The Cherry Orchard

by Vanessa de Sade

“Satisfy me? No, they are cold and unfeeling machines, how could they satisfy me? But they scratch the itch and make the longings go away, for a while, at any rate …”

  He nods, more to himself than to her, as if making a mental note.

  “But, come,” Magda says, climbing onto him. “Enough talk, I need you inside me …”

  “It is not good for conception this way …” he starts to protest but she silences him by taking hold of his prick and guiding it gently into herself as she lowers her pussy down onto his hardness, and he gasps as he feels her wetness and heat.

  “Good?” she asks, beginning to ease herself slowly up and down and he nods breathlessly.

  “Then let me fuck you in earnest,” she gasps, lifting her tight buttocks into the air and then slamming down on him again, her big slippery cunt sliding up and down his erection, up and down, like the great pistons on the city generation plant. “Fuck, your cock is amazing. When we’re done, I want to take it in my ass … feel you going right up my tight little back hole and really stretching me till I come …”

  He lets out a moan and, with a manful effort, just manages to stop himself from shooting his load, then he pushes her gently off him, his dick sliding out and lying on his tight belly, all slick and slippery from her pussy juices.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asks, but he shakes his head.

  “No, you did everything right,” he pants, gasping, lying her down and turning onto his side. “Too right, in fact. Chlotilde, come, assist me, I need to mount her properly for procreation …”

  “Ah, such a romantic,” Chlotilde smiles, lifting him into the place he wants to be, though all the while her eyes are busy eating up Magda’s nakedness. “There, you are in position, treat her well …” And she makes to step out of the circle of candlelight but the girl stops her and takes her hand.

  “Stay,” she whispers as the Toy Maker nudges his long thin cock inside her and begins to thrust, hard, and Chlotilde nods.

  “I am here, but you must hold him,” she instructs, letting go of the girl’s hand, and Magda nods and grips the Toy Maker’s tight buns and pulls him towards her, trying to meet his lips but finding that he evades her as he plows mercilessly into her.

  “I’m so close,” he begs, thrusting hard and fast. “Tip me over, make me come …”

  And she nods again, remembering a secret from the little beige books she read in the life before, and slides one hand into his asscrack, quickly finding his anus and stroking it, then deftly worming a finger inside and pushing hard, feeling his heat as he slams into her with a yell, his hot white semen shooting hard and fast into her as she claws at him mercilessly with her free hand.

  Chapter Four – The Cherry Orchard

  She lies breathing shallowly in the big bed in the Room of Windows, naked and alone, a sleepless princess in her ivory tower with all the lights of Paris spread out around her like phosphorescent gem stones in the silky dark.

  She has not come, the Toy Maker having rolled off her as soon as his seed was spent, shouting bad-temperedly for Chlotilde to come and help him up, and Magda had crept away, angry and humiliated, clutching her clothes to her front, back up the long winding staircase to her room, her whole body shaking and her knees weak, desperate to climax and knowing that manual stimulation will give her no respite.

  And she wants to blame the Toy Maker, heap abuse on his head for his lack of human decency and, oh especially this, his inability to satisfy a woman. And yet … And yet a little voice in her head reminds her that this was not to be a marriage, and sex between them would be solely for the purposes of procreation. And that there was never any mention of her satisfaction in their bargain, and she doubted if the Party had ever even considered it.

  Clenching her fists she wonders if she should try to sleep. Then she wonders if she should pace the floor. Or drag the plump and silky bolster up and down between her thighs like a saw horse until she finally comes, or … And then she hears the unmistakable sound of soft footfalls on the long iron stairs that lead to her bedchamber.

  “Who goes there?” she calls melodramatically down to the darkness, knowing the answer already.

  “Only one who loves you,” comes the reply in that familiar voice. “One who has come to finish what she started.”

  “That may be hard, for I am in need of much satisfaction …” Magda begins, but the other cuts her short.

  “The Toy Maker sleeps soundlessly down below and we have all night! To kiss and touch and leisurely explore …”

  And then Chlotilde is in her arms and their lips meet, furiously, hungrily. Aching for each other. Hands everywhere, bodies pushing desperately against each other, Magda’s hungry cunt rubbing urgently against the coarse fabric of Chlotilde’s rough worker’s trousers.

  “Strip me, bare my skin so that I can hold you naked,” the tall woman eventually begs, and Magda doesn’t hesitate to oblige. It’s only a matter of seconds to pull off the striped sweater and unfasten the jeans, and she has Chlotilde stripped down to her corset within a minute.

  “My, my! Did somebody wear this for me?” she asks coquettishly, running inquisitive hands up and down the whalebone and silk, frantic fingers fumbling furiously for the fasteners.

  “I did indeed,” Chlotilde agrees, her breathing ragged. “And I’m not wearing anything underneath …”

  And Magda groans as she investigates, lets out an oh so soft moan when she finds warm cat-like fur and slippery wetness.

  “Oh, I’m going to eat you …”

  “Strip me first, I want you to see me naked before you fuck me!”

  But Magda’s skillful fingers have already unlaced the silky basque and the bulky garment slips soundlessly to the ground, revealing a body that is like a lost continent of ice in the silver moonlight that streams eerily through the windows.

  Chlotilde is a big woman with heavy hips and broad shoulders and her body is a moonlit arctic expanse, her huge breasts rising and falling, her dark brown nipples already hard and rubbery like glacé fruit, her hips and thighs like frost-kissed alabaster, her cunt an enchanted forest covered in a dense undergrowth of thick dark hair that looks coarse but feels like silk when Magda strokes it.

  “I know you are impatient to climax but, please, kiss me again first,” Chlotilde begs, taking Magda into her arms, their breasts rubbing gently together as they embrace naked for the first time, skin to skin, made for each other.

  But Magda’s impatience has melted like snowflakes on a wet pavement, and she takes her lover gently into her arms, luxuriating in their shared intimacy. “We have all night, beloved, so you may kiss me as much as you like …”

  “Oh, I shall, and for every night to come if you will let me.”

  “Don’t talk anymore. Just kiss …”

  And a cautious dawn caresses the edge of the horizon, threatening to turn the whole sky into a raging conflagration at any moment, when they finally acknowledge satisfaction and lie back, exhausted, on the big bed.

  Magda is all for falling quickly to sleep before the ferocious sun floods the glass room and makes it uninhabitable until dusk, but Chlotilde seems to want to talk, and sits up, her big naked body like an iceberg amidst the turbulent sea of rumpled bed linen, her opalescent skin practically glowing in the early morning light.

  “I know it is too early to speak of love,” she whispers. “But there are decisions which must be made in haste, and such as you or I have not the luxury of time in which to make them. So, I beg of you. Could you love me?”

  And Magda remembers the heat of their embraces, the way that Chlotilde holds her, the fact that they have both come together again and again, their cunts pulsating in absolute harmony as if they have once been joined and still function as one being. And she nods. “Yes, I could love you. In fact, I think that I maybe already love you just a little bit …”

  And Chlotilde swallows
and looks, for a moment, like a woman trying to decide whether to jump from a roof or not, and then, with a heartfelt sigh, she makes her decision and plunges.

  “The Toy Maker, he has lied to you,” she begins. “There is no lottery and there have been many women here before you and many will come after. And there will be no reward, no life free of labor spent happily bringing up your child. They will test you in a day or so, and if you prove positive you will be transferred immediately to a breeding unit in England until you give birth. Then they will take the child into the Pioneer Program and you will never see it again. Just as you will never see this house or that man. And I do not yet know where they send the mothers once the children are born. There are many, many conflicting stories, but the best of what has been whispered to me is that you will be sent back to your place of work alone.”

  She pauses for breath, and then continues.

  “But I can offer you a different life. You, me and the child. You have tasted the food that I cook so you know that there are other lands, lands beyond the great mountain ranges and the Contagion Barriers where the sky is not on fire and the trees still grow, and I know that they exist because I have met the people who steal out from them to sell their wares and I have seen the fruit from them in my own hands. And though I do not know how to get there I have studied your papers and I know that you are a cartographer, and that you know all the forbidden maps like the palms of your own hands, and that you could guide us over the mountains …”

  “I could do that,” Magda interrupts, her heart pounding. “But what of the patrols?”

  “I have his papers, his identity discs and a handful of his credits. If we disable his wheelchair while he sleeps he will be stranded here alone and it will take him days to summon assistance, time enough for us to be clear of the city and the great airships with their watchful eyes. But our time runs short and already the sun rises and is burning off the clouds, so what do you say, my best beloved, will you come with me on this journey and learn to love me as I already love you?”

  And there is a long silence as the bright sun pulsates from the east and the bent iron frame of the old building starts to creak with the heat of a new day.

  “In my dreams I am always in a cherry orchard,” Magda eventually replies. “But I continuously see it as a place that can be both of love or heartache …”

  “Ah, that describes all of life, Cherie,” Chlotilde says sadly, planting a soft kiss on Magda’s hair. “But, hurry, he stirs in his bed. We must decide. Will you come with me?”

  And Magda slowly nods. A nod that says yes, yes I will come with you. And I know that it will not be easy, and that we may die in the process of this perilous journey down the beanstalk and away from this enchanted castle in the clouds. But I am willing to take a risk on you, lover of mine, because maybe, just maybe, if luck remains firmly on our side, we might just manage to live happily-ever-after after all.

  And it is a beautifully heartfelt speech, but, in the hurry of a decision desperate to be made and a sleeping giant stirring down below, all the pretty words remain unsaid, and, aloud, the only thing she whispers is: “Get dressed, my darling, we have a long road ahead of us!”

  But it is enough for Chlotilde …

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