a_harlot_of

Archive-name: a_harlot_of_venus

Subject: SP fiction: A HARLOT OF VENUS

Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories

(see info at end of extract)

There's a place on Mars
where the women smoke cigars
and the men go around
with their wieners hanging down.
-- Children's Ditty

The Characters:

Ambiguo Friend of Cavortia's Father
Amphora Old nomadic woman
Antepustio Nomadic caravan leader
Bambilico Merchant of Phlegethon
Barbello Elysian visitor
Belladonna Princess of Scandia
Beytkliye Mother of Cavortia
Bubo Corrupt Memnonian merchant
Capriccio Pirate captain
Cavortia Harlot of Venus
Corpusculo Son of Fyltha
Crustezia Servant in Ambiguo's house
Drydock Magnanimo's servant
Flaccido Admiral of the Elysian fleet
Fyltha Prison servant
Hien-Ssu Hippogryph keeper to Ambiguo
King of Elysium
King of Scandia
Kotzia Wife of Bubo
Magnanimo Cavortia's Elysian lover
Pescadalio Father of Cavortia
Porcupina Wife of Corpusculo
Porqua Wife of Ambiguo
Rhamnusia Harlot of Phlegethon
Sportio Harbor master of Elysium
Syringina Dancers of Acheron
Vanilla Cavortia's best friend
Various servants and citizens

A Harlot of Venus

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...

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Last modified (12/24/96 14:09:08) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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