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The Harlot of Venus
by Anonymous 1991
***
The women of Argyre, halfway around the globe on a high
plateau in the southern hemisphere, were sought after
among those who had heard of Argyre, for their scent.
They exuded a kind of potent aphrodisiac perfume, when
sexually aroused, from tiny glands in their vaginal
canals. (MF, prost, rom, sci-fi)
***
By the red, sandy banks of Ferentinae Lacus, in Western
Arcadia on the planet of Mars, stood the majestic City
of Venus. The city spread languidly among the quiet
delta streams of a wide river that wound its serpentine
way down the northern slopes of Nix Olympica to spill
into the lake at its southernmost point. The city's
tall translucent spires in myriad pastel shades had
scraped the pink sky for two thousand years.
Venus was known as the most beautiful city in Arcadia,
filled with a kaleidoscopic mixture of ancient
architecture and modern sculpture. It overflowed with
small museums housing six thousand years of Arcadian
artistic masterpieces dating back to prehistoric times.
The city's ambience and ubiquitous historical
architecture attracted an unceasing flow of artists
from near and far. Musicians and sculptors, painters
and writers flocked to Venus. The flocks attracted
followers aplenty until the city was littered with a
carefree bohemian citizenry as colorful as the leaves
that scattered through the city's many parks each
autumn.
Deep canals of cool water carried from the mountains to
the south flowed in intricate, lacy patterns throughout
the city, winding among the ancient buildings,
connecting them with each other and the lake.
These canals were perpetually filled with the brisk
traffic of small passenger boats, driven by strong
young men with wooden poles, and not a few commercial
cargo boats carrying goods for distribution around the
city. The flamboyantly dressed boatmen often sang as
they poled, until the canals were filled with the
babble of their musical voices, forming a river of
sound in the humid air.
In that beautiful port of legendary grandeur lived a
woman named Cavortia, who was a harlot by trade. That
is not to say she was a common whore, for she was not.
Rather, she was a licensed independent prostitute; a
proud member of a feminine guild who specialized in the
arts of love, and traced their origins back into the
mists of antiquity.
Cavortia had narrow eyes of molten gold in which
glittered flecks of deep amethyst like a scattering of
stars, and hair as deep a blue as the ocean at sunrise.
When she shook it free of ribbons, it cascaded in
tumultuous curls down her shoulders and back until it
reached her narrow waist, accentuating the perfection
of her figure and the delightful shape of her long
legs.
Her skin, which she kept lightly clad in the humid
warmth of the Martian summer, was as green as a forest
glade in the spring and as smooth as the belly of a
summer cloud. Her full lips were an enticing shade of
deep violet; her kiss as sweet as the ripest fruits of
summer.
The gorgeous lines of her straight nose, and the height
of her cheekbones, were an utter delight to behold,
matching exquisitely her upswept eyebrows of deep blue.
She possessed that rarest and most enviable of physical
traits: a startlingly beautiful face with no
unflattering viewpoint, so that no matter from which
direction it was observed, its heart-stopping
perfection was unmarred.
When she was a young woman, she befriended a handsome
Scandian sculptor. He was a sensitive man, delicate of
build, who had attained some local fame, and was
certainly destined for greatness. He tried once to
sculpt Cavortia's likeness in clay, but found her naked
body so stunningly beautiful that he swooned, and was
unable to complete the work.
Cavortia was not the oldest prostitute in the city, nor
by the estimation of some detractors even the most
beautiful, but nonetheless, she was by far the most
expensive and the wealthiest. She did not cater to the
baser tastes of smelly nomads and raunchy seamen, but
to the more refined whims of wealthy merchants from the
old families, brave ships' captains, and exotic
adventuring heroes from distant countries.
Need did not drive her to her profession, as it did
some impoverished girls, for she came from an old
landed-family, and enjoyed a close relationship with
them. She attended a respectable university in the
city, and was well-educated and intelligent.
But her sexual appetite was perversely insatiable --
from the time of her first awakening sensuality, she
desired nothing more of life than to constantly feel
the deep probes of a man's fine tool inside her and
pressing down upon her while she gyrated her pelvis and
clutched his rippling muscles in her long-fingered
hands until her vagina seemed to dissolve in the
sweetness of orgasm. She felt lucky to have been
honored by acceptance into the guild of licensed
independent prostitutes, and to have made a lucrative
profession of her favorite pastime.
But even such an exquisite pleasure as being paid
handsomely for engaging unceasingly in one's favorite
sport, and enjoying a ceaseless series of orgasms, can
become tiresome after a few years of constant
overindulgence. She had been in the profession for five
or six years and, not caring to increase her ample
riches, became more discerning in her choice of
customers.
Cavortia gradually winnowed her amorous engagements to
the point where she had much free time, which she
devoted mainly to the study of ancient literature. She
was passionate about classical poetry and read all of
the books she could find. Only rarely did she see even
her favorite customers. When she did, it was chiefly
for the sheer joy of sharing with them her favorite
pleasurable exercise, and after a time, she ceased to
even consider any payment from her chosen few
bedfellows. In essence, she retired from the active
profession to the quiet life of a wealthy single woman
with a number of eager suitors and a few close friends.
Her favorite partner of all men she had ever met was a
foreign merchant and adventurer by the name of
Magnanimo, whom she met through a mutual acquaintance
during her fourth year in the profession. He was a
strapping specimen: a tall, broad-shouldered man of
Elysium whose people were widely renowned for their
incredible strength and stamina.
He habitually wore the tight-fitting trousers of a
sailor, which accentuated his ample pelvic endowments.
His hair was short-cropped and curly, of a medium-blue
shade, and he wore no beard. Initially, his exotic
appeal to Cavortia stemmed from the light blue color of
his smooth skin and the fact that he, and the males of
Elysium in general, had three separate penises which
could be utilized in tandem with several partners, or
serially to prolong one partner's pleasure. Cavortia,
of course, preferred the latter method, though she did
on occasion invite a female friend, or even two, for an
evening's entertainment with Magnanimo.
Cavortia and Magnanimo became emotionally intimate in a
short time, and he grew to love her passionately. As
their relationship blossomed over the course of nearly
five years, she also came to care for him deeply, and
they were more often together than separated. It became
his habit to stay with her exclusively when he was in
the city, though he retained his own rented lodgings.
She refused to marry him, however, insisting that she
preferred their relationship as it was. Besides, she
rationalized, he was gone frequently on trading
voyages, and she insisted that she would have preferred
to spend less time worrying about the well-being of a
husband. As long as they were not actually married, she
said that she felt no obligation to worry about him
when he was gone. This answer never quite satisfied
Magnanimo, who was completely devoted to her.
Magnanimo made no demands upon Cavortia at all, and in
this he differed from every other man she had known
intimately. If she wanted to see him, he was always
there, but when she did not need him, he was as
instantly absent. His lovemaking, too, was exquisitely
satisfying. He knew every corner of her anatomy, and
could excite her with the simplest touch.
He shared her love of poetry and introduced her to the
Elysian classics, which she came to find singularly
profound and absorbing. He frequently brought her
beautifully bound books of poetry as gifts, knowing
that she especially adored the amorous poets and the
erotic classics. He never spoke of his origins, but
over the years she gathered that he had an unusually
broad education and was exceptionally well-travelled.
His knowledge of the most obscure subjects was
continually surprising to her. There was always enough
mystery and novelty about him that she never tired of
being with him. She could find no fault with him, and
supposed this to be an indication of true love.
She began to believe that she had found in him a
companion with which she could joyfully spend the
remainder of her life. Perhaps marriage to him was not
a thing to fear; they might even have children. Such
thoughts began to occur to her more frequently. If she
were to marry him, she sometimes thought, he would be
no more demanding and no less perfect than she already
knew him to be. He might even take her with him on his
voyages.
In her meandering search for a more productive pastime
than reading and studying to fill the idle days,
Cavortia also took up pottery. She quickly discovered
that she had an unusual aptitude for throwing pots, and
produced a number of functional items that she was able
to sell to her friends without any undue effort; they
bargained for the pieces of their own accord. She loved
to spin the potter's wheel with her feet, letting the
wet clay stream through her fingers. The moist clay had
a sensual feel that she enjoyed immensely.
Often she would sit half the day at the wheel,
erotically stimulated while she repeatedly shaped a
lump of clay; pulling it up into a deep vessel into
which she could insert her whole arm, then abruptly
pushing it down again into a flattened bowl. Sometimes
she made nothing at all, but spun the wheel happily,
pushing and molding clay while she relaxed and let her
mind wander freely in sexual fantasies.
Her first few pieces after obtaining her own wheel were
moderately abstract constructions that were
extraordinarily phallic in nature. Proudly pointing one
out to Magnanimo soon after she took up the hobby, she
said, "This one reminds me of you. Do you like it?"
Magnanimo did find the shape moderately interesting. He
put his arm on her shoulder and answered sweetly,
"Probably not half so much as you like it."
"It gives me fantasies," she answered, sliding her hand
up his thigh with a throaty growl. By the time she
finished with him, he had to agree that her pottery had
a certain piquant sensual appeal, and that he might
like to try the craft himself.
* * *
One day in early summer, Magnanimo left the city on one
of his frequent voyages. He had only to transact some
business in a nearby coastal town, and would be gone
but a few days. About this time, Cavortia had been
having more serious thoughts of giving in to his
requests to join her in marriage, but as yet she had
not mentioned this to him. She was still unsure whether
that was what she really wanted, though she had ceased
to entertain any other lovers. Sometimes she wondered
if he had noticed this fact.
Standing on her porch to see her lover off, she
casually bid him goodbye as if he would be back in the
morning. The sky dimmed suddenly, and they both had to
laugh when they found that he had chosen a most
auspicious moment for his departure: it was just before
noon, and there was a rare double eclipse. Phobos and
Deimos met the sun simultaneously near the zenith,
exchanged their curt greetings, and moved on. He
shouldered his bag and hurried down the street in the
subdued light.
The day after Magnanimo left, Cavortia invited her dear
friend Vanilla to her home in the evening after
attending an afternoon concert at which Vanilla played
the viol with her ensemble. She loved to watch her
friend caress the instrument between her legs, fondling
it delicately with practiced fingers, drawing out the
exquisite deep tones with sensuous movements of the
bow.
The sound reverberated inside Cavortia's torso to the
extent that whenever she watched such a performance she
became sexually excited. She often wondered why Vanilla
never aspired to be a soloist, but supposed that she
could not overcome her innate shyness long enough to
perform alone. Vanilla preferred being another
anonymous member of the ensemble. Cavortia reflected
that her friend was also unconscious of the raw sexual
energy that poured from her while she performed.
Cavortia and Vanilla had been the best of friends since
childhood. Though Vanilla herself had never been a
prostitute, she was a frequent partner in Cavortia's
sexual escapades, and they had shared a series of
handsome lovers over the years. Vanilla was somewhat on
the plain side in physical appearance. She was not too
thin, and her face was pleasantly round.
She wore her hair long, in imitation of Cavortia, but
it did not curl the way Cavortia's hair curled, so she
frequently kept it bound up tightly with dull colored
ribbons, lending her a severe look. Though she had no
specific physical flaws, neither was there anything
strikingly beautiful about her appearance. Cavortia had
always told her that this was a predictable result of
her unflattering attire and bearing.
Being somewhat shy with strangers, and lacking graceful
poise and fashion sense, she had significant trouble
attracting lovers. Men's eyes would inevitably pass her
by. However, she had no trouble keeping for as long as
she fancied men who had once shared her bed -- she had
learned a great deal about the physical aspects of love
from her friend Cavortia. But she never seemed to
become deeply interested in any one of her lovers in
particular, and she quickly cast them off.
Since the two were so close, Vanilla was usually the
first friend that Cavortia invited in after Magnanimo
returned from a voyage, and after she had already drunk
her fill at his throbbing fountain of pleasure. The
three of them were comfortable acquaintances and
occasional bedfellows.
The day was hot, so after the concert, Cavortia stopped
by the public baths to refresh herself and wash her
hair. Vanilla declined an invitation to bathe and
waited outside for Cavortia to finish. The two women
later sat in Cavortia's kitchen, dressed in matching
summer skirts of bright orange. They sipped tea while
Cavortia ran her fingers through her luxuriant hair to
dry it, and cast her eyes about the room.
Her home was large and comfortable, and recently
purchased. Most of the interior had been painted pure
white by the previous owner. It lacked furniture, many
of its rooms being still entirely empty, but she could
not think of what pieces would look well and fill the
space advantageously. She thought perhaps she should
obtain a library from some estate, as books could
easily fill two or three rooms, and she idly wondered
where she could find an auction in mid-summer.
Cavortia pulled open her white blouse and waved the
material in the air. The humidity was less oppressive
than it had been for some days, but the weather was
still hot, and her bath had done little to cool her
off. Her hair was drying too slowly. She wished Vanilla
had not asked for hot tea, and that she would stop
talking about politics. Cavortia was bored and tried to
change the subject, but Vanilla kept returning to the
issue, and could not be averted.
"How come you keep talking about politics?" asked
Cavortia.
There was silence for a moment.
"I played badly, didn't I?" Vanilla asked, dipping her
finger into her tea cup. It was still too hot to drink.
She thought perhaps she should have asked for cold tea.
"No, you played beautifully. You always play
beautifully," Cavortia answered brightly, and grasped
Vanilla's hand.
"I don't practice enough." She started to pick up her
tea cup.
Cavortia realized the problem. "You're still
menstruating, aren't you? That's why you didn't bathe
with me."
Vanilla fumbled with her cup of tea, not meeting
Cavortia's eyes. "Mmmm." Cavortia grabbed the tea cup
quickly before it toppled onto the table, then held
Vanilla's hand firmly down on the wooden surface until
she released the cup.
"Did you take the herbs I gave you?"
Vanilla looked up uneasily. "Yesterday."
"Then you should be through today. Did you bleed a lot
right after you took them?"
"All over the place. I ruined an evening dress, too."
Vanilla fidgeted again, twirling her cup. "You know I
don't like such things. It feels unhealthy to bleed so
heavily."
"But it ends quickly, right? That's the point: it's all
out in one gush." Cavortia sipped her tea again and
shook out her hair, combing it with her fingers.
"There's no reason you should bleed for ten days when
you don't have to."
"I know." Vanilla was eager to change the subject, so
she prattled on about politics. She was not usually
interested in such things, but aside from her fidgety
mood, the city government had grown oppressive of late,
and there was genuine cause for concern.
"Did you know that three people have been executed in
the last ten days?" Vanilla asked, setting down her
teacup.
"No, I hadn't heard," Cavortia answered, not paying
much attention. Politics had never been her forte. She
was hungry, but did not feel like cooking anything,
especially in the heat, and thought perhaps the two of
them should have an evening out. Maybe they could go to
a restaurant. Someplace with music, certainly, and
maybe gambling.
"They were guillotined. Isn't that awful?"
Cavortia nodded. "There are a lot of new gambling
houses. Have you noticed? I wonder if they changed the
district restrictions?"
Vanilla frowned in exasperation. "You haven't been
listening at all, have you?"
Cavortia suddenly took her friend's hand. "Vanilla,
let's forget the political chatter. Why don't we go out
this evening for some recreation?"
"Not looking for a man, are you?" asked Vanilla shyly.
"Of course not," replied Cavortia with a laugh. "It's
just that it sometimes gets tedious when Magnanimo is
away so often."
"You two are constantly together these days. It's a
serious affair isn't it?"
"It's getting more so, I'll admit." Cavortia cupped her
hands to her mouth and whispered, "I may actually be in
love with him."
Vanilla's eyes leapt open widely and she leaned
forward. "Why don't you marry him, Cavortia?" she
asked, grasping her friend's hand.
Cavortia took Vanilla's hand in hers. "I've been
thinking about that recently." She paused with a sigh,
stroking Vanilla's palm, drawing circles with her
fingernail. "You know, he says that if I master the
basics of what he calls `serious navigation' he'll take
me along on a voyage. I almost have him convinced that
I don't need to navigate."
Vanilla sighed and squeezed Cavortia's hand, thinking
that nothing quite that romantic ever happened to her.
"Oh, Cavortia," she said, "how can you not wish to
marry him immediately? He's so gorgeous." Cavortia just
laughed and tossed her head to the side.
Vanilla continued, "He makes love like a dream..."
"Are you falling for him, too?" Cavortia asked, leaning
forward.
Vanilla flushed, "Oh, no, I was just saying he's an
adequate lover."
"Of course." Cavortia knew better than to believe that.
Vanilla really liked him. Perhaps as much as she did.
After a while, Vanilla casually mentioned there was a
local festival in one particular district that had been
recently opened to gambling, so Cavortia convinced her
they should pay a visit, and the two set off
immediately. Cavortia was in high spirits, and in her
friend's shadow, Vanilla was beginning to recover from
her depression. Talking about Magnanimo had helped to
brighten her mood.
They hailed a passenger boat driven by a handsome young
man who was gaily dressed in tight fitting clothes
striped in bright red and turquoise, with a yellow
sash. Cavortia teased him endlessly during their ride,
remarking on his seemingly ample tool, for his crotch
was bulging as he watched her. He nearly collided
several times, having been distracted by her beauty and
the way she frequently let her long, slit skirt fall
away from her thighs.
When they left the boat, Cavortia slipped a hand to his
crotch and pecked him on the cheek as she squeezed it.
"Perhaps a little later, eh?" she whispered into his
ear. The two women laughed, then overpaid him
generously with a silver coin. The young man winked and
waved boldly as he poled his boat back out into the
crowded canal.
Deimos, the larger and more stately moon, had set in
the early evening, and the tiny moon Phobos was
streaking alone across the sky, soon to drop over the
eastern horizon. The stars had begun to wink into
visibility in the darkening sky, but by full darkness
there were no moons to greet them. Cavortia and Vanilla
walked through the crowded streets, arm in arm,
enjoying the scenery.
They were in an older neighborhood of lavishly painted
decorative architecture which would have been cheerful
even had the district not been in the midst of a
festival. A large number of people were dressed in
semi-transparent or light frilled evening gowns with
glittering sea-shell sequins and ells of lace. Most of
the crowd had evidently had far too much to drink.
Several young couples that they passed in the street
were engaged passionately in open alcoves and doorways,
oblivious of the crowds.
Cavortia pointed out to Vanilla one couple who actually
appeared to be discreetly copulating in a doorway while
the crowd milled past without noticing. The young woman
stood with her back against a painted marble column.
Her skirt was pulled up above her knees, and the
couple's hips were rocking together while they smiled
at each other. The young man held her billowing skirts
behind him with one hand to cover his bare buttocks,
and had the other hand behind her head, leaning against
the wall.
Exotic aromas were everywhere, as the street was lined
with carts selling fruit and finger foods to all
passersby. Cavortia and Vanilla caught snatches of
music from each bar and restaurant they passed. A
balladeer here, a classical orchestra there, a nomadic
ensemble elsewhere. The sounds drifted into the street,
mingling with voices of the crowd in an amusing and
ever-changing cacophony that rose and fell in waves as
they walked along the thoroughfare.
After walking for some time, laughing and joking about
people they each noticed in the crowd, they found
themselves near the edge of the district. Much of the
crowd had been left behind. The streets were narrow,
though well-lit. There were many small balconies with
carved railings leaning precariously over the streets.
Sometimes aerial bridges arched across a street,
connecting buildings via the second or third floor.
From many of the balconies hung damp laundry, which
sometimes took several days to dry in the warm, humid
air. After a while, the two women came to a gambling
house at one corner.
"Ah," said Cavortia, reading the sign, which was a
brightly painted affair covering the whole side of the
building. "I've heard of this place. Or the proprietor,
anyway. Wasn't there an incident of some kind here a
while back?"
"Cavortia, let's turn back," said Vanilla, tugging her
arm. She leaned closer and whispered, "it was a murder,
Cavortia, and not a very pretty one. Let's go back."
Cavortia felt a spirit of adventure, and would not hear
of leaving. "Wouldn't it be rather exciting?" she said.
"We might even see some famous underworld figures!" She
dragged the reluctant Vanilla by the hand behind her,
and they entered the establishment.
The cavernous room was noisy and crowded, especially
around the gaming tables, and filled with the haze of
cigar smoke. They managed to find an empty table in the
bar and ordered drinks. While they were sipping these,
an elderly man in long silvery robes came up to their
table. Cavortia knew him at once for a Daedalian by his
lack of a true nose. His pale green skin was wrinkled
with age and his nasal flaps looked dry and withered at
the edges.
"Good evening," he said in a soft, raspy voice with a
thick foreign accent. Cavortia and Vanilla both replied
in kind, smiling faintly up at him.
The old man continued with a warm smile. "Are you by
chance Cavortia, the prostitute?" He inclined his head
as he spoke.
Cavortia laughed aloud. "Well," she said, "I had no
idea my name was so well known."
"My master would be interested in obtaining your,
uh..." he paused slightly, then continued hesitantly,
"services... for a short while."
"No, sorry," Cavortia replied shaking her head. "I'm
retired." She sent the man away.
Vanilla leaned toward Cavortia and flared her nostrils,
closing her eyes. "Daedalians are so ugly..."
"I agree." Cavortia grinned at her friend's distasteful
look. "But they have other admirable qualities."
"Such as?" Vanilla took a long sip from her drink.
Cavortia whispered behind one hand. "Prehensile
penises."
Vanilla laughed then quietly spit the liquid back into
her glass and returned it to the table. She became
immediately nervous and stopped laughing, then tried
again to coax Cavortia to leave. She had almost
succeeded when, a short while later, the old man
returned.
"In that case," he said, bowing deeply, as he came up
to their table again, "my master instructs me to invite
both of you... charming ladies... to a private gaming
room."
Cavortia's smile wilted to a tight frown. She picked up
her shoulder bag and stood up to leave.
"Just for a few games and some conversation, you see,"
the man added quickly.
Vanilla insisted they should leave. Cavortia, however,
although somewhat intrigued, did not want to seem eager
in the least to join the man's master. The Daedalian
continued to chatter at them in a breathy rasp, bowing
and inviting them away, waving his hand toward the back
of the bar.
"All right," Cavortia said finally. "Just for a little
while." As the man led them away, she said to Vanilla,
"I wonder who his master is?"
Vanilla replied nastily in a whisper, "Don't be too
curious... we should leave right now!"
Cavortia turned back to Vanilla. "Probably another
luscious Daedalian." They both giggled and continued to
follow the man.
They were led to a smaller private room in the back and
introduced to the corpulent master of the
establishment, a native of Memnonia whose name was
Bubo. His skin was deep red in color, his eyes bulging.
Like all Memnonians, he had a set of two long,
prehensile tentacles sprouting from the sides of his
chest and terminating in long fluffs of sensitive,
finger-like cilia. He wore heavy robes and possessed a
long beard which was, at the time they entered the
room, greasy with animal fat. Wiping his face with a
damp cloth as they approached, he attempted to stand
up, but his weight pulled him down, and he remained
seated.
"Do come in, Ladies," Bubo called to them as they
approached. His voice sounded deep and oily, though he
put on a casual air. He was seated on some thick
pillows at a low table spread with the remains of a
feast. He shoved aside a couple of his minions and made
room for the newcomers on two pillows next to him.
Glancing at the women nearby, Cavortia decided they
were merely common prostitutes and ignored them as she
sat.
Bubo beckoned a servant with a wave of his arm, then
leaned toward Cavortia and asked, "Can I interest you
in a cigar, perhaps, or a drink?" His breath was foul
and tinged with the smell of meat. He rested one heavy
elbow on the table.
"Yes, maybe I will indulge myself," Cavortia answered
simply, with no warmth.
She sat with her hands in her lap, trying to stay well
away from her host. The servant soon returned bearing
cigars and tall yellow drinks. Each glass also
contained a split cukeyfruit. The fruits were supposed
to be set upright in the glasses, but they were
overripe, and hung limply. Cavortia laughed to herself
at the droll display of poor taste. The cigars,
however, were slender imported affairs of high quality,
having a light smoke and mild, pleasant odor.
Lighting a cigar from the oil lamp on her table,
Cavortia said, "I've never been to an establishment
like this." Putting one hand on the floor behind her,
she leaned back with studied sophistication, and looked
around. There were several gaming tables crowded with
customers who seemed to be enjoying themselves.
At one table people were playing a card game; at
another was a large spinning wheel with black and white
numbers, against which people appeared to be making
bets. It seemed like a large crowd for an ostensibly
private gaming room. She wondered how they were all
related to their host.
Bubo lost no time in coming to his point. "Are you from
Argyre, then?" he asked suddenly.
Cavortia rolled her eyes back, but then smiled. "No,
I'm Arcadian. My mother is from Argyre," she replied,
puffing a stream of light smoke into the air above her.
She thought he was probably too dull to understand the
distinction between race and citizenship.
"Ah, then you're half Argyran," Bubo said, moving
closer. "It's true, then, what they say about Argyran
women?" His long beard bobbed up and down comically
when he talked.
Cavortia cringed as she caught the scent of his foul
breath again. "I suppose it is." The women of Argyre,
halfway around the globe on a high plateau in the
southern hemisphere, were sought after among those who
had heard of Argyre, for their scent. They exuded a
kind of potent aphrodisiac perfume, when sexually
aroused, from tiny glands in their vaginal canals. She
had known merchants to come from all over Arcadia and
pay rather excessive sums simply to lie with their
faces snuggled between her thighs, smelling this
perfume and stroking her lightly.
"Ah, yes." Bubo moved even closer, squirming on the
pillows. "I should like to find out for myself
sometime."
"But as I said, I'm retired," she said firmly. His
fetid breath rather nauseated her and she thought she
should soon leave the place. She probably should have
followed Vanilla's advice earlier.
After a few more moments, politely trying to indulge
their host, Cavortia and Vanilla were persuaded to join
him at a roulette table. It was the table where she had
previously noticed the large spinning wheel. Cavortia
had never gambled in her life. The city had always had
well-enforced restrictions on gambling districts, until
fairly recently, and she did not frequent the sort of
districts where gambling was formerly the main
attraction. She kept her wallet firmly in view, and was
careful to bet conservatively.
Vanilla did not play at all, but sat mutely sipping her
drink with a frightened look, chewing on her unlit
cigar. When she finished her drink, she bit into the
overripe cukeyfruit, enjoying its sweet taste which was
by then suffused with alcohol. Glancing at Cavortia,
she crossed her eyes and made motions as if she were
performing fellatio, flicking her tongue across the tip
of the dripping fruit. Cavortia giggled silently and
put down several bronze coins on the table...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 40