The Phallus of Osiris

by Valentina Cilescu

  ‘What . . . what are you going to do with me?’ gasped Geoffrey, his words barely masking the urgency of his hopes and desires.

  ‘I am going to teach you,’ replied Mara softly, running her tongue down his breastbone to the waist, and then turning back to let it twist and turn deliciously about each nipple.

  ‘Teach me? I don’t understand . . .’

  ‘I’m going to teach you how to touch a woman. How to caress and kiss and fondle and fuck her. Geoffrey, I am going to teach you how to fuck like a real man.’

  And, before he had a chance to say a word, her lips were upon his, stifling his cries, his moans, his sighs. And her tongue was inside his mouth, circling the depths of its moist dark cavern like some lascivious serpent.

  At last she withdrew from him, leaving him panting and gasping on the bed. But there was no time for him to catch his breath. For Mara was kissing him more intimately now, running her tongue down his body from waist to thigh, taking the greatest delight in teasing the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh with her lewd tongue.

  He groaned appreciatively as her tongue worked its way further in, burrowing its pointed, muscular tip into the fold of his groin. How wonderful, how unimaginably wonderful it felt to have her pleasuring him like this. He thought back to the thousands of times he had resorted to his own fingers and a sordid girlie mag, and a wave of anguish swept over him for all the missed opportunities, all the pretty girls he had left unfucked . . .

  But there was no time for remorse now. There were too many new and wondrous sensations to be enjoyed. The sensation of a moist pink tongue on his bollocks, making the little curly hairs stand erect as though straining, like his penis, for release. The sensation of teasing and tormenting fingers, smoothing and awakening his yearning flesh, making his prick rear its head like a fiery thoroughbred longing for the chase.

  And now another sensation, even more miraculous: the incredible sensation of a hot, moist mouth bearing down upon the swollen tip of his penis, engulfing it, swallowing it down as a snake gulps down its helpless prey.

  And then, slowly and carefully, releasing the prisoner for a fleeting moment, so that the serpent’s lithe tongue might circle about the glistening head of the prey and make it long once more for the dark cavern that awaited it.

  Slowly and with infinite care, Mara sucked and licked at Geoffrey’s prick, judging exactly how far she could take him without precipitating his crisis and bringing a premature end to their innocent game. As her mouth worked upon his shaft, her fingers toyed playfully with his fine, downy bollocks, enjoying their growing heaviness, the way they were tensing up as though gathering all their strength for the final assault, the final push . . . the final spurt of white creamy joy into the abyss of ecstasy.

  But Mara had other plans for Geoffrey. Silencing his protests with a kiss, she rolled him onto his side and then lay down in front of him, working her backside against his pelvis so that his straining prick began to nuzzle its way between her arse-cheeks.

  As quick as lightning, Mara took hold of Geoffrey’s prick and pressed its tip against the entrance to her cunt. With a deft wriggle of her backside, he was inside her, crying out in surprised delight at this wonderful new world of sensations.

  ‘Fuck me, fuck me!’ whispered Mara, taking hold of Geoffrey’s hands and placing one upon her breast, the other between her thighs. ‘And play with me, to give me pleasure, too.’

  An eager learner, Geoffrey was quick to comply, tweaking Mara’s nipple so deftly that she gasped with pleasure, and working his hand into her most intimate crack so that she cried out loud for the joy of having his finger on her clitoris.

  They came together in an explosion of lights and colour and fell asleep still locked together on Geoffrey’s bed. When they awoke, they fucked again, first with Geoffrey on top of Mara, and then with Mara astride him like a steed, spurring him on to the peak of ecstasy.

  In the morning, they fucked again and then breakfasted together like great friends who have known each other for years. Then Mara put on the clothes which Geoffrey had offered to lend her – a pair of old cords and a jumper – and, bidding him a cheerful farewell, set off in the direction of the nearest village.

  When she had gone, Geoffrey sighed and sat down to begin work on his novel once again. Somehow he felt more inspired than he had done for months. Something told him that this novel was going to be a blockbuster.

  Out in the depths of the forest, in the shadows which even at noon the sunlight never quite dispels, a dark and evil presence watched Mara set off along the track that led to Devlingham. She would not be quite alone on her journey.

  2: Dawning

  The Japanese setting was perfect in every last detail. Delgado had worked hard to provide exactly the right ambience in which to welcome Mr Takimoto and his colleagues to Winterbourne. It was so important that they should feel relaxed, at home, off their guard . . .

  The Master was well pleased; not only that Takimoto had accepted an invitation to attend one of Winterbourne’s orgies, but with life and the world in general. He had not yet quite come to terms with the unbelievable sense of release – for, after nigh-on fifty years of darkness and imprisonment, he was at last free.

  And the body he had chosen was also pleasing to him. It amused him greatly to have taken the body of the journalist Andreas Hunt and possessed it, pushing out his puny little soul and condemning him to the same horrible fate which the Allied magicians had imposed on him. It amused him even more to know that he had forced the white witch Mara to obey him, even to the point of plunging the crystal dagger into her own lover’s heart. And now here he was inhabiting Hunt’s body, delighting in its strength of sinew, its youthfulness, its lusts.

  His powers were growing by the minute. Soon they would be infinite. And to what lengths could he then drive the witch Mara in his quest to find and resurrect his lost queen, Sedet?

  The Master glanced around the Great Hall, and nodded his approval to Delgado:

  ‘You have done well, yet again,’ he smiled. ‘Why, I might almost think I was in some whorehouse in Yokohama. You shall be amply rewarded.’

  ‘There is only one reward I crave,’ replied Delgado. There was a hint of pain behind his fanatical eyes. ‘And that is to serve you as others do, as an immortal.’

  The Master sighed. Delgado was a good servant, a faithful slave with a thousand uses. But it seemed he could not understand that the imperfection of his body marked him out as irredeemably unsuitable for the Master’s grandiose schemes. Only the physically perfect or politically influential were fit to be initiated into the new kingdom which he was preparing. Delgado, a mere underling with a twisted leg, would be sadly out of place in such an immaculate world. It was a pity though, for Delgado’s soul was an impressively black one, extremely receptive to evil thoughts and seething with lusts which demanded continual satisfaction.

  ‘I shall think on it,’ he replied, addressing Delgado once again. ‘It is possible that if we can find you another, more suitable body . . .’

  There was no time for Delgado to plead or protest, for at that point the Ethiopian Ibrahim entered to tell the Master that the evening’s guests were arriving. Takimoto and six of his senior executives from Japan’s number-one producer of computer systems, who were currently working on an artificial intelligence project which interested the Master more than a little. Why, the potential for corrupting young minds through the computer screen was infinite and so exciting that his new and vigorous body developed a hard-on straight away.

  The Master surveyed the scene. The Great Hall had undergone a radical transformation since the Egyptian orgy at which his growing empire had gained so many new recruits. In place of the hieroglyphics and tomb paintings, the hall had now been decorated in the style of a Japanese villa, divided up with many paper screens and with its own temple and garden. The sunken pool in the centre of the hall was filled with water-lilies, and a little bridge crossed it. Three naked Japanese maidens sat on the bridge,
their tiny feet dangling in the water, combing each other’s glossy black hair and toying with each other’s bodies as innocently as children exploring the wonderful world of naked flesh.

  In the garden, whores in the guise of Japanese noblewomen were walking and talking or sitting on low benches; the only sign of their false nobility the way their kimonos parted at the front as they walked or crossed their legs, revealing smooth, slender limbs naked to the thigh.

  The temple area consisted of a three-sided structure, opening onto the hall so that spectators and other participants at the orgy could have a perfect view of what was going on. Inside, a number of shaven-headed young monks were at their devotions and flower-garlanded girls were wafting sweet incense skilfully concocted from aphrodisiac herbs and spices by Madame LeCoeur, Delgado’s trusted assistant.

  The centrepiece of the scene was the Japanese villa, a large and sprawling structure made entirely of opaque paper screens, within which lights glowed dimly and shadows moved lewdly and sinuously with the promise of delights to come.

  Beside the ornamental pool Delgado had arranged an area perfect for a formal tea ceremony, so that the guests could watch all the entertainments around them and still enjoy the tranquil pleasure of this ancient Japanese custom . . . with a difference.

  All in all, concluded the Master, Delgado had indeed done well – for a mortal. He nodded to Delgado to proceed.

  ‘Let the ceremonies begin.’ Delgado clapped his hands and Madame LeCoeur drew back the exquisite curtain of painted silk which covered the entrance to the hall.

  The procession entered the hall: Takimoto and his six henchmen, clad in traditional Japanese robes, followed by seven beautiful oriental maidens, immaculately dressed in kimonos and wooden sandals, with dark formal wigs covering their hair. Their eyes were downcast and they walked with tiny steps, their hands demurely folded before them. There seemed nothing at all improper in this traditional scene. But Delgado smiled to himself, for he knew that there would be surprises in store before the evening was over.

  The Japanese businessmen sat cross-legged upon bamboo-leaf matting, which Delgado had had specially imported from Kyoto, and the ceremony began. The Master and Delgado took up positions beside their guests.

  Beside each of the businessmen sat a beautiful oriental whore: each one hand-picked by Delgado from the international network of whorehouses which he had built up throughout Europe, North Africa and the Far East. They had beautiful faces, knowing fingers and a love of the most perverse sexual practices; and Delgado was confident that they would prove pleasing to these transitory masters.

  The paper screen slid across to reveal three more girls. The first was clad in traditional dress, and carried the equipment necessary for the tea ceremony, whilst the other two carried stringed musical instruments rather like lutes. They were also quite naked, apart from little bead necklaces and anklets. The businessmen stared at them open-mouthed, bulges appearing already in the front of their robes; and their female companions began, very slowly, to caress them – at first through the silken fabric, but then growing bolder and slipping tiny, delicate hands through the front of their robes and searching out their eager penises.

  The two musicians began to play, and their companion set about serving tea to her illustrious guests in the most delightfully formal way imaginable. As she knelt before Takimoto and bowed before him, he could not help noticing that her kimono was rather loose at the front and afforded him an excellent view of the rosebud breasts within.

  In silence, the businessmen strove to maintain their distance and dignity, even though the handmaids’ delicate caresses were driving their engorged pricks to distraction. They began to fantasise about fucking these little temptresses with the doe eyes and succulent lips, who knew how to drive their masters wild with the merest touch, or the hint of a sidelong glance from beneath long, sweeping eyelashes.

  For the Master, too, this was a tormenting experience. After so long trapped in darkness, within a useless body, he was hungry for sensations; hungry for the taste of a woman’s cunny, for the soft moist delight of her belly, the heavenly hell of her arse. He too longed to throw down the girls, one by one, upon the hard floor and abuse them, fuck them till they cried out for mercy and not listen. Never listen. Never show mercy. Only fuck, fuck until their life’s energies flowed into him and they lay spent beneath him, whilst he grew stronger and more invincible by the second.

  And the Japanese had, after all, been promised an orgy . . .

  ‘I grow impatient,’ remarked Takimoto at last. ‘This is a passing imitation of our Japanese tea ceremony, and the girls are comely enough; but I am disappointed by the extent of the entertainments you have provided. Were we not promised more than this, Mr LeMaitre?’

  The Master nodded graciously and smiled.

  ‘I fear I must have misled you,’ he replied, his smooth, melodious voice like a silken garotte about their throats. ‘For this is but the beginning of our night’s entertainment. These girls are here merely to amuse, to titillate, to awaken your appetites and your senses, so that you may more fully enjoy what follows next. If you will graciously allow me, I shall show you some more little scenes of . . . artistic merit . . . which I feel sure will delight you.’

  Mollified, Takimoto nodded; and unfastened the front of his robe so that his whore might more easily handle and stimulate his penis as he watched.

  At a nod from Delgado, the fun began.

  One of the naked girls on the bridge over the pool sighed and stretched her arms in a parody of boredom.

  ‘Oh, I am so weary,’ she sighed. ‘I do so wish the Lord Koto would come to us and fuck us.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ sighed one of her companions. ‘It is wearisome being the Lord Koto’s whores when he has so many other women to pleasure.’

  ‘Then can we not make our own pleasure?’ suggested the third girl. ‘May we not pleasure each other, to lighten the burden of our wearisome days?’

  The other girls seemed to think this an admirable idea; and the first girl immediately fell to kissing the second warmly upon the lips, whilst her hands strayed to her breasts, teasing the pert little nipples into stiffness whilst grinding her own pelvis against her sister’s.

  The third girl, no doubt feeling rather left out of the proceedings, came up behind the first and began to run her tongue over her back and buttocks, an action which drew the most lascivious moans from her sister whore. Then she pulled apart the girl’s buttocks and wriggled her tongue into her arsehole, causing the girl to cry out in surprise and delight.

  ‘Oh, do it to me!’ she cried, her eyes widening with incredulity and pleasure. ‘Do it to me, put your fingers inside me!’

  Her sister whore obeyed promptly, licking two fingers as lasciviously as if she were taking a man’s cock into her mouth; and then ramming them unceremoniously into the girl’s cunt from behind, causing still more moans and sighs of pleasure.

  Meanwhile, the first girl was now licking and biting the girl’s nipples, whilst her right hand had strayed further down, and was toying with her glossy black pubic bush, winding the curly black strands about her fingers and pulling hard enough to draw sharp little cries of pain from her willing victim. Then, emboldened by her own and the girl’s desires, the whore pulled apart her victim’s protruberant cunt-lips and sought out her clitoris, pinching and rubbing it so skilfully that the poor girl quickly came to her crisis and felt a great flood of cunt-juice inundating her thighs.

  The businessmen, previously so impassive, seemed most interested in this picturesque little scene on the bridge, and willingly lent their pricks to the skilful ministrations of the handmaids who knelt to handle them with the loving attention of true enthusiasts. Delgado was very proud of the fact that all his whores were as perverted as their clients: no girl came to work at Winterbourne who did not dearly love to lend her body to the vilest and most imaginative perversions.

  Not that they had to work particularly hard: for the aphrodisiac concoction wh
ich Madam LeCoeur had instructed to be mixed with the green tea was already having its desired effect – producing impressive erections which would not soften for many hours, no matter how many orgasms the subject might enjoy.

  The Master required no whore to handle his cock: he had already unzipped his trousers and was manipulating it with true delight – the delight of one who has but recently awoken to discover he has been given the wonderful gift of a new and enthusiastic body.

  And the best of it all was that Andreas Hunt’s old body, now the home of the Master’s evil, immortal soul, had become heir to all the powers which had formerly belonged to the Master: the power to travel astrally; to assume another form; to influence minds and abuse bodies and endow its victims with the same living death which the Master had enjoyed for so long. And more than this: the power to fuck endlessly, to come to orgasm once, twice, a thousand times and never tire. Life – or was it death? – was getting better all the time.

  As the three naked girls on the bridge dived into the lily-strewn waters of the pool, there to continue their lascivious games, attentions were shifted towards the rock garden, where the two lovely noblewomen were engaged in ladylike pursuits – reading, walking, talking, playing Go. It was an idyllic scene, almost silent but for the sound of birdsong.

  What could possibly happen to interrupt the calm of this peaceful Japanese idyll?

  A series of blood-curdling cries rent the air and the silken curtain was once again wrenched back, to reveal three outlandish figures: three Samurai warriors, in full battle costume. They were magnificent, their muscles rippling beneath their armour as they strode into the hall, their swords held aloft above their heads.

  Seeing these new intruders, the noble ladies forgot their gentle pursuits and, screaming, sought to run away. But their assailants were too swift for them, pursuing them and capturing them in seconds.