“My beautiful girl,” murmured the self-styled she-husband. “I love you so much. Have courage, dear. You are stronger than you know, and I will be with you always.”
Alison rested her head on Mary’s knees. “Darling,” she asked, “do you think that women in America have all the rights of citizens?”
“I am sure they have,” responded Mary. “The Americans are allies of France, and their government was founded on the same principles:
liberté,
égalité, fraternité.
They can hardly deny us any of the Rights of Man.”
“Oh Mary,” sighed the juvenile and misguided young lady. “I would give up everything I own to be as free as a man! I want to earn my keep, but what trade could I follow in America?”
Mary gently raised her companion up until the two were standing together, wrapped in each other’s arms. They swayed gently in a rhythmic, silent dance as Mary sought to comfort Alison without words. I was given a clear view of Alison’s red bottom, which aroused me despite the distaste-fulness of my position. We three seemed wrapped in a strange and potent spell.
Mary broke the silence at length. “You are a clever pupil, my darling,” she assured her, “and could learn any trade you please.” She continued: “You are a good shot with your bow and arrows, and a fair rider. You could be a huntress in the wilderness, as free as the goddess Diana. And I can always keep us by the skills of my hands, if not by my wits. Now we must dress ourselves again to face the world, my good wife.”
Alison seemed to be assailed by doubt. She touched her own belly, tears shining in her eyes. “What if I were with child, Mary? What could I do?”
“You would bear it in our new home, dearest, and we would raise our son or daughter with love to spare. No child of yours will ever be called a bastard while I am alive, Alison. You must trust me.”
After much kissing and exchanging of sounds too low to be heard clearly, the two deluded women helped each other into their clothes. And then Alison spoke my name in a tone which assaulted my ears like a blow. “What if Frank discovers us, my love?” she demanded. “He distrusts me already.”
Mary laughed like a fishwife who is accustomed to shouting in the streets. “Even if he were watching us now,” she boasted with arrogant deliberation, “would he denounce me as his rival and challenge me to a duel? Would he inform the police that his fiancée has been stolen by her own maid? Would he take you to be examined by a physician who would confirm that you have been ruined? Would he carry you off before the wedding day? Not he. His own pride will protect us until we make our escape.”
At once, my own cowardice rose up in my throat like bile. Had the two females intended to lure me into the foul pit of their degeneracy in order to watch me suffer? Had the whole world turned upside down so that those who had once been lowest now held all power? Intolerable!
“Damn you!” I roared, springing to my feet. Before I could control my emotions, I seized one of my pistols and aimed it at Mary, the cause of my Alison’s downfall.
“Frank!” screamed my former sweetheart, eyes wide with fear. “No!” She threw herself upon her lover to shield her. I realized that I had fired when Alison sank to the ground, blood pouring from a wound in her neck.
From that moment, I was like a man possessed. The fiendish Mary, dressed as a man, moved toward my poor fallen Alison, and I felt as though I would lose my wits at the sight. How many more young lives would the unnatural being destroy if she were allowed to live?
“Stand back!” I commanded, causing her to stand motionless, staring fearfully at my weapon. Even when faced by the man she had wronged, she breathed no word of remorse, and expressed no feminine desire for forgiveness.
I discharged a bullet directly at her heart, hoping to dispatch her at once. Her vile screams were so maddening that I scarce remember what I did next. Even when half-mad, I knew that I could not leave her to suffer. I fired at her head, the seat of her depraved schemes, and at last she lay in deep and utter silence.
How strange I felt, standing alone in the rustling woods with no sound of a human voice in my ears! Despite her treachery, my heart swelled with grief at the sight of my Alison, once so full of life and now permanently lost to me in death. How still were the two bodies! I felt no triumph, but a grim sense of having followed the prompting of Nature at her most relentless.
As a gentleman, I could not leave the dead unburied. On leaden feet, I returned to my home to fetch my most trusted and stalwart servants to help lay my late fiancée and her seducer in the earth to which we must all return in our time.
And so I stand before you, gentlemen, charged with the murders of two helpless women because I played the part of a man. Would any of you have acted differently under such provocation? And have I no claim on the mercy of the court, although none was shown to me?
I submit myself to your will. And if I must keep an appointment with the hangman, this sordid tale will at last end with no consequences to a living human heart. I have been told that hanged men spill their seed at the last, and thus my future heirs may die before their conception on the weathered wood of the gallows.
Perhaps the world has turned upside down after all. If that be the case, may my testimony reach the wondering ears of another audience, like a ballad of doomed love that cannot die as long as it is still sung.
HEAVENLY BODIES
Andrea Miller
Aries
“Forget social niceties,” Aries said. “Let’s screw in the bathroom.”
Refreshingly direct, I thought, but there was no way I’d follow her to
that
grimy stall. And the problem wasn’t the graffiti on the door or the overflowing trash can. No, the problem was that since Aries moved to town, she’d humped scores of women hovering over the toilet here at the bar and I refused to be next. Nope, I liked her too much for her to leave me in a washroom high and dry, or even high and wet. As perverse as it sounds, I wanted a relationship with Aries. You see, I’d a sixth sense about her—that under the tough butch exterior she was a lost lamb.
“You horny bitch,” I said, smiling. “We’re
gonna fuck in a bed.” Then I grabbed a fistful of her short hair and dragged her outside. In the parking lot was Aries’ car—red and low to the ground. We got in and she started the ignition.
“I’m not sure,” she said, putting the car in DRIVE, “that I can wait for a bed.” Aries slipped her hand up my skirt, proving her point, and the proverbial sparks flew. I still wanted box-spring dignity, but I began to reason that a car was good enough. I spread my legs to give easier access. Very easy—I wasn’t wearing panties.
With one hand on the wheel, Aries simultaneously made sharp turns through empty streets and soft strokes against my fur—so soft and teasing that I realized she was making me wait for making
her
wait. I rolled into her hand, wanting more, harder. Yet she continued with her light touch and occasional no-touch as she changed gears.
Finally Aries turned onto the highway and sped up, her foot pressing into the gas pedal, her finger plunging into my hole. I moaned and rammed back at her. Aries went faster, dodging cars; streetlights and inky night blurring past us. My heart raced and I tried telling her to stop driving. But a part of me—the slick, throbbing part—didn’t even want her to slow down and the words jammed.
Aries pinched my clit, then rolled it with her fingers. She was being rough now, but the rub was bringing me to the edge. I lifted my hips off the seat and, jerking hard, came wet against her hand.
Aries pulled over onto the side of the road, gravel crunching under her wheels. Is it free will or destiny, I wondered, that doesn’t have a bed for us? My slit pulsing, the stars twinkling, I couldn’t tell.
Taurus
“I had a craving for brownies,” Taurus explained as she dipped her finger in the pot. “Taste this, sweetie.”
My mouth watering, I leaned in to lick the long delicate shaft of her finger and to swallow every trace of the just-melted chocolate. Leaned in to suck as if I intended to tongue her very bone. Taurus pulled out and took the chocolate off the heat. “The next step,” she said, “is to beat the butter.”
She put two yellow sticks in a green bowl and started the hum of the mixer. But the taste of her finger had left me hungry for more than brownies, and now I nuzzled her neck where the neat line of coffee-colored hairs met bare skin.
The butter growing light and fluffy, Taurus sprinkled in the sugar as I pressed against her—feeling the hard bone of my cunt sink into her generous ass. She added the chocolate and I fondled her breasts, her nipples stiffening under my touch. She cracked the eggs, mixed in the flour, folded in chunks of white chocolate. And all the while my hands strayed lower—across her round belly that was a sweet contrast to her limbs knotted with muscle—and down to her clit that was plump and prominent.
Taurus spooned the mixture into a buttered pan, put the pan in the oven and set the timer; we had twenty minutes. I nudged Taurus to the counter, getting her to lean over it with her legs spread and her back to me. I pulled down her boxers, baring her butt. Then, I slipped a finger into her pussy. She squirmed into it, moaning, and with my other hand I reached for the butter open on the counter. I took a generous swipe and greased her crack with it, making it so slick my finger easily slipped in. I felt the rub of my own fingers through the thin wall separating her two holes and my cunt throbbed. The
kitchen was thick with the deep, heady smells of slit, sweat and chocolate.
Taurus turned to look at me with her liquid-brown, almost bovine eyes. “Now,” she said. “I need to come now.” Still pummelling her ass, I ripped my fingers from her gooey cunt and pressed them to her clit—her clit so hard it felt like it had a stubborn bone lodged inside. Taurus bucked between my hands. Her flanks straining. Her neck muscles bulging.
“Baby,” she grinned, with a final shudder as the timer rang ready. “You can ride me anytime.”
Gemini
The Gemini sisters kissed and it looked perverse—like someone pressed against a mirror, lips on the glass. Impossible to tell apart, they both had long limbs, pale skin and hair streaked blonde. I’d just met them earlier that night at the theatre. A double feature had been playing: two sexy French movies with convoluted plots. Neither twin had needed the subtitles. Both were good with tongues.
One Gemini circled my waist with her arms, pulling me in. And the other coaxed my mouth open, slipping her tongue between my lips. “Forget social conventions,” whispered the twin whose hand was roaming from my waist to my breast. “We’re all consenting adults,” she continued. “And you like it, don’t you?”
My nipples growing hard and my slit growing wet, it was obvious I liked it. But I didn’t
want
to.
This is wrong
, I thought, feeling a twin roll my nipples between her fingertips.
We shouldn’t do this,
I thought, sucking the other one’s throat.
This isn’t normal
, I thought, creaming all the more. Yes, some taboos are like that. Terribly, deeply titillating.
Stroking my ass, my breasts, my cunt, the Geminis unzipped my zippers and unbuttoned my buttons. It felt like they had a million hands all blowing over me and like my hands would never be enough to know their double curves. One Gemini latched her mouth onto my nipple and chewed slightly; the other lodged her thigh between mine. And the three of us humped hard, smearing juice across each other’s skin.
Suddenly one Gemini had a fat dildo—double headed with snaking silicone veins. She and her sister lay down opposite each other, legs butterflied open, and brought the cock to their holes. Then, gyrating, they swallowed. The twin bed underneath us moaned with each thrust and the yellow duvet got wetter. How many other women, I wondered, have the Geminis brought to this apartment of theirs and fucked on this tiny bed? Then the Geminis pulled me on top of them and I wondered nothing.
My tits hung in one Gemini’s face; my cunt hovered over the other’s mouth. And with me spread wide like that—perfectly exposed to their darting eyes—all their quick movements suddenly stopped and they simply studied me. The shape of my lips, hood, clit. The size and slope of my nipples. I waited for what seemed like a very long time, desperate to have their two tongues wash over me.
“Beautiful,” sighed one Gemini, her breath blowing cool over my slit.
“Lovely,” agreed the other, taking a taste.
Cancer
The porch light was on and soft music leaked out through the window. Slipping my key in the lock, I pushed the door open and heaved my suitcase over the threshold. Inside were the
smells of roasting and stewing, candles and Cancer. Hearing my footsteps, she raced to me and crooned, “I had a feeling you’d arrive around now and I’m so glad you did.” Then she looked at me with her large wet eyes and kissed me slowly, deeply, her hand cool on the back of my neck.
We’d been together for years, but we still didn’t like to be apart, even for just a few days. And during this business trip—a seemingly endless week—I’d missed her with particular sharpness. Missed her pale, translucent skin and her face round like the moon. All I wanted now was to melt into her warm breasts. “Come,” Cancer said, leading me to the bathroom.
The tub was a gorgeous old-fashioned claw-foot and Cancer had just filled it with deliciously hot water and a sprinkling of white rose petals from the garden. Anticipating a long soak, I started to take off my blouse, but Cancer caught my fingers mid-button. “Let me do it,” she said. “You need pampering.”
Her hands moved over me—slipping off my skirt, rolling off my stockings—until I was naked except for the thick steam clinging to everything in the room. Cancer, however, was still in her bathrobe. I tugged the satin belt and the robe opened like curtains—revealing full breasts and pale pink nipples. “Oh, I’m not getting in,” Cancer said. “I’ve already bathed and I want you to have the whole tub to yourself. I’ll stay with you, though.”