“Elizabeth.”
“No last name?”
“Who needs last names? I’m Elizabeth – just another debutante out of control!”
She laughed at that.
“You’re not from here,” he said.
“No,” she said. “New Hampshire.”
“Were you staying with the young man you came here with?”
“God, no.”
“He’s a student of mine. Promising, but not much so.”
She said, “I have a hotel room. Somewhere in town.”
“Good,” Caine said. “I shall have your belongings picked up and brought here.”
“Why?”
“Certainly you would wish for a change of clothes,” he said. “After a nice long bath, I’m certain. Then, later, I would like to take you to dinner, and we can talk more.”
She nodded, thinking about that.
“All right,” she said.
She returned to the guest room and drew a bath. A maid came and asked if there was anything she required, and Elizabeth said a bottle of brandy would be nice. The brandy was brought to her, and she sat in the tub for an hour, drinking and thinking about nothing.
Her clothes from the hotel were brought to her, and she chose a dark evening dress, cut low, for dinner.
“I rather liked your flapped look,” Jonathan Blacksmith Caine said, dressed again in a tuxedo.
“I can’t always be fashionably questionable,” she told him. “I am capable of being a woman of decorum.”
“Indeed,” he said, holding out his arm. She took his arm, and they went into town for dinner.
It was the nicest and most expensive of restaurants, of course; she hadn’t expected otherwise. She ordered a steak and he had lobster, and she treated herself to plenty of wine and cognac. She learned that Jonathan Blacksmith Caine was a writer of historical tomes of fiction and fact. Mostly, he wrote of wars, especially the Civil War, and the Colonial Wars, and wars of antiquity in the ages of Egypt and Rome. Sometimes he took the viewpoint of a fictional man, and sometimes he took his own voice as a scholar. His work was renown, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it; young men flocked to him for guidance, as well as the occasional young woman. He was adored by his students at the university.
“Perhaps I’ll read your books one day,” Elizabeth said.
“And perhaps not,” Caine said.
“You must be working on a book about the World War,” she said.
“I’m always working on a book,” he laughed.
It seemed like an empty laugh, she thought.
In the chauffeured car, Elizabeth leaned into him.
“I had a pleasant and enjoyable dinner, Mr Caine,” she said.
“Call me Jonathan,” he said.
“Jonathan,” she said, touching his leg.
He reached for her face. He kissed her.
He said, “I would like to make love to you when we get home, Elizabeth.”
“All right,” she said.
In his bedroom, he ripped her dark dress down the middle, suckling her breasts, grabbing her body.
“I’ll buy you a new dress,” he said.
“I have plenty of dresses,” she said. “Will you get me a drink?”
“Do you need a drink?”
“I always need a drink?.”
He left, and returned with a bottle of Scotch. She’d splayed herself naked on the bed for him, touching herself between the legs. He poured her a drink, and undressed, and joined her.
Caine had a lithe, muscular body, but he was an old man, and it showed. The hair on his chest and his pubes was as silver as the hair on his head. His penis was long and thin and curved like a banana. Elizabeth had never seen a penis like that. In fact, it occurred to her she’d never looked at many men’s sex organs, given her encounters; she could tell if the cocks were big or small, thick or thin, when inside her, but she hardly ever saw them. Even when she would perform oral sex, it was often in the dark. But tonight she could take in the details of Caine’s cock, the veins, the skin, the way it felt, tasted, and smelled.
He took her, and fucked her for what seemed like a very long time, in several positions. It was several hours at least, and both their bodies were covered in sweat.
“Don’t you ever come?” she asked him.
“You want me to come?” he said.
“I was wondering,” she said.
“I’ve been all over the world, my dear,” he said. “In India, I learned from a Yogi Master how to control my body, and how to become a lover of stamina. I can make love to you until the sun rises. My body is still in good shape. You need only tell me to climax, and I will.”
An hour later, she said, “Come inside me.”
He did.
And they slept.
She woke several times during the early morning, in his arms, and she went back to sleep. Later, he was not there. She got up, found a white robe waiting for her on the bed. She put it on, went downstairs. She found Caine, in a similar white robe, in the kitchen. He was making breakfast.
“Where are the servants?” she asked.
“They’re only here three days a week,” he said. “I’m not that wealthy, and I don’t always believe in servants.”
“We’re all alone in this big, big house?” she said.
“Yes,” he replied. “I imagine you’d like a lot of bacon strips.”
She said, “Some eggs, scrambled. Yes. Some coffee, some juice. Can I help?” she said.
“I enjoy cooking,” he said, “and I’m almost done.”
She went to the main room, found the bar, and had a quick drink of vodka.
She joined Caine, sitting closer to him at the long table. They had a very nice breakfast. He’d placed ten strips of bacon out for her. Somewhere in the distance she could hear faint, soft piano music.
“Where’s that coming from?” she said.
“The gramophone,” he said.
The music stopped, and they ate. They didn’t speak much, and looked at each other.
“I’m not a good man,” he said, “and you must forgive me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m an old man with dirty thoughts. I have a beautiful young woman in my house, and I see an advantage. I dine you, get you drunk, and make love to you . . .”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Many things.”
“I had fun,” she said.
“Fun?” he said.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
They continued to eat breakfast.
“I’d like some dessert,” Elizabeth said.
“I believe I have an apple pie,” he said.
“That’s not what I had in mind,” she said, and slid under the table. She crawled to him, opening his robe, taking him into her mouth. He pushed the chair back, so he could watch her, and touch her hair. His long, curved penis grew in her mouth, and she grabbed it at the base. She looked up at him and said, “Don’t hold back like you did last night. I can’t suck for three hours.”
He said, “All you need to tell me is when, and I will.”
Forty minutes later, she asked him to come, and he filled her mouth with several bursts of thick semen. She tried to swallow it all, but it was too much, and some dribbled from her mouth, down his cock, and onto his testicles and the floor. She licked him clean after.
He took her to the bedroom and gave her oral pleasure for an hour, her legs on his shoulders, her rear raised high, his mouth all over her cunt. She came twice. He turned her on her stomach, entered her, said, “Yes.” He fucked her for several hours, until she couldn’t take it any more, and she asked him to come, and he did.
They were in each other’s arms.
“You don’t know what a joy this is,” he told her.
“What?”
“I’m a man of sixty-three,” he said. “To be here, making love to a young woman, it’s a true dream.”
“I’m sure you have many eager girls vying
for your company,” she said.
“Occasionally,” he said. “The women I spend time with are in their thirties or forties. Not so young as you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“On occasion, a woman your age. But very seldom.”
“You’re very desirable,” she said.
She touched his penis. She took it in her mouth, until he was hard, and got on top of him.
They made love for three hours. She asked him to come, and he did. Their bodies and the sheets were soiled with sweat and sex.
“We can sleep in one of the guest rooms,” he said.
“Mine,” she said.
They held one another in the guest room, waiting for sleep.
“You’ve been married before,” Elizabeth said.
“Three times,” he said.
“Three!”
“Oh, yes.”
“Three,” she whispered, closing in on dreamless sleep.
“I’ve loved too much,” he said. “I could never love again. Not real love. I can love for the moment, like the moment we spend now. But tomorrow is another day.”
“I loved once, for one second,” she said. “Never more, as the raven said.”
And they slept.
She spent the next week there, because it felt right, and there was nothing else to do. She ran out of cocaine, and her new lover was not a fan of the drug. So she drank.
“It may not be my place to say,” he said to her, “but you drink an awful lot, my dear.”
“So I do,” she said. “So what?”
“It will catch up on you,” he said.
“Don’t lecture me,” she told him.
“I shall not,” he said.
During the days, she slept, or drank, or lounged outside in the Virginia sun. It was spring. Caine was either at the university, teaching his classes, or in his study, doing whatever it was he was doing – researching, writing. She didn’t know or care. She did know it was soon time to go. She wanted to go to New York. She missed New York.
The night she knew she had to leave, Caine had guests, three men near his age, all scholars, writers – one was from Rhode Island, one from California, the other from England. She sat across from Caine at dinner. All the servants were there. There was a lot of talk about literature and politics, and Russia and Communism. She wasn’t all that interested. She ate her food and drank. And drank. Sometimes she would interject, and all the men would just look at her and smile, as if she was a fool. She didn’t enjoy that feeling.
In Caine’s bedroom, she stood naked, drink in hand, looking at the man lying on the bed, reading an infernal book.
“I hate your intellectual crowd,” she said.
“Why?”
“Does there need to be a reason?”
“They are all fine men,” Caine said. “Did you not find them appealing?”
“All men are appealing,” she said, “because they are men.”
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “Of course,” she said.
He fucked her for two hours.
“I needed that,” she said. “Sex is all I know. Sex is my rhetoric and language.”
She laughed.
“Good,” he said, “because I have an assignment for you.”
She sat up and said, “Oh! An assignment!”
“Yes,” Caine said. “You made a good impression on my colleagues. They enjoyed your company, and your sight. I want you to visit each of my guests in their rooms, and fuck them.”
“All three?” she said.
“Yes,” he said. “And come back here, and tell me about it.”
“All right,” she said.
She stood, and looked for something to wear.
“Go to them naked,” Caine said, “so there won’t be any question as to why you are there.”
First, she visited the man from Rhode Island. He was the youngest, at forty-eight. He was reading, and smiled when he saw the naked young woman enter his room. He fucked her on the bed, and she left, and went to the man from California, who was also awake and reading, and was close to Caine’s age, and smiled when he saw the naked young woman. She took him in her mouth, and she got on top of him. The Englishman, in his fifties, was asleep, but awoke when she sat on the bed.
“Are you an angel?” he inquired.
“Hardly,” she replied.
He came to his senses, out of sleep, looked at her, and said, “Oh.”
“Hello,” she said.
“Jonathan is up to his usual tricks,” he said.
“What tricks?”
He laughed and said, “Can I have you?”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“I’d like to fuck you in your bum,” he said.
“What?”
“Your arse.”
He sodomized her. She’d only done this once, and, while she hadn’t liked the first time, this wasn’t all that unpleasant, as it didn’t last long.
She returned to Caine’s room. He’d lit several candles.
“You’re back early,” he said. “It’s only been an hour.”
“They’re not like you,” she said, “they’re like regular men.”
“Tell me,” he said, and she told him about each of them.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“I need a drink.”
She had two.
“I want to spank you,” he said.
“Do you?”
“You’ve been a bad girl.”
“I have.”
She lay on the bed, and he slapped her rear end with his bare hand many times, until her bottom was red and she had tears in her eyes. Caine stuck a finger into her asshole.
“My British friend did sodomize you,” he said, “as Limeys tend to do.”
He laughed. She smiled.
“Yes,” she said.
For the next two hours Caine fucked her in the ass – his curved penis was an odd sensation – until she could take no more, and asked him to come, and he did.
They slept in each other’s arms.
In the morning, he woke her.
“Leave me alone,” she said.
“Come have breakfast with us,” he said.
“Not now,” she said.
“I insist, my dear.”
She got up, looking for her robe.
“Remain naked,” he said. “I want you naked.”
She went downstairs, and had breakfast with the four men in the nude. The servants didn’t blink an eye. The men seemed to enjoy her like this.
“When I first met dear Elizabeth,” Caine announced after they ate, “she finished her morning meal with my semen in her stomach. Elizabeth?”
“Yes?” she said.
“Crawl under the table and satisfy me,” he said.
She did. She went to him under the table, and sucked him, and he came in her mouth.
“Now,” he said, “do the same to each man here.”
She went to the man from Rhode Island first, then the one from California, and then the one from England. None of them had washed, and she could taste herself on each. She very much liked this, all their cocks in her mouth, their semen in her mouth. She’d never eaten so much come at once, and her lips and chin were covered in the excess. When she was done, Caine told her to go upstairs. She did. She took a bath, the taste of semen strong on her tongue, and went to sleep.
The three men were gone by evening, and she was once again alone with Caine. She told him how much she’d enjoyed being a sexual toy like that.
“I knew you would,” he said.
“I’ve been fucked by several men at once,” she said. “It was drunk and sloppy; this was different.”
“Yes,” he said, and he fucked her four hours that night.
She remained there for a few more days, and told him she had to go on. New York was calling her.
“What’s in New York?” Caine asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s New Yor
k.”
“I have nothing to do this weekend,” he said. “Perhaps I can accompany you? I have friends in New York.”
“All right,” she said.
That weekend they traveled to New York, and they checked into the Waldorf-Astoria, which Caine first thought was excessive, until Elizabeth said she would take care of the bill.
Caine made many phone calls to various people he knew in the city. She lounged in the bath, drinking bourbon.
He came to her and said, “We must continue our sexual play.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Tell me, my dear, that you will do anything for me.”
She said, “I will do anything for you.”
He pulled her from her bath, took her to bed, fucked her in his usual way, and then opened one of his valises. He had wrist and ankle restraints, and a blindfold. He tied her hands and legs together, and blindfolded her, fed her bourbon and Scotch, and left her naked on the bed.
She slept.
He returned, and he wasn’t alone. She could smell the other man, he was that strong – his sweat, his cologne.
Caine removed her blindfold and she saw the large black man – he was over six feet tall, in a beige suit and hat, heavy-set with large eyes.
“This is Jefferson,” Caine said as an introduction. “A very white name, yes, but a name he has embraced. Jefferson and I go back. He is a poet and writer of stories, although not as well known as he should be. Lives in Harlem, works the clubs to make money. One day I hope to make the world aware of his talent. I’ve brought him here for you, and for me.”
“I have to pee,” she said.
Jefferson started to take his pants off.
“I’ve brought a number of women to Jefferson,” Caine said.
“Why?” she asked.
“To watch,” he said matter-of-factly. “I absolutely enjoy watching women being defiled by Jefferson.”
“You want to watch me?” she said. “I have to pee.”
“You’ll comply?” Caine said.
“Yes,” she said.
“Give her some cocaine first,” Jefferson said.
Caine nodded, and held the powder to Elizabeth’s nose, and also gave her a drink. Every time she asked to have her hands released, said that she had to use the bathroom, Caine smiled and shook his head.
She was told to fellate Jefferson. He had what she assumed must be a deformed cock, by the size of it. It was at least fifteen to sixteen inches long, and very thick and veined, the bell of the head gargantuan. She could barely get the head of the thing into her mouth! Jefferson stroked himself as she sucked, and Caine sat back and watched, sipping from a drink. Then he fucked her, and it was painful. The more she asked him to stop, the harder he fucked her. He tried to put it in her anus, but it wouldn’t happen – he got in part way, but she cried for mercy. “This is some fine stuff, Jonathan,” the black man said. She sucked him and he ejaculated into her mouth, a discharge that seemed to last forever, so that she choked on it, spitting his come out, a stream flying from his cock and into her hair. He patted her on the head and both men left. She went to sleep.
The Mammoth Book of Erotica presents The Best of Michael Hemmingson Page 21
