.” This woman before me was already a queen. No pleading to be spared. Simply, “No.” Just like Vashti and I sent her away. Why? Because I’d been humiliated? Shamed? Pride shattered? For what? I had a few minutes of release most nights of the week. I never knew the names of most of them. I probably couldn’t go back to the harem and pick out the one I had last night.

“Would you please turn around and face me?” The soft light of compassion and love shone in her eyes, not the fires of lust. “My soul is empty when I have a virgin and empty when she leaves. Your soul is full and overflowing and has awakened my dead soul. I will arrange for you to move into the queen’s bedroom and to be my wife. Then the proper time will have arrived for you to come to my bed.” She nodded her agreement and graciously took her leave.

I met Hegai briefly in the hallways of the palace. “God has answered our prayers and granted you favor in the eyes of the king.”

“I’m still overwhelmed. I am slowly coming to accept it, though I don’t understand. Please give my greetings to Mordecai when you see him. Ask him to continue to pray for me. I don’t think there’s been a more nervous bride-to-be.”

“The husband-to-be is nervous as well. He described you to me as a delicate flower. He’s afraid of hurting you. God is with you, Hadassah. He will see you through. Shalom.”

I was summoned to the king’s bedchamber. My eyes were delighted with what they saw when I entered his room. He was laying on the bed. Naked. His wrists and ankles were bound to the four corners of the bed. One thing was not fettered; it pulsed up and down to salute my arrival. I climbed up on the bed next to him.

I heard my mother’s voice. “A woman sometimes takes her husband’s penis into her mouth. It’s a bit like sucking and licking a lollipop.”

Leaning forward, I tenderly kissed the tip of his penis. And started licking. Long, languid upward strokes. Taking in the whole head. Closing my lips around its base. More licking while my fingers closed around the full length of his erection and moved in up and down strokes along the shaft. His legs pulled against the ropes in a valiant effort to thrust himself further into my mouth. I pulled my mouth away. He moaned. The ropes went slack. I heard the release of air as his lungs slowly deflated.

I smiled. Another piece of my mother’s advice: “He likes it when I don’t finish off the lollipop all at once.”

I lowered my breasts to rake my nipples across the tip of his hardening shaft. I painted his precum on my nipples. Lowering myself further, his penis rested between my breasts. I scrunched my shoulders together to squeeze my breasts more tightly around his erection. His legs were pulling against the ropes again, desperate to thrust into my cleavage.

On our wedding night, I had licked the lollipop. The king was overjoyed with my breasts. I savored his shaft in my mouth, despite my objections to such a thing when my mother first described it to me. I pulled his hands to my chest to rub his cum across my nipples and down my tummy. When I pulled his hands across my mound, he pulled away.


A cold shiver shot through my spine.

“I have never touched a woman down there. I have never flicked one. Like Queen Vashti, the girls from the harem still had their virginity the next morning.”

“Why? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not sure I do either. I’m afraid. I don’t know why. Help me.”

When I came into his bedroom on my wedding night, he felt me up while leading me to a chair. I sat while he continued to fondle me. Spreading my legs, he stood between them and began to grind on my bosom while tying a blindfold over my eyes. My first attempt at reaching for his penis was awkward, having never touched one before, and not being able to see anything. I was still caressing it, when he took a step away from me, and removed the clothing that covered my breasts. He rubbed the nipples with his cock. Once hardened, he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. While cupping my breasts, he pushed himself between them and began to thrust.

I tried to imagine his erection laying there between my breasts, feeling it pulse, feeling my own arousal as it rubbed my nipples, feeling the heat of his hands. A soft, short moaning accompanied each thrust. Something wet, on my nipples. The same wet touch came to my lips. Then his penis pushed into my lips, spread them and pushed into my mouth. A new moaning sound, longer, more intense. I spread my legs further and brought my hand down to stroke myself.

He was playing with my hair again. He feverishly brushed a pigtail over the most sensitive areas of his erection. I sensed his body stiffen. It frightened me. I heard him suck in a gulp of air. I don’t know when it happened or why, but I was playing with his balls and felt the sack tighten. A cry. A moan. A scream. Which was it? Pleasure or pain? Whatever it was, it escaped without warning. Something hot and wet landed on my chest and splattered across my face. He massaged my breasts with whatever it was and quietly cleaned it off my face. Neither of us spoke a word as he cupped my breasts again and then removed the blindfold.

For a week, I gave him a nightly hand job while blindfolded. I quietly listened as he bared his soul to me, describing his fears and insecurities and why he felt he couldn’t flick me. Some nights I brought him with my fingers. Other nights he came when I licked the lollipop. I returned to my own bedroom and formed a plan while my fingers walked through my garden.

Returning my thoughts to the present moment, I looked down to see that his manhood was softening.

“Tonight you will flick me.” My breasts were bare, but I was not topless. After covering them, I released his arms from their bonds. “You are not to feel me up or otherwise touch me, until I tell you.” I stood on the bed, above him, and let my skirt fall across his hips. “You are also not to touch yourself.”

I stood quietly above him, giving him time to simply look at me and in his own way confront his fears. I followed his eyes with my own. They walked across my belly and down, stopping short of my mound. After lingering there, they started walking back up my belly again before stealing themselves to jump down again, this time to my thighs. He watched my fingers as I gyrated in front of him, touching myself between my legs and caressing my breasts.

“Close your eyes and put your hands on my lower legs. Feel them. Rub them gently and slide them slowly upward. Keep your eyes closed. Focus your mind on your hands and on the pleasure they are experiencing as they feel the softness of my skin.” Bending over slightly, I placed each hand in mine and brought them up to rest on my upper thigh. “Rub my legs some more. Rub the back of my legs. Higher. Higher still.” By now I was standing on my knees. Keep rubbing and climbing until they reach my ass. There’s nothing to fear. You’ve groped my ass before. The difference this time is that your hands are on bare flesh rather than feeling me up through layers of cloth. Feels good, doesn’t it.” A soft murmur confirmed my guess.

“Now I want you to slide your hands back down my thighs a bit and then slide around to the side. Slide them up and down across my hips, while gradually bringing them to the front of my legs.” Placing my hands on his again, I pulled them across the edges of my mound until just barely touching my bush.

“Ready to go farther?” He nodded. I pulled his hands outward, slid them down my hips and then pulled them to my inner thighs. Pulling my own hands away I instructed him to resume the rubbing. He did and I felt his fingers were more probing than rubbing, until once again they started to touch my bush. I sat on his chest, leaning back to rotate my pelvis upward. I felt his fingers walking. Exploring. Combing through my pubic hair. Opening the door. Entering. I clutched at my breasts.

“Open your eyes.” My garden’s fountain erupted while my knees squeezed his head in a vice-like grip. He heard a woman scream with pure delight. I sat up, removed my skirt that covered his manhood, and lowered myself until he filled me. Reaching back behind me, I unfastened his legs.

“Flick me.”

Thrusting, Sucking in air. Stiffening body. Stillness. Silence.

“Fli-i-i-i-i-i-i-ck.” One word only. Spoken only once. Drawn out in a scream while our bodies writhed and shook. While he watered my garden. While the wine of our love bathed us.

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3 replies
  1. Emun87 says:

    Maybe this is exactly how it was…. hmmmmm? We do not know, but certainly can imagine. I'm confident that all the sermons, Sunday school classes, movies, and commentaries we've experienced have skewed what reality was actually like in ‘bible times’.

  2. carmelsk says:

    I appreciate the comments, here and in the story Hadassah – Princess to Palace (Aug 3, 21)

    I wrestled with several things while writing these stories. The book has been the subject of controversy: no mention of God, Esther’s participation in a beauty contest (a sophisticated wet T-shirt contest?), her marriage to a pagan King, a plan to exact vengeance on her people’s enemies being notable objections.

    The biblical text simply states “Esther also was taken to the king’s palace.” It’s not conclusive, but in context there is certainly room to speculate she didn’t go willingly. Continuing, “entrusted to Hegai, who had charge of the harem. She pleased him and won his favor.” Hegai was a eunuch, so it wasn’t likely her physical charms that impressed him. A whining, complaining, defiant, in your face personality wouldn’t gain his favor. Did she “service” the king or sleep with him before they were married? The text does not answer that question. I chose to speculate on some details, trying to remain in the realm of possibility and probability, and avoid sensationalism. In my portrayal she chose to “not fall on her sword” in the harem, but drew the line in the sand in the bedroom.

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