“Yoo-hoo,” he heard a voice call.
It was Constance as he had never seen her – fully clothed in a smart outfit from Regent Street in London, no doubt. He took her dainty hands and kissed them. She had changed little. The high color and dark curls surrounding her heart-shaped face were all as he remembered. They strolled and talked at length, avoiding the subject of current love interests or financial statuses, murmuring nothing more than trivialities.
“I have arranged for a special place to go,” she told him suddenly, and flagged a carriage. They listened to the clip-clop of horse hooves as they passed the gas-lit monuments to Rome’s ancient glories. She stopped the driver in front of the greatest symbol of past decadence, the Coliseum. It was aglow with soft light and looked a bit like the world’s largest golden bracelet. Constance led Remington to a small entrance at the base of the colossal structure where they sneaked inside. Seeming familiar with the surroundings, she led him below ground level and along corridors to a much older Rome than the one of piazzas and palazzos. Guided by torch lights, she led him further along to the cells where both men and beasts had, once upon a time, awaited their fate.
“Late at night, without the noise of tourists and carriages above, you can feel what it must have been like for slaves and soldiers 2,000 years ago,” Constance whispered as if someone might hear them. “They say that women were brought here to service the guards and the gladiators. The ghosts of those people are here. If you listen hard enough, they say you can hear them, or even feel their presence. Can you feel them, Remington?”
Constance had his attention. He wanted to hear and feel, and studied her dark eyes to see if he saw seriousness, or if he saw mirth. What he saw was desire. “I want to feel them,” he told her.
“Go ahead, Remington. Rome will not burn unless you fiddle like Nero.”
Remington’s world shifted on its axis as he knew they were about to take up where they had left off in Bombay. He leaned forward and kissed her lips. She kissed back.
“Now do you hear?” she asked. “The voices of lovers through the ages stealing away to secret places? If you try hard enough, you may even hear the music that goes with amore.” Then she unhooked the collar of her blouse and undid the buttons behind a froth of lacy frills. And behold, Shiva’s necklace resided around her still beautiful neck. “See the colors of the stones even in this dim light. They burn with an inner light that a gemologist such as you could not have forgotten.”
“Yes, yes, I see.” There did seem to be a glow about the necklace, and about Constance.
“I want you to have me,” Constance murmured, her voice low and smooth. “I have no excuse except to say I am entranced by my patron pagan goddess of whom you are aware.”
Remington had harbored a carnal curiosity about Constance and her magical necklace for a year’s time and now, a significant event was about to take place –lovemaking at a historical site in an area which few had access, a secret place which had led back to her treasure – Constance the Merciful.
He started to make his own speech, but Constance placed her finger against his lips then kissed them for the second time. Their third kiss involved tongues. He unbuttoned the rest of her blouse and reached into her bustier. She reached behind and unhooked the device. Her breasts were soft and unfettered. Her nipples hardened against his palms and her fingers sought the buttons on his trousers. Both inhaled sharply as her hand found its way inside his clothes and grabbed hold of his burgeoning shaft. A wicked little smile crept across her smooth face. Both of her hands were now at work. She fondled his gonads and liberated his cock, her gaze never straying from his.
“Those of us in tune with higher powers have our own special way of sharing earthly knowledge. Sex is a most joyous thing, do you not think, Remington?”
“The most fulfilling act I have ever known,” he agreed.
Constance made a noise as he pulled her bustier free and bit her nipples. She kicked out of the skirt as he began an exploration inside her knickers. No barriers this time, not even the thin film of soap suds, and she seemed as wantonly robust as before. Remington thought he could imagine an oiled and muscled gladiator pressing a beautiful concubine against a prison wall while the voices of a howling mob filtered down through the floor to the slave quarters, screaming for carnage.
The feel of Constance’s moist canal was all the encouragement his swarthy cock required. Her pale thighs wrapped around his equally pale hips while his prick slid easily inside her. Pinned between his hips and the wall, Constance’s body undulated. Her arms locked around his neck and her whispers came closer to his ear. She spoke soft words in rudimentary Italian. They rolled off her tongue as smoothly as melted chocolate poured into a fudge pan, her soul expressed in words – the gospel of St Constance.
Their bodies provided sexual sustenance in a place where centuries of feet had trod. Maybe it was the novelty and excitement of someone oft dreamed about, or the warm breath against Remington’s face, but he thought he could hear some Italian melody sung by Enrico Caruso. His cock drilled into Constance’s love tunnel as if it was pursuing buried treasure – several thrusts then a swirl or two, then more thrusts. He was as committed to the moment as a seeker of the truth is to the mystery of life.
Chocolaty words that night flowed from Constance’s tongue. “Si,” she breathed. “Si, si, mio maschile.”
Cats roamed all over the Coliseum. They had replaced the African beasts that once performed for the blood-lusting crowds. On this night Remington felt like a tomcat himself. He was a lion and Constance was the tigress.
“Am I too much for you, Remington?” she panted. “Perhaps you want me to bend over and have me in the manner of our last meeting?”
“Yes, yes. I’d like that.” Remington thrust upward, deep inside her one last time before her ankles unlocked.
She didn’t turn from him right away. She took his fully blossomed penis in her hand and smiled. “We followers of Shiva love to talk with our hands. What do my hands tell you?” She teased the crown-head between her thumb and forefinger.
“That you are as ready for more as I am?”
“You have made me very hot, me amore. You need to finish me.”
She turned from him and lifted the tail of her blouse above her rump, as eager as he to direct their passions to a climax. The fissure that split her into halves was dark, but anything besides foreboding. “I’ll finish you with my friendly weapon, my slave girl.”
“Then do it, maschile.”
The crown of his penis rediscovered her slithery slit and the top of his shaft slid back and forth against the opposite inner wall. He was the Roman charioteer at last.
“Si, si,” Constance repeated as they rapidly pushed against each other, making a slapping sound he thought might be heard all the way to the street.
Light from the torches provided a golden glow reminiscent of a Renaissance oil painting, but their positioning was more apropos to a pose from the Kama Sutra, a book Constance was no doubt familiar with. The bit of Italian she knew captured a fiery passion that English could not. When she looked over her shoulder, the glaze over her candescent dark eyes told Remington she was ready to climax.
“Balduce,” he said as he pumped her. A made-up word, but it sounded like what they were doing in Italian.
Her buttocks quivered. She moaned a long pleasing note of lust. His hands moved from her smooth, flawless hips to her breasts and gave them a firm squeeze as they erupted together like Vesuvius pouring its hot lava down the hillside onto Pompeii. They had reached the pinnacle of passion, holding their position as cats scurried past, perhaps headed for a connection of their own.
Finally, Constance straightened up and backed against Remington, letting him fondle her breasts as his cock cooled against her derrière. “That was very good, Remington. Bellissimo.” She turned her head and kissed his neck. “I should invite you back to England. You could procure a flat and we could rendezvous on a somewhat regular basis with my serva
nt as a lookout. But then, that would be so ordinary. While here, I gave you a history lesson with me as part of it. Mi credi, non è vero?”
Remington had found his own elixir of pleasure once again among the ruins. “La magia femminile.”
“Ahh, the magic of women. Very good, Remington.”
Beyond the sound of their breathing, haunting sounds from an ancient past dwelled in the structure’s shadowy archways.
“Do you hear . . .” he began.
“The sounds of weaponry, of battle,” Constance confirmed. “Strangely seductive, is it not?”
“I guess there really are ghosts here. Maybe the Hindus are correct after all. Time is meaningless. Perhaps we should take our leave.”
“What? Afraid someone like the colonel might appear? A jealous lover, perhaps? Or maybe a Roman centurion with his gladius upraised, ready to separate your instrument from your body for our continued indiscretions? Very well. Although you are safe with Shiva’s disciple, we shall depart. The time for love has passed.”
“Come to my hotel room, Constance. We can still have a nightcap.”
“And you can enjoy my crack until dawn.”
Remington laughed at her humor and couldn’t get her back to his hotel quickly enough.
Remington missed several meetings as eternal lust in the middle of the Eternal City continued for three days after the evening romp with the ancients. But before saying ciao! to Italy, he and Constance got to be friends. She brought a few stolen moments of sunshine and happiness to his life while introducing him to some great out-of-the-way ristorantes and lesser-known palazzos. Their future lovemaking locations were more conventional than the underbelly of the Coliseum where they had played their pagan, hedonistic game amidst the ghost of gladiators and concubines. But the exploration of Constance was always a marvelous adventure. They were able to shout during orgasms and rock the bed until they thought it would collapse. The world Constance’s actions represented contained passion, drama, music, sensuality and impetuous hearts.
She made love con brio and spun her tales of Indian religion with great verve. She usually adorned herself with the necklace but not always, so Remington knew her passion was not completely tied to the hypnosis of the gems. He found them to be of cheap quality and unknown origin, but would never have told her so. Why put a damper on this wonderful celebration of life?
She suggested a future rendezvous in Egypt of all places. She wanted to see what interaction of spirit Shiva might have with the famed goddess, Isis. Remington’s head literally swam at the thought of what might happen if Constance got her hands on a nice piece of jewelry along the Nile. She might become the band of Erinyes, the Loreleis and the Sirens all rolled into one.
She returned to England and he returned to America. Whatever the future may hold, he would never forget Bombay or Rome and what he found there, what he felt there. Years fly by, but the heart can stay in the same place. He could imagine Constance in an ivory tub, naked men squirting their semen into it, surrounding her with the life-giving liquid that goddesses so prize. He wondered if she had been afforded the opportunity to spread her legs and her beliefs with diligence in Victorian England. If she had not been stripped of her miraculous necklace by the colonel, he would wager she had.
EROTICA
Volume 9
Edited by
Barbara Cardy
THE MISTAKE
Gary Philpott
Rob was waiting downstairs, but Suzanna had one more thing to do. She had been thinking about it all day, and was not leaving until she had done it. She opened up Rob’s section of the wardrobe and pulled four silk ties from the rack on the back of the door. He would not like using four of his best ties, but he would not dare complain as he tied them to her wrists and ankles. It was all part of Suzanna’s game, there had to be some sacrifice to keep things interesting. There had to be a price to pay.
Once the ties were secured to the bedposts, she opened her lower bedside drawer, selected her favorite pocket vibrator and placed it on the bed. Next, she laid a blindfold across the pillows.
Suzanna stood back to admire her work. It was not quite right. After turning the vibrator sideways, and pointing the ties toward it, she stood back again. “That’s better,” she said to herself. The ties and the blindfold would tell Rob she was his for the taking, but the smallest of her vibrators would say, Take me slow and gentle, I want to be pleasured for a long time.
With one last glance at the bed, Suzanna closed the bedroom door and headed downstairs. Rob was waiting in the hallway with his jacket on, and bouncing the car keys in his hand, just as he always did when they were running a little late.
He looked up at her. “You look fantastic, babe.”
“So I was worth waiting for?” She knew the answer. Rob’s taste in female attire was quite straightforward: black heels, black fishnets and a short dress did it every time.
Only on this occasion, the heels matched her navy dress and underwear.
Drops of light rain peppered the windscreen as they passed over the bridge and turned into the car park. Suzanna looked up to the sky. It was dark and uninviting, but the heavier-looking black clouds were way off in the distance. She made the decision to leave her coat on the back seat.
She squeezed Rob’s thigh. “I’m off. You’ll have to catch me if you want something special tonight.”
Suzanna scurried across the gravel car park. When she reached the pub entrance she stopped to wait for Rob, and looked down at her shoes. Not liking the cement-like wet dust that was all over the front of them, she plucked a few tissues from her handbag and set about cleaning them up.
“Have I made it in time?” asked Rob.
Suzanna’s mind had moved on. “Sorry?”
“Does this count as catching you?” He took hold of her hips and kissed her.
“I guess it does. Come on, let’s go in.”
Nigel and Felicity had secured a good table in the conservatory section of the pub. It was a good evening. The conversation flowed free and easy, just as it always did when they went out with Nigel and Felicity. As they waited for the bill, heavy rain started to pound the conservatory roof. It told Suzanna she had made a mistake. She should never have left her coat in the car.
Her second mistake came as she hurried across the car park ahead of the others. Rob’s car beeped and the indicators flashed. She quickly opened the door and slipped inside, soaked to the skin, and very annoyed with herself. It was as she clunked the car door shut that she first felt uneasy. The smell was wrong. The seat was wrong. It was the wrong car.
Just as she was reaching for the handle to get back out again, Nigel climbed in beside her.
“I don’t mind if we do,” he joked.
“Sorry, Nigel, I had my head down as I ran across the car park.”
“It was an easy mistake to make.” He smiled and patted her thigh.
“Well, they are similar.” Suzanna engaged his eyes, and then looked beyond them. Felicity was already inside Rob’s car. Nigel was turning the ignition key. It seemed that the boys were playing a little game.
Things got interesting when the two cars turned in opposite directions as they left the car park. Suzanna looked across at Nigel, looking for a chink in his unblinking eyes. He just stared through the rain-splattered windscreen, and went up through the gearbox. What was going on? Had they prearranged it? No, they couldn’t have known she would get into the wrong car. They were just playing it by ear, taking an off-the-cuff joke as far as they dared take it. Suzanna decided to play it cool. If they wanted to play games, she was more than happy to see how far they would go. She pulled the seat belt across her body and fastened herself in for the ride.
Nigel carried straight on at the roundabout, the most obvious place to turn back if he was going to. Feeling detached from reality, Suzanna stared at the bulge in Nigel’s trousers. The fact that he was turned on was turning her on too. Filthy images popped into her head. Not for the first time in her life, she
imagined sucking Nigel’s cock.
His mobile let out a double beep from inside his pocket. He ignored it and carried on driving. It was time for some lust-driven fun. Suzanna moved her knees wide apart and waited for the inevitable attention her legs would receive from Nigel’s eyes. He did not disappoint. The bulge got bigger.
They reached Nigel and Felicity’s house. Nigel turned off the engine and pulled out his mobile. He stared at the message, smiled and passed the phone to Suzanna. Ah well, the game is over, thought Suzanna, suspecting Rob and Felicity were back at the pub car park, wondering why they were not back there too. However the message was not the one she was expecting. Is it OK for me to go inside with Rob?
“Is this a question for you or me?” asked Suzanna.
“Both of us, I guess.”
“Mmm, that’s what I thought.”
Nigel gently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You haven’t dismissed it out of hand.”
“No, I haven’t. But neither have you.”
“Well, you must have felt my eyes on you enough times in the past.”
“That’s true. I have noticed how you seem to enjoy my more revealing dresses.”
Nigel chuckled to himself. “What, like when you dropped your knife on the floor tonight?”
“It was nice of you to pick it up for me.”
“It was nice of you not to close your legs.”
“One good deed deserves another. But you want to do more than just look, don’t you?”
“Well.” The finger drumming stopped. “Yes.”
“Have you and Felicity done anything like this before?”
“No.”
“Have you talked about it?”
“Umm, no.”
Suzanna found it interesting that he did not ask the same question of Rob and her. “And you’re happy for Rob to fuck Felicity?”
He gulped. “Yes.”
Making that final step was not as easy as Suzanna thought it would be. Despite what Nigel seemed to think, Rob and Suzanna had only ever shared fantasies about such things. If they were going to do it, Nigel and Felicity were the obvious couple to do it with. But suddenly it was real. She stared through the rain at the front door and asked herself if she had the courage to walk through it. The answer had to be yes. Having got this far, she did not want to falter at the final hurdle. After taking a deep breath, she thumbed a reply into Nigel’s phone. Yes. But don’t use the bedroom. Have fun!
The Mammoth Book of Erotic Stories Page 26