After a time, reclining on a velvety arm chair, I realized I was staring into the eyes of the Spanish woman. She was lazing on a bank of oversized pillows, her robe slightly parted to reveal long legs and just a touch of spectacular thigh. Her auburn hair was sparkling, little rivulets of fire flashing out from it like flames do from the sun. It fascinated me. How did she do that? I shook my gaze free and rose to search for a bathroom, needing to release the intoxicants I’d imbibed over the past two hours. I felt steady enough, and beyond a white marbled arch I found the toilette off one of the sumptuous bedrooms. There was a lovely ivory toilet there made entirely out of marshmallows. I knew this because of the way it deflated down when I sat on it. Finally, as it sort of enveloped me, I realized I was hallucinating and that something had been in the protein drink, or maybe the champagne – who knew? I heard a bubbling brook nearby, then thought, no, that’s probably me.
I had experienced psychedelics before and it had been pleasant, an afternoon spent at Point Reyes on the coast north of San Francisco with a close friend, a memorable, uplifting journey into an alternate consciousness. So the phenomenon itself was not terrifying. But when you’re seriously stoned not of your own choice, when something has been slipped to you, that’s quite enough to make you anxious.
There was a single knock on the door. I knew instinctively it was her, and that we both knew the other one knew. “Gabrielle, my dear?” I stepped to the door and opened it, trying to remember her name.
“Mariella,” she said, smiling clairvoyantly. “Won’t you come with me? You’ll be quite safe.” What had appeared from across the living room as flames in her hair had diminished to a beatific glow about her head. Her eyes were amazingly sweet – that’s the only word I can think of to describe the sensation of looking into them. I took her hand instinctively. In my altered state, it felt like crushed velvet, and as I held it a spider of electricity wiggled its way up my arm and then trickled down to tickle my vulva deliciously. Our hips grazed together as we walked. We passed through one bedroom into another, where she turned and opened a door. I thought it must be a closet, but a staircase was there that curled downwards. It opened onto a big circular room the shape and structure of an oversize hot tub, but covered everywhere in multi-colored cushions. Mariella led me to the center, then asked me to lie down on my back and close my eyes. I felt no resistance to her, and obeyed. A stately, achingly beautiful melody – it was Ravel’s Pavane For A Dead Princess – floated somewhere above me. I lay there watching an amazing light show going on behind my eyelids. I felt her warm, naked body slip down beside me, heard her gentle sigh dissolve into rapid breathing, felt her forehead press tenderly against mine. This felt utterly different from the ribald scene in Italy with the young girls by the river. We hardly knew each other, yet there was a tender intimacy that took my breath away. In my altered state, it was as if our two bodies were blending together, like a creamy melding of our femininity. Her leg fell across mine, her velvet arm brushed across my bare stomach. Each motion caused a wave of ravishing colors to pulse across my retinas and roused an aching need in me. Her kisses were falling on my cheek now, her lips trailing down to my neck, slow kisses, but moist and full of desire. Chills were shooting up to the top of my head and then down my spine. Her hair grazed along my shoulder, and I reached out to touch it, then trail my fingers softly through it, brushing it back playfully, to show her I wanted her to keep doing to me anything she wished. Her hand was unhurriedly cupping my breast now, squeezing it again and then again, ever so slightly, savoring its fullness with her womanly gentleness, making me wait and wait for the touch of her finger on my nipples. My breathing was coming faster now. I turned to her and sought her open mouth, as our lips and tongues met like two rivers of desire in a desert, and we drank of each other, her sweet saliva quenching just a little the fire building inside me. In my stoned brain, I saw two rainbow snakes writhing together deep within a tunnel that was dripping with honey. But despite the passion of our fevered kiss, her hand kept creeping ever so slowly toward my nipple, until finally her two fingers grasped it and a bolt of pleasure swept through my breast, then straight down to my cunt, a wave so strong my hand reached down to clench my pussy, already a wet jungle of love nectar.
The leg she had thrown over me was grinding against my thigh now, and her self-stimulation added her soft moans of desire to mine. My fingers, moist and sticky from my own juices, slipped up across her hips and shapely waist, then up her smooth stomach to one of her lush breasts, straight to a wide aureole at its center, so ripe for moistening. She cried out with delight at my touch as I spread my juices all around the aureole, then reached her fully-erect nipple. It felt just like a tiny cock as I wiggled it back and forth, squeezing it and making it all sticky. I could see it in my imagination, reaching up like a little being, begging for my attention. I was so wet. I reached down to my cunt again for more fluid and applied it to her other nipple as she cried out with pleasure. I slathered it around until her breasts were all moist and the fragrance of my pussy enveloped us both. That was enough for her. Her hand left my breasts and fell between my now open thighs, but even now she was teasing me, kindling my fires even higher as she caressed and rubbed all around my Venus mound and my vulva, tickling my wet inner thigh, making me thrust and move my hips until finally I was begging her, “Oh, please! – touch me there, please!”
And then she had slipped into me, her fingers delving into the slippery pink world of my cunt, sending a column of sweet fire up into my brain. Her thumb rubbed my clit delicately while two fingers probed inside with a steady rhythm, softly, gently, not like a man’s rough invasion, no pressured message that an orgasm was demanded of me, just a loving touch, a pure, sweet visitation, a soothing of my inflamed pussy. She slipped one hand behind my neck and lifted my head to better possess my mouth with her kiss and then placed a knee between my legs so she was ranged over me. This benefited me in two delightful ways: first, here were her beautiful breasts before me – I broke the kiss and lowered my lips to them, lashing one nipple, then another with my tongue, pulling them one by one deep into my mouth and sucking them sweetly. Next, I could reach one hand lower, down to her pussy. Her whole sex was wet with nectar, her legs just as slippery as mine, and after playing and caressing it, I slipped my fingers into her, squeezing her breast with my other hand and covering it with kisses and little bites. I was thrusting harder now, and inflamed by my touch upon her, she moved her fingers faster inside me. I pulled her mouth back onto mine, then buried my face in her neck as my whole body tensed and I sent a river of come all over her fingers. I opened my eyes then, and in a brief vision saw her as a great plumed bird who had borne me high aloft and whose wings were beating gusts and waves of ecstasy into the deepest recesses of my body. The vision passed and it was Mariella again, smiling down at me, a wondering look in her eyes. Still on fire, I pushed her back against the pillows and turned and snuggled my face down between her thighs, stroking her fleecy, fiery red hair and placing longing kisses and lickings there. She was all syrup and cinnamon to my senses. Her tongue had found my sex as well, and we lay together on our sides drinking our fill of each other. Very soon she reached her peak and thrust hard against me as I twirled my face all around her cunt to provide maximum stimulation.
But we were two women together, this was not a male rocket that had taken off and crashed to a spermy landing. We were still filled with the desire to be close together, to cuddle and touch, our bodies still tingling with erotic energy. Our hands still roamed over each other’s breasts, our mouths licked each other’s fingers, we still rubbed and caressed each other’s cunts. We were two love-snakes again, every pore of our being filled with delight.
But then I felt another pair of hands gently pushing one of my legs away from where Mariella’s head lay. I heard her giggle and shift slightly to focus on my still sensitive clitoris with little flicking movements of her tongue. They were a man’s fingers I knew, opening my pussy lips as he prepared to
enter me.
“Hello, darling, I missed you,” came Antonio’s voice. “Are you still having any room for me in your world?” I moaned my assent, my words muffled by Mariella’s sweet cunt, and then gently, slowly I felt his thick rod slip into me. I heard Antonio sigh with satisfaction at the double pleasure he was getting from being in me while Mariella laved her tongue all around our joined sexes. Then another hand appeared, gently brushing the hair from my face and carefully adjusting Mariella’s leg to permit him entry to her as well.
“And who’s that knocking at my door?” laughed Mariella. It was her Greek athlete companion Dion, owner of a big, beautifully-formed phallus I impulsively grabbed before he could plunge into her – licking its big head all around and tightly stroking up and down the sensitive area just below it. His prick looked like a mystical beast of some kind, a dragon or a giant eel, I felt like Alice, lost in a kind of erotic Wonderland filled with magic pleasure-beasts. I was fearless and delighted, stoned enough to experience these hallucinatory fantasies but grounded enough to know they were just that. I took his glowing cock and planted it at Mariella’s opening, massaging those cinnamon pussy lips of hers with his big head, up and down, all around, until he thrust his hips forward and in it went to the hilt, to her “ooh!” of satisfaction. And then both men were pumping into us as we stroked their balls and licked each other’s clits and drooled saliva onto the union of cunt and cock. Our juices were flowing unstoppably. I caught Mariella’s nectar in my hand as it dripped down Dion’s balls and lavished it all over her clit and licked it up and swallowed it, reveling in the pungent tastes of both him and her.
Now others were coming into the big room. Hands caressed my breasts. Lips and tongues tickled and sucked on my nipples, Other hands caressed my feet and my legs. I was adrift in a sea of endless sensation, coming and coming for I don’t know how long. After that I only remember an endless, delicious intertwining of beautiful bodies, fine colognes and perfumes mixed with the provocative smells of sex. Our identities seemed to merge. At one point we extended ourselves into a long circle, each of the four women’s pussies being ravenously eaten by a guy, while we women lavished all our oral skills on the phallic wonders in our possession, stroking and sucking them. Our moans and cries of pleasure filled the room. Later, the men arrayed us in a circle in the center of the room and played a game something like “musical pussies:” Petros circled the four of us, rubbing his dick around one girl’s vagina as she softly begged for it, then moved to the next, teasing her in the same way. Then another male joined so that there were two men teasing and frustrating us, sampling the dimensions and feel of a lady’s cunt on his cock, then moving on without penetrating her. We began cajoling them sweetly, saying things like, “I need your cock in me,” or “My pussy is aching for that big dick,” or “Oh please just fuck me with that thing…” Finally one guy settled on the pussy he wanted to fuck and drove home with a moan of pleasure, then another found the cunt of his choice, until all our pussies were filled up with pounding shafts and our ecstatic cries filled the air. We held hands while we were being fucked and kissed each other and clung tightly together as we were all ravished.
The last thing I remember that night was all of us lying on our backs, gazing at a ceiling infused with myriad colors, a numinous light show that hypnotized us into a sweet serenity and slowly lulled us to sleep.
“Gabrielle! Gabrielle!” Antonio was shaking me awake. It was difficult to understand what I saw as I opened my eyes. Was it a dream or another hallucination? How could I be breathing underwater? A clear blue surface was just overhead, shimmering and sparkling, circular – as if we were submerged in…a giant aquarium! I gazed all around me. We were surrounded by flocks of multi-colored fish flitting about us, groupers and sea bream and squirrelfish, a flurry of long-nosed trumpet fish. The cushions of the night before had disappeared, and the “hot tub” floor on which we lay, now completely transparent, was of some kind of pillowy plasticine. Below us, the crystal clear sea fell away into a translucent jade. I heard the purr of a motor somewhere.
“Antonio, the yacht is moving,” I exclaimed. “We’ve been kidnapped!”
“Yes, I guess so.” He smiled enigmatically. “But what a ride.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
“No, I feel alright. I think…”
Looking around, I saw there were two richly made terrycloth robes set there for us, and we donned them, our still-naked bodies luxuriating in their softness. The logo “Love and Freedom” was embossed on their lapels. Just then a passageway opened behind us and Mariella and her Greek soccer player appeared in their robes, all smiles and bearing gifts: fresh orange juice, hot buttered croissants, a bowl of succulent mixed fruits.
“Did you sleep well, beautiful people?”
“See here,” I said, “this is beyond the pale. You can’t just spirit us off to God knows where. I have a schedule, we have plane tickets for home…”
“Ah, Gabrielle,” Antonio said, “you mustn’t worry so much. That old life of yours, are you sure you want it back?” I looked at him. Something about him was different, something in his eyes. For the first time on our trip, I felt alone. For a microsecond, I experienced a hallucinatory flash, an image other than what I assumed he was, something ancient or iconic, something alien. But it faded as quickly as it appeared.
“It’s not my old life, Antonio, it’s my life. I made it happen. I earned it. You became a part of it. Now you sound like you want to leave it.” Antonio laughed nervously.
“Oh darling, do not be so serious. We go home soon, of course. But this is not special day? Special place? Amazing people?” Mariella had come behind me and was gently massaging my neck and shoulders. Jacques Cousteau’s undersea world was swirling around me, below me lay a free-fall into unseeable depths.
“Yes, dear Gabrielle, just one more day, you won’t regret it. Petros and Ambrosia – all of us – we’re so pleased we found you!” Her boyfriend was spooning out a little plate of fruit for me and Antonio. He held it out. “Mango, pomegranate and freshly cut figs,” he smiled. “They’ll calm you.” I reached out absently for a piece, then stopped. What had they put in this?
“Where are you taking us, anyway?”
“Naxos! Lovely Naxos. Petros promises to fly you two back this evening.” I picked at the slices of fruit. They were very sweet. “Last night he said he was bound for Mykonos.”
“There’s some place Alban wants to visit on Naxos. We’re all going for a hike! The exercise will do us good.” I couldn’t help but laugh.
“We didn’t get enough last night?” That broke everyone up. The laughter, and the flashing imagery of the night’s ecstasies with Mariella served to warm the chill in my heart. I had sampled more of the fruit and reached for a croissant, a crispy perfection. Antonio poured my coffee.
“Well, one more day won’t hurt, I guess.”
“That’s the spirit!” Antonio exclaimed. “My goodness, what an amazing ship is this! And how you are all being kind to us.” I looked around, wondering what sort of James Bond technology was involved in transforming what was an enclosed haven of sensual pleasure last night into this disorienting marine park attraction. I picked up the last slice of pomegranate and popped the sweet red flesh into my mouth, chewing thoughtfully on its squashy seeds.
A chill ran down my back.
“So tell me more about this hike on Naxos,” I asked Mariella quietly.
“Oh, I think we’re going to have lunch in Filoti, a little village there. It has a marvelous view of the sea. Then there’s a famous cave Arban was talking about. Zax Cave or something.”
“The Caves of Zas?”
“That’s it! Do you know them?”
“Yes I do. They were said to be the home of Zeus when he was a child. Sort of like a Greek Bethlehem, I guess.” But far more frightening, I was thinking. I tried to conceal my alarm, and I was very aware that someone else might think I had gone crazy. But somewhere inside, warning bells were go
ing off I couldn’t ignore. I had seen pictures of the Caves in my undergraduate years that sent chills through me, though I never knew why, especially the one that looked like a dark, gaping hole straight down into…somewhere I didn’t want to think about. And now, it the context of all that had happened, well, it was just too much.
I stood up. “Mariella, where is a rest room?” She directed me there and inside I tried to throw up. I couldn’t do it. The voice that kept telling me not to worry, that my fears were baseless finally won. But only for a moment. One thing was sure – I would never set foot in that cave. When I came out, the three of them were waiting in the bedroom and we returned together to the main room. Petros, Ambrosia and all the rest were there to greet us enthusiastically. Outside, the sea was silky smooth under a clear sky and bright Mediterranean sun, as the cruise made its way past a group of small islands off to port.
The waiters were already preparing to serve lunch. A fabulous buffet was put out, but I picked at it and struggled to make small talk with these people who, despite the wild intimacies of the night before, had become like specters of some dark force to me. At last, Petros cried out, “There is Naxos!” and the great island could be seen on the horizon. “We should get dressed, everyone! Antonio and Gabriella, there are some things for you to wear in the bedroom off to your left.” And there were fashionable, expensive hiking boots and other clothes that fit us perfectly. “How do they do it?” Antonio shrugged, but his whole manner seemed stilted, he already felt like nearly a stranger to me. In another 30 minutes, the cruiser had pulled up to the dock at Naxos. I got ready to make my move, my whole body tight as a string. We disembarked. Two limousines were waiting there for us. I turned on my heel and fled up the pier without a word toward the main boulevard.
Ancient Passions (Ancient Passions Series # 1) Page 6
