Inside their room he placed her on the bed, retrieved some towels and patted down her naked body, and then dried himself. He slid beside her and pulled the covers up to their necks. She lay on her belly. He began to kiss her shoulders and her back, and all the while his hand coursed gently over her behind and the backs of her thighs. A contented moan escaped her, then her breaths became regular, feathery. He continued to kiss her; he would kiss her until he also surrendered to fatigue and slumber.
“Mr Osgood, a fellow left a car here for you. Here’s the keys.”
“Thanks, Mr Sprague.” Locan took the keys. “Your wife is coming home this afternoon?”
“Yes. Jeanie’s getting out of school early so she can come with me.”
“That’s wonderful. I only regret we’ll not be able to make the lady’s acquaintance.”
“It was good to have you, sir. There’ll be no charge.”
“No, no, no, sir. I’ll have none of that. My employers have very deep pockets. You were a wonderful host.”
“Well, it’s just, I’d like to give you something, me and Jeanie, that is.”
“No need.”
“You got him . . . didn’t you, Mr Osgood?”
“We got him, Mr Sprague.”
Rachel came down with her one bag and kissed Mr Sprague. “Say goodbye to Jeanie.”
“Sure will, Mrs Osgood.”
Locan fired up the car and pulled onto Derby Street, navigating the narrow streets on the way to the Interstate.
“Where to?” Rachel asked.
“New York City. We have a new assignment.”
“What, don’t we get a break?”
“We’re driving. We’ll put in to some delightfully cheap motel halfway through the speed bump between Boston and New York.”
“Speed bump?”
“Connecticut.”
“Oh. So, what’s next?”
“A simple recruiting assignment.”
“Recruiting? We don’t recruit. That’s what the big black monsignor is for.”
“Occasionally we recruit. These must be very special people; a lot of bigs are going to be there.”
“Who are they?”
“Not sure, a young Jewish couple.”
“Jewish?”
“When it comes to the Palatinae, the Vatican is very ecumenical. All they’re looking for is talent and merit.”
“Hmm, I don’t know any Jewish people.”
Locan looked at the old town in the rearview mirror and smiled. Behind them a dull, grey-steel sun lingered low in the sky over Gallows Hill, impatient to set.
My Two Halves
Alana James
I sit in the dim room of the private members’ club, eyes fixed on the illuminated platform in front of the audience. The Magician moves lithely over the stage, like a snake uncoiling. He gives no name other than The Magician, and hides most of his face behind a black mask. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” he says, and much more.
The Magician goes like this, like that, reading minds, conjuring tricks. My lover, Alexander, sits beside me forsaken. This is his club, he brought me here, into his exclusive world, but I am no longer here with him. My body is stirring with desire for this faceless Magician. His deep brown eyes are hypnotic; they draw me in, deeper and deeper so that I have the sensation of falling.
I objected when Alexander told me his surprise date was a magic show. I thought it childish, another sign that it is time to fly free of our relationship. Alexander had insisted we go, that his friends at the club would be disappointed otherwise. Alexander is older, more commanding than my previous lovers, and I’ve enjoyed surrendering to him sometimes. The sex has been decadent and uninhibited, though lately I’ve begun to feel constrained by us, by him. Now, however, I am glad I capitulated, as I find the magic show is stirring very adult, X-rated, feelings within me.
When The Magician calls for an assistant for his next trick my hand twitches. I realize Alexander is nudging me, encouraging me, “Go on Laura . . .”, and soon the people sitting around us are joining in. I hesitate, then submit.
The last thing I see before the box shuts over me is the masked face of The Magician; his eyes shine intensely and then all is darkness and sensation.
At first I feel nothing except my own nerves. My body is shaking silently. I tell myself, this is just a trick, it isn’t real. From outside the box I can hear the muffled tones of The Magician, explaining the trick to the audience. He is going to saw me in half.
Lying on my back, fully enclosed inside The Magician’s box, I wish I were wearing something less flimsy. The satin of my skirt is making me slide over the smooth velvet as I struggle to stop trembling. The strapless corset exposes the pale peaks of my breasts, giving me a vulnerable sensation. My red hair has fallen in waves around my head, as though I am an unseen sleeping beauty about to fall asleep for a thousand years.
I am not sleeping; instead my body is pulsing with excitement and I long for The Magician’s attentions. I lie here, drifting into fantasies about The Magician’s touch, how it would compare to Alexander’s tender yet forceful advances. Then, suddenly, hands start to come through the holes along either side of the box. The box is lying on top of a wheeled table and is made up of five wooden sections, which fold up and close with latches at the top. Each section has a round hole on either side, and panels at each end with semi-circular gaps cut out for my body. I force myself to stay calm. The Magician explained that he would ask members of the audience to come and check that I really was lying fully down in the box, that there were no hidden compartments. No trickery in the magic trick of course.
Softly, fingers begin to roam the sides of my body. They prod into my flesh, as though checking that I am real. Then they move further inside. Hands grasp my wrists and ankles, other hands are sliding over the material on my thighs. I squirm a little, as if to say yes, I am all here. They don’t desist, instead foreign fingers reach the mounds of my breasts over the top of my corset. I’m not sure if any lines have been crossed, or if it is just that my senses are heightened because I can’t see anything.
Then one hand pushes hard, pushing its fingers under my corset, and I know this shouldn’t be happening but still I lie here doing nothing. I feel . . . electric. I want to see where this will lead, how far it will go. As the fingers finally find my nipple, others begin to rub between my legs. Ashamedly my thighs part as much as possible within my confines to give them more access. I can feel my pussy growing wet and eager. I realize I have been holding my breath, and release it now in a low groan. More, I’m thinking, give me more. Both my nipples are being twisted, the pain balanced by the sweet sensation as my clit is rubbed. As the strangers’ hands caress me I think of the mysterious Magician, of his slight yet powerful body. The dark box smells of my pussy now, and I think I might actually come but then the hands withdraw.
Did someone realize what was happening? Did Alexander understand this infidelity, hidden yet right before his eyes? Or was one of the hands his? I wonder how he will feel about this possession of my body by others. I am too turned on to know what I think about it yet. No one releases me from the box though. Again I hear the sound of The Magician speaking to the audience. They are poised on his every word, laughing on cue. A brief moment of silence and then The Magician raps on the top of the box; this is my signal that the trick is about to begin.
He never explained how it would work, I realize. He only told me not to worry, that I would be put back together again in the end. I remember that he winked at me and I didn’t think to ask any more. I surrendered once again.
The box starts to shudder, and there is a loud, roaring noise above me. The saw! This isn’t real, it isn’t real, I repeat to myself, but I’m not sure I believe me. Before I lay down, The Magician showed me the electric saw, let me touch its teeth, feel how real it was. It is supposed to saw halfway through the middle section of the box and me, splitting me in two. I see it in my imagination now, the long metal prong coming towards me. The
horrible sawing noise continues and I feel so frightened I am crying. It goes on, getting louder until at some point I pass out.
When I come to I feel queer, but very much alive. The top two sections of the box, around my head and upper body, have been opened and The Magician is standing over me, gleaming proudly. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he announces, “I reveal the two halves of my glamorous assistant!” The small room applauds thunderously. The Magician takes two steps back from my head, into the middle of the stage. I can’t believe my eyes but I see now why the applause is so great. When I roll my head to the side and look across the stage, I see the box that I am in. Rather, I see the lower half of the box; the two sections below my waist have been opened so that my body, from my hips down to my feet, is revealed. The spotlight is no longer on The Magician. Instead the two segments of my body are illuminated. My two halves now command attention.
It is impossible. I know that what I see cannot be real. There is no pain and I know that the saw did not touch me. To test this strange reality, I wiggle one of my legs. The leg across the stage likewise wiggles. I lift it up, cross my legs, and watch as my body obeys at a distance. The audience laughs at my dismay, as does The Magician. He calls for volunteers to come and test for themselves. Slowly people start moving out of their seats and onto the platform. I notice how different they are from me; they are more self-assured, like Alexander. I cannot see my lover in the milieu.
The audience begin walking back and forth from my torso to my legs, marvelling at the trick. Someone grabs one of my legs, I gasp, and the crowd laughs. They remove my shoes and tickle my bare feet and I laugh too, though I feel quite uncomfortable. A woman bends down close to my head.
“Is it real?” she asks. “You can feel that?”
“Yes, I can feel the rest of my body. It is my body.”
“How spectacular.” This is not what I would say if I was her, I would be too astounded and would probably want to leave. I don’t have that option though. The woman doesn’t seem afraid, instead she leans closer and kisses me on the lips. She smells of flowery perfume, and faintly of cigarettes. When the shock fades I try to move my lips away, but she, or someone else, holds my head in place, pinions my arms to the bottom of the box. The kiss is long and deep. I have kissed women before, but none have been this forceful and it rekindles my desire and frustration. My body begins to throb again, yearning. This woman’s lips are replaced by another’s.
At the same time I can feel more hands on my lower half. The crowd are no longer tickling me, they are caressing me, my feet and legs. When I am no longer being kissed I see my body across the stage, my skirt being slid up, at the same instant that I feel it happening. I try to sit up, to object, to say I am unsure. I feel I could go one way or the other, withdraw in fear or submerge into pleasure. The Magician appears above me, flanked by Alexander. Their eyes are smiling wickedly and I know now that this is all part of the show. That perhaps I was the only audience member who didn’t know what would happen to me. Momentarily I am surprised that Alexander has given me over to The Magician, to the audience, like I were his property. I am a plaything for these people, but as much as this enrages me it excites me too. The two men shift and fade out of vision, leaving me to the mercy of the crowd.
I watch voyeuristically as a group of men and women pull my skirt up above my legs, see my lacy underwear on display, and feel the sensations all at once. Their touch is gentle yet insistent. The people surrounding my upper half have unbuttoned my corset, and I feel cool air on my breasts and lips teasing my nipples. I feel in all ways torn in two; I want to drown in the attentions being given to me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the spectacle of me across the stage. My pussy, though removed from me, feels slippery and aching. I see my hips twitching, thrusting my gash towards the crowd. Fortunately they see the sign that I am ready, and pull my underwear from me. Fingers begin to circle my labia, tugging at my curls of pubic hair.
Pulling my awareness back to what is happening around my upper half, I see that several men have undone their flies and are masturbating over me. I yank my arms free and gesture to them to give me their cocks. Soon I am being kissed again by strange faces while I pound their shafts. I feel, not see, the first cock that enters my pussy. It is rough and hard, and I can feel the smooth texture of a condom. My body stretches to take it in. I move my hips in motion with my unknown lover, feeling but not seeing his hands around my hips. I increase the speed at which I jerk the cocks in my hands, even as the one inside me speeds up. My groans mingle with those of the crowd around me, watching intently. Then, too soon, hot liquid spurts over my palms, and then over the top of one thigh. I moan, this time in frustration because my body is still too turned on for this to stop.
The men who have finished move back, making way for new ones. The group at my upper half shift so that I can see across to my lower half once more. I feel and watch a blonde-haired woman lick the come off my leg, then she turns and passes it from her mouth to another. My legs are pulled wide, for a brief moment I see my own pussy spread open as I never have before. Then someone else, a man who may or may not be Alexander, begins to fuck me. I grunt with satisfaction at the movement I can feel and see, and the heat inside me starts to build again, coursing through my body.
Before I lose myself completely, a woman with her short skirt hitched up lowers her bare pussy over my face. She grinds her wetness over me, journeying up and down before bringing her mound to my lips. It is hard to breathe like this, and I am overwhelmed with her sex juices, the cock still driving into me and the stiff members being pushed into my hands. But I ride it out, thinking again more, more, I can take more. Still I desire one more. Where is The Magician who rent me asunder? He is obscured, his whole body masked now by the crowd.
All around me is sweat and confusion. I lose track of how many men come over me, of the women whose hands twist my nipples, who offer their nether lips to my mouth, of the number of times my sex is consumed. There are too many hands touching me for me to distinguish each stranger’s touch; they hold my legs open, knead my breasts, cup my ass, slide along the thin layer of sweat coating my body. I am unable to orgasm through penetration and this means that I can exist in this flush of arousal for a long time. In all of this I feel passive yet powerful. I did not set out to be the object of desire for these people, but I find myself in the thrill of it, my body and mind responding in equal measure. I am the star of this show now.
But slowly there is a parting in the throng of people, a tunnel of vision, and I see The Magician pushing the lower section of the box on its wheels across the stage to me. I cry out in despair, I am not ready for this to be over, I crave The Magician still. The Magician doesn’t respond, his jaw is set in determination. The two halves of my body are being reunited, but I see now that they are topsy-turvy. My head lies below my feet, staring into the passageway between my legs.
I see my own sex now, see my sexual desire before me like it is a secret entity I am just discovering. How many women truly know their own pussy? I view my own hungry maw clearly for the first time; it is mine yet it is a stranger to me. I gaze in awe now at the puffy red folds of flesh, the soaked sets of lips and the hard, pulsing bud of my clitoris. I reach out to touch myself, enthralled and intensely aroused by my own body. The crowd around me are once more just an audience, watching silently as I penetrate my pussy with one finger, then two, three, four. And I too watch myself, see how my gash expands to receive my hand. This vision raises my arousal to fever pitch. I groan unabashedly, caught up in the moment, but then my hand is withdrawn by another, replaced by the leather gloved hand of The Magician.
Yes, this is what I want. My body responds in crescendo to The Magician’s touch. He remains masked, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible to me and this makes me want him more. I close my eyes, choose to only feel and not see. I sense heat, and his mouth closes around my clit, sucking on it until I can scarcely breathe. His fingers continue to drive, deep; the leather is suppl
e and I feel it sliding easily along my insides. It is like a symphony is being wrung from me, the notes getting higher until I am singing out. The Magician is using his other hand to pull my skin taut above my pussy, increasing the intensity of his touch. He twists his fingers inside me as he fucks me with them, and tugs on my pubic hair with his teeth, teasingly, before biting softly on my clit. The bittersweet contrast of this pain with the pleasure of his tongue lapping in circles around my clit brings me close, closer, until I’m climaxing at last. I open my eyes again and watch as I come in shudders around The Magician’s hand. He pulls his mouth away, letting me see the full glory of my pussy in orgasm. Spent, I close my eyes and darkness descends once more.
When I open my eyes, I sense that time has passed. The spotlights have gone out, and I am shrouded in silence. I am lying, still on the box, but all the sections are open now. My body is whole again and fully clothed. I sit up tentatively, fearing I could break in two. The Magician is gone and the room is empty, save for Alexander who is sitting in the front row watching me. He gets up now and helps me down from the table. I let him put my shoes on as I readjust to being whole.
We do not speak. I am grateful to him for this night, but I know now that I am ready to leave him. My body, its power, has been reawakened and I want to savour it, reclaim it. I kiss him briefly and then walk away.
A Washington Square Romance
Maxim Jakubowski
On Broadway, he bought her an I LOVE YOU rubber stamp, which would never be used.
The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11 Page 10
