cave, there is a pool of water that is
magico.
What others in this water are feeling, you will feel
. The pool was fed by a stream from the adjacent cave; I could see it flowing in through one hole and out through another. If that cave was, indeed, imbued with a magnetic energy capable of producing delusions, perhaps that energy was absorbed by the water running through it. That might also explain the temperature of the water, which was as balmy as Elic had promised.
And then there was the cave-dwelling bird Elic had called “Darius,” which an overzealous imagination could interpret as a hermit with the power to shape-shift. Rational minds didn’t accept myths and legends wholesale, but rather searched for the grain of truth at their core, and I was nothing if not rational—especially back then.
The novices cavorted like schoolgirls, and much as I tried to dodge their splashing, my shift ended up getting soaked. To my consternation, the damp, filmy linen clung to every contour of my body, becoming all but transparent. I could tell from the way Elic and Inigo looked at me that my effort to preserve my modesty had had the opposite result, the sheer garment adding an aura of titillation I hadn’t counted on. At that point, I realized I would have been better off getting casually naked, like the others—if nothing else, it would have garnered less attention—but my pride wouldn’t allow me to admit this.
“Methinks you would benefit from this,” Inigo said as he offered me a beaker filled to the brim from the ewer in his hand. I took it and retreated to a corner of the pool, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The brandywine was sweet and syrupy, and I gulped it gratefully.
Inigo was offering instruction to Lucy and Bianca as they reclined on the steps to either side of him, stroking their own sexes. “Slow down, ladies. Savor your pleasure. Let it show on your faces.”
Elic molded Sibylla’s hand to his member, murmuring “Softly at first, like this… Tease me a bit, make me ache for a firmer touch.”
To my surprise, Elic’s sex thickened and rose in response to Sibylla’s touch, like that of the satyr in the statues. It didn’t grow quite that large, but large enough to make me wonder how a woman’s body could accommodate such an organ. The sight of it straining upward, with its taut, polished skin and bloodred tip, incited in me a hot shiver of arousal.
Disconcerted by these lewd sights—and my reaction to them—I turned my back, only to find myself facing a ribald statue, the one with the satyr being ministered to in the French manner by the buxom female kneeling before him. He leaned back against the column with his hips cocked forward, clutching fistfuls of her long, wavy hair as she glided her tongue up his shaft. Her eyes were closed, and she was gripping the satyr’s buttocks with both hands. The muscles of his torso and flanks were rendered in exacting detail, right down to a vein snaking downward across his abdomen. His head was thrown back in a grimace of ecstasy, the cords in his neck standing out in sharp relief.
How would it feel, I wondered, to give a man that kind of pleasure, using just one’s tongue and lips? I tried to imagine being licked and kissed on my own sex, and it throbbed in response.
I guzzled the brandywine.
“Take my stones in your hand,” Elic told Sibylla, “and pull down a bit …
gently
. Nay, keep stroking my cock, as well. Aye, that’s the way.”
“Push a finger or two into those sweet little notches,” Inigo told Lucy and Sibylla, “keeping your legs spread wide so your benefactor can see—or you might ask him to frig you with a dildo.”
Frig?
I thought.
Dildo?
Inigo said, “Tell him you wish it was his cock instead, because it’s so much bigger and harder. There’s no man on earth who doesn’t love hearing that sort of thing.”
Keeping my back to the ribald antics on the other side of the pool, I drained my beaker, hoping that it
magico.
What others in this water are feeling, you will feel
. The pool was fed by a stream from the adjacent cave; I could see it flowing in through one hole and out through another. If that cave was, indeed, imbued with a magnetic energy capable of producing delusions, perhaps that energy was absorbed by the water running through it. That might also explain the temperature of the water, which was as balmy as Elic had promised.
And then there was the cave-dwelling bird Elic had called “Darius,” which an overzealous imagination could interpret as a hermit with the power to shape-shift. Rational minds didn’t accept myths and legends wholesale, but rather searched for the grain of truth at their core, and I was nothing if not rational—especially back then.
The novices cavorted like schoolgirls, and much as I tried to dodge their splashing, my shift ended up getting soaked. To my consternation, the damp, filmy linen clung to every contour of my body, becoming all but transparent. I could tell from the way Elic and Inigo looked at me that my effort to preserve my modesty had had the opposite result, the sheer garment adding an aura of titillation I hadn’t counted on. At that point, I realized I would have been better off getting casually naked, like the others—if nothing else, it would have garnered less attention—but my pride wouldn’t allow me to admit this.
“Methinks you would benefit from this,” Inigo said as he offered me a beaker filled to the brim from the ewer in his hand. I took it and retreated to a corner of the pool, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. The brandywine was sweet and syrupy, and I gulped it gratefully.
Inigo was offering instruction to Lucy and Bianca as they reclined on the steps to either side of him, stroking their own sexes. “Slow down, ladies. Savor your pleasure. Let it show on your faces.”
Elic molded Sibylla’s hand to his member, murmuring “Softly at first, like this… Tease me a bit, make me ache for a firmer touch.”
To my surprise, Elic’s sex thickened and rose in response to Sibylla’s touch, like that of the satyr in the statues. It didn’t grow quite that large, but large enough to make me wonder how a woman’s body could accommodate such an organ. The sight of it straining upward, with its taut, polished skin and bloodred tip, incited in me a hot shiver of arousal.
Disconcerted by these lewd sights—and my reaction to them—I turned my back, only to find myself facing a ribald statue, the one with the satyr being ministered to in the French manner by the buxom female kneeling before him. He leaned back against the column with his hips cocked forward, clutching fistfuls of her long, wavy hair as she glided her tongue up his shaft. Her eyes were closed, and she was gripping the satyr’s buttocks with both hands. The muscles of his torso and flanks were rendered in exacting detail, right down to a vein snaking downward across his abdomen. His head was thrown back in a grimace of ecstasy, the cords in his neck standing out in sharp relief.
How would it feel, I wondered, to give a man that kind of pleasure, using just one’s tongue and lips? I tried to imagine being licked and kissed on my own sex, and it throbbed in response.
I guzzled the brandywine.
“Take my stones in your hand,” Elic told Sibylla, “and pull down a bit …
gently
. Nay, keep stroking my cock, as well. Aye, that’s the way.”
“Push a finger or two into those sweet little notches,” Inigo told Lucy and Sibylla, “keeping your legs spread wide so your benefactor can see—or you might ask him to frig you with a dildo.”
Frig?
I thought.
Dildo?
Inigo said, “Tell him you wish it was his cock instead, because it’s so much bigger and harder. There’s no man on earth who doesn’t love hearing that sort of thing.”
Keeping my back to the ribald antics on the other side of the pool, I drained my beaker, hoping that it
Similar Books
