Sensual Magic

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 2932 Ross Clark Circle, #384 Dothan, AL 36301 Sensual Magic Copyright © 2006 by Emy Naso Cover by Scott Carpenter ISBN: 1-59998-243-9 www.samhainpublishing.com All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The book has been previously published First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: December 2006

Sensual Magic Emy Naso

Emy Naso

The Bathhouse Keepers The town was indifferent to weather for two months of the year. Neither one thing nor the other. Then for four months the winter came and nothing moved. Not unless it had to. Spring arrived, embarrassed to stay so short a time, then for almost six months the town was hot. The people in it were even hotter. You could work hard and sweat, or you could swing on the porch and keep cool. Or you could go to the bathhouse. Most of the town went there to wash off the grime, chew the fat, shoot the breeze and get rid of the dust. Back one-hundred-and-twenty-seven years ago, some no-good drifter, lost and probably drunk, must have found the valley, decided it was a good place for a town—hell, he must have been hitting the bottle—and started the town of Waygone. Why did he call it that? Go figure. Nothing much happened, it grew a little, the farmers arrived, enough of them had no brains, so decided to stay and eke out a living. It wasn’t on the way to anywhere important, whichever direction you were going. Occasionally a politician would arrive, talk about the past, mention the present, and mumble quickly about the future. He’d promise investment, industrialists swung by full of enthusiasm at first, but after they’d taken a look around the district and realized the people were too lazy to be good employees, there were no natural resources and it was too dry and the heat so searing, he wouldn’t want to live in Waygone. So life went on in its tedious way, until, that is, Hayward and Silva McKeith arrived. To this day, nobody is sure where they came from. Seth and Rory were sitting out in front of the hardware store playing chess, 4

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with what the Minister called a “rude and lascivious chessboard”, when they looked up and saw these two fine folk. Even though Seth Brubaker was within a few moves of checkmate, his concentration strayed from the game when he got a picture of that woman in his eye. He says, even now, the image of Silva McKeith is lodged in his brain like a piece of shrapnel. Still makes his gray cells kinda limp. Although he often chuckles, spits in the bucket and says, “But my ancient cock makes up for it by going hard.” So they arrived. The lady, long black tresses down to her waist, smiled, and old Rory sat there with his mouth open, wondering if that hair was long enough to cover her fine ass. Seth nibbled his lip and thought he hadn’t seen such shapely breasts since he’d visited that whorehouse over at Maconville when he was a young farm laborer. If she was pretty, the fellow with her was as handsome as one of those movie stars. His dark brown hair was swept back and glossy. Must have just been to the barbers that very morning, Rory remembers thinking, otherwise how come he was so smart and fancy. “Interesting chess pieces,” the lady said, by way of an introduction, leaning over and picking up the Queen, which was carved as a naked Aphrodite. The woman’s breasts were as near Rory as made him ten degrees hotter, and from where Seth sat, her leaning over like that gave him a grandstand view of the best ass he’d ever rolled his eyes at. The woman stood up and went on fingering the Queen. It was a simple, sensual movement. She gave out more cock-erecting vibes than a whole troupe of French tarts in a high-class bordello. “I’m Hayward McKeith,” the elegant man said, bowing slightly, but not offering a hand. “And this is my wife, Silva.” The lady smiled. It was the type of suggestive grin, which if you put in your pocket and got arrested, you’d get penal servitude for possessing lewd material. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“You’re strangers to the town?” Seth asked, his thoughts still on the beautiful Silva. “Not for long, we hope.” Hayward beamed, his blue eyes surveying the one road in and out of Waygone. Then he asked, “I’d like to know two things. Firstly who owns that bit of land by the crossroads…and who is the mayor of this…” He paused as his wife rapped her parasol on the wooden boardwalk. The McKeith couple exchanged glances. Hayward smiled at his delectable wife and continued, “…delightful town.” Silva gave him a satisfied look. Rory pulled his attention away from Mrs. McKeith’s breasts, coughed and answered. “That land belongs to widow Geary, over at Dale House.” He pointed to a white-painted, board-clad, two-story building at the end of Main Street. “And the mayor, judge, barber and owner of most of the properties over on the east side of the street is Ringler T. Hoppy. He lives out at Berrisford Farm…sometimes. Reckon you’ll find him over at Lucy’s Bar right now.” The couple thanked Rory with gracious nods and gorgeous smiles. “If you’re going to look for Ringler right now, I’d try one of the upstairs bedrooms. Knock twice and wait for the grunting to stop,” Seth called after them. Both old men laughed and thought about going back to playing chess. It was difficult to concentrate with the rear-swaying end of Mrs. McKeith still in view. YZ The rumor soon spread around town. The McKeith couple had purchased the land from widow Geary, somehow rushed through

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planning requirements, and were going to build…well nobody actually knew. “New Court House,” some said, only to be derided, as Waygone didn’t have an old one. “A rival bar to Lucy’s place” was another guess. Store, brothel, school and many more outlandish speculations were thrown about. After three months of day and night building behind high wooden solid fences and a twenty-four-hour guard to keep inquisitive people out, came the day of the great unveiling. The entire population of Waygone district assembled in town. The fences were taken down on the red brick building. Still no one knew what it was. Hayward and Silva McKeith stood on a dais with Mayor Hoppy, the very young widow, Mrs. Geary, and two armed guards. The town folks gathered in a semi-circle, waiting for the announcement. Most of the men in town over the age where their voices had broken stared at the enticing figure of Mrs. McKeith. The women, more surreptitiously but still with lust in their minds, looked hotly at Hayward. Ringler T. Hoppy stepped forward, mopping his brow in the midday sun. As he removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his head, his bald pate shone an unintentional signal to the birds. It had no meaning. Not much in Waygone did. “Good people of Waygone,” he began, and an audible groan went up, many hoping he would keep this speech short. “We have waited long and patiently for this day. And now, due to the generosity of Hayward McKeith

and

his

lovely

wife,

I

am

proud

to

open

this

magnificent…Bathhouse.” Hoppy beamed with satisfaction. A low murmur drifted up from the crowd. The comments could be recorded here, but time is short. At that moment there wasn’t a lot of enthusiasm. Waygone had a Bathhouse. As www.samhainpublishing.com

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Seth said, summing up the feeling in more colorful language, “This town needs a Bathhouse like a man with an erection needs to be told to cross his legs.” But Waygone got to love its Bathhouse. After a few suspicious days, folk started to come around and see the sense, and luxury, in wallowing in a beautifully tiled bathroom, or taking a shower and washing the hot summer dust away. Then there were the added benefits. It was free. You could use as much scented soaps and powders as you liked, and lastly there were the assistants. Depending on your choice, and sexual orientation, there were a selection of gorgeous men and women to attend your needs. Brindle Yancy came into town when news of the Bathhouse reached him. He was a very eligible bachelor. That’s if you went on looks for this twenty-four-year-old man, tall, muscular, fine dark hair and deep voice. If you wanted money, sense, reliability, a nice home, more than six brain cells to hold a conversation, then forget it. The fine-looking man walked up and down outside the Bathhouse for a while, trying to get the courage to enter. Eventually curiosity got him by the balls and pushed him through the door. Luckily he managed to open it just before. “Why, good day, sir.” The greeter was a five-foot-five-inch blonde, wearing a short toweling robe, stiletto heels and a welcoming grin. “I hear the Bathhouse is free,” was Brindle’s first remark. “Everything’s free.” The blonde pouted and touched his arm in a way that sent a two-thousand volt of lightning down to his groin and made his cock oscillate about like a pinball machine. “My name is Breckie, and I am your provider,” the blonde said. “What can we do for you?” 8

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Brindle consulted his six brain cells, came up with an answer he thought it better to stow for a while, and blurted out. “I hear your bath is a mighty splendid thing.” “Your desire is my command.” Breckie wiggled over to a side table, picked up a large towel, and turning to Brindle said, “Follow me.” Like the iron filings attracted to the magnet, Brindle was drawn after Breckie, captivated by the rolling rear cheeks in his view. “The red bathroom okay with you?” Breckie asked as she looked back over her shoulder. He nodded in a trance. She stepped aside and ushered him into a room. It was certainly red. The hue of the tiles, soft carpeting and enormous bath shaded from deepest red to vivid scarlet, to pale crimson. Breckie fussed about, running and testing the water. Brindle sat awkwardly on a stool and watched the young woman. He was hoping to see a little bit more of her delightful thighs as she leaned over the bath. Never did he realize what a view he would receive. The blonde finished pouring in adorable smelling lotions and in one action, turned, undid the cord to her towel robe, let it slip to the carpet, stood eye-popping nude and said to Brindle, “Do you like it very hot or just warm?” His glance flashed back and forth from her upright nipples, down to the blonde wispy triangle barely covering her slit. “Hot or warm,” he mechanically repeated. She moved forward and started to undress him. “Your bath, sir. What did you think I meant?” Breckie smirked as she peeled his shirt away and started to unzip his pants. Brindle stood rigid—body and cock—knowing any minute the blonde would discover just how excited he was. With dexterous and unabashed

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action, she slid his pants down, got him to step out of them and, kneeling down, wiggled his shorts off. Once released, his cock sprang up and was hard, gorged with lustful veins and begging for attention. Breckie lightly touched his erection, working his foreskin gently back over the dome inflamed head with its one-thought eye. She looked up, grinned and holding the shaft lightly, leaned forward and took it into her mouth. Brindle took a deep breath and thought it must be his birthday. He was hardly conscious of the door opening and the majestic figure of Silva McKeith standing, watching, dressed in the smallest thong and matching bra ever to be called underwear. With eyes bulging, Brindle slowly looked over at Silva. There wasn’t a lot he could say. He’d never seen her before and being given a blowjob by a blonde assistant didn’t seem to put him in an ideal situation to exchange small talk. Silva produced a riding crop from behind her back and tapped Breckie on her blonde head. “And what time do you call this, Breckie?” Silva admonished the young woman. “I’ve told you not to eat before lunch. Spoils your appetite. Now leave that man’s cock alone and come and be punished.” The domineering, large-breasted figure of Silva McKeith slapped Brindle’s erection and ordered him to sit on a chair. “Now, Breckie, over here,” she commanded and indicated Brindle’s lap. The blonde spread over him, ass up, and wriggled around. “If his stiff dick is in the way, let it slide between your legs, honey.” Breckie did as instructed, and up popped Brindle’s red top, set like a glowing half-ripe apple between two lovely peach cheeks. Silva McKeith walked to the side of Breckie’s prone body, seductively slipped her bra undone and let it fall. Instantly she raised her arm and whacked down on the rounded, protruding rear of her assistant. Brindle 10

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was mesmerized. The movement was from raised arm, to flowing breasts, then a coordinated flow as those gorgeous tits swung with the force of the stroke. Then the final thud across the pliant flesh of Breckie’s buttocks added a certain piquancy to the action. He watched once, then twice and a third time. Each crack made Breckie jump and her upward jolt rubbed his cock violently between her thighs. Brindle knew a few more whacks and he’d lose control and come all over Breckie’s rear. The chastisement finished. Silva McKeith leaned over, grabbed the blonde hair of Breckie and pulled her off Brindle’s knee. “Well, she’s yours now. How would you like her?” As Silva spoke she tapped the riding crop on her thigh, still holding Breckie by her golden mane. “What about tying her up on the table over there?” She laughed and pointed with the whip to the marble slab along one wall. “Don’t look so dumb. You can handle a woman with a cock like that, can’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, Silva dragged Breckie over to the slab, pushed her back down and got up over her, pinning her arms down by kneeling on them. “Come on, grab her ankles and bind them to the supports of the table. Make sure you spread her legs.” The sexual frisson pumped adrenalin through Brindle’s body as he wrestled her flailing legs and secured them to opposite legs on the end of the slab. He stood for a moment gazing at her sex, shaved clean and the lips curled and sweet, tempting him to run his hand over the smoothness of Breckie’s cunt. “You’ll have plenty of time to enter her with your fingers and cock. First tie her hands, the girl is getting stronger.” Coming around to Breckie’s head, Brindle seized first her right arm and stretched it above her head, binding her wrist to a hook under the slab, then he did the same with her left arm and hand. The way her www.samhainpublishing.com

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breasts stretched and tightened the skin made the shape taut and invitingly seductive. Silva McKeith climbed down from the recumbent body of Breckie, moving close to Brindle, fondling his erection as she half stood behind him, pressing her naked breasts into his back. “Let me watch you take Breckie first. Then as a reward you can have me in any way you want.” Silva’s hot words burnt his skin, making his hardness twitch in lust. He went to Breckie, running his thumbs down the edge of her sex, opening her lips, toying with her as he massaged her clitoris with the head of his bulging cock. “Enter her,” Silva urged. “Fuck the woman while I press my naked body against your rear. Go deep in Breckie and think of me waiting to give myself to you.” Brindle was alight with passion. Climbing up, he lay over the blonde, felt his cock penetrate into the mouth of her vagina, then plunged deep and hard. His satisfied groan was matched by Silva, who standing behind the copulating couple, picked up a syringe, raised her hand high, and stabbed its fluid into the right cheek of the man’s ass. So surprised, he didn’t cry out. Quickly the liquid from the syringe, and now in his veins, took hold. His body, like his cock, froze hard. Silva went over and rolled him off Breckie. She untied the assistant, helped her up and led the blonde to a door. It was a storage cupboard. Breckie would be needed later. Until then the blonde would wait at rest. YZ Another beer slid along the bar. Milo nodded to Marlene, the waitress, who had sent the drink on its way to him. She wiped down the

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surface, emptied an ashcan and sidled up to where Milo Heigger stood, leaning dolefully on the oak, dark-stained bar, with one boot on the scratched brass foot rail. “Waiting for anyone, Milo?” Marlene said through a mouthful of gum. He shrugged, and took in the low-cut dress she displayed, elbows on the bar, and cleavage smack in his view. His gaze followed the leaning line of her body, almost straight back and nice ass stuck out. Marlene was aware of his glances. “It’s pretty quiet, Milo…if you want to go upstairs for a while.” The six-foot construction worker from the outskirts of town hadn’t come in for sex—well, not with Marlene—but she was by far the cutest waitress in Lucy’s Bar, her red hair always attracting the men and the subject of many a ribald remark about whether it was natural and how you could find out. Milo felt his thick stash of money in his inside pocket. He’d just gotten paid after working on a building site over in Lowland County. The money and the bonus were burning a hole in his pocket. He should go home to his wife, Amy, and the two little boys, but Marlene was tempting. She went on staring at him, those big brown eyes and voluptuous breasts, both a sore inducement. She was now leaning even more over the bar and once he got a flash of her nipples, there was no going back. “Do I take that look as a yes?” Marlene smirked. He nodded. “Waynetta,” Marlene called to a peroxide blonde lazily playing the slots. “Look after the bar for”—she turned to Milo and gave him a glance up and down—“thirty minutes.” Marlene beckoned a finger at Milo, swayed her ass alluringly, and was followed by one tall man with one hard cock. Then Milo stopped. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Not here, Marlene.” “What’s wrong, big boy.” “It doesn’t feel right.” “Afraid that fancy lady of yours—and not to mention your pretty wife—might get to hear?” “Something like that.” He sheepishly grinned. Marlene pushed her ample tits at him. “How about we get a nice cool shower?” “What, Marlene?” She hoped he was better with his cock than his brain. “I’ll see you in the Bathhouse in five minutes.” She winked. Milo was shown into a large cubicle by an attractive blonde who had greeted him with a cheery, “Welcome to the Bathhouse” smile. As the young woman left she said cheekily, “I’ll show your friend in when she arrives.” Marlene came in very soon after, all eager kisses and cuddles for Milo. He looked embarrassed until they were alone. “Shut the door, Milo. No need to lock it.” She walked toward him, undoing the buttons on her blouse as she got nearer. “Okay, Milo, what do you want?” He stared back. “I didn’t say who do you want. And don’t look so surprised. Everyone knows you and the school teacher’s wife have got the hots for each other.” He tried to say something. Marlene slipped off her blouse, unfastened her bra and the sight of those tits took everything else out of Milo’s thoughts. Marlene wriggled up close as he palmed her breasts and bent his head to start feasting on her nipples. 14

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“This is a free sampler, Milo.” Marlene giggled. “But you’ll have to tell me what you want.” He still didn’t get to the transaction. “Kind of a quiet sort, aren’t you? Let me take the lead, Milo. Do you want to fuck me or are you into something kinky?” The construction worker brought his head back and stared at her. “Would you do something…different, Marlene?” “You’re paying, Milo.” “How about…?” “Yes, Milo? Spit it out, man.” “Oral sex, Marlene.” “Looks like I’ll have to.” She sniggered. “Have to what, Marlene?” he asked quizzically. “Oh, Milo…spit it out.” He stared, rubbed his large head…then beamed. “Spit it out…I get it.” “No, I think it’s me that gets it.” She saw him looking puzzled. “Never mind, Milo, let’s get undressed, shall we?” As he stripped, Milo couldn’t take his eyes off Marlene, watching her wantonly kick her shoes off, wriggle out of her tight pants and slip down the plain white panties. So she is a genuine redhead. He gulped and couldn’t resist letting his hand do a circle around her bellybutton, fingertips through the curly scarlet pubic hairs and pushing into her wet slit. She was slippery, lustfully perfumed and dripping with desire. He liked the feel of her vagina and the sound his finger made as it slurped divinely in her. “Changed your mind, Milo? Do you want to finger fuck me instead of a blowjob?” He made his intentions known by pushing on her shoulders so she knelt in front of him. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Bet you wish this was the schoolteacher’s wife, don’t you, Milo?” Marlene teased as she licked his dick. “That’s just a rumor,” he defended. Marlene grinned. “Most folk around here believe it. You and Shania have been seen in the back of your old truck, Milo.” He thought about disagreeing, but for two reasons, didn’t. Firstly it was true. Secondly, having his cock sucked took away most of his thinking brain. Marlene let his erection come out for air, looked up and tantalized him with, “What about a sixty-nine, Milo?” His mathematics weren’t too good but his sexual calculations were superb. She got up from her kneeling position, took his hand and put her head outside of the cubicle. “Over here,” she said and they trotted down the corridor in their naked state. “This room is okay,” Marlene suggested, pulled Milo in, and in a second was spreading out on her side on a couch, encouraging Milo to get down with his face near to her loins. Raising her left leg, Marlene revealed her pussy lips, at the same time licking his dick. He buried his head in her triangle and lapped away at her cunt. She sucked, he fingered and licked, they both moaned. While they’d been in the cubicle, Hayward and Silva had sat in their office in the Bathhouse watching the action. When Marlene and Milo started getting real sexually fruity, Silva put her hand down the front of Hayward’s pants and worked him steadily. Now, with Marlene and Milo on the couch, Hayward tuned in the hidden camera, and the McKeiths were riveted to the monitor, spying voyeuristically.

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As Milo and Marlene started to breathe fast, Hayward said to his wife, “It is time, my dear.” He went to a cupboard, took out a couple of syringes, gave one to Silva, and they quietly left their office. Fifteen seconds later they silently entered the room where, oblivious to anything, Marlene was anticipating Milo shooting his load into her throat. Silva and Hayward stabbed the needles into two excited buttocks. It took three seconds for Marlene and Milo to be out cold. YZ Amy missed Milo. Not because she thought he was much of a husband or father, come to that, but money was getting short. It had been three days since he was supposed to have come home from the construction site with bonuses to pay some of the debts. She rang the company employing him. No luck. What could she do? Shania Daly was equally worried. Her schoolmaster husband, Bertram, was no help. But then she could hardly tell him that Milo was her lover—he’d been shagging her for over three months. In the back of his truck down by the creek where the river was swampy in winter and dry in the long hot summers. Milo had even called at their house. It was on the pretext of mending the leak in the kitchen roof. Bertram had let him in, kissed his wife, Shania, and gone to teach at the school. He was no sooner in the classroom, then Milo was ripping Shania’s panties off and screwing her heatedly over the kitchen table. She made discreet enquiries when Milo didn’t make contact. No one knew anything, except that dim wit Waynetta, who had a feeling Milo had been in Lucy’s bar and then walked off in the direction of the Bathhouse. It was the only clue Shania had.

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She went into town, did some shopping, buying material to make a dress, then strolled casually over to the Bathhouse. Those two old lecherous men watched her while they were pretending to play chess. She tutted, but was pleased. At thirty years old, Shania was proud of her figure. Not that Bertram liked her to wear revealing clothes. He thought it was devil’s attire. But then his idea of making her feel like a woman was a once a fortnight shag. And that was conventional. What would he say if he knew that during the eight years of marriage to Shania, she’d had twelve men? Sex being a euphemism for an obsession, which started with an affair with a traveling seller of patent medicine and in reality was a one-night stand. Correction—one-afternoon stand…and they weren’t standing. It progressed to a torrid and passionate six months with Billy who worked in the motel out on the highway. That was twice a week in one of the empty rooms at the motel. That affair started with a missionary fuck and then went through every position in the Kama Sutra, including one they made up where Billy shagged her pussy with his cock as she bent over to touch her toes, and at the same time he frigged her ass with a banana. The affairs, and erotic nature of them, continued. All the way to Milo. Number twelve and the most lascivious. The memories flooded back as she stood in the reception area of the Bathhouse, rang a bell and waited for an assistant. A man came out of a side door. He was immaculate in a brown suit, well-groomed hair and just the most divine smile Shania had ever seen. “May I help you?” he asked with precise enunciation and a refined accent. She found it a real turn-on.

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“Nice place you have here,” she said, for want of something to say, not having thought through how she would broach the subject of a missing lover. “Why, thank you. I am the joint-owner, Hayward McKeith. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, young lady?” She liked that. Shania liked him. “Sha…” She stopped. Better say something else. The wife of the schoolteacher shouldn’t be here. “Angela Dunway.” “Well, Miss…Mrs…?” “Miss.” “Good. Well, Miss Dunway…” “Call me Angela.” “Delightful…where was I…yes, Angela. Can I help you? Have you come for a shower? Maybe a massage?” Shania loved the way he said massage. “What does that consist of?” “You’d like a full body massage of course, Angela?” Hayward said with a voice you could use to sweeten a beehive. She decided there and then that this man would be number thirteen. There was nothing she wouldn’t do for him. “What’s the cost?” She smiled. “Let’s not worry about that, Angela. I am sure we can come to some arrangement.” His smiled returned hers—with interest. Hayward took her hand, gently, innocently, yet full of daring promise. “I’ll call some assistants, Angela. Then you can select a person to be your masseur.” “I’d rather hoped it would be you, Hayward,” she purred and ever so disingenuously winked at him. “That would be in order, Angela. Follow me and we’ll find a warm and quiet room.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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She walked by his side, along the corridor and into a small room, exquisitely furnished in red and gold brocades. There was a scent of jasmine, and somewhere music of the pipes played as if Pan himself entertained them. Hayward handed Shania a silk robe. “I will leave you while you undress and put this on,” he said courteously. She held his wrist, took the robe and lightly tossed it onto the floor. “None of that will be necessary, Hayward, you can stay and undress me.” As Shania stood savoring every moment, Hayward removed her clothes with a sensual refinement. The flowered dress, white stilettos, delicate stockings unfastened slowly from each clip on her suspender belt which was then slipped from her waist. Her gaze followed Hayward as he circled her, stood behind and unclasped Shania’s bra, with hands following the revelation of naked breasts to touch in a whisper of featherlight sensuality. Fingers ran over her hips and crept inside her cotton panties, rolling, easing them down, until she knew her loins were open to his glance. Hayward went to a table and brought back a conical-shaped flask, pouring the liquid from it into his palm, then dabbing her body, anointing her breasts, stroking her thighs, fondling the mound of weeping joy. “Lay on the couch.” His voice caressed her accepting mind and willing body. “On your stomach to begin,” he instructed. Shania sensed him watching her, taking in her nudity. She parted her legs slightly, knowing it would give him a view of the domed petal of her sex. He took a jar from the table, knelt on the end of the couch by her legs and began to massage a perfumed lotion into her shoulders. The manipulation went back into the small of her back and over the plump roundness of her rear. She felt him touch her inner thighs to signal she should rise on her knees and present him with the object of lust. 20

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His hands rubbed the lotion over her clitoris and she waited for his fingers to enter and know her vagina. She knew his cock would eventually follow. Shania would wait. Silva McKeith had watched her husband on the screen, seducing the woman. She smiled and walked from the control room, along the corridor and ever so quietly went in behind him as he fingered Shania’s vagina. He knew she was there, moved slightly aside so she could stab down into that woman’s curvilinear ass with the fluid from the syringe. YZ The Bathhouse had become part of Waygone. Their surprise was all the greater when one morning it had gone. No trace, no bricks. Where it stood was empty. The town’s folk talked about it for a while, but never heard anything. Funny, but at the same time there were those disappearances. Then one day an idiot of a boy, Thomas, came into town. He used to live over at the boardinghouse till he got work way over on the coast. Something to do with the gasoline plant. Folks hadn’t seen him for about a year when he arrived back in Waygone. He got called a boy due to his crazy head and folks said he wasn’t quite right. In fact he was a handsome strapping man of twenty-five. Thomas came proudly down Main Street and sat by Seth and Rory, watching them play chess. He chatted on but they didn’t take too much notice of him…till he said that the town he now lived in had a new Bathhouse. The two old men looked up. “You saying, Thomas, this Bathhouse is like the one we had?” Seth drawled.

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Thomas nodded. “Yep. I went in there the other day. Heard they had them there fancy women.” He giggled like an adolescent thinking about sex for the first time. Rory shook his head. “So did you have yourself a woman, Thomas?” “Not this time, but the owner said I could next time.” Thomas jabbered on and then as he turned to leave, said, “Strangest darn thing. In the Bathhouse over at Shylo Town, they have the most beautiful statues. And do you know what? They look the spitting image of Brindle, Milo, Marlene and Shania. Ain’t that something?”

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Sensual Magic

The Girl Who Fell From Grace

The next century was just five months away. Eighteen ninety-nine sparkled, glowed and sprinkled the land with warmth. It was one of the hottest summers on record and the Duke and Duchess DeLisy thought that everything was perfect. Well, almost perfect. As they strolled across the lawn of their country home a minor irritant bothered their thoughts. It was their twenty-one-year-old daughter, Lady Columbine. “Is that girl not interested in anything?” the Duchess said to her husband, whilst at the same time keeping an expression of complete serenity and waving regally at a group of guests playing croquet. “I’d settle if she were to show an interest in getting married,” the Duke huffed. “She must be the most eligible woman in the county. What with your beauty, my influence and our wealth,” he added grumpily, less able than the Duchess to moan and keep a happy face at the same time. “I’ve thrown so many grand parties and introduced her to men with titles, men with money and men with family connections going back farther than an antique heirloom,” Camilla, Duchess of DeLisy agreed. They reached the stairs leading up to the veranda, took drinks of champagne from a footman standing rigidly to attention, and walked with confidence up the stone treads to greet the old Queen’s envoy. The aged Victoria had sent Lord Beaumont to Askley House, the palatial mansion of the Duke and Duchess, to discuss matters of state.

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YZ From an upstairs window, Lady Columbine watched her parents. She knew what they would be talking about—her. They wanted her to marry some noble earl or even one of those rich industrialists who made their money by crowding thousands of workers into a noisy factory, massproducing something or another and then selling it to a mighty empire around the world. Columbine’s mother was constantly lecturing her daughter on the need for decorum, the heritage of their illustrious past and the necessity to bear an heir to continue all this tradition. She walked to the satin and gold thread bell-pull and gave it a gentle jerk, then continued across the room, sat in the high-back brown leather chair looking away from the door, studiously staring at the bookcase. After a while the door opened and a hesitant young footman came in, looked around the room, saw no one and was about to go out. “I am sitting over here, Stiffman,” Lady Columbine called to the footman from her position hidden behind the chair. “Bring me my tea from over on the table.” As she couldn’t see him he raised his eyebrows in disgust that he’d been summoned up from the servants’ quarters to fetch Lady Columbine’s tray from just the other side of the room. He picked it up, marched dutifully across the room, walked around in front of Lady Columbine…and there was a loud crash. He’d dropped the tray and its contents. The gorgeous young mistress was sitting in the chair, legs and knees pulled up, soles of her feet on the flat of the chair and completely stark naked.

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Lady Columbine smiled and fluttered her long eyelashes, for the entire world as if she were a demure girl at her first party, not a wanton aristocratic nude showing every single asset she possessed to the footman. “Well, Stiffman. Are you?” “Am I what, m’lady?” “A stiff man,” she retorted with a gleam in her eye. He gulped. She languidly reached out an arm, stroked his crotch and made a little cooing noise. “What are you hiding in there, Stiffman?” She smirked as her fingers seductively started to undo the buttons on his pants. “Nothing, m’lady,” he said, trying to remain dignified. She slipped her hand inside his pants. “It’s big enough to be a candlestick.” With a dexterity that made his eyes water, Lady Columbine manipulated his erect cock out, and admiring its dimensions, fondled the shaft as the footman made a sound like a lucky cat with laryngitis. Lady Columbine continued to massage him, enjoying the feel of his taut skin and the increasingly lustful looks he was giving her body. “What is your first name?” she purred. “Doesn’t seem polite to be holding a man’s cock when we haven’t been formally introduced.” “Richard, m’lady.” He moaned as she momentarily increased the pace of her manipulation. “Dick Stiffman, is it?” She giggled. “So tell me, my very stiff dick, do you think servants should obey at all times? Answer now.” “Certainly, m’lady,” he answered, his voice becoming more hoarse with each deepening breath. “Do you want to be my slave, Dick?” “Yes, m’lady.” “And will do what I say?” www.samhainpublishing.com

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He nodded, swallowing hard as Lady Columbine ran her thumb quickly along his shaft, rolling his sensitive foreskin tightly back and leaning suddenly forward to kiss the tip of his red-capped cock. “And come when I call?” she said in a teasing voice, escalating the speed of her hand massage. “Yes, m’lady.” He struggled with a cogent reply. Lady Columbine rubbed him furiously. “Oh, Richard, I’m calling. Let’s see you come.” He lost control. Lady Columbine laughed lasciviously. “Kneel down here in front of me, Richard,” she instructed. He did so. “At least you come when I tell you to.” She smiled, then added, “Now you can lick it all off my breasts before it trickles any further down my body.” YZ Throughout dinner, the Duchess of DeLisy glared at her daughter, Columbine. Whatever Camilla did to draw Lady Columbine into the polite conversation, her daughter sat glum-faced and looked bored. The Duke, who was sitting next to Lord Beaumont, had desperately tried to get his daughter interested in what the queen’s envoy had to say. When Lord Beaumont expressed his opinion on the need for discipline in the modern age and talked about standards in society, Lady Columbine pulled a face and positively sulked. It added a certain charm to the beautiful twentyone-year-old, but was not to the liking of her parents. By ten o’clock that evening, the Duke and Duchess had given up trying to get their daughter to act in a civilized manner and were relieved when she decided to go to bed early. After another two hours discussing matters with the Duke in the billiard room, the distinguished white-

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haired Lord Beaumont bid his hosts good night and retired to his bedroom. He yawned as he went in the room and noticed the servants had left a warm drink of milk and a separate glass of his favorite malt whiskey on a side table. The room was warm and he went over to the window, opened it and gazed across the extensive estate of the Duke. The cottages of the workers were mainly in darkness but here and there a faint light shone, some lit by the gas, now installed even in humble homes where the landlord was as enlightened as the Duke of DeLisy. Feeling tired after a long evening, the fifty-eight-year-old Lord went over to the large bed with its drapes closed and pulled the side one back. “What the…?” Lord Beaumont said, astounded at the sight. In his bed was not one woman, but two. The one he recognized sat up. It was Lady Columbine. She held the white sheet clutched to her chest. The dumbfounded noble got the impression she was nude. This was immediately confirmed as Lady Columbine threw back the covers, revealing her own nakedness and that of the young woman by her side, who lay face down, ass up. “Don’t look so surprised, Lord Beaumont. This is Charlotte the maid, who has been ever so bad and definitely needs to be chastised. And knowing your strong views on punishment I thought you would be delighted to administer the reprimand.” “Lady Columbine! This is outrageous behavior. I must ask you to—” Before the Lord could finish, Columbine threw her arms around him, kissed his lips passionately, pressing her naked breasts into his chest, and gently squeezed his aristocratic balls and cock. She pulled away and smiled. “Well, my Lord, for someone who is professing indignity, you are mightily hard. Let me oblige you by soothing your desire.” Without waiting for his further reaction, she had her hand www.samhainpublishing.com

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down his pants and petted his erection into a raging fever. With his eyes popping out of his head, Lady Columbine produced a large wooden foodmixing spoon from under the pillow, gave it to Lord Beaumont with a giggle and added encouraging words. “Give Charlotte a spanking, my Lord.” He started cautiously with a few gentle taps, but with Lady Columbine unbuttoning his pants and wriggling his cock out so she could get her elegant hand fully around it, livened up. When he got into his spanking stride, and panting fast, he wheezed out, “What did Charlotte do wrong?” “Indulged in a licentious sexual session with me earlier this evening,” Lady Columbine answered in a matter-of-fact manner, but which made Lord Beaumont get so excited at the thought that he gave way to the hand stimulation and ejaculated his ardor all over Charlotte’s reddening rear. “Well, that’s a shame, Lord Beaumont.” Lady Columbine tutted and wiped his cock delicately with a lace-edged handkerchief. “I was going to suggest you give Charlotte a good shafting. Still, never mind, my Lord. You rest back and recover, and watch the maid and I have unbridled sex. When your zeal has returned you can try us both.” YZ The butler, Carstairs, walked slowly and with poise along the corridor, silver tray in one hand and his lofty nose snootily stuck in the air. It was eight-thirty in the morning. He was a punctilious man who loved order and felt Lord Beaumont sleeping in and not coming down to breakfast was bad form. He tapped the bedroom door and at the same time, opened it.

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“Breakfast, my Lord,” he announced in his unctuous voice. “Shall I put the tray by your bed or on the side table? I’ll ask the maid to bring up hot water later so you may…” He paused. Lord Beaumont hadn’t moved. Carstairs was now very supercilious about this conduct. And the man is a confidante of our gracious Queen, he thought, shaking his head in dismay. The butler coughed to signal he was there, pulled back the drapes and stared at Lord Beaumont. The man lay perfectly still, white face, staring eyes and a silly grin. Beaumont noticed two things. The noble Lord was quite dead and the bedclothes were raised down at the middle. Carstairs took a quick, discreet look. Lord Beaumont had died with a permanent erection. How will they close the coffin lid? Carstairs thought. YZ For the next week a dark gloom descended over Askley House. The death of Lord Beaumont cast a pall of despondency over any activities and the rumors flying about the county surrounding his Lordship’s demise didn’t help the atmosphere. It became the whispered joke of many that he had been carried away with rigor mortis erectus, as the doctor had entered on the death certificate. To add to the scandal a woman’s bodice was found in his bed and although the Duchess of DeLisy didn’t say anything, she was suspicious about the ownership. Along the stitching and whalebone support was a family crest which looked like that of DeLisy. The family was assembled in the drawing room, the Duke and Duchess wearing mourning clothes out of respect for Lord Beaumont. As the Duke had announced, he didn’t know the man that well but he had

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passed his last night under their roof. He wasn’t quite sure why the maid Charlotte giggled when he said that. “What we need to brighten up the place are some flower displays,” the Duchess said to her husband. “It would be both a mark of respect to Lord Beaumont and a timely hint of cheerfulness in the house.” “I’ll go down to the walled garden and tell Johnson,” Columbine offered to the Duchess’s surprise. For the last hour her daughter had sat slumped inelegantly in a chair, looking bored and truculent, so this intervention was a relief to be rid of her company for a while. YZ Beyond the formal gardens of statues, fountains and topiary were the walled gardens of Askley House. Here were grown the vegetables for yearround use, plums and damsons trained on wires close to a wall for warmth, and also flowers for cutting. A team of five gardeners toiled to supply many of the house’s needs and Johnson was one of the undergardeners whose responsibility was for the chrysanthemums and marigolds, much beloved by the Duchess. As Lady Columbine strolled through the row of cloches and turned right, she skipped happily into the long greenhouse. In the far corner was a non-glass area, enclosed in on all sides with wooden walls and used as a potting shed. She saw the broad back of Johnson leaning over the benching, busily taking cuttings and de-budding flowers in pots to bring on bigger single blooms. The other four gardeners were much older, and the head gardener, Arkwright, was, some said, at least seventy-five. Johnson had been a stable boy, then when he got to twenty-one expressed an interest in

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gardening, so the Duke transferred him to this new work. That was four years ago. “Hello, Johnson,” she greeted him. He swung around, a lock of black hair falling forward. Instinctively pushing it away, he left a smudge of soil across his forehead. Lady Columbine let her gaze wander over him, his collarless work-shirt undone low down, showing the deepness of his chest, his hands strong, eyes as intense brown as the figs served at the Christmas banquets. “G’morning, Miss,” Johnson said, his accent thick with the brogue of the local dialect. She noticed the white straight teeth set behind his broad lips. He had a dimple in the center of his chin and a cut just above the left eyebrow. Her hand went up to the graze and gently stroked it. His eyes reflected the image of her face. Lady Columbine licked her finger, ran it along his forehead, cleansing the layer of ingrained soil. “They tell me you are an expert on propagation,” she purred. “M-most of what I t-touch g-grows,” he stammered. Lady Columbine smiled and whispered, “I have that effect as well,” and grasped his crotch in her hand. “Feels like your root is shooting up already.” She smirked and kissed him tenderly, encouraging Johnson the gardener to lay back on the bench. He watched her excitedly as she undid his pants, slipped them down, discovering the laborers didn’t wear underwear, and with her hand stroking his shaft leaned over to lightly touch her lips around his bulbous tip. “What sort of plant do you think I am, Johnson?” “I don’t know, Miss,” he said, his throat dry and his cock moist. “I could get on top of you and be a climber.” She pouted, and he sensed her using her unoccupied hand to undo her dress. When it was www.samhainpublishing.com

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unbuttoned, Lady Columbine let it slip off, scrambling up on the bench and sitting over his chest. “Unlace me, Johnson, and find my petal.” “Yes, Miss.” “Your hands are leaving dirty marks all over my bodice,” she scolded mockingly, but helped him undo her. She pushed the garment back, exposing her breasts, knelt up to pull her lace pantaloons down, then with a delightful little shimmy, crouched down so his cock went straight into her flower. Taking his hands, she placed the big palms on her breasts, leaving him in no doubt she wanted him to treat them roughly. A few minutes of stimulation warmed both of them. He started to groan with pleasure and she rode him hard and fast. As they came to a climax, Arkwright the head gardener came back to the greenhouse, and stood mesmerized watching the buxom Lady Columbine bouncing up and down on Johnson. He stood transfixed, but there was more to come. The assistant gardener stood, carrying Lady Columbine with him, turned her face-down on the bench, came up behind her and with his large hands around her gorgeously naked rear, screwed the aristocratic cunt till she squealed with satisfaction. YZ The funeral of Lord Beaumont was a splendid affair. The Duke and Duchess of DeLisy, with their only daughter, Lady Columbine, attended, and were now back at Askley House. Tea was served by the butler, Stiffman, helped by one of the maids, Charlotte, and during the light meal, the assistant gardener, Johnson, arrived with a specially cut bouquet of flowers.

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As cake was passed around, the Duchess looked over at her husband, then daughter and with a nervous smile, began, “Columbine. Your father and I have something to talk to you about.” “Yes, mother,” Lady Columbine responded in a desultory manner, almost contemptuously. She sensed another lecture. “Charles,”

Camilla

DeLisy

prompted

her

husband.

“You

tell

Columbine.” The Duke finished eating a large slice of cake and adopted a stern expression. “It seems, Columbine, you have brought disgrace on the family by your conduct.” Columbine stared at her father, no longer in an obstreperous way. “You see, Columbine, your…what shall I call it…peculiar behavior has caused some comment.” “Even the servants have said things,” the Duchess added. Lady Columbine looked over at Stiffman, beginning to worry that the butler had complained of the amount of times she had frigged his cock or given him a blowjob. His face was passive. But then she knew even in the throes of lust he wasn’t the most demonstrative man she’d given pleasure to. “Servants at the lowest level,” the Duke put in. Columbine started to sweat, glared at Charlotte, thinking the maid had snitched on their overexertion with Lord Beaumont—the very late Lord, that was. Or perhaps it was their own hot velvet sessions which had been revealed. “And in a public place as well.” The Duchess frowned. Oh no, Lady Columbine felt her heart sink and just knew that bonking the assistant gardener in the greenhouse was now common

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knowledge. Not to mention her letting old Arkwright spank her naked ass and put his finger in her potting compost. “Are you listening, Columbine?” the Duke said. “Yes, Father.” “You realize society is saying you are the girl who has fallen from grace,” the Duchess said, shaking her head. Then, standing, she went over to her daughter and in a soft voice, so the servants couldn’t hear, said, “Fancy wearing blue and yellow feathers in your hat at poor Lord Beaumont’s funeral. Have you no dignity and manners, Columbine?”

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Alien Love

From where did this hate come? Such cosmic vehemence, burning with more flaming, compacted density than all the suns discovered in the search of the universe. Abhorrence once fuelled with simple atoms of an ancient feud, now grown and combined into a complicated molecule of mutual disgust. Yet within this rolling, swelling, uncontrollable hatred were the seeds of love. And what flowers bloom, what erotic force will explode, what opposites to fan humanity’s odium. The sins of flesh, the deviant thoughts of sexual intrigue were encompassed in this malignant quarrel. Come close and observe how the old men fight, the ancient women scratch, yet the young will roll belly to belly in love’s hot feast. They are blind to past disputes, and only have eyes for their own love and heavenly bodies. The time is 2376, and it is over two hundred years since that infernal invention set humanity free to explore the cosmos, finding life teeming and multiplying, once Earth people left their own minute solar system, stretching out into a vast array of galaxies. Space travel seemed so impossible for frail humankind, then the discovery of ripples in time led to the science of mutation, ways to send goods and more importantly people through these fissures in the fabric of space. Light years now meant nothing. The great conquest and colonization of the cosmos was underway.

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But distance measured in light years has not dimmed the useless bad blood of memory’s grudge. Those that made their fortune on the mother planet resent the parvenus, with their brash enterprises and ever-seeking taste for new technologies. And it was even said that one great family had the blood of aliens in their veins. The genes of the universal peoples were mixed, but some highbred still reached for a purity which never existed. Enmity has fermented in the cauldron of hate. These two great families, powerful and overbearing, have barely kept the animosity in check. Now love and passion are about to enter, blowing a hot, scorching wind through the streets of Metropolis. YZ The circular building was a testament to the wealth of the empire. Tier after tier stretched up almost beyond view, the old established families on the lower open balconies, and then farther up the brash traders in the exotic products and services, now part of Metropolis economics. Earth had been an exhausted and tired planet. The last few hundred years transformed the world and saw its people spread throughout the galaxy, making contact, making money and making enemies. Commerce made men rich, wealth made them envious. Even though you had to be rich to be a member of the Trading Council, you could still feel jealousy if others were even richer. In the theater of the super affluent, there was one outstanding bitterness. The old family of Montiff, making their money in merchant banking, hated the Canalettos. And the tribe of the Canaletto, fabulously moneyed, detested the Montiffs. Nothing, not even death, could stem the hate.

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“Shall we now be guided and constrained in our onward exploration of the galaxy by a mere money lender?” the deep voice of Tyron Canaletto rang out in the Trading Council. He was sitting in the middle tiers, replying to a speech from the lower seats. There was an angry exchange of words, mostly between the representatives of the two families. Everyone else knew this was a personal argument. A proposal had been made to make all speculations in new finds of products and commodities subject to Council approval. And to the Canalettos that meant control by the leading old family, the Montiffs. “What would you have mother Earth do, Tyron Caneletto? Let you infest the universe without control, with your same low morals in business you show here on this galaxy?” The harsh words came from Benito Montiff, nephew to the patriarch of the family. Tyron’s eyes flashed in anger. He was stunned and silenced. But his quick temper took over. He pushed aside people around him who tried to restrain his rage, making his way from the upper tier, heading for the lower seats where the Montiff clan gathered. Within seconds he came at Benito, swinging punches and cursing his hated enemy. The mêlée spilt over into the gangways as more young men from either side of these two families hotheadedly joined the fray. “Do you want me to call the police and have you all ignominiously ejected from this Council?” The voice was that of Alistair Veron, Chairman of the Trading Council. His words brought cooling waters to the protagonists, Tyron and Benito being separated by their friends. “I think we should suspend the Council business for the rest of the day and let peace return.” Veron waved his hand dismissively at the throng and, turning to leave, stopped for a moment, then added, “I will call the heads of your two companies to my offices and demand this childish behavior is kept out of the Trading Council.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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As the assembly slowly left the chambers, Benito Montiff saw his cousin, Reney, lounging languidly in the bar, sipping a drink, staring blankly at the table. Reney Montiff was the youngest son to the old patriarch of the clan, and if the truth be known, a worry to the family. He was undoubtedly handsome, but seemed to lack fire for either the business of making money or enjoying life to the full. As Benito approached him, he noticed even the drink Reney held in his hand was orange juice and not a strong beer from Isolondo, a newly discovered planet whose drink was now in vogue. “Hi, Benito. What was all the commotion about in the Council?” Reney asked, but without much concern. Benito started to tell him, then realized the young man wasn’t really interested. He was also interrupted by Romani Veron, son to the Trading Council chairman, and young friend of Reney. “Are you coming to the Light Festival, Reney?” Romani asked, catching the eye of a waitress at the same time and signaling her to bring a bottle of wine over to the table. “What’s that?” Reney inquired, raising his deep blue eyes from their hypnotic fixed stare at the table and gently smiling at his friend. “It’s only the biggest party in town. All that fancy space technology will be on show.” Romani’s answer was enthusiastic. “Toys,” Benito scoffed. “We travel across the galaxies, and what do we do with all the wonders we discover? Turn them into expensive playthings so over-indulged rich kids can be amused.” “Come, Benito,” Reney calmed his cousin, “we can’t make money out of everything. Life isn’t all serious.” Romani threw his invitation down on the table. Benito idly picked it up, scowled and turned to Reney. “You can’t go to this party. It’s being sponsored by the Canalettos.” 38

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“Young Rosa will be there.” Romani nudged Reney, knowing she was a young lady who his friend lusted after. Reney looked at Benito. “She isn’t a Canaletto…before you ask.” “I don’t care if you want to fuck one of their women, but I do mind if you are seen to accept their hospitality.” Benito fumed. He knew he couldn’t forbid the old man’s son, and in frustration said his goodbyes and left the two young men. “Well, you up for it, Reney?” If Rosa was going to be there, Reney was in. YZ The house—if that was the word—was the marvel of Metropolis. It stood at the end of a long driveway, shaped like the very interstellar spaceships, which plied the trade routes across the galaxy and brought wealth to the Canaletto family. As Reney and Romani walked with the crowd toward the house, even they were dazzled by the spectacular display of illuminations. It was said the Light Festival had been an invention of the Canalettos to showoff their wealth and power. Everywhere were glittering shows of lights— dancing, soaring into the air, holograms and images painted in the night sky. They gawked at the performances and wondered at the technology. All around them were the rich, the famous and the beautiful people. It was a fancy dress party and many wore elaborate costumes and masks so you couldn’t tell who they were. Approaching the grand entrance, Reney nudged Romani. “Love the outfit. What are we supposed to be?” “Warriors from the planet Zigon. Hey, keep that mask on, Reney, we don’t want to be recognized.”

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“How did you manage to get the invitations, Romani?” “Easy. My father, as President of the Council, is a desirable guest, so they sent us four tickets. These two were going spare. Anyway, it’s not me the Canalettos would object to, but you, Reney. I can’t see them welcoming a Montiff.” Romani smiled at the battery of thickset doormen, flashed the invitations at them and pushed Reney into the house. “I suppose you’ll be seeking out that Rosa?” Reney grinned and scanned the room, trying to see the dark-eyed lady who was a daughter of a leading Councilor. Everywhere people in extravagant outfits were swirling in a dance. Reney knew it to be the latest craze which had been sweeping the city, and probably brought back from some exotic planet. He noticed a group of people standing on one of the balconies overlooking the central hall. For a fleeting moment, a young woman with shining red hair lowered her mask to sip a drink. In Reney’s heart the rest of the room stopped, Rosa forgotten, and music and noise became obliterated from his thoughts. The radiance of her brown eyes sent more power into his soul than all the stunning displays of lights. In that second he seemed to be held, transfixed, taking in every aspect of her face, her figure, her presence across the room. He would have been captured even if she were on the other side of the galaxy. “Are you all right?” Romani asked Reney, concerned at his friend’s frozen expression. “Who’s that?” Reney muttered. Romani tried to follow his fixed expression. “Where?” “There. Up on that balcony, Romani,” Reney anxiously urged.

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“Okay, no need to push. I can see. Oh, you don’t mean Jey. Please say you don’t mean that young lady with the red hair.” Reney stared at his friend as if the answer had been both a challenge and an insult. “Why, what’s wrong with her? Has she got a bad reputation?” Romani pursed his lips and looked around as if he expected the world to be trying to hear their conversation. “Nothing wrong, my good friend. The lady is as pure as the silk from Bacta—or so they say. But…” “But what, Romani?” “It would be better if she were a witch and had slept with every man in the room, than the trouble she harbored for you.” “Explain yourself, Romani,” Reney began, then hesitating, frowned at his friend. “I see, you fancy her yourself, do you?” “Wish it was that simple, Reney. The young lady has a name that is not good for you.” “I thought you said she is pure? Now you insinuate she is some kind of whore.” Romani took Reney’s arm in what he hoped would be seen as a friendly gesture. “Not a whore, Reney. The girl is a Canaletto. Jey is the young daughter of the head of the family.” Reney stood frozen, his face still turned in adoration to the image across the room. His heart was pounding and palms covered in sweat. “But why have I not heard…?” he began. “Wait a minute. Jey, did you say? I thought that was a son of the family.” “The pretty Jey is a daughter of the old man’s late second marriage. I was told by my father in confidence that she was shipped off to some distant planet to be reared, as the Canalettos feared her vivid red hair

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would confirm the alien blood in the family.” Romani saw Reney’s face light up. “Hey, don’t get any ideas, Reney, the old man adores his daughter and wouldn’t take kindly to a Montiff playing around with Canaletto goods—especially when they are young and innocent.” Reney heard his friend’s words and for the next hour, circled the room, weaving in and out of the revelers, taking drinks from the many waiters and food from the fancifully dressed waitresses. But his eyes constantly went back to the young lady on the balcony. And he began to imagine she sought out his eyes, looking away from her companions. Eventually he became bolder, discreetly waving to her to come down to the main room and dance. She seemed to hesitate, spoke to a man next to her, then slowly walked from the balcony. With a sinking feeling, Reney saw her disappear and began to think he had got her interest wrong. He shrugged and with disappointment turned to leave the room. From the central stairs his vision of exquisiteness walked in grace and beauty. Young Jey glided through the throng, but to Reney she was alone. No one else existed. He approached, mouth dry, mind in turmoil, hoping, praying, she was seeking him out. They stood on the edge of the room, looking at each other. He held out a hand. She accepted. They came close, and moved together into the belly of the dancing multitude. “What’s your name?” he asked, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear her speak, in search of something to break the silence. “Jey. And yours?” her light voice, with a trace of an accent, responded. “Reney,” he said, gently easing nearer, to hold her body next to his and feel the contours of delight.

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They remained without words as they became engrossed in the nearness of each other, moving like a hazy dream amongst the crowd. Jey smiled and even behind her mask he knew she was shyly giggling. She stopped dancing. “What’s wrong, Jey?” “The music has stopped. Everyone is looking at us.” He looked around, became embarrassed and holding her hand, led Jey quickly from the room and out into the gardens. They walked along a colored gravel path, the illuminations lighting up the flowers, the perfume heavy in the evening air. Reney leaned up to pick a small garland of flowers from an overhead pergola. With what he hoped was a gallant flourish, he offered it to Jey. “It’s a honeysuckle.” Jey smiled, seeing he searched for the name. “Then it will be our flower, my pretty Jey, and its scent of beauty is hidden within the petal, even as your face is concealed behind that mask. Let me explore the flower as I wish to see your radiance.” Slowly Jey lowered the mask, as she had done on the balcony. This time it was for much longer. “Your loveliness is the princess of this flower garden, Jey, and the birds and bees will surely come out of their nightly sleep to see such a face.” He took off his mask, studying her reaction. Jey looked at him with approval and let Reney pull her close. “To kiss the sweetness of your lips would be like tasting nectar,” he said, cupping her face, letting the embrace linger as the misty rain on the tender leaves. Their touching lips drew the rest of their warm and eager bodies into the passion, his fingers running lightly through her hair, releasing it from the elaborate twists upon her head. Reney guided her, not unwillingly on Jey’s part, to the grassy patch, enclosed three sides by

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laurel bushes, furnished at this time of year with their mops of white flowers. Little by lovingly little, Reney encouraged Jey down on the grass, his kisses both softening the slight reticence and distracting thoughts from the exploration of her body as his fingers pressed into her breasts and thighs. “Perhaps we shouldn’t go this far,” she whispered, at the same time finding pleasure as his loins pushed into the swell of her stomach and she felt the arousal of his hard cock. She allowed her imagination almost full play to think about his strong body possessing her, becoming as one in this sultry night in the gardens. “Jey. Jey.” She sat up, holding him at bay and anxiously listening to the call. She detected the voice coming from the rose garden, not more than fifty feet away. “It’s Tyron,” she fearfully said, sitting up and straightening her dress. Rapidly she got up, urging Reney to do the same. They resumed respectability just as her elder cousin arrived, quickly followed by Jey’s father and then Romani. “Jey, we were wondering where you had got to.” Tyron’s tone was inquisitive and he gave Reney a suspicious look. The young Montiff had put his mask back on and stood quietly by Jey’s side. “Daughter, please don’t think we are spying on you, but the President of the Council, Alistair Veron, is about to present the prizes for the best costumes. Come back inside, my sweet.” Romani stepped forward and tried to take Reney’s arm to soothe his friend. “And you, Reney. Your outfit is good enough to be a winner.”

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Tyron glared. That name meant something. He grabbed at Reney’s mask and ripped it away. “I thought so. Did you know your friend was a Montiff?” He spat the sound of the name as he angrily faced Reney. The old man sensed the tension. He hated the Montiffs as much as Tyron, but didn’t want there to be a fight in front of his precious daughter. “Go, young man. I have no desire for you to be in my sight or the affections of Jey. I am sure your family would not want you here, either.” Romani restrained Reney as the Canalettos exited, Jey constantly looking back. The young lovers knew they were each other’s destiny. This was fate, this was great love. YZ The picture was an icon, a copy of the first photograph taken of Earth from space, back in the days when shaky rockets precariously took off and circled around the solar system. Jojon Canaletto smiled at the image of the blue world with the clouds whispering across the surface. Immediately he turned and looked at his daughter, Jey. He could see the reason the young men came calling. She was so like her mother, the beauty became a substance, not just in the face, but in an aura. Jey was not totally of this Earth. The alien blood, the foreign otherness, the different planet fascination shone and sparkled in her. He knew many of these arrogant families who could trace pure lines back hundreds of years despised the go-getting entrepreneurs like him. It wasn’t just his money, but the fact they were from other worlds. He placed his hand on Jey’s shoulder and thought that being alien didn’t stop these selfimportant men from lusting after his daughter. “Is what Tyron says true, Jey?” Jojon Canaletto started gently.

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“He says many things, Father. I sometimes think you have made him my jailer.” “Dear Jey, please don’t talk like that. It is only your welfare I have in mind.” The old man waited to see if his daughter would respond. As she remained silent, he continued with the difficult matter. “Others say these things as well. Everyone tells me you and this young man…” “His name is Reney, Father.” “Yes, I know.” Jojon Canaletto was more at home bartering on some foreign planet. Young women, even his own daughter, were far more exotic things and completely incomprehensible. “This Reney, it is said, contacts you every day and, for your part, you spend many hours alone communicating with him on the transcode channels.” She flicked her head, the red hair swirling like the lava flows on the rocky planets of the Sigma sector. “If my friendships were not so closely supervised, perhaps I wouldn’t need to conduct normal relationships over a teleport monitor.” Her reply was sharp, keeping the edge of restful duty she owed her father, yet challenging him. He went to the window that looked out from the one-hundred-twentyseventh floor of the office block the Canaletto family occupied in their business empire. It dominated the newly built trading district. Jojon did not wish to dominate sweet Jey. All he wanted to do was make her aware that their money was resented by many who would seek to harm them, even through such a pretty woman as her. YZ Marble absorbed sound, catching its ricochet echo, taking it into the depth of its shining bulk and holding the human voice like a stone

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prisoner. Jey walked across the vast expanse of the foyer. Everyone had gone home. Only two security guards sat at a desk in the center. Their gazes followed her. She knew it wasn’t just their job to check on visitors. This look, from men, had burnt into her soul ever since she was in the budding stage of transition, from girl to very young woman. Jey told her it was a good place to meet and be alone. And a location that a Canaletto, following her, wouldn’t approach—the headquarters of the mighty merchant bankers, Montiff House, a soaring glass and steel building, with its marble entrance and fountains splendid enough for the past glories of Rome. “Can we help you, miss?” one of the guards ventured, deferential in tone, desirous in visual betrayal. “I have an appointment to see Reney Montiff.” She smiled politely, lowering her eyes, finding the seeking stare of the guard intimidating. The questioning guard turned to his colleague. “Must be important for the young Mr. Montiff to bother to come to work.” His voice was kept low, hovering between a secret word with his friend, but just loud enough so the young lady could hear and feel uncomfortable. The guard quickly tapped a screen in front of him, out of the view of Jey. The light from the glowing monitor flickered across his face. She heard Reney’s voice, but not the sense of his words. “Elevator eighteen, Miss. Mr. Montiff will meet you.” “What floor?” she asked. “It’s programmed.” His reply bordered on patronizing. Walking toward the elevator block, Jey was aware the two men sat watching her, studying the form of her body, giving reign to their imagination. “We are about to close the doors and commence ascent,” the mechanical voice of the computer said as Jey waited in the elevator. It www.samhainpublishing.com

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took eleven seconds to reach its destination. The downward thrusting pressure countered the thumping of her heart as the short vertical journey took her, at last, to be with Reney, alone. Walking from the elevator, her gaze met his. Hands extended, they greeted, looked and finally in the swift breath of a moment, fell into each other’s arms. Standing back, her face a little flushed from the closeness of this man, her eyes took in the breathtaking view across the river, the multitude of dazzling buildings and the flashing, twinkling lights of the interconnecting overhead passenger trains gliding silently through the air, held magically on their single tracks. “Not as grand as the great headquarters of the Canaletto empire.” Reney smiled. Jey wondered at first if there was an irony in his remark. She saw from his expression he spoke what he saw as the truth. “But my father’s building is out on the edge of the Metropolis at the new development. Here, you are at the center of this great city, its antecedence stretching back as far as time itself. Indeed, I have heard it told this building of the House of Montiff stands where once the ancient heart of the city first set up its government.” She let go his hand and walked quickly over to the window. Leaning against the panel of glass, which seemed to be held invisibly in place without any upright structures, Jey watched the tiny figures of the crowd move along the embankment. “Do you want to see more?” Reney asked, standing by her side, slipping his arm around her waist. She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. He pressed a silvered panel embedded in the very fabric of the window, and suddenly the world far below became bigger. Jey let out a little startled cry, like a bird found pecking at a morsel on the ground. 48

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“Don’t be frightened.” Reney laughed softly. “It’s only a trick. The image is magnified.” After a while she said, “Take it back to how it was. The world so small and far away made it seem we were alone.” Reney touched the panel, the view became normal. Silently he turned her to face him, her exquisite face looking up at him, her red hair almost unruly, sweeping back, deep in richest color, highlighted by the many hues from outside. “It’s like I’ve known you all my life, Jey,” he said, moving to kiss her forehead, letting his second caress taste her wide mouth. Their bodies melted into each other, longings previously suppressed now at last released. Words were spoken, so muted as to be nothing but the sounds of love. Jey felt his hands expressing passion over the curve of her rear, drawing her even tighter into his torso. She knew his fervor increased, as the hardness of his loin pressed into her. Fingers traced around her, palms seeking the swell of her breasts. His gentle hands sought more, undoing the clasp of her bra. It seemed so right to let him touch the nakedness of her skin. For precious moments, he spread his desirous kisses between her mouth and breasts. Jey could only wonder at the fire in his soul, a blaze she knew would soon come to her and ask for the ultimate flame. The time arrived. His hands roamed in love from the comfort of her rear, down to her thighs. With caresses becoming hotter, Reney let his fingers creep under the short tunic she wore and head toward the center of her craving. Jey knew she could react to stop their sexual progress. She didn’t want to. Neither did she wish their love to be consummated in a fumbling, shameful way. Giving and taking each other had to be complete. www.samhainpublishing.com

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Struggling with her shyness she whispered, “If you undress me can I do the same to you, Reney?” What did she enjoy more? Letting her man remove her clothing, sensing his pleasure in seeing her body, or the excitement as she undressed him, the sheer joy at touching his skin, watching as his cock became more erect, knowing his lustful anticipation was for her? To see was exhilarating, to touch magic. His fingers found delight in all of her; she found the tactile gloriousness of his erection deeply gratifying. The pleasure was made even greater at the thought of their dance toward surrender. To her delight his game of love was more inventive than she could have imagined. Their naked bodies entwined as they stood by the window, his hand encouraging her to lift one leg. At first she thought he only sought to open her clitoral lips so his finger could work harder at her delight. Her throat gulped in gorgeous surprise as his cock tickled at her moistened gate, then penetrated into her vagina. Experiencing the thrill of sex in this position brought cries of ecstasy from Jey, and deeper groans of masculine raw power from Reney. His shaft tantalized the opening near her clitoris, dallied for a while with only the head of his cock in her, then sensing Jey’s willingness, his rock-solid rod slid as far as his considerable length could penetrate. Feeling him rock into her, Jey tensed the muscles in her vagina to hold and participate in their love, showing Reney she was both giver and taker in the sensual act. In the final achievement of their love, he lifted Jey up so her legs straddled around his waist, his cock working furiously inside her. “I’m near,” he groaned. She understood both the words and hidden question. “Stay inside of me,” she responded. 50

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In the act of his eruption into her, Jey held tight, and for some reason she giggled, realizing their naked lovemaking had been performed in front of the massive windows at the top of the building. Lowering her to the floor, but still clasping Jey strongly, Reney asked, “Why does our passion make you laugh?” “Because, my love, we have shown this act to all those little people down there.” He kissed her lips and smiled. “We can see them, Jey, but they can’t see us. It’s darkened glass when viewed from the outside.” “Then it is all right if we do it again, sweet man.” She smirked. “What inventive ways have you the second time?” “There’s always the desk.” He laughed suggestively. Their second passion made many uses of the desk and the people beyond never saw. What Reney hadn’t known was the security cameras silently observing, recording and reporting. YZ She curled her sensuous body around the smooth pillar, her glowing ochre skin contrasting with the white Portland stone. The females of Galantia were famed for their beauty and erotic dances. Her movements flamboyantly multiplied as the laser holograph images were projected into every corner, every male infested part of the club. Tyron Canaletto sipped his warmed drink, eyes narrowed, his heart full of hatred for what he’d learnt about young Jey, yet his senses were aroused by the performance of the club’s entertainer. When he saw Benito Montiff approach, Tyron reached out and flicked a switch in the booth he occupied, obliterating the image of the Galantia woman, as if its

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presence sullied what he wanted to say to this representative of the loathed family. “Your invitation came as a surprise,” Benito said as he arrived, deliberately suggesting in his remark that there was friendliness in Tyron’s message to meet him. “I can assure you I find no pleasure in the necessity to see you,” Tyron snapped, unable to detect the sarcasm in Benito’s remark. “Shall I sit down or is this fight to begin straight away,” Benito bit back, unable to suppress his dislike for the man in front of him. Like all members of the Montiff family, he had a natural hatred for the Canaletto clan, but something about Tyron was particularly objectionable. “Don’t turn off the entertainment on my account,” Benito scoffed. “The Galantia’s celebrated sexual ability might loosen you up, Tyron.” The Canaletto pursed his lips in a scowl. Sexual misdemeanors were a subject on his mind, but it concerned people much nearer home. “I think we should get to whatever it is you wish to discuss.” Benito shrugged, finding the attitude of this man disturbing. “I have other, better, things to do.” “What the high-born and arrogant Montiff family do is not my concern,” Tyron spat. Then with darkening eyes and countenance, added, “Except when it corrupts the young of our family.” “Get to the point, Tyron.” “Very well.” Tyron took a small disc from his pocket, put it in the console on the table, paused with his finger over the start button and looked up vehemently at Benito. “This is but a very small section of the evidence I have. The rest of the derogation is so disgusting I am not prepared to expose one so innocent.” He pressed the switch and they both looked at the screen.

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It was only a ten-second clip of a couple together. It was enough to show they were in the act of lovemaking. The images were sharp, unmistakably Reney and Jey. “Do the Canaletto family now spy on the sensuality of the young?” Benito huffed. With wild anger in his eyes, Tyron stared at the man opposite him. “Sensuality, do you call it. Perverted seduction of a young girl, would be nearer the mark,” Tyron blustered. “They are both of age. When has lovemaking been a perversion, Tyron?” “You saw what they were doing,” the Canaletto shouted. Other people in the club looked over at the two men in the glass-sided booth. “What I saw was indeed inventive. I never thought Reney had so much in him, or should I perhaps say, so much in young Jey.” It was meant humorously. Tyron’s short-fused temper snapped. His hands went around Benito’s throat, the two of them struggling wildly as people shouted and ran toward the booth to separate the foes. Choking and fighting for breath, Benito grabbed at a glass tumbler on the table, swinging his arm blindly in the air. It hit Tyron in his neck, the shattering glass cutting deeply. Tyron fell in a pool of blood. Before anyone could reach him, he was dead. Benito stood staring down at his adversary. Then he ran. YZ The trail of lights high in the northern sky flashed yellow and blue, with an almost-silver trail extending across the horizon. Jey knew it was one of the giant intergalactic ships that left Earth on the monumental journeys to the edge of the discovered worlds. Even though the great

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wonder of the discovery of fissures in the fabric of space had cut down the immensity of travel, there were still realms of the known universe where hypo-drives could not enter. It was to such an outpost of the cosmos that Jey was being sent. Her father came in to the observation dome where the young woman watched the departing spacecraft. There had been very little said between them since the death of Tyron and her disgrace over the affair with Reney. Only Jey didn’t see it as a scandal. To her it was love. Her sin appeared to be that she was a Canaletto and he, a Montiff. “Diagio is a wonderful place, Jey,” he offered. She didn’t look around, but said, “For trading and making money. Not for living.” “It’s for the best,” Jojon Canaletto replied wearily. Jey turned and stared at him, her eyes dark with the tears of many nights. He saw the bitterness, the alien blood and passion of her mother. He couldn’t argue. Turning he left the dome just as Jey’s companion, Klanus, came in. To Jey, the middle-aged woman had become a jailor, installed by her father to take care of his beloved daughter, but now resented by the redhaired young woman. But Jey would rather have Klanus watch over her than her father. The woman did not have the devious mind of a Canaletto, and the plan in Jey’s head would be better executed with the simple woman as her chaperon. Jey kept her face sullen, but asked, “Have you ever traveled through a fissure in space fabrics, Klanus?” “Never left mother Earth, Miss Jey,” the companion answered, stepping one metaphorical foot into the web. “Well, the sickness only lasts for a few days.” The woman regarded Jey with alarm. “What sickness?” 54

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Jey maintained a haughty demeanor. “But the Brintom tablets will see you right.” “What tablets?” Both feet and arms were caught in the spider’s trap. “You haven’t got them yet?” Jey said with the same disinterested voice. “I’ve never heard of them. Where can I get these Bri…?” “Brintom, Klanus.” “Yes, them, Miss.” “Where is your own doctor?” “Across the other side of Metropolis, where my home is.” Klanus now sounded anxious. Jey just shrugged, waiting for the final bait to be taken. “Do you think I should see him about them, Miss Jey?” Another shrug to show indifference. Silence for a moment, then triumph. “Are you going to be all right if I go to see the doctor now?” One final shrug and she stayed quiet while Klanus went out. Jey counted to ten, left the dome, dialed Reney’s code on his communicator and heard the tone ringing. “Hello, Reney.” “It’s me, my darling. The plan is working. I’ll see you in half-an-hour at the place we arranged.” YZ Extreme old age was the last serious illness, if it could be called that. There were the inevitable accidents. No society, however sophisticated, could eliminate them. But all the major diseases had been cured. Now

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the only death was that brought about by old age, and even this could be kept at bay for a long time. But time could not be stopped. There came a moment in a very long life when all the intervention in the world didn’t give a reasonable quality of existence. When that time came, and it was the individual’s decision, the old came to the Hall of Journeys. Death was almost a taboo. The great professor of theoretical physics, Amenito Delmare, had dominated the sciences for almost the whole of his long life. His discovery of Inflationary Universes had confirmed the early ideas that at the beginning of space-time, many alternative universes were created, and went on being created as each option of quantum mechanics was exercised. Added to this discovery was his particle transporter. It could send anything—object and even people—out into these parallel universes. Over the millennia it had become the way the very old left this world. All scientists were convinced that the particle transporter sent these old folk into another, hopefully better place. There was one problem with this fundamental theory. The knowledge was only available to send objects and people one way. So nobody could come back to finally say the idea was correct. Jey walked into the solemn Hall of Journeys, her gaze darting around. Great relief. There was Reney. The ill-starred lovers rushed to each other. “Reney, we must be quick. It won’t be long before Klanus discovers I’ve tricked her.” Jey sobbed, her heart mixed with joy at being with Reney and fear that she would be snatched from her destiny. There was also the unknown future ahead of them. “Are you sure about this, Jey?” “As long as we are together,” she said, wiping away the tears.

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At that moment they heard the faint echo of many feet running somewhere

in

the

distance,

each

second

the

scurrying

crowd

approaching nearer. “This way, Jey.” Reney grabbed her hand and they headed headlong toward the massive fluted vortex in the center of the hall, the vibrating mass of matter, hanging in an eternity of nothingness. The particle transporter was not guarded. Society decided it should be the elected and self-adopted way for the old to exit and was a prime right in this world. Now it was the young love of despair that had come to seek a journey to a place where they could be together. The funnel of towering kinetic energy was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint hum of billions of atoms, held in suspense, waiting in a vacuum of possibilities. Reney and Jey stopped, standing on the cusp of decision. From the other side of the hall, voices called their names. In this hour of anguish, both the families had rushed to stop this flight to nowhere. “We must go now, Jey. Are you ready?” “To stay would see us apart, darling Reney.” “To go might see us separated by a million light-years and a trillion heartaches,” he said, kissing her lips, praying it would not be for the last time. Hand-in-hand they stepped into the transporter. Watching the families running wildly toward them, the children of this alien love both put their entwined fingers on the control, shared one last kiss and then pressed. Somewhere in the firmament the angels of providence watched as these lesser gods, seeded from frail humanity, flew to another place, with an ancient call in the sky. Love Conquers All.

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Captured by the Enemy

Quiet moved the clouds across a crescent moon, pale blue, flickering with shapes belonging to the night. Reila’s naked body slid silently through the muddy shallows, keeping her head above the oozing mire, reaching up as she attained the overhanging tree, holding on to Kantu’s hand. Pulling her up, he put his finger to his lip, signifying the quarry was but a few yards away. They were tired, but excited, after stalking the prey for many hours. They’d left their village just as the sun set over the Kilmarnine Mountains, and very soon picked up the trail of the massive bull ox. Trapping, killing and bringing back the creature would bring much food and great prestige for the two young people. The animal’s bulk belied its cunning and speed. It quickly detected their scent and took to the shallows. It was then that Reila and Kantu removed their animal hide clothes, coating their bodies in mud so the glinting moonlight would not illuminate their skin and warn the beast. The rewards for the efforts of the night were near, with the ox ensnared. Its weight made escape on three sides impossible as the marshy wetlands became all-absorbing swamps. It had to turn and run toward the hunters. They stood motionless, stout spears braced against a tree, ready to take the mighty charge of the massive animal, the hot

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plumes of nostril air the only thing visible to betray where the monster stood in the mud. Reila knew it was Kantu’s strength that would strike deep with his spear into the ox. She would plunge her own weapon into its neck, where the thinner skin allowed deeper penetration. Even though they were now within minutes of their goal, danger pulses still flooded her thoughts. If their spear thrusts were not accurate, the beast would have enough strength to thrash out of the blows, its awesome bulk causing almost certain fatal wounds to the two hunters. The eyes of the ox glowed like ghostly lights in the gloom. One silent moment, then suddenly it crashed thunderously out of its hiding place, only the deep mud restricting its speed. Reila and Kantu deliberately maneuvered the beast into this location so the ox could not gather full speed when it dashed from the cover. Bellowing in a frightening, bass note of anger mixed with fear, the creature charged toward what it instinctively knew was the firmer, more open ground beyond the river and marshes. Just as it scrambled, hoofs clawing, out of the morass, it suddenly stopped, frozen in its headlong dash. Kantu gulped, staying silent, aware Reila’s eyes were flickering toward him, seeking reassurance and understanding. With alarming hollers of panic, the great beast turned and plunged wildly back into the deepest part of the swamp. Bewildered, Kantu made the slightest move forward to try and see what had scared the beast so much that it chose to seek sanctuary in the death-trap of the thick mud rather than bravely fight the hunters. Barely had he taken a step when he felt the sharp, cold metal of many spears at his back and chest. A painted face appeared from the

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murkiness, grinning inanely. Kantu looked to Reila. Almost immediately strong arms grabbed her around the waist, a knife thrust at her throat. “What do we have here? A slippery couple of eels.” The mouth on the face sneered. As the man spoke the words, he walked from the cover of the thicket. He wore a long leather tunic, and Kantu could now see the war marks on his face. It was not paint, but the scars of a veteran fighter, the cuts of many battles proudly borne. Rapidly, at least ten other soldiers of the war-band appeared, most holding the spears toward Kantu like a forest of porcupines. “This mud-caked fish of the night is shaped for fun,” the soldier with his hands around Reila called to his comrades. He pushed her over to where the remaining guards stood circling Kantu. “What, sending out their women to hunt now, are they?” the scarfaced man grunted, grabbing hold of Reila, pulling her close and running his hand over her breasts. “What shall we do with them, Olafr?” One of the soldiers laughed. The apparent leader of the war-band pushed Reila over toward Kantu, so they clung together under scrutiny of ten pairs of eyes. Olafr approached the young hunters. “Are you of the tribe, what your people call the tuath?” His knife ran over Reila’s stomach as he asked the question, making it plain as he looked at Kantu that refusal to answer meant instant death to the woman. “We are of the Tara,” Kantu choked. Olafr narrowed his eyes and drew near, though all heard his words. “Your head should be severed and left here for your dead eyes to be picked by the birds,” he spat hotly in Kantu’s face. Turning to Reila he licked his lips and said, “You, my grime-infested woman, would make good sport for my men…but times are changing. You might both be useful to my master.” 60

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Olafr turned away, waved his knife at two of the soldiers and commanded, “Bind their wrists and march them with us to the boats. If our Lord sees no use for them I am sure he will let you have your fun.” YZ They marched till the moon faded as the weak light of the world, and the great sun rose, burning off the night mist. Through the marshes, across fords of the many inlets, out of the forest and through waving fields of grasses, almost as high as the silent soldiers. Finally, the war party and their two captives came to the wide-open estuary. The man called Olafr raised his hand to halt the party. Another soldier moved stealthily forward, stopping many times as they watched him cross the open ground. Kantu was pushed to the ground and a tall soldier stood over him, his sword taken from his belt and stabbed at the prisoner’s throat, threatening in action to instantly sever his head if he made the slightest sound. Reila was squashed roughly against a tree, her guard not only holding his hand over her mouth but obviously enjoying touching her naked body. She felt his hand harshly rubbing her loins, making attempts to force her legs apart, the power of his body pinning her to the tree. With the other men intent on where the scout was going, Reila was left at the mercy of this man. “Look, the signal,” Olafr called, a gasp of relief in his now-laughing voice. “Bring them,” the leader ordered, and Reila was saved from any further sexual abuse. She wondered for how much longer. The war band marched confidently across the estuary plain. On reaching the bend of the river, a sight to bring dread to Reila and Kantu

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stretched out along the wide, flat river. There must have been over a thousand long prow ships beached in the shallows, with gatherings of soldiers, lighting fires and sitting around eating. But what brought terror were the flags on the largest ship. It was the raven banner. It could only mean the Earl of the Orkney Isles had come south. Known as Sigurd the Stout, the mighty Viking warrior was branded for his ferocity. For ten years he had ruled the Isles, raiding at will along the coasts of Scotland and Wales. Now he had come to Ireland. If he’d brought so many ships and fighting men it could only mean one thing. He was intent on bringing his brutality permanently to Ireland, sweeping away the old regimes, subjecting the people to his tyranny. The war band ran down the slope, some of them beating Reila and Kantu in front of them, laughing at the two naked young Celts’ trepidation. Many of the soldiers on the riverbanks walked up to welcome their comrades back, finding amusement in their two prisoners. The Celts were pushed between the soldiers; Reila attracted much interest and lascivious gruff comments. The crowd parted. A tall figure walked through the separating soldiers, their raucous shouting and antics dying away. The warrior was broad, his stomach widening in his middle age. His hair was dark brown, flecked with the gray of age and lightened by the salt of many sea journeys. One eye was bright, alert and intelligent, the other dead, unmoving, scarred across the lid, evilly deep and in its fixed stare penetrating the souls of friends and foes. “What news, Olafr?” he said in a voice as intensely malevolent as its owner. The war-band leader gave the man a salute with his sword, bringing it up to tap his own forehead. “No sign of the Irish army, my Lord.” “Then our landing is still not known?” 62

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“The countryside is quiet…except for these two.” Olafr signaled for Reila and Kantu to be prodded to their knees in front of the great warrior. “Very interesting.” The tall figure smiled wickedly. “We must find out what they know. Have them brought to my tent for interrogation.” A roll of low laughter swept through the rank of soldiers, as they knew what an interrogation would involve for the young woman. She was pulled up and dragged after the mighty leader. Then he stopped and turned, “And the young man. I’d like to divert myself with both of them.” “Bring the prisoners to Sigurd’s tent,” Olafr commanded. Sigurd took no interest in the two prisoners. He stood with his back to them talking to a man, much younger, fair of hair and beard, who leaned on an axe handle, the lethal end of the weapon stuck into a log by the central fire. The guards, who escorted Reila and Kantu into the tent, strung them up by their wrists, feet left barely touching the ground. Waiting for Sigurd to speak his wishes, they stood casually to attention, their eyes casting glances between awareness of their master and the two naked captives. Sigurd looked over at the soldiers, nodded his large head to dismiss them, and went back to the other man. They talked in low voices for some time, occasionally making what looked like crude maps in the soil floor, using a sword to draw. Olafr entered the tent, accompanied by two young men carrying baskets of food and drink. Kantu saw they had heavy metal wristbands. He assumed the two men were slaves. Still Sigurd took no heed. It was only when Olafr and the slaves left did he idly look at the prisoners.

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“My men tell me they are of the Tara tuath,” he said to his companion, who walked closer and raised an eyebrow to inspect them. “Do you know who I am?” He spoke to Kantu. The Celt shook his head. “I am Sihtric, Norse King of Dublin. Are you a soldier?” The smile on his face fooled Kantu into believing the man was conducting a civilized conversation. The Celt thought about how to answer. In that moment’s pause, Sihtric moved swiftly for the axe, swung it over his head and crashed it down between the two prisoners. “Next time you fail to answer me promptly I will split your body in two. Then have the pieces thrown to the dogs,” he snarled. Kantu gulped and tried to find the words in his dry throat. “We are only farmers out hunting,” he croaked. “So your…what do you call them…Ri, your kings? They have not gathered to fight us?” “I don’t know of what you speak,” Kantu said nervously, but genuinely perplexed. Sigurd laughed and clapped Sihtric on the back. “These peasants have no understanding. Now our armies have united we can sweep the Irish from this land. Come, brother Sihtric, let these two entertain us.” He took the axe and, holding it in one powerful hand, cut the jute rope securing both the Celts, took out a knife from his belt and severed their bound wrists. “Are you two lovers?” Sigurd said, inclining his large head to one side. Kantu tensely nodded. “Good,” the raven earl said. “Then show us how you serve this woman of yours. I’m sure Sihtric will be entertained to see how you Celts perform.” Sigurd took Kantu by the throat. “Unless you’d like me to show

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you how we Vikings treat women, showing them we are masters in the act of love.” Sigurd pulled a rough-made wooden bench over from the far side of the tent, kicked the food and drinks from the top and sat, using it as a chair. Sihtric stood leering at the Celts, arms folded, tongue licking his mouth, wetting the large unruly moustache. With fearful eyes, Reila stared at Kantu, moving to be next to him, frightened for the first time at the thought of their love, looking back at the men who were watching her intently. She turned and put her arms around her man, tears flowing, inhibited, not knowing what was expected. With her body close to Kantu she instinctively knew he was not aroused as usual in their sexual encounters. He kissed and held her tight. Abruptly Sigurd exploded into action. With a knife in his hand, he pulled the Celts apart, brusquely lifted Reila off her feet and kicked Kantu across the tent. “Here, Sihtric, I’ve heard you’ve a liking for young men. Show him how a Viking uses his manhood.” The Norse King of Dublin grabbed Kantu, dragging him to his feet, simultaneously pushing the man face down over the log bench, and impelling him to lay still with his sword in Kantu’s ribs. To Reila’s horror, Sihtric grinned dementedly, undid the leather belt and with his thick hide trousers pushed down, shifted his muscular body over Kantu, cock as lethal looking as his sword. With bawdy laughter he pushed his cock into Kantu’s rear so violently that the Celt cried out. With the anal rape of Kantu continuing, Reila tried to close her eyes. Sigurd saw her and held her head so she should see. He brought her heavily down on the floor, forcibly bent her over, with head low almost to the earth. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“This is what a Viking cock feels like.” He groaned. She felt his body press tight, then the raw nakedness of his loins assault her ass, his hands grabbing at her cheeks. With brutal sexual lust, he took her rear deep in one thrust. In the violence of her violation, Reila wasn’t aware of anything except the penetration of her ass by the persistent onslaught of Sigurd’s cock, ramming into her until she was sore with its intrusion. She felt his arms locked around her, his hands pawing at her breasts. With a final lunge his hot seeds stained the sanctity of her body. He roughly pushed her away, sending her sprawling to the floor. It was only then that she realized, Kantu was already prostrate, Sihtric having already dispended his lust. “Guard,” Sigurd shouted. Olafr came quickly in with another soldier. “The King of Dublin and I are wanted in a council of war. Keep these two safe.” He marched from the tent, stopping at the opening, looking back and fixing his stare on the Celts. “When we return it will be to stretch your legs wide apart, young woman. Then you’ll feel the virility of your Viking masters.” He laughed hideously and stomped out. YZ Reila and Kantu huddled together. Their guards hadn’t bound them. Where could they run to even if they got away from the tent? Olafr stood with his companion, who he called Ivarr, picking at the food and drink left by Sigurd and Sihtric. The two soldiers occasionally lowered their voices and glanced over at the prisoners, suggesting by the looks on their faces that they were talking about the Celts.

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With a shuffling, arrogant walk, Olafr went over to the captives, standing above them, hands on hips, knowingly superior in attitude. “Is this your man?” He pointed at Kantu, but looked at Reila. She nodded slowly, mistrusting and hating these people. “Sigurd has no use for him.” Olafr grinned callously. “If we kill him no one will care.” He let that thought dwell. Then he turned to Ivarr and shrugged. “Shall we impale him on a spear and watch him die…slowly?” Ivarr returned his grin. Olafr went back to Reila and leaning over, seized her arm, pulling her up. Grabbing her face, he held Reila’s jaw tightly and put his own face close to hers. “You could save him from that.” She smelt the dried food on his beard, the sweat on his clothes. “Did you hear me?” he said huskily, licking his lips. She nodded and tried to sit next to Kantu. Olafr held her firmly. “Sigurd and Sihtric will have their way with you when they return. You can be sure that will not be a pleasant experience. They are sadistic brutes with women, taking amusement in female suffering.” Now his breath became hot and a bead of perspiration slid down his cheeks. “We can save you from that…and keep your man alive.” He shoved Reila at his comrade. “Come and have a little fun with us and then I’ll turn my back while you make a run for it. No noise or resisting, mind you. Just submit to our demands.” Olafr met her eyes, daring her to refuse. Her mind reeled, wanting both to die yet live and be with Kantu. Although Reila knew the chances of being allowed to escape and live were negligible, if there was the slightest possibility, she must take it, sickened as she felt at the prospect of sexual surrender to these men.

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“She isn’t fighting.” Ivarr smirked at Olafr as his hands explored Reila’s body, his breathing quickening in bass grunts with the feel of her breasts and loins exciting lust. “No, Reila!” Kantu shouted, starting to scramble to his feet. With a swift kick, Olafr sent the Celt flying, and within a second was poised over him, sword threatening to cut his stomach open. “Take the woman, Ivarr. I’ll keep her pathetic hero from any further action. If he’s good I’ll let him live, so he can watch her being enjoyed by a real man.” Ivarr roared with laughter, picked Reila up, swinging her around, then dumping her down on her back, immediately crawling on top of her. His lips wildly kissed her breasts, while he tugged at his trousers, exposing an already erect cock. Sliding away from her to kneel at her feet, Ivarr snatched her ankles, forcibly bent her legs back toward her body, at the same time spreading her open to visually possess the anticipation of her clitoris. The flap on the tent opened, letting in both a breeze and the bulky, tall figure of Sigurd. Seeing the bare ass of Ivarr as he was about to sink himself into the naked loins of the Celtic woman, he growled like a black bear, whacked the presented rear with his sword and grabbed the soldier by the scruff of the neck, dragging him up with cries of pain. “Touch my property again, soldier, and I’ll cut your balls and cock off, feeding them to the camp dogs. Now get out of here. You too, Olafr.” Both the soldiers hurriedly collected their weapons and ran from the tent. “Tomorrow our united Viking army will bring this country to its knees,” Sigurd muttered to Reila. “Tonight you bring me satisfaction.” “Guards,” he called. A reluctant soldier crept in, scared, having seen the mood of the warlord and the hasty exit of Olafr and Ivarr. “Take the 68

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man and have him thrown in the pen with the other slaves. Leave the woman. I am cold and hungry for what she can offer.” YZ The camp never slept. For a long time Reila curled up in the corner of the tent while Sigurd continually drank, receiving a succession of visitors. Some brought news of the defenses along coasts and estuaries. Others talked about supplies and matters of war the Celtic woman knew nothing about. All the while the noises went on outside. Horses snorting, men laughing, crashing of pots, treading of boots. She also heard the rain beating on the tent, and saw that the boots of the men coming to see Sigurd were covered in mud. Occasionally he would command her to bring him a drink, and seemed to delight in giving her orders when one of the soldiers was with him. He’d then slap her rear and make coarse remarks about her naked body. As he got more intoxicated he began to pull her onto his knee as she approached with the jars of ale, even offering her to one of the men who brought a report on the tides of the estuaries. Eventually Sigurd stretched his arms and called Reila to him. “No more work now, my beauty. It is time for bed.” His hands fondled her rear, his finger working under her loins and forcing entry into her vagina. “Your moist petal will soon feel the power of my cock in it. Is it as tight as your ass?” His grin made her shiver. She waited as he stripped off, swaying with the effects of the drink. Taking her wrist, he directed her down to lay with him on a pile of blankets, showing her what was required, pushing her hand to the girth of his cock, relaxing back, taking pleasure in watching her massage him.

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He was beginning to stiffen. She dared not meet his eyes. With the strength of an ox, Sigurd pulled her forward as she knelt by his side, his lips seeking the hardness of her nipples, his mouth sucking avidly. Easing on top of him, Reila knew what he wanted. She was to ride his cock and work to bring him satisfaction. She felt his erection pressing into her thighs. Then his breathing went deep and she heard him snoring. To her relief, the drink had taken him into drunken sleep, no longer a sexual predator. For a moment his mighty arms encircled Reila, holding her in lustful dreams. When he let her go, she slipped off his body and sat, thinking, confused, trying to work out what to do. Looking around she saw a bundle of clothes. There was a tunic and boots, small enough to fit her, evidently left by a servant boy. Dressing, she put a dagger in her belt and went to the tent opening. It was raining. At least this had sent the soldiers back to their own tents and temporary cover. YZ The smoke from the many campfires swirled around in thick blankets of fog, made worse by the wet wood from the driving rain. Reila took a risk, crept into a tent, and inhaled a deep breath when she found it was empty. Finding an animal fur hat, she pushed it low down on her face, hiding her hair and, she hoped, most of her soft feminine features. Leaving again, Reila tried to pretend to be drunk, staggering around, looking for anywhere that might be the pen Sigurd had spoken about. What she would do when she found Kantu, Reila had no idea. She noticed that the horses were confined to a corner of the camp, and next to them was a roughly constructed barrier of stakes, rammed

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closely together into the soil. Two soldiers stood insolently by the badly built gate, jars in their hands, constantly swigging from them, exchanging remarks that she couldn’t hear. One of them looked over at her. She waved and faked falling-down drunk. As she got up, unsteadily walking away, they laughed. Circling to the rear of the enclosure, she felt her way along the stockade. Eventually Reila came across a gap, large enough to look through. The gorge rose in her throat. Her stomach turned. She was sick. Leaning back against the stakes, Reila forced herself to look again. It was the pen where the prisoners were being kept. Five of them had been tied to posts and used as practice for axe and swordplay. Their bodies were brutally mutilated. Another two were strung up, their entrails cut from their bodies. One of them was Kantu. Reila struggled to remain sane. Tears filled her eyes. She was sick again. “Too much to drink, young lad?” A large hand slapped her on the back. “You’d better get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll be slaughtering the Celts all day.” The soldier put his arm around Reila’s shoulder and staggered off, taking the woman with him. He lurched toward a tent, pushed Reila in, and followed. “This is used to store the food, young lad. We can sleep here without getting disturbed.” The soldier wasn’t very much older than Reila, tall and with red hair, tied with an elaborate decoration. He took off his jerkin; his arms were tattooed with the sign of the raven. Throwing a skin pouch to Reila, he continued to undress. “Have a drink. You’re a quiet one.” The soldier stood naked, looking at Reila. “You’re pretty enough to be a good bed companion. We’ll have enough women after the battle tomorrow. Tonight you could satisfy my cock.” He moved toward Reila. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Don’t be shy, youngster. I’m sure a handsome fellow like you has had your ass shagged rudely before.” Grabbing at Reila, the soldier ripped at her clothes. Her tunic tore and fell from her shoulders, revealing her delicate breasts. He stared for a moment, and then grinned. “Well, looks like I’ve got more than an ass to fuck tonight.” He snatched at her. She only had a second to think. Her hand felt for the dagger in her belt. As he pawed at her breasts, she stabbed him in the neck. The soldier slid down, with a ridiculous smirk on his face. He died in lustful thoughts. YZ There was only one thing in Reila’s mind. Run and keep on running. She’d been hunting enough to be able to read the signs. Deciding to head north toward the hill fort of the rival tribe of Cashel, Reila filled her thoughts with all the details of the river, which she followed in the halflight of a coming dawn. This at least kept the memory of her ordeal at bay. She knew that if she dwelt on what had happened and the sight of Kantu, she would break down and lose her spirit to continue. The rain stopped, a mist arose and she felt the sun rising. Beyond the trees, she saw smoke and realized it was a village in the territory of the Cashel. Crossing the barren fields, now harvested of their food, Reila wondered why the dogs in the village hadn’t detected her approach. She had decided to throw herself on the mercy of these fellow Celts, warning them of the Viking army. She had no need. The village was dead. So were its inhabitants. Sigurd and his Raven men must have already been here. Everywhere bodies were strewn, hacked and butchered, men, women and children. Rows of severed heads were stuck up high on poles. A young woman

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stared into the sky, her body obviously used for sexual sport. Reila couldn’t go into the village anymore. She ran along the riverbank, now not knowing where or why she journeyed. By midday, Reila came over the ridge of the hills, where the river swept in a large arc, forming the southern and eastern outer fortification of Cashel. Dense forests guarded the slopes of the famed hill fort on the other two sides. All her teaching had told her as a tuath of the Tara to stay clear of the Cashel. These were proud Celtic tribes who fought for leadership of the district. But what choice did she have? Reila walked slowly up the slope. It was only when she was almost to the first stockade that she remembered she was wearing the tunic of a Viking. She hoped they would recognize her as a harmless woman from a neighboring area. Exhausted she stood at the gates, head bowed, mudsplattered, with the blood of the Viking she’d stabbed caked on her hands. Although the gates opened, four archers were holding back an arrow each, tensed against strung twine, pointing the deadly tips at Reila. A guard came warily forward, sword held in front of him. She had no more strength; collapsing onto her knees, then face-down in the earth. YZ The light hurt her eyes, dazzling and dancing across the blurred visual panorama of sight, specks of dust swimming randomly. She blinked, time and again, trying to focus. Then sound came back. Voices mumbling. One calling her name. She was frightened and didn’t want to open her eyes and face more danger. Darkness cloaked reality, light drew her to more terror.

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Reila slowly saw figures in front. One was holding a flaming torch, peering at the woman. “Reila,” that voice said again. The scene started to form. A group of men—three she counted—were gathered around her. Becoming aware of her surroundings, she took sudden fright and jerked her body to move away. Ropes restrained her. Panic spread in her mind. She had escaped one ordeal to become the bound plaything of these people. “What are you doing here?” an older man, white beard and thick cloak, asked, his intense hazel eyes flickering with yellow from the torch he held. Reila couldn’t speak. She was weary and her spirit broken. Another man came forward. He was at least a head taller than the other two, broad, his bushy eyebrows and curling moustache the color of burnished gold. “From the words you have muttered I think you are of the Tara. You say the name Reila many times. What has brought you to Cashel in such distress? Don’t be afraid.” He turned to the old man, saying, “Untie the woman.” With her bonds removed, the white-bearded man handed Reila a cup. She sipped, coughing at the first taste of liquid for days. “Do you know who I am?” the tall man asked. Without waiting for Reila to answer he said, “I am Brian Boru of the Dal Cais. These are the kings of Munster and Limerick.” Reila knew the name of the greatest warrior in Ireland. The reason for her flight flooded back into her mind. With tears she sobbed, “The Vikings are here. A great army led by the Black Raven.” “Sigurd!” Boru said, his expression hardening. “I was taken prisoner. They…” Reila couldn’t talk about her ordeal, or the death of Kantu. The old man put a hand on her shoulder. “Rest now. Just tell us where the Vikings were camped.” 74

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Reila told them all she knew of the location. Boru turned to the vassal kings. “We must split our forces, one coming from the sea to surprise them, destroying their fleet.” They started to leave, a young servant girl coming to Reila to attend to her with food. The Celtic woman stood up and called, “I will join your army, driving the Raven from our Ireland, or dying before the Vikings bring destruction to our lands.” YZ Never had such a host been seen in the Isles of the Gaels. They came from all the kingdoms, giving their allegiance to Brian Boru of the Dal Cais. Before them gathered Viking and Norse soldiers. For many years the Black Raven had ruled Orkney. Now his force was committed to the great plunder of Ireland. It was to be the turning of history, fate meeting in a gigantic clash. The Christian Celts had to make a stand as the barbarian sought to sweep them out into the wild Atlantic. Separating the forces was risky, but Boru calculated that if the Vikings could sail unopposed deep into the countryside using the wide rivers, they would be able to cause havoc and never be brought to battle. The men of Limerick were sent on a long arc, marching by night and coming up behind the beached fleet of the Vikings. When Boru saw the smoke rising from the estuary, he took it as a signal that the longboats were ablaze. He sent out his cavalry to goad Sigurd and Sihtric, keeping his main force hidden along the high ground. He hoped his timing was right, waiting till the tide turned and the plains flooded from the estuary, the ground becoming deep in mud.

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As the banner of the Black Raven appeared at the head of the Viking army, every Celt heart missed a beat. The mass of Norsemen was as one, each warrior standing shoulder-to-shoulder, a continuous shield wall and the cutting razor edges of lethal axes. This mighty army had killed its way from its homeland across the seaboards of Europe. Boru watched the cavalry struggling up the steep slope, with the slow, steady, deadly stepping Viking force following. The leader of the Dal Cais knew he would lose many mounted soldiers in the plan, but he was resolute in the defense of Ireland. As the Vikings started to reach the slope of the hill, the flood tide washed across, making their pursuit more difficult. Gradually the mire broke up their formation, the disciplined army becoming a collection of men. He didn’t underestimate their strength or the manic bravery of the Vikings. Holding back his forces, he patiently waited. Then he rose from the top of the hill, calling for his men to march in unison. It took only a few moments for the two armies to meet and clash with a resounding ringing of metal, bones and frail human flesh. All day the battle raged, bodies trampled, limbs severed, blood soaking the soil. At last the downward thrust of the Irish broke the Viking ranks. First a few, then more and finally the whole force turned and ran, defeated, beaten at the place they called Clontarf. Reila was in the second wave of reserve forces Boru unleashed on the Vikings. She let the image of Kantu fill her mind as she stabbed and killed the wounded enemy. Late in the evening, the battle was won. Reila sat by a fire, exhausted in strength but elated in the revenge she sought. A group of Celtic soldiers came up the slope, singing and calling. They held aloft the head of Sigurd. 76

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It was a famous victory, the celebrations muted as the great leader Brian Boru had also perished in the fight to save the Goedelic Celts of Ireland.

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Slave Girl

It is high summer and the plains lay languidly, accepting more heat from the Sun god in the sky. Hardly anything, except those silly flies, moves. Even Sylba, the donkey, has stopped braying. The heat covers the palace and great city like the blanket my mother wrapped me in when I was very little. Now I am twenty-three, and even if I say it myself, the favorite slave girl of Lord Rhisa, he who commands the mighty armies, owns great treasures, but doesn’t completely own me. Well, not in my head. My name is Saprina, which in the ancient tongue of our people means the girl with the golden hair. Even as a baby it was a wonder to everyone, so unlike that of my people, with their black, straight hair. Whispering started when I was little. Who really was my father? As I grew and my scarf fell from my head in the marketplace, eyes would stare and voices gossip. By the time I was eighteen many of the men in the district were calling at my door, trying to be the one to discover not only the fair golden hair falling to my waist, but also the silky down crowning my sex. It was then that the Grand Councilor came to our village to oversee the tax collection. His appreciative eye was not restricted to money. He loved beauty. Now his interests were inclined toward the young men, but he knew his Master, Lord Rhisa, was a lover of the female form. Let me

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not bore you with the details. I was bought and brought to the city, became a slave girl in the harem, and soon the favorite of the Great Khan of our people, Lord Rhisa. So, dear readers of my story, here I am and it is the season when the court will soon move to the high mountains, the cool breezes moderating the stifling heat. I can almost hear you ask, How can she become a slave? Let me tell you about just one turning of the twin Sun and Moon in my beautifully erotic life. YZ The meal is over, eaten after the blazing Sun has reached just above the arc in between the two mountains of Hasa and La’dil. This is the time the heat has begun to leave the earth, but before the dark cold descends. “Saprina, you are wanted by Lord Rhisa.” The voice is that of Grisin. All the harem women think he is dishy, especially as he wears so little clothes. “Wait one moment while I apply the perfume that my Master gave me for a present.” Look at all the women studying him. But if Felsta, the chief wife, is right, they are wasting their time. Some women gossip that he is trusted as Royal Harem Keeper because he is a eunuch. Lady Felsta had us all rolling with laughter when she told us the truth. She is now in her late forties and the mother of five children to the Great Khan. One day she decided to visit one of her grown-up sons in his palatial rooms at the west wing of the palace. As she bustled through the corridors with Kali, her maid, they heard a most peculiar moaning sound. Felsta asked us to draw close as she got to this part of the story. She said, “We crept into an alcove and the noise came from behind a woven

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drape. Peeking in, Kali almost burst her insides, trying to retain her mirth. So I pushed her away and pulled the drape open. There was the muscle-bound Royal Harem Keeper as naked as the beggars along the Alley of a Hundred Thieves, spread out on a flat stone. He was whimpering in what I perceived was pleasure as a handsome young guard grunted and rocked into Grisin’s ass. And it wasn’t with his soldier’s spear—well, unless that’s what you call a hard cock. The poor Royal Harem Keeper saw me, shot up, sending his lover sprawling on the floor. Grisin certainly wasn’t a eunuch; he had the biggest pair of swing balls I’ve ever seen outside of the melon gardens.” As I follow the Royal Harem Keeper along toward Lord Rhisa’s bedchamber, I cannot help but giggle as I recall the story. Grisin stands proudly to attention and in a loud but reverent voice announces my arrival. Folding back the bamboo sliding door, he lets me enter into the royal presence. “How is my favorite slave girl?” I used to think Lord Rhisa said that to all his harem. Now I believe I am special. He calls me more than anyone else and by what the other slaves and wives say, his demands are more unusual for me. “I am well, my Master.” “That is good. It is my burden to be tired after a day attending to the many duties.” He is still such a handsome man, even though he must be now fiftyfive. I just adore that trimmed dark beard. Last week he asked me to kneel over him and then he licked my petal, his whiskers tickling my clitoris and thighs as his face buried into my sex. Look, he is stretching back. I know what my Master requires when he does that and says he is weary.

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“Here, Lord Rhisa, let your slave girl undress you. Do not exert yourself.” Such fine silks. I adore taking his clothes off, touching that deep chest. “Will you allow me, Master, to slip off your royal pants?” He just nods and smiles at me as if he was some shy and demure commoner. Not the royal bull he is. “Does this please, Lord Rhisa?” He is never in a rush with our sex. No fucking me and then pushing me away. Wow, such a fine cock he has. Fondling it and seeing his shaft grow from a soft, kissable royal penis to a rampant, thrusting rod, never loses its fascination. I wonder what part he wants me to play tonight? “Is my Master ready? Shall I take off my robes tonight?” He touches my silk pantaloons lightly. Sometimes he commands me to strip naked. That’s when I am to be his wanton whore, bouncing vigorously on his cock as his hands furiously palm my breasts, sitting above him. Then there is the virgin act where I do not remove any clothes, simply slip down my pantaloons just far enough for modesty to be possible while he enters me. But tonight he wants me to ride him gently as his hands cup my ass and aid our lovemaking. He is watching me. How many times has he seen my naked loins? Yet still he looks with desire. I crawl over and continue to work his cock. Wait for that glint in his eye and deep breathing. There, he is ready. I take his cock and push it toward my sex, feeling his bulbous tip stroke at my gate. Then down and…that feels good. “Am I giving pleasure to you, My Lord?” Yes, I must be. He smiles and his fingers push into me as well. He likes to have both his erect cock and two fingers in me. At first when he did it, I was sore. But now I have learnt many ways. The other slaves www.samhainpublishing.com

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have taught me to use lotions to lubricate myself and bring greater pleasure. His panting quickens. Now my training shows me what to do and say. “Is your Majesty to be in me or anoint my body, My Lord?” “Let it be over your gorgeous fairness, Saprina.” I understand. Let him be the guide. Yes, he is near. Now he will lift me from his cock and that satiated shaft spurts its passion as I hold it pressed against the fair hair of my bush. He watches and is pleased. “Shall I stay, my Lord?” “We will sleep for a while, Saprina.” “I will be ready in the night, my Master, to serve as you will.” YZ He sleeps. No, he wakes again as the moon still crosses the night. This time moaning and hardly opening his eyes as I massage his stirring cock. I was going to do it slowly with a gentle manipulation, using my thumb and just two fingers. But my Master sighs and directs me to work faster. So I hold his shaft in my clenched hand, pumping rapidly and listening to his groans, knowing he wants gratification. Even in the twilight, I am enthralled by the power of his coming. As he lays at peace, I take the bottle of rosemary water, clean his now quiescent cock and watch him fall back into the world of dreams. I leave his bed and wrap my cloak around me. It must be the early part of a new day. I can hear the sound of the traders who travel in from the countryside, waiting until the gates of the citadel are open at first light. They want to get the best position for their stalls in the market. Talking about position, I should tell you I have a lover. Met him about six months ago. His name is Aliha, a beautiful man, who works in the

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armory. My Aliha makes the mighty swords, which means his arms and hands are strong. Strong to bend the metal and strong to bend his Saprina into the sexual positions he likes. Thinking about him makes me horny. There is still enough of the twilight to go and visit him. If I turn down here… “Good morning, Sitila…” That’s a guard who I quite fancy. He is always on duty when I leave Lord Rhisa’s apartment. Soldiers are not supposed to look at slave girls belonging to the Great Khan, but I know his gaze follows me when I go past. Milana, the servant girl to Lady Felsta, told me his name. Sitila is a spearman from the deserts to the east. He stands so tall and proud, holding his straight spear. When I see that I always giggle, thinking it is his upright maleness. Here is the door. Along the passageway and then to the room of my lover. Shall I knock? What if he was with another woman? But then I have been with Lord Rhisa. Is that different? I’ll just sneak in. There he is. My Aliha. He looks so peaceful and like a baby when he is asleep. He told me he was twenty-three and comes from the village of Fasarito, which means he is of the Galmaento tribe. They have different ways to many of the peoples of the Great Khan. Aliha has told me that it is their custom for the father to arrange the marriage of sons. I asked him if he was arranged to anyone. He said no. But you can never totally trust men. I creep closer. Shall I silently pull back the cover over his delectable body? Such powerful muscles. And that stomach. I have kissed his chest and abdomen to show him how much he means to me. Last week I went down on him and took his wonderful cock into my mouth and sucked and sucked until the passion in his head became the cream of his desire. I would only do that for someone who I love. “What, who…?” www.samhainpublishing.com

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Aliha stirs. Let him wake with my hand stroking his cock. Better still, I’ll slip out of my clothes and cuddle up next to him. Now, that’s better, my skin against his. Snuggle near and caress his shaft. “Is that you, Saprina?” “Yes, love.” Who does he think is in his bed, rubbing his manhood, making him hard? “This is a pleasant surprise, Saprina.” By the light of the great Sun god, the man is erect already. He dreams of sex and even before his eyes are focused, that massive rod is up and seeking its prey. “Don’t need to ask what you want, Aliha. Take it easy, work my petal first with your fingers. That overeager cock will get its turn.” He is trying to be considerate, massaging me with his fingers in my sex. But I know he is anxious to roll over on top of me. Come on then, big boy, fuck me hard. “Arh, Aliha.” “Is it okay, Saprina?” “Yes, sweet man.” So unsophisticated. Not like my Master. Aliha tries to be gentle, but… “Oh, Aliha, more please.” My knees up and legs wrap around his waist, with his rigid shaft deep inside, thrusting and pinning me down on the bed. “Saprina, Saprina.” “Yes, darling. Yes, yes. Don’t hold back. Your little Saprina wants you.” He is near, his body tenses, how I need him, how I… “Saprina!” His eruption has come. Lying panting, exhausted. But I know my Aliha. Give him only a little while and his strength will return. If I stay he

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will have me on my hands and knees and like the excited dog will mate with his heated bitch. “I cannot stay any longer, Aliha. I must return to the harem before first light and the Keeper comes to check the Great Khan’s possessions.” “Just one…” “Dream of me, Aliha. Now a kiss and then farewell.” YZ There was a faint buzz, as if a swarm of bees had been drinking wine, got tipsy and were benignly circling the hive, trying to find their door, giggling and pushing, in a friendly manner. But it was only the sound of the harem waking up. Fifty-seven women from eighteen to almost fifty, most having slumbered the night away, some, like me, returning after the pleasant duties of their calling. As the chief wife, Felsta has pride of place, her couch by the grilled window looking down on the courtyard. It means the cool breeze fans away the heat; and the view is wonderful. She and her entourage can see all the visitors, and better still the handsome young guards who exercise on the far side of the square. Apart from their small thongs they wear nothing. It was all bare skin, bulging muscles and even better—bulging loins. Stopping off to see Aliha has made me late, so I haven’t got time this morning to ogle the young men. Must get a bath and be ready for inspection when the Royal Harem Keeper comes along, just before the first meal of the day. Nobody’s in the bath. It’s a big rectangular shape, screened from the remainder of the resting room by a high, ornately carved screen. Not even the Keeper is allowed behind here and certainly not the guards who

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stand erect outside our apartments. Saprina does, thinking of things erect. This is where we can wash and bathe, naked and relaxed. If we have a special meeting or have been summoned by Lord Rhisa, the harem women will ask their companions to help them get ready and apply perfume and oils to their bodies. Hello, there’s Yalmina. She only joined the harem two months ago. Was a present to the Great Khan from a lowly prince. She told me last week the land of her home was high mountains and snow for almost three-quarters of the year. I’ve gotten friendly with her. We have comforted each other. “You are late, Yalmina.” “I had to help one of the wives who has just returned to the harem. She is nursing her new baby. Shall I help you, Saprina?” “Wait for me, Yalmina. I won’t be a moment.” The water is warm but I mustn’t be long. Yalmina is watching me. She is very pretty, but in a different way from me. Long limbs and tall, with such dark, thick jet hair. I think she is self-conscious of being so tall. Most of the women are small. Like many people she finds my fair and fine hair fascinating. She did last week. But then I found her equally alluring. “Let me help you out, Saprina. Here, have this towel and come and sit over here by the fountain.” “Thanks, Yalmina. Aren’t you cold, you haven’t got dressed yet.” Sitting by me so close makes me feel like I did before when we… “The rosemary oil is here, Saprina. Can I…I mean, shall I massage your neck for you?” Will you do what you did before? Her hands are tender on my neck, easing the aches, yet so sensuous is her touch that she raises other 86

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needs. I will not ask. Let her do as she wants. I lay back and close my eyes. I feel her hands on my breasts, such ways to make me desire. Heading over my stomach and now I cannot resist her. Parting my legs and wishing she will explore me. Fingers over my clitoris and…so gorgeous. This is a delight I do not feel with a man’s cock inside of me. Yalmina’s fingers find another aspect of my body. Where did this young girl learn such art? “Oh precious, Yalmina, don’t stop. Do you want me to comfort you the way we did last week?” “Perhaps tonight, Saprina. If you are not called to our Master, come to my bed.” It is difficult not to cry out in ecstasy. She has such a divine touch. If I shout the joy I feel, the other women would come running. Oh, Yalmina, you are another love of mine. I pray that when you are called to serve the Master you experience as much pleasure as you give me. “Hold me now, Yalmina. Let me down slowly, for I swear you have sent my body burning to the place of the gods. Quickly, I will suck your small nipples. Just stay still for this sweet moment.” “Saprina, are you there? Is Yalmina with you?” “Come, we must go, my heartfelt lover. We are called by Tyrima, the Harem Bath Mistress. It must mean Grisin, the Royal Harem Keeper, has arrived to make an inventory of the Great Khan’s possessions.” If only he knew Lord Rhisa’s precious Saprina had been fucked by a lusty Aliha and her petal sent into elation by a novice girl of the harem. He would burst a blood vessel. But then, as Felsta told us, Grisin has burst more than a few veins in shagging and being shagged by his pretty men. YZ www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Do you understand, Saprina?” “Yes, Grisin.” “Then tell me what you understand.” “I am to accompany the Lady Felsta to the market so she might buy silks. At no time am I to take off my veil or talk to anyone.” “And?” “Not to move more than five paces from the four guards who will be with us.” “I hope that is clear, Saprina. I have my suspicions about your conduct. If it was up to me I would not choose you for a companion to the number one wife of our Great Khan.” Wow. What a treat. Down to the market, being carried in the litter with Felsta. She has such a sense of humor. Not as stuffy as some of the other ten official wives. And four hunky guards in their yummy uniforms being so close. “Halt!” “What is it, Lady?” “Have the litter put down here, Captain. I have seen the stall I wish to inspect. Tell the guards to clear a way.” Just look at those soldiers. Pushing everyone to one side. Felsta is so regal. Even at her age, such a beauty. Poise and class. It is so stuffy in here. I’ll just get out while the litter is on the ground. Better go out the other side. If that prim and proper Captain sees me he’ll have a fit, a slave girl of the harem appearing in a public place. The smell of the marketplace. It is gorgeous, so real. It reminds me of the village where I was born. All the spices, the people, the… “Such a pretty lady would appreciate this jewel.” “What…how? You startled me. Do you know who…?” 88

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A dazzling face, and what a body. Is he a trader? Perhaps, for just a moment, I could talk to him. Heavenly Sun god, will you look at that protuberance under his little cotton kilt. Praise to the Three-Headed Deity for men’s cocks. How does he keep that from swinging around when he walks? “Please don’t go, your Majesty.” He thinks I am of the royal family. “I’m not…” Wait, this could be fun. Try to be noble, Saprina. “What do you want…?” “Your humble servant, Krisoni, Princess.” “Well, Krisoni, state your business.” “It is this precious jewel, Majesty. It costs so little but brings great pleasure.” “Show me. This is not a jewel. It’s nothing but a powder.” “But it is the precious stone of heightened bliss, your Majesty. Let its aroma invade your heart and you will know the gratification of the gods on their celestial cloud.” One sniff will be all right. “Great Sun god, what heaven is this?” “A magic aphrodisiac, Majesty.” My head is whirling and all the colors of the rainbow swim in my senses. He takes my hand. Where does he guide it? “I am a sorcerer of love, pretty lady…and this is my enchanted wand.” It feels like the most enormous male shaft, and I know what potions men stir with it. But it does feel so good. “Quickly, wonderful princess, I hear the soldiers coming. Take this jewel and when you need to arouse the passions, let its aroma enter your body. Then anything else that enters you will have extra strength.” “Saprina, who were you talking to?” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Nobody, Lady Felsta. I just got out of the litter to get some air while you were buying your silks.” “I hope you didn’t take off your veil?” “No, my Lady. But I saw something very special and felt the girth of erotica.” Now home to the palace. This magic herb is truly a jewel. Shall I try it when my Master next summons me to his bedchamber? Or…no, Saprina, do not think such naughty thoughts. YZ Such a commotion this afternoon. Two of the slave girls in the harem running, screaming out of the bathing area, barely covering their nakedness. Grisin rushes in with four guards. Oh the poor Royal Keeper of the Harem, he doesn’t know where to look. Casting eyes on the uncovered bodies of Lord Rhisa’s harem women means death or castration. Grisin is supposed to be a eunuch but as my tale told you, dear reader, he has his assets in place. To have them cut off would slow his fun with that pretty soldier he meets in his room. “What is it? Hush this noise.” Lady Felsta tries to calm the girls. “In there, in there,” one of them hysterically blubbers, the other one unable to speak. Grisin draws his sword and, with two of the guards, carefully starts to move around the screen of the bathing area. We are all convinced intruders have gotten into the harem to peek on the naked bodies of the women. As pandemonium continues, I’ll take another look at one of the other guards who has stayed behind with the women. Never seen him before. Such a pale, innocent face. Most of the soldiers who are on harem duty

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have tanned skin and are trusted veterans, more like uncles. This one is as fresh and pure as an unpicked orange in the early part of summer. “You are new?” Look at that almost delicate body. If he has tasted the flesh of a woman it has left no lustful persona on his fabulous countenance. He is shy, reluctant to talk to me. Perhaps a little encouragement will be necessary. “It is permitted to talk to a harem woman, soldier. What is your name?” “Haslanti, Lady.” “That is sweet, but I am not a wife of the Great Khan. My name is Saprina, a slave girl.” He nods. I adore those blue eyes. Did he get them from the skies of heaven? “You can do nothing more here, Haslanti. Come and see the view from the cloister. It is cool and dark. It will calm your troubled expression.” See how he blushes. More like a maiden than a soldier. But he follows me. Now we can be alone for a few moments. “You are not very old, Haslanti.” “Almost nineteen…” “Saprina. Call me Saprina. I want to hear you say it. Your accent is not of the city.” “I’m from Tesselta, the delta lands to the south.” “Saprina, remember?” “Yes, sorry, Saprina.” “Well, Haslanti, let me show you something special.” You are teasing him, Saprina. I can see by his dilated pupils he thinks it is my body he is about to see. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“See this magic herb, Haslanti? Place a small piece on your tongue…then let your mind go free.” “Saprina, Saprina. You are so lovely.” The aphrodisiac is working on this handsome chaste young man. “Haslanti, what are you doing?” “Stealing a kiss, my beautiful slave girl.” “It is not just your lips seeking mine, but your hands searching inside my dress, dear Haslanti.” “Such gorgeous breasts were meant to be adored, my slave princess.” “Not now, brave soldier. If Grisin catches you testing the Great Khan’s property you will lose more than your job. Don’t look so disappointed. Quickly, someone is coming. Meet me in the archway by the Garden of Fountains. Be there in one half-turn of the water clock.” YZ What am I doing? Putting my reputation, even my life, in danger for the sake of an assignation with a young man—barely grown from his boyhood. Anyway, he probably won’t meet me. Once the effects of the herb have worn off he will come to his senses. By the light of the Sun god, it is Haslanti. “Lovely Saprina…” “Don’t stand there. Over here, behind this wall of conifer trees.” “What is it?” “It hides the water tank for the fountain. Hopefully it will conceal our meeting, Haslanti.” “Oh, pretty slave girl, I cannot be here long. My Captain…” “Still your words, my young lover. Let actions fill our short time together.”

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He presses my body against the wall and I feel him, hard and anxious. Whether it is the herb, or me, Haslanti is aroused like the rutting stags of the forest. Has not the Sun god taught us charity and help for others? If I slide my hand inside his kilt. Praise to the ThreeHeaded Deity! What an erection. That’s it, young lover, work your fingers up my thighs, find my flower. Feel my moisture, don’t be shy. “Oh, Haslanti.” “Should I stop, my slave princess?” “Not now.” He is in me. What power. My body is lifted up and I cling around him like the ivy to the solid tree, with his mighty shaft deep into the sap of my ecstasy. “Sweet, Saprina…you are so…” “Yes, my lover. No need for words. Just go on. Go on.” “Saprina, Saprina.” “More my darling, more and more.” He groans, he rocks so fast. Dear Haslanti, so raw, so rough, so wonderful. I feel his force intensify. Soon, soon…he is there. “My slave princess, was that all right for you?” My body thanks him for such a glorious fuck, his strength satiated in my vagina with his hot cum inside, trickling down my loins. How could it not be perfect for me? “Straighten your uniform, Haslanti. You must go back to your duties and me to mine.” “Will I see you again, Saprina?” “Yes, my young and eager lover. But we must take care. Your cock possessing my petal is a crime, which could get our bodies severed from our heads. Now go, and wait until I send for you again.”

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Was I his first? What tricks will he want me to teach him? Love or infatuation with a slave girl. It has been a long day. Now for peace and gossip as we eat our evening meal in the harem. This is the life of a slave girl. Come again and listen to another tale.

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About the Author Novelist, essayist and poet, Emy Naso’s work ranges from beautiful love laments to erotic short stories and novellas, and full-length novels. Writing in many genres, Emy’s distinctive voice covers humor, fantasy, contemporary, myths and historical work. Emy is a true Celt, born in the mountains of Wales, then living in London and finally on the remote coast of East Anglia.

Look for these titles by Emy Naso Now Available: The Amorous Adventures of Sarah: Running into Trouble Sensual Magic

Coming Soon: The Amorous Adventures of Sarah: Mayhem for Two

Tangling with crime, falling in love, adopting a dog and fighting to survive…it’s just another day in the life of self-proclaimed private detectives Sarah Greene and Billy Fields.

The Amorous Adventures of Sarah: Running into Trouble © 2006 Emy Naso Available now from Samhain Publishing Tangling with crime, falling in love, adopting a dog and fighting to survive…it’s just another day in the life of self-proclaimed private detectives Sarah Greene and Billy Fields. Tired of men always wanting her for her looks and not her brain, Sarah Greene packs her bags and drives until she can’t drive anymore. When Sarah meets Billy Fields, two explosive forces form an unholy alliance. He’s the first man she can talk to and spend time with without worrying about him trying to get into her pants. Could be because he’s gay… A simple night on the town turns into the adventure of a lifetime, when the duo are pulled into the world of counterfeiting and become unwilling pawns in a tug of war between gangsters from London and a rival Eastern European mob. Then there’s the hunky Yuri, who is supposed to be pressing Sarah for information, except Sarah’s enjoying every moment of it… Enjoy the following excerpt for Running into Trouble: At the sea Sarah turned to Yuri and kissed his cheek. “Can you swim?” she said, her eyes sparkling with erotic danger. He nodded and understood the hidden question. They undressed and stood facing each other, openly admiring and taking joy in the nakedness

of the night. Like two children they sauntered hand in hand into the anointing waves. Sarah was aware that Yuri’s cock had become erect and was raised from its passive role into a lance of her desires. When they paddled up to their waists, Yuri launched himself forward, followed by Sarah. They swam separately, and then like graceful dolphins came together and rolled around each other in salty-wet sensual somersaults, water and hands caressing bodies. Sarah adored the feel of Yuri’s strong, broad chest and the way he responded as she let her hand touch and fondle his genitals. The stiffness in his cock became shell-hard pulses as her fingers felt its waiting power. Strolling from the sea they came back to the lagoons. Yuri knelt before Sarah and licked her breast, her stomach and her loins. Her passionate desires instinctively made her push forward, part her legs and encourage his tongue to taste the salty dampness at the mouth of her vulva. He stood and lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and waited for that delicious moment when his upright penis found her pussy—seeking a way to her gate. Yuri’s strong hands held her buttocks firmly, and he penetrated deep into her vagina. His movements were in sympathy to her needs and their combined silhouette, like standing lovers, was open to the creatures of the night. He held rigid as Sarah set the tempo, letting it be easy and keeping him one step away from sudden satisfaction. They both wanted the pleasure to be consummated in a long moan of desire rather than a quick groan of instant passion. Sarah let go her hands around Yuri’s neck and slipped to the sand. Taking hold of his waist she said, “Come down here with me.” As they rolled in a shallow lagoon, Sarah whispered to Yuri to lie still on his back and made him relax by licking down from his mouth, across

his chest and teasing him with her tongue and lips on the fringe of his dark pubic hair. With her hand articulating his foreskin in the sensitivity of her art, she rose above his upright wand and sat firmly down on it, letting the eager erotic brute find its prey.

Domination or submission? Ménage a trios or man on man? What about voyeurism? A tease? A taste? Sink your teeth into this collection of erotica short stories from six top erotic storytellers.

Secret Thoughts: Erotique “The Gym”

© 2006 Sasha White Coming Soon from Samhain Publishing Everyone has them. Those secret thoughts that bring forth your hottest dreams and desires. The ones you don’t share, the ones that make your heart pound and your blood heat. What do you fantasize about? In the Secret Thoughts: Erotique collection, you’ll find all sorts of deliciously erotic scenes from the naughty minds of Beth Williamson, J.J. Massa, Laura Bacchi, Nix Winter, Sasha White and S. Desires. Enjoy “The Gym” from Secret Thoughts: Erotique. I’ve been watching him for a while. He is the motivation that keeps me going back to the gym. Exercising isn’t something I enjoy, but when I can watch him in the mirror as I run on the treadmill, it’s not only sweat that dampens my body. The sight of his sleek muscles straining as he adds more weight to the barbells and lays back on the bench to do more presses gives me ideas on other ways we could work out together on that very same bench. I fantasize that we’re the only people in the gym and I use his safety straps to restrain his hands on the barbell above him. Then I stand next to the bench and strip off my sweaty workout clothes, slowly revealing myself to him. The tent in his shorts caused by his straining erection encourages me to take total control of his body.

Walking to the end of the bench, I lean over his body, just close enough to brush the hard tips of my breasts against his bare stomach. I let my head fall so that my long hair brushes against his firm chest, tickling him as I lightly swing my head back and forth. Then I lower my body closer so that my tits now hug his cock through his shorts and he feels my hot breath on his chest. I open my mouth and my tongue darts out to tease his nipple to erectness. When it’s sticking up like a miniature cock, I take the hard nub into my wet mouth and nibble teasingly with my teeth. Then I lave it better with firm strokes of my tongue. I shift slightly for better access to the other nipple and the shift of pressure on his cock causes him to lift his hips against me and groan softly. He doesn’t want to speak any more than I want to hear him, his groans and sighs are message enough. When both nipples are standing proud, wet and shiny from my ministrations, I slide my body back so I am on my knees between his. Leaning back, I quickly divest him of his shorts so that his throbbing cock is bare and only inches from my hungry lips. Liking the power I feel with him laid out before me, I tease a little more. I lean forward and nip at his inner thigh with my sharp teeth, knowing that as I do this all he really feels is the inching of my fingers through the nest of curls at the base of his cock. To get his focus where I want it, I push his thighs further apart and place a long, wet lick with firm pressure on that soft skin between his puckered asshole and his heavy balls. He tries to lift his hips and increase the pressure, but I deny him that. After sucking his balls into my hot mouth for a brief taste, I decide I’m done teasing. I can feel my own juices starting to run from my swollen pussy lips down my thighs as I pull his cock away from his belly and surround it with my lips. After a minute of adjustment, I start a slow rhythm of

bobbing with my mouth giving firm suction. He tastes delicious, salty and sweet. The sounds coming from his throat as I speed up slightly are causing my quim to quiver in anticipation. One of my hands leaves his thigh to reach between mine to play with myself. As I slip a finger deep inside, I realize it isn’t enough so I add another. This isn’t what I want. I want to be filled and that’s for him to do. Abandoning all my ministrations, I stand up and quickly straddle him on the bench. I don’t move until he opens his eyes and is watching me. With gazes locked, I reach between my spread legs and guide him into my wet hole. I lower myself and we both let out a groan of satisfaction as his hard, rigid cock fills me. I start to roll my hips gently and notice that his grip on the barbell above him has become white-knuckled. I lean forward and place my hands next to his on the barbell and start to pump my hips faster. With feet flat on the floor, I have total control and ease with shifting tempo and pressure on him. The air is still around us, only disturbed by our panting breath and the occasional grunt and groan from him. I squeeze him tight inside and know that he can’t hold back much longer. I pump a little faster. The end is near for us both. I tilt my hips to that angle I know will get him deeper and give my throbbing clit the pressure I need to get off. A quick thrust and our hips grind together and I feel myself slip into oblivion. My inner walls clench around his throbbing cock and his cum shoots into me hotly, filling me the way I’ve fantasized about. With no strength left in my body, I release my grip on the barbell, undo the ties that bind his wrists and cuddle up on the chest I’ve admired for so long as his arms surround me. He is the inspiration that keeps me going to the gym.

Samhain Publishing, Ltd. It’s all about the story… Action/Adventure Fantasy Historical Horror Mainstream Mystery/Suspense Non-Fiction Paranormal Red Hots! Romance Science Fiction Western Young Adult www.samhainpublishing.com