by Violet Blue
She sneaks a look at Adam next to her. His hazel eyes look pensive, the profile of his full lips and sculpted cheekbones making her heart give a little jump. She’s wanted him for so long, obsessing over his remote beauty, his maddening aloofness, and now here he is at last. She can tell he’s hers if she wants him. He devoted enough time to her last weekend at a different party to convey that. But his absorption in the film makes her wonder how sexually predictable he is. He’s so quiet, it’s hard to read him.
She gets up and goes into the kitchen to find another beer. He comes after her and leans up against the counter, bracing his foot against a cabinet. “You seem kind of fidgety.”
She opens the beer. “The movie’s kind of boring.”
He laughs awkwardly. “Okay… So what would entertain you?”
She takes a long swallow of the beer and puts it on the counter without taking her eyes off his.
Now Adam looks surprised—but then he shakes back his long, dark hair with a studied cool, takes her hand and leads her outside. The backyard is bluish with moonlight. They look around—the ground is muddy and scattered with fallen leaves and looks cold—then at each other. And then he’s touching her, his hands sliding up her sides, his mouth hot on hers in the cold night. She feels something open up in her and swoon. A moment later they’re on the patio, the cold concrete going through her shirt as she hooks her legs around his. His cock is hard and pressing through his jeans.
She rubs her pussy up against him just before the back door bangs open, followed by a giggle.
“Oh…sorry, Cecilia. But we’re leaving.” It’s her best friend, Shea.
Adam pulls her to her feet and helps her brush off her jeans. “I can give you a ride,” he says with a loaded look.
It would be so easy to go home with him. She’s wanted it for months. Instead she declines. “No, I really should go. Sorry.”
On the way home, Shea expresses her approval. “Making him work for it, I like it,” she says. “I notice that Amy’s film got you all excited, though. You two were the first ones to go off together.”
“Ugh, the film. Don’t tell Amy, but I hated it.”
Shea is surprised. “You didn’t like it? Why not?”
“Did you not notice the complete lack of penis in it? I’m straight, Amy’s straight, why can’t we have a movie with some boys in it? Why do I have to look at naked girls all the time?”
Shea seems taken aback. “Well, you didn’t like the guys in that pirate porn movie we saw.”
Cecilia thinks of the pirate movie actors: stone-faced, not sexy or even good-looking really, and they’d fucked the actresses likes robots. But before she can say that, Shea says, “I guess you’re just not the porn type.”
Cecilia is half tempted to tell Shea about her King Slut movie. Actually, Shea, I have my own mental porn; it’s based on this weird King Tut fixation I have. I even got a copy of that famous mask at a Halloween store. You probably didn’t notice but Adam sort of looks like an Egyptian pharaoh…
But she’s too embarrassed. As sexual fixations go, it’s hardly something she can explain. King Tut’s golden death mask captivated her as soon as she saw it in her college archeology class. The exotic cheekbones; the kohl-lined, almond-shaped eyes: it seemed like the most sensual, perfect face in the world. That the king had died at eighteen only made him more fascinating. She looked up everything she could find about him and sometimes, when she had sex, she would try to visualize the man beneath her wearing that famous mask. She didn’t tell anyone as her fantasies expanded into her ongoing and elaborate King Slut mind-movie. Only when she found the mask in the Halloween store last year, did she entertain the thought of making it reality; of finding the right man to wear it while fucking her senseless.
Scene II
“Let’s move on, people. King, you’re going fowl-hunting up the Nile. Three slave girls in the boat. Take one.”
King Slut emerges from his dressing room in costume. No one can tell what he’s really thinking because of the mask but his white kilt is down: no wood. Everyone watches his hard thigh muscles roll as he moves to the river and waiting canoe. Production has done a good job of supplying realistic reeds.
The three waiting slave girls are very pretty in black, fringed wings. There was some discussion about them starting out topless but it was finally agreed that it was hotter to have them stripped on board. All of them wear snowy white short linen dresses. A servant extra extends his long pole into the river and they’re off.
The sun is shining. King Slut reclines on his elbows, thighs spread comfortably, his biceps bulging. The mask seems to be smiling as he surveys the Nile. Before him the slave girls giggle and whisper, trying to out-cute each other for his attention. The reeds stir with birds. He leaps to attention, javelin in hand. His long bronzed back is motionless, his lateral muscles posed for throwing.
Then a slave girl shoves another girl into him, knocking him off course and startling the birds, who fly away.
“You stupid girl!” the servant roars. “How dare you interfere with the king’s hunt! You must take your punishment.”
The girl falls to her knees before him, crying. Without a word, King Slut lifts her up by the arm, turns her around, then lightly shoves her so she topples over his footstool. He throws her white dress up, exposing her pussy to everyone on the boat. She trembles, face red, but he has no mercy; he nudges her feet apart until her legs are spread wide open.
The king spanks her with the javelin, slow, measured blows that lay down red marks on the firm smoothness of her ass. She cries harder and wiggles against the stool, but everyone can see she is rubbing her clit against the cushion. As her sobs turn to moans, the young king’s kilt begins to protrude.
He rips it off and for the first time in production, shows his cock to the cast and crew. It’s long and thick, as rumored. A low, collective sigh fills the room. It slaps his tight stomach as he lifts the slave girl up by the hips and positions her pussy at the tip of his shaft. From this angle, her slit looks too small to take it. He bumps his engorged head against her and makes her moan without really penetrating her.
The servant hisses an order. One of the remaining slave girls quickly pulls off her dress and squats naked behind the king. She strokes his thighs before inserting her tongue between his asscheeks. The other slave girl takes her place before the girl being punished and pulls up her dress with a smirk.
The king pushes abruptly into the first girl. She cries out, with pain or excitement it’s impossible to tell and grips the stool for balance as he begins to saw his beautiful cock in and out of her tight little cunt. She’s moaning now, her breasts bouncing over the stool, but her moans go muffled when her head is lifted by the hair and pressed against the other slave girl’s pussy.
The king’s ass squeezes in time with his thrusts. His mask barely moves as he fucks her; he is a strong, taut machine of pelvic action. Only a trickle of sweat dividing his pecs hints at his efforts.
The two other slave girls abandon their positions and bend over before him. He fucks them all, one after another, holding their hips and driving into them like a rocket, making them squeal and bounce for real. This isn’t acting. The girls are coming, coming in wet, gasping little throbs from the glory of that huge royal cock fucking them into oblivion.
The crew is barely breathing. King Slut at last pulls out and strokes his cock until he comes all over his own godlike chest. The slave girls eagerly lick it off his muscles like hungry kittens.
“Cut,” says the director.
On a rainy Thursday afternoon, Cecilia goes downtown to the sushi restaurant where Adam is a server. It’s almost three and she’s hoping the hour, the lull between lunch and dinner, will mean the restaurant is empty and she can have Adam’s attention to herself. But it’s packed. She can only get a seat at the sushi bar, not a table in his section, and she feels like a stalker as she stares at the menu.
“Holy shit, it’s you.”
Adam looks
so pleased. She puts down the menu and tries to smile. “Sorry about leaving so early the other night. Shea was my ride…”
“I told you I would have given you a ride.”
“I know. You did say that.” She’s starting to feel flustered. “Are you my server?”
“No, but hang on. I’ll be back.”
In fact, they barely get a chance to speak until she’s done eating. She writes her phone number on a napkin but before she can give it to him, he’s at her side holding out a receipt with his own number. “Maybe we can get a drink this weekend,” he says.
Too easy, she thinks as she heads home. But, of course, the awkward part is still ahead of her. She keeps replaying the predictability of their make-out session on the patio last weekend; you put your hand here, I put my mouth there, as choreographed as a dance routine. That isn’t what she wants. Adam looks so perfect for what she does want, that she’s half afraid to test him. If he says no, or worse, if they try this and fail, it could debilitate her King Slut movie permanently. She thinks about the men who’ve bragged to her about being able to last for an hour, about her ex who kept bringing home porn for her featuring actors with the biggest cocks in the business. She’d never been able to explain to any of them the weirdness of her orgasm theater. But she wants Adam enough to try.
Scene III
“Okay, people, let’s get it together,” the director says. “This is the scene where King Slut and Ankhesenamen get together. It’s a chariot race, and they’re touching each other for the first time. So let’s bring that to the scene, okay? Everyone in position.”
It’s a difficult scene to shoot. The king is taking out his best horse to impress his future wife, Princess Ankhesenamen. The princess is very young and quite shy, clutching her white dress to her thighs as they fly across the plains. Her dark doe eyes are wide with excitement and fear, the blue faience beads in her hair clicking wildly as the king drives the chariot faster. He is a glory to behold, attuned with his horse to the point of communion. But today the princess’s hands clutching his sides distract him. Her soft pelvis rattles against him, making his cock rigid.
He leans against the wood, trying desperately to satisfy himself this way. But he wants her. He makes the horse change direction, forcing Princess Ankhesenamen to slide her arms around his waist and hold him tight. Her breasts against his back drive him crazy. Abandoning royal decorum, he takes her small hand and wraps it around his cock.
Shocked at first, the princess begins to tentatively play with his shaft. The king holds his breath. Her touch is too delicate. He puts his hand over hers and shows her how to do it, how to squeeze him, stroke him.
The race is a distant roar. He brings the chariot to a stop, turns around and pushes her against the wood. He pulls off her dress so fast the princess is naked before she can stop him. A faint protest of fear escapes her but when he orders her to spread her legs, she obeys. The king runs his hand between her thighs, playing with her cunt until she bites her lip. He smiles and slips one finger deep into her heat. She is soaking. But he doesn’t fuck her. Instead he slowly rubs the inside of her cunt, tickling her clit with his other hand until she moans and desperately rides against his fingers.
“Cut.”
“So,” says Adam. “Here we are.”
He’s sitting stiffly on her couch, looking nervous. He looks incredible, actually, in a black T-shirt that suits his coloring, and she likes that he’s taken pains to look good for her. But the way she asked him to come over instead of going out for drinks seems to have knocked him off his game.
“Indeed.” She hands him his drink. In her head, this all went so smoothly. But now that he’s actually in her apartment, somehow taller and more vivid than she remembered, she can’t remember the words she’d planned to use.
“Nice place.” He’s said that once already. He looks around her living room until his gaze alights on a framed photo of her and Shea dressed up as zombies last Halloween. “Is that you?”
“In the rotting flesh.”
He leans over to look closely at it. “I thought girls always tried to look sexy on Halloween.”
“Eh. I think it’s the men who should dress sexy for us.” Now she sees her opening.
He gives her an odd look. “But women are the ones with all the sex costumes. Naughty nurses, cat girls, belly dancers… What do men have?”
“Well, you have to be creative.” Her mouth is so dry. “Like, dressing up as an Egyptian pharaoh would be hot. I even have the King Tut mask.”
He stares at her without expression. It reminds her of the first time she saw him, how remote and unattainable he seemed.
“Really?” he says finally. “That, uh, that famous gold mask? I think it’s a death mask?”
“That’s the one.” Her face is getting hot so she adds quickly, “I bought it for my ex-boyfriend but he didn’t want to wear it.”
He smiles. “And you actually think that’s a turn-on?”
“Well, yeah. I’ve always wanted someone to dress up like a pharaoh for me. It’s kind of weird, I know.”
They look at each other without comment. Her heart is booming. Then Adam takes a long drink, brushes his hands on his jeans and stands up. The silence is excruciatingly loud and she wishes she had put on some music.
“So what’s the rest of the costume?” he asks. “Like a breast-plate or something?”
“There isn’t one. Just the mask.”
Without smiling, he says, “Well, then, I guess I’ll have to be naked.”
He pulls off his T-shirt. His nipples are hard and dark rose, his stomach tight. She can barely breathe as he unzips his jeans and slides them off along with his underwear. And then he’s finally naked, his cock already hard and flushed dark with blood.
His lips jerk in the imitation of a smile. But his thighs are shaking and she can tell he’s as nervous as she is.
She stands up. “You are perfect,” she tells him and leads him to her bedroom. Smoothing his black hair behind his ears, she puts the mask over his head.
It’s really happening. The sex god of her fantasies is going to be possessed and fucked and known totally. He acquiesces silently as she handcuffs him to her bed frame, then plays with his cock until he groans. She squeezes his ass, bites his nipples, a little delirious with the smell and taste of him. Cupping his balls, she tests the weight of them, then runs one fingertip around his asshole. He seems to understand that she doesn’t want him to speak. Instead he arches his back against the bed frame and opens his legs, wordlessly beseeching her to tend to his cock.
Cecilia wants to climb on top of him. Instead she slips off the bed and gets her camera. “Keep your legs open,” she orders. She starts taking pictures of him, as if to retain proof of this chimera made flesh. “Scoot toward me, until you’re really pulling against the cuffs. Good..”
Just looking at him makes her pussy ache. King Slut is hand-cuffed naked to her bed, yet it’s Adam too, and the reality that she’s going to fuck them both at the same time makes her dizzy. With shaking hands, she puts down the camera and takes off her clothes. Then she finds a condom and wraps up his cock.
He’s breathing fast behind the mask. Slowly, bracing herself on his hard thighs, she lowers herself onto his shaft. His cock feels almost too big at first as her pussy stretches around him. Already something wet and portentous is building inside her, like a water balloon about to break. Then they start thrusting together and she stares at the mask and Adam’s eyes stare back and for a few hallucinogenic moments, she feels like she’s tele-ported into her own King Slut porn movie. She’s fucking the god of her pornographic dreams, at last. Various scenes she’s directed flash through her mind as she plays with her clit and then her orgasm breaks between her legs, hot and wet. Adam follows with a long groan.
Her limbs feel like jelly but she lifts off the mask and uncuffs him before collapsing on the sheets. Adam falls next to her, a mess of damp black hair and flushed skin. “I thought you wanted the mask
on.”
“Right now I want you.”
The room is hot, almost stifling, but he holds her close. Both of them are wet and trembling and a little weak. As he begins touching her, a new current forms in the dark between them, running from her fingertips to Adam’s skin and back again. It’s the new voltage of her pornographic sphere, a nexus of flesh and bone and her own real porn god beside her.
PICTURE ME NAKED
Velvet Moore
I slide my leg across a worn patch and circle a finger around a cigarette burn etched into the faded magenta leather, toying a bit with the piece of foam poking out. It’s now that I wish I had a picture of myself. I’d fold it neatly and slip it between the seat cushions with enough of a corner peeking through to get noticed. I’d hope the next stop after me would be at a hotel where a businessman in a wrinkled gray suit would be catching a ride to the airport for a red-eye flight back to parenting and paperwork. He’d find the picture and toy with it like the seat foam, running fingertips along the image. He’d store it in his carry-on bag and pray he wouldn’t be asked to pull it out at the security screening. He would be embarrassed to have to publicly reveal a photo of my slick, spreading thighs and have to explain it to authorities. I’d pray that he does.
These thoughts excite me from my brain stem to my bottom, and I consider moving the toying fingers from the seat to work their way down my pants and rub one out right here in the back of this cab. Weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been so brave.
Weeks ago, I picked up a bag of items I had left at my ex’s after moving out. Having been a jerk, he had left my stuff on his front porch in a plastic grocery bag with my name scribbled in with permanent marker. I shifted through its contents at the coffee shop a few blocks from his house: my phone charger, cracked turquoise earrings, clothes and a coffee cup with the corner of something poking out of the rim. I tugged the corner and it popped out like a rattlesnake snapping from behind a rock. And there I was, nude, sprawled on his bed, pink nipple in hand, begging him forward. A moment captured in privacy, unexpectedly revealed in public.
