‘Everything all right? Larry asks.
‘Yeah, fine.’
‘He had a shower. Didn’t you Bernie? To wake him up.’
‘Mind if I help myself to a beer?’ Bernie says.
‘Go head,’ Larry says, and he points to a long cupboard, which conceals the fridge.
Bernie sits beside Madeleine and Larry sits beside Fiona.
‘Guess what?’ Madeleine says. ‘Bernie has very kindly offered to clear the leaves tomorrow.’
‘Has he?’ Larry says.
‘I said we couldn’t let him, but he insisted.’
‘Well,’ Larry says, ‘that is very kind of you, Bernie.’
‘It’s the least I could do,’ Bernie says, as Madeleine’s toes meet his, tickle his feet and then she pulls away.
‘As I said before,’ Larry says, ‘make yourself at home, help yourself to whatever you want. And I mean it. OK?’
Bernie nods. ‘OK.’
Under the table hands are meeting, nudging, palms are tickling, fingers are stroking, up and in between. Madeleine drops her hand onto Bernie’s cock and he contorts his face. Inside, a sigh so deep, he thinks it’s not so bad, staying with my parents’ friends after all.
‘Food OK?’ Larry asks.
‘Delicious,’ Fiona says.
‘Bernie?’
‘Excellent,’ he says. ‘Excellent.’
And in the floor-to-ceiling back doors of glass, Fiona and Larry see it all. The meeting and the nudging and the tickling and the stroking. And the hand on Bernie’s cock. But they say nothing. Because it wouldn’t be fair.
About the Story
I CHOSE DUBLIN BECAUSE, of the four cities in the anthologies, although I have been there on a couple of long weekends and as a child, it’s the city I have spent the least amount of time in, compared to New York, Paris and of course my home town, London. Most people write about what they know, but what I know of Dublin is limited to little more than George Bernard Shaw, the Liffey and Guinness so I thought I would give myself a goal. And of course the story had to be erotic as well. I’ve never knowingly written an erotic story. Two new challenges for me. But where to start? People, historical landmarks, were there any famous Dublin-born Jews? As I mostly write plays, I chose to write a character called Bernie George Shaw, as a tribute to the great Irish playwright, even though he moved to London aged twenty, and was definitely not Jewish! I then let the play unravel organically. I warmed to Bernie immediately, but I had no idea what he was doing in the city, or in a house with total strangers. I’m always interested in the unknown, so my character could be too. In a way Madeleine is a metaphor for the unfamiliar, as well as the city, she is uncharted territory, new to Bernie, and he explores her in a way he will explore the land. As for location, I didn’t want to be in the city centre, but in a more open environment, and I really wanted water other than the Liffey. What better place to set it than a house overlooking Dublin Bay.
Juno and the Peacock
by Severin Rossetti
TEMPLE BAR WAS HIS territory, those cafes and bistros south of the Liffey where he could be found most evenings, preening and posturing, presenting himself as one of God’s most splendid creatures. Inches above six foot, with muscles he liked to flex and always a swagger when he entered the company of women, he had to be seen, be noticed, and be admired. The tourists and students, the hen parties and bright young things who flocked to Temple Bar provided him with his audience, his prey.
Juno had been watching him for some weeks now, had studied his manners, knew his habits, and everything about him was an annoyance to her, from the way his elbows splayed out when he stuck his hands in his pockets, strutting about like an arrogant cock, to the habit he had of stroking his index finger across his brow, brushing aside the wayward lock of hair which always found its way back there.
She decided that she would have him. Not as others might have had him, though, for so many had and any woman could; she would not become a part of his stable, another of his conquests. No, she would have him on her own terms.
Petite and slender, Juno would look quite vulnerable beside him, barely coming up to his shoulder. Insignificant enough to disregard? Or vulnerable enough to tempt him? On such a slender body her breasts appeared quite full, and for the occasion she accentuated them further with a soft lace bra which lifted them and cupped them together invitingly. With the added height he had over her, the low neck of the thin cotton dress she wore would offer him a tempting view. With make-up to suit his tastes rather than hers, a little more obvious than was usual, and a liberal application of perfume, she set out for the bar where she knew she would find him.
He was at the pool table with his mates, posturing as always, a cue resting along his shoulders, behind his neck, and his arms draped over it, hands hanging slackly. She recognised the pose from a James Dean poster, smirked as she wondered if he rehearsed it before the mirror each night. There was certainly a practised easiness about the stance, broadening the back which was turned to her, accentuating the bulging biceps and tapering waist.
She crossed the room, bought a bottle of cold beer, then rested with one elbow on the bar, to wait.
As he circled the pool table it was easy to attract his attention, a smile was all that was needed and she saw his muscles tense, his biceps automatically flex. Looking along the length of his cue at her, his eyes narrowed as he thwacked the balls about the baize, and that swagger she knew so well was back as he sauntered around the table, moving from one shot to the next. The sickly smile he gave her said it all, said here I am babe, you want me.
With the bottle of beer to her mouth, her lips just kissing it, she returned his gaze each time he glanced in her direction, as if studying him intently, though she already knew him well enough.
Finally, the game over, he lay down his cue and came along the bar towards her, his hips rolling, his arms swinging. He clinked his bottle of beer against hers, asked, ‘Another one?’
She smiled up at him as she shook her head, tossing her hair back over her shoulder. ‘No thanks. I’m fine.’
‘Very fine indeed,’ he said, in a deep bass drawl which he probably thought was sensual. ‘The name’s Barry Peacock, but my friends call me Baz.’
‘I will call you Peacock,’ she said, offering her hand.
‘A bit formal. Makes you sound like my employer. Or my teacher.’
‘Could be,’ she smiled. ‘But Peacock suits you, so Peacock you will be. My name is Juno.’
‘Juno. Lovely. Luscious lady,’ he said, which was rather more poetry than she had expected of him.
Her tiny hand was lost in his and he held it firmly, not quite gently enough, as his eyes travelled down to her cleavage, and there was something unwholesome about the way he regarded her, as if she was being visually molested. She suffered the sensation, though, did not flinch from his grip but kept her eyes fixed on his, matching his direct gaze.
Perhaps she disconcerted him, or maybe he actually was thirsty; whatever the reason, his eyes left hers and he tilted his head back to drain his beer, then set the bottle down hard on the bar. ‘That other one now?’ he asked, seeing her bottle also empty.
Again she shook her head, said, ‘Maybe back at my place?’
To give him credit there was no change in his expression, none of the glee she might have expected of him. But then again, perhaps that was his conceit, that he was so sure of himself. He slipped his big hand around her waist as they moved towards the door, then winked over his shoulder at his pals as if to say so easy.
Yes he was! So easy!
Outside, he immediately clutched her to him, crushing her face against his broad chest, his free hand groping her arse, his groin grinding against her. Thankfully it seemed that the height he had over her made him too lazy to bend to kiss her, and patiently she worked her way free of his clumsy embrace. His arm around her shoulder, this she permitted, though tucked into his armpit, as she was, she was aware of his damp perspiration, the sli
ghtly stale odour he gave off. But that was alright, he would be sweating even more profusely by the time she had finished with him.
She lived close by Trinity College, in a basement flat whose rooms were low but sprawling, and he had to duck his head to enter as she gestured him in. There was still a hint of the incense she had been burning earlier. Outside in the garden wind chimes tinkled in the light evening breeze, and all around were the objects she treasured, the enamels and the silks, the Buddhas and the dragons.
‘It’s like entering a sodding temple,’ he remarked gruffly, going to sit uninvited on the sofa.
‘Where you would worship who? Or what? You do know that Juno was the mother of the gods, don’t you?’ she prompted; he looked at her blankly. ‘I’ll go get those drinks.’
She took her time in the kitchen, gave him the opportunity to be bored, restless, inquisitive. When she returned he was looking at the objects on the low table before him, studying each but without much interest. She set the beers down on the floor, waited, then waited a little longer, saw him finally pick up the item she wanted.
‘Chinese handcuffs,’ she told him, stepping forward.
‘Handcuffs? This flimsy little tube?’ he said, looking up and back at her.
‘Here, let me show you,’ she offered, reaching over him, one arm to either side of him. ‘You put your finger in one end, so, the finger of your other hand here. And hey presto! Now pull.’
He tried to pull his hands apart and felt the weave of the thin tube grip his fingers, tugged harder but only succeeded in twisting the tube, not freeing himself.
‘Dimwit!’ she said, and in an instant had stouter cuffs around his wrists, was yanking his arms up and behind him to fasten them to the back of the sofa.
His head snapped to the left, to the right; while he was still trying to figure out what had happened to him, she was quickly around the sofa and crouching down to shackle his feet to a stout iron bar, spreading his thighs wide apart.
‘You really know nothing, do you?’ she said, stepping back and regarding him disdainfully, her arms folded. ‘All you had to do was push your fingers together and they were out.’
He did as she said and his fingers were freed, but not his wrists.
‘Take these fucking things off!’ he snarled at her.
‘For me to do that you’d have to beg, nicely,’ she said, shaking her head, and bent to pick up something else from the table. ‘Now, do you know what these are, my pretty little Peacock?’
‘Ear rings?’ he said, looking at the long black teardrops that she dangled from her fingers.
‘Oh my goodness, no!’ she laughed out loud, and came towards him, bending close. ‘Silly little boy! These are nipple clamps. I’ve made many a grown man cry with these.’
As Juno brought her face close to his he cursed her and spat in it. Slowly she wiped the spittle from her cheek, smeared it across his and then slapped him hard, first with the flat of her hand, then with a backward swipe.
‘You bitch! I’ll fuck you in two for that!’ he threatened.
‘No you won’t, little man,’ she said, bending once more, hooking fingers in his shirt and ripping it open. She twisted a bared nipple viciously between finger and thumb, then fixed one of the clamps on it, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. ‘Brave little boy,’ she smiled, closing the second clamp a little more savagely on his other nipple.
While his eyes were closed to fight the pain she unfastened his jeans and tugged them down to his knees, then his shorts too. Trailing her fingers along the underside of his raised arm, she felt him flinch as she walked around the sofa to stand behind him once more.
‘Ticklish too?’ she whispered, resting her cheek against his, letting her fingers run over his shoulders and down his chest. ‘Well there will be nothing as nice as ticklish for you. For you I’m afraid that it has to be pain.’
She flicked the clamps to set them swinging, tugging at his nipples, then scratched her long nails over the swollen buds. And as his nipples reddened, as their pain grew, she began to lick at his ear.
‘You see, vain macho men need to learn their position with respect to women. And at the moment yours would seem to be pretty pathetic, wouldn’t you say? Though to my mind much more preferable to the arrogant posture you’ve adopted in the past.’ She set the clamps swinging harder, bringing an audible sigh from him now, said, ‘That is something we must remedy, something I will cure you of.’
A hiss escaped his lips, it might have been a curse disguised but she preferred to think not, asked, ‘Does it hurt? Is there pain now?’
His eyes were closed, his head was bowed, his jaws were clenched.
‘Well?’ she demanded, plucking at one of the clamps.
‘Yes!’ he cried.
‘Then why does it excite you?’ she asked, softly now. ‘And you can’t deny that it does. I can see that you’re excited. So tell me, Peacock, why does the pain excite you?’
There might have been a whimper now, but no coherent reply. She walked around the sofa, her fingers running through his hair, down his face, and knelt between his spread thighs. She looked at his erect cock, brought her face closer to it as if for a better look, then licked her tongue just once across its tip.
‘Oh look how it dances for me!’ she exclaimed, as his penis sprang up at her touch. ‘The proud little cock is dancing for Juno, and her a mere slip of a girl while he is such a macho man! How does it feel to be under her control?’
‘Suck it bitch,’ he said, but there was no force in the words, he was weakening.
‘Later perhaps, if you’re a good little boy, if you beg,’ she smiled, and taking his cock in her hand, began to stroke it slowly. ‘And you will beg, I promise you, beg for me to give you the pleasure which will make all this pain worthwhile.’
She stroked his cock for a while, then brought up her hand to show him another of the teardrop shaped clamps.
‘No nipples left, so where can I put this one?’ she wondered quizzically, and slipped her hand beneath his balls, stroked her fingertips across them, then took a pinch of skin between finger and thumb, plucking at the sack.
She paused a moment to look up, to see the fear in his eyes.
‘No!’ he said, guessing her intentions.
‘Yes,’ she insisted, and slowly allowed the clamp to close on the fold of skin, then let it go so that its weight pulled his balls down.
Though he cried out, his cock got even harder; though there were now tears in his eyes they were also bright with excitement. Juno rose on her knees to kiss a tear from his cheek, licked her tongue across his lips, nibbled at his ear.
His breath was coming in short heavy pants now, when she placed her hand on his chest she could feel his heart racing.
‘You want to come.’ She knew. ‘Be a man, swallow your pride, be honest and admit it. You ache for the pleasure I can give you.’
When he made no answer she lifted the clamps which hung from his nipples, looking at him sternly, raised them to take their weight and ease the pain for a moment. Before he could smile with the relief, though, she began to pull on them.
‘Don’t you, Peacock?’ she demanded.
‘Yes! Yes!’ he screamed.
‘Yes, what?’ she smiled sweetly, making circular motions with her hands, tugging his nipples around and around.
‘Make me come!’
Not let him go, or take the clamps off. No. Make him come.
‘Then now is when you start begging, nicely,’ she said, letting the clamps fall heavily, bringing a cry from him which was quickly replaced by a sob of delight as she grasped his cock again, taking it in both hands and rolling it between them. ‘You will say please, you will be respectful in your request, you will call me Mistress as you entreat me. Do it now!’
‘Please! I beg you! Make me come!’
Juno’s hands slowed, barely moving against his cock, as she prompted him. ‘What do you call me as you entreat me?’
‘Mistress! I’m
begging you Mistress! I need to come!’
‘Good boy,’ she congratulated him, one hand now beginning to stroke his cock slowly again, her other closing around his balls to apply a gentle pressure. ‘Of course you need to come. You need your Mistress, don’t you Peacock?’
‘I do!’
With each upward stroke her thumb would rub over the head of his cock, smearing the juices about the wet tip; with each downward stroke she would bring his balls up to meet her hand, pressing them into the root of his cock.
‘You belong to me now. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes Mistress!’ he sobbed. ‘I belong to you!’
‘Good,’ she said, pumping his cock faster, tightening her grip on his balls. ‘And now that that has been agreed …’
‘Yes!’ He let out a cry as strong as any the pain had brought from him, feeling his orgasm build, feeling her hand squeezing, coaxing it. ‘Yes!’
‘No!’ Juno laughed, pulling her hands away ‘No!’
‘Huh?’
‘Poor little Peacock. What you need is an audience! It’s what your vanity thrives on!’
There was laughter from behind him as a second woman came from the kitchen and stepped around the sofa. She was of a similar build; short, slight, with full breasts. They might have been sisters, but Juno introduced her as her friend, her flat-mate, Lucina.
‘Pleased to meet you, Peacock,’ Lucina smiled, quite affably, as if his predicament was nothing out of the ordinary. They might just have met in a bar, or at a party.
Had they? he wondered, as the two women embraced and sat one to either side of him on the sofa. There was something familiar about the woman. But then he had known so many.
‘Now if you were an educated man, Peacock, rather than the macho brute you are, you might know that Lucina is an epithet for Juno, another manifestation so to speak.’
‘My name means “she who brings children into light”,’ Lucina explained.
‘You did remark that I sounded rather like a teacher, when I said I would call you Peacock,’ Juno reminded him, settling her body closely against his, then looking across him to her friend. ‘So, Lucina, what do we do with vain men who get erect so easily, without permission?’ she asked.
Sex in the City--Dublin Page 4