The tail twitched wildly, thickening to several times its original girth. Using her fingers, with their clawlike nails, she spread her labia wide open and pushed the engorged tip into her sex until she couldn’t shove it any farther. She aimed David’s slickened organ at her nether orifice, rubbing the glans against the puckered little opening while thrusting the tail in and out of her sex.
“I’m yours,” she hissed. She pushed him into her, then pressed down slowly, groaning with the effort.
He groaned, too, as he penetrated her, his shaft inching deeper, deeper, into the impossibly snug flesh. It gripped him like a fist gloved in cool satin. The lack of warmth should have repelled him, as should his being forced to perform an act of sodomy, but the pleasure was mounting too swiftly, robbing him of his qualms—of his very thoughts.
“Yours, all yours,” she whispered in Lili’s voice, her movements growing sharper, more frenetic. “I belong to you, David, and you belong to me. You’re mine now.”
She was kneading her sex with one hand and manipulating the tail with the other, as David thrust faster, deeper . . . for he found that he could move his hips now. He’d been reduced to a rutting beast, straining and grunting in a frenzy of lust.
“Fuck me,” she ordered in a hellishly deep, hoarse voice. “Fuck my arse. Fuck it hard, David. Squirt it full.”
Loath to submit to this unholy creature, he tried to lie still, to resist his body’s urgent quest for release, but it was so hard, agonizingly hard. His ballocks tingled and swelled, his groin growing tight and heavy with seed. He was gasping for air, his heart racing.
Hold back, hold back. Don’t let her make you spill. Don’t give her that victory.
“Ah, yes,” she said as the tail began to pump, pulsating tremors coursing all along its length. She milked it as she rubbed herself, moaning the foulest things David had ever heard as her body convulsed wildly. Hot cream oozed from her sex onto David’s lower belly.
“No,” he groaned, struggling to stave off the inevitable as the tingling in his ballocks spread down his legs and up his turgid organ to the throbbing tip.
“Yes, David. Now,” she rasped, riding him hard, churning her hips. “Shoot your load. Shoot it deep.”
His back locked into an arch as the spasms ripped through him, discharging gush after gush of pent-up seed, a screaming deluge of it.
He’d awakened moaning in time with the last few diminishing spurts, lying on his back with his buttocks clenching, clenching . . .
“God’s bones,” he’d whispered as his lungs strove to stop heaving, his body to stop quaking. Throwing aside the bedcovers, he’d lifted his shirt, muttering “Shit” upon finding his thin linen drawers soaked through with his spendings.
He’d rinsed out his drawers and lain awake the rest of the night, wondering what to make of that dream. In its immediate aftermath, he’d briefly nurtured the notion that it might not have been a dream at all, but a real diabolical visitation. However, even with his mind prone to flights of fancy as it tended to be during nocturnal musings, he’d had to conclude that it had been no actual succubus ravishing him in his sleep, but rather his demon-obsessed mind.
“What do you think of our bathhouse?” inquired Lili from the arched doorway of the edifice, which looked rather like a Roman temple fitted out with wrought-iron furniture and scatterings of jewel-toned pillows.
Its white marble walls had been eroded by time and the elements, but it was still a beautiful structure, the focal point of which was the square, mosaic-floored pool in which he had spied Lili and Elic coupling the night before. The water was glassy-smooth except at the far end, where it rippled as it emerged from a conduit to the underground cave stream; presumably it flowed out through a similar aperture that David couldn’t see from where he stood. The open roof, which emblazoned the water with sunlight, was supported by four pillars with a life-size figurative sculpture at the base of each.
David was about to respond that it was a very lovely bathhouse when he realized that the four statues were of couples locked in sexual concourse, each position more indecent than the last. Two depicted acts of intercourse, the other two of oral copulation, the male being the recipient in one case and the female in the other. The male’s generative organ was unnaturally large, a thick, veiny column about a foot long. David’s scalp tingled when he noticed a tail with a little tuft at the end, ears that came to a slight point, and two stubby horns that were barely visible within the satyr’s cap of tightly curled hair.
He had been aroused already, remembering that dream. It didn’t help to be in such close proximity to the exotically seductive Lili. The delicate pressure of her arm linked with his, the silken brush of her skirts and huge puff sleeves, and most intoxicating of all, her perfume, which made him think of night-blooming flowers in a Persian garden . . . jasmine, he thought. These things provoked in him a low hum of desire, like the resonance from a tuning fork, that made him keenly aware of every inch of his body—especially of that all too excitable organ between his legs, now stirring heavily beneath his coat as he took in these ribald statues.
Lili said, “The man who built this bathhouse, and the villa that once stood where the castle is now, regarded this valley as a pleasure retreat. Of course, the Romans had a rather sportive view of fleshly matters. It was simply a leisure pursuit to them. I do hope you aren’t shocked.”
“Of course not,” he said, but wanting to mitigate that bit of fiction—for truly, the mouth that belieth killeth the soul—he added, “I suppose I am a bit taken aback, but not shocked per se. I have viewed the Pompeian artifacts at the Secret Museum in Naples, so I do realize that artwork portraying satyrs was frequently quite obscene. I will confess, however, that the . . . well, the lifelike size and quality of these statues, and the skill with which they were executed, makes them all the more . . .”
“Titillating?”
Incredulous that he was discussing such matters with a female—and not some trollop, but a lady of obvious breeding and cultivation—he said, “Clearly they were created with titillation in mind. I suppose what truly shocks me is that they remain standing after all this time. I would have thought they’d have been removed long ere this, on moral grounds.”
“You said yourself they’re beautifully executed. They’re exquisite works of art.”
“Art? They are prurient in the extreme.”
“Which means they cannot be regarded as art?” she asked.
“To my mind, no.”
She smiled at him in a way that made him feel like some dim-witted Philistine. Would that he’d never followed the conversation down this particular path.
“Is this what you’d wanted to show me?” he asked.
“No, it’s something else, another statue even older than these, one of the most ancient artifacts at Grotte Cachée. It’s in the cave.”
David looked toward the slab of dark, moss-draped volcanic rock that formed the back wall of the bathhouse. Slightly off center in the rock face was a roughly triangular opening about five feet high. A little bluish bird—a thrush, he thought—stood sentinel just inside this natural doorway.
She said, “There is a chamber called the Cella about a quarter mile in, where the Gauls who once lived here used to worship their gods. They carved a stone effigy with some rather curious features.”
A quarter mile in. Precisely the limit imposed upon him by Bartholomew Archer. Far be it for her to have invited him to venture farther than that.
David had yet to set foot in the “Secret Grotto” for which this valley had been named, and he was eager to do so, but not with Lili as a guide. He’d meant it when he’d told the archbishop that he would refrain from becoming too familiar with the residents of Grotte Cachée. Doing so could only muddle his judgment and call his conclusions into doubt.
It would be particularly unwise to cultivate an attachment to Lili, with whom, if he were honest with himself, he’d been enthralled from the first. And, too, how likely was it that this
effigy would be of interest to his investigation, given how keen she was to show it to him? He would be better off exploring the cave on his own, at night, as he’d planned.
“It is a statue of a dusios,” she said.
He looked at her sharply. “A dusios?”
“Do you know what that is?”
He hesitated for a moment, choosing his words. “I understand it to be a type of demon.”
That smile again. “What some call demons, others call gods. A French term for them is Follets. ‘Dusios’ is a Gaulish name for a type of Follet with the ability to transform himself from male to female.”
It was a simplistic description of a complicated being, to which a large section of Dæmonia was devoted. According to the writings of St. Thomas, Vallesius, Maluenda, and others, he’d written in his introduction to this type of incubus, Dusii procreate, after a fashion, by assuming a female form so as to fornicate with an exceptional man and secure his seed, after which they revert to the masculine and lie with a woman into whose womb they inject that seed. The offspring of these unions, although the human children of the men whose seed were captured, are reputed to be endowed with extraordinary gifts. Plato, Alexander the Great, and Merlin, among others, are thought to have been conceived through the intervention of a Dusios.
This is not to say that Dusii only engage in coitus for the purpose of reproduction. They are, like all Incubi, sexually voracious. In a state of almost constant carnal excitation, the Dusios, in his native male form, will copulate with any and every desirable female who puts herself at his disposal, as well as with some who do not, by means of enchantment that causes his victim to submit willingly to such violation. There is no agreement amongst demonologists as to whether Dusii, or Incubi in general, are in the habit of taking human women by physical force. From my study of the subject, I would suspect that there are some who are and some who are not.
Lili said, “The stone figure in the cave portrays both male and female physical attributes. I had thought you might find it interesting, given your artistic inclinations, but having witnessed your reaction to these satyr statues . . . well, I’m afraid you might be put off by—”
“No, no, not at all,”he said quickly. “I . . . I do think I would find it interesting, very much so. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression of me. I daresay I’m a good deal more broadminded than I let on.”
“Well, if you’re certain . . .”
“Quite.”
The thrush left its post to fly onto the back of a chair near Lili, cheeping furiously in her direction.
“Calm yourself, my friend,” she told it in a soothing tone. “We won’t go anywhere near your home.”
The bird lit off the chair and flew into the cave.
“It lives in there?” he asked.
“Yes, deep inside.”
“Do you make a habit of talking to birds?”
With a little smile, she said, “Just that one.” Before he could pursue the subject, she turned away from him and began tugging off her long white kid gloves. “I wonder if you wouldn’t mind unbuttoning my dress.”
Six
DAVID STARED AT Lili’s back, thinking he couldn’t have heard her right. Was she asking him to undress her?
“It’s a new frock, and it will end up filthy if I wear it in there,” she said, nodding toward the cave. “Silk is so wretchedly difficult to get clean.”
“Do . . . Do you really think it seemly for you to disrobe in the presence of a man whom you barely—”
“This from the gentleman who professes to be broad-minded,” she said with a little chuckle. “I assure you I do plan to retain my underpinnings—which, I might add, is more than I had on last night.”
Last night. He was ambushed with the image of Lili naked with her legs wrapped around Elic and her head thrown back, gripped in a paroxysm of lust. “Yes, like that. Oh, God, I’m so close. I’m going to come . . .”
“Considering what you saw of me then,” she said, “your protestations of impropriety strike me as a bit disingenuous.”
“I . . . You . . .” Dear God. Stammering like some Peeping Tom who’d gotten caught, he said, “I . . . I didn’t realize you knew I was . . . That is, I didn’t mean to . . .”
“You didn’t mean to see what you saw,” she said as she turned to face him. “I know that, David, and I’m not trying to embarrass you, truly. I wouldn’t have brought it up, but for your objection to unbuttoning me. I shan’t press you about it, but neither am I willing to ruin this beautiful dress.” Pulling a glove back on, she said, “Let us return to the château, shall we? They’ll be serving tea soon.”
“Yes, of course, but . . . Perhaps if you told me how to locate the effigy within the cave, I could come back later and—”
“You might have a bit of trouble finding it on your own, even with directions,”she said. “It really isn’t that important for you to see it, and it would take time away from your work here.”
“But . . .” Looking back toward the cave entrance, David thought, A dusios. “I must say, you’ve whetted my curiosity to a very great degree. I, er . . . Perhaps I was, after all, being a bit, well, priggish.”
“Not at all. We enjoy a rather bohemian outlook here at Grotte Cachée. Most visitors think us utterly shameless—at least until they get to know us. I should like to get to know you a little better, David. You strike me as a man who keeps much of himself hidden. I would find it a most diverting challenge to unearth the real David Beckett.”
God help me. He gestured awkwardly for her to turn around so that he could undo her dress.
The buttons that ran like a string of pearls down her back were tiny, round, and covered in the same material as the gown, an iridescent, pale green silk that shifted color with every rustling sway of her skirts. It glimmered bluish one moment, violet the next, imparting an air of illusion and mystique that suited her perfectly—unlike her wide-brimmed sunbonnet with its stovepipe crown, which was charming, to be sure, but a bit too provincial to look quite right on the elegant and alluring Lili.
As if she’d heard that thought and agreed, she untied it and set the bonnet on a chair, along with her gloves. Her hair was scraped up into a simple Apollo knot with the front parted crisply down the center, sans the ringlets that were all the rage at the moment. Most women would have looked rather hard with their hair styled so austerely; Lili looked like a Greek goddess.
It took him some time to pry each button loose from its little loop, a process made all the more arduous by his nervous, fumbling fingers. Gradually the back of the dress parted, revealing a corset of ornately quilted ivory sateen laced with a silken ribbon; the same ribbon connected the front and back with a little bow at the outer edge of each shoulder.
Affecting as casual a tone as he could muster, he said,“I cannot imagine that Elic would take it well, were he to come by and find me undressing you.”
After a few seconds of silence, she said, “Are you familiar with the concept of free love, David?”
“I have read the writings of Percy Shelley on the subject.”
“What do you think of it?”
“In truth? Not much, I’m afraid.”
“Why?”
“I . . . Perhaps we shouldn’t discuss this. I do not care to insult you.”
“If you intend no insult, none will be inferred.”
“I cannot help but believe that indiscriminate coupling reflects poorly upon one’s character.”
“Ah, but what if one is discriminating?” she asked. He could hear the amusement in her voice.
“It is still a sign of moral weakness. I was brought up to revere the bodily integrity represented by virginity.”
“As regards females,” she said. “I suspect you are a good deal more lenient as regards the transgressions of your own sex.”
“Not at all. Continence is as much a virtue for men as for women.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, David.” Her tone implied that such a st
ate of affairs was impossible, even ludicrous.
David paused in his unbuttoning, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to avoid this line of conversation.
She looked at him over her shoulder, her eyes wide with incredulity. “You are.”
Trying not to let his discomfiture show in his voice, he said, “The union of the sexes is rightly reserved to those joined by the sacrament of marriage.”
“You are a pious man, then.”
He considered his response as he pushed another button through its loop. “I am regarded as such.”
“An intriguingly vague reply. Are you or are you not?”
Oh, how he wanted to be. The counsel of Father Cullen, David’s confessor at Stonyhurst, was never far from his thoughts. “Blind conformity to the laws of the Church ought not to be confused with true devotion, David. You’ve confessed to taking an excess of pride in your truthfulness, your perfect observance of your vows and of ecclesiastical law. You’ve done penance for the sin of vainglory, yet it is a sin from which you cannot seem to refrain. A priest should be, first and foremost, a man of faith, not an exemplar of correct behavior—or a slave to it. Sometimes I think you’ve chosen a religious vocation more to minister to yourself than to minister to others. Think long and hard on this before your ordination, my son.”
“Genuine, unassailable piety,” David told Lili carefully, “is something to which I aspire.”
“Do you think, if you live your life in a cage of righteousness and rectitude, that you will awaken one morning suddenly aglow with true faith?”
Jolted by her perception, David didn’t answer her. Instead, he pried the last two buttons through their loops and said, “That should do it.”
She pulled two pillowy pads from the sleeves and tossed them aside, then raised her arms, saying “Would you be so kind?”
He divested her of the dress with unpracticed awkwardness, gathering it up as best he could into a great mass while working the sleeves free.
“You can just lay it on that table.” She set about untying a sort of backward apron of starched white lace ruffles affixed over her voluminous petticoats—a bustle, only the second one David had ever seen.
Whispers of the Flesh Page 5
