by Livia Ellis
It’s understandable how someone would be content to never leave. The Samurai has everything she could ever want in one place. My home is my castle, but hers is a self-contained island. Cut off the internet and no one could ever penetrate the walls with their toxic bullshit.
I leave and enter the final door. I am in the room where I have met alone with the Samurai previously. This is the door she escapes through. Interesting. I’m in a maze. For certain I am disoriented. It’s like a casino. I’m not certain I could find my way to the exit.
I go back to the “closet”. More like medium sized boutique that caters only to size zero women with tiny feet and a wig fetish. I find what I’m looking for in a lacquer cabinet. The men’s clothing. Suits, ties, shirts. Indigo and white cotton robe.
I undress and slip it on. I leave my clothing folded in a reasonably tidy pile on a chair.
The bedroom is practically dark when I return. The only light emanates from a few candles. I could get it on with just about anyone in this atmosphere.
She’s like a fawn. If I startle her she might bolt.
She gestures and I lay on the opium bed. Some of the shutters have been closed.
She joins me on the bed closing the doors behind her.
Candlelight from the room beyond filters through the carved openings on the bed. There are only shadows inside the shuttered bed. It could be day. It could be night. There really is no knowing.
She unties the sash on my robe and opens it. Her hands feather over my skin. I don’t recall if she snapped her fingers, but somehow a bottle of oil magically appears.
The robes are discarded fairly early in the process. She’s wearing panties. Every once in a while I feel her tiny cock brush against my body through the thin fabric.
I won’t judge her on the quality of the massage. That wasn’t the point. She was touching me like a lover and not like a cow up for auction. There was no prodding or poking. Just caresses. Lovely long caresses and sharp deep presses.
She isn’t cheap with the oil. I can feel the thick coating of it. As I lay on my stomach, she leans over my back using her hands and her breasts to massage my skin. Her nipples make just enough contact with my skin. I don’t know if she purposefully runs a breast down the line between my ass cheeks, but I’m so happy she did. The most phenomenal sensation ever. Well-oiled pert breast sliding down my crack. Heaven.
I want to touch her, but I’m also aware she is in charge. I don’t want to spook her.
Her hands push me until I roll onto my back.
She doesn’t avoid my dick. Oily hands grasp and massage.
Do I want happy ending massage?
I laugh. The overtly racist Asian prostitute accent was somehow precisely right. Please. Happy ending. Would she please offer to love me long time?
She just does happy ending massage.
Fortunately I’m very good at happy endings. I need a condom.
She’s a virgin. But I can fuck her up the ass. Like I did to Olga.
I’m speechless. I really am. Probably better that than saying something stupid. So what do I say when I finally regain the power of speech? Has anyone ever fucked her up the ass before?
No.
I’m not going to say no. I’m not. But I think we need to crawl before we sprint. If she really wants to just go for it, we can. But I’m on the big side (I’m really really not bragging) and she’s tiny as it is. So how about we just ease into that. Okay?
Fine. What first?
How about the panties come off?
No.
How does she expect me to fuck her up the ass if she’s wearing panties? (I put it differently than that. IN fact I’m certain the words ‘fuck her up the ass’ are never uttered. I’m actually really sweet even if I do say so myself.)
She was going to get up on her knees like Olga and just push the backside of her panties down.
How about the panties come off? I’d really like to touch her. I really would. I find her beautiful. I see in her everything I find sexual.
Really?
Yes. Really.
She hooks her thumbs through the band and gives them a push down.
Her tiny cock points at me like a finger.
Does she have condoms for herself?
Yes. She opens a small concealed cabinet. From it she takes a box. Inside are dozens of tiny condoms.
Perfect. I have everything I need. Condoms and time.
I lay her back against the pillows and start out from the beginning. Kissing first, then touching. When my hand reaches her cock she nearly bolts.
I have to touch it. I do. I must touch it. So I’m very soothing and calm. She lets me touch her. She’s never let anyone touch her there before.
When she’s comfortable with this I move on. My hand open her thighs. With the sort of steady hand a bomb diffuser uses, my fingers creep towards their goal.
Eventually, with care and caution, she lets me finger her.
What is the penultimate moment of this experience for me? When I have a condom on her, I have her fully in my mouth, and I’ve located her g-spot with my middle finger. She screams. Truly screams. Her back arches and she sort of ejaculates as she orgasms.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. This is the ultimate sexual experience. Within one person I can find everything that is sexual to me.
I’m back to the place I was when I first saw her bare before me. She is wondrous. To physically be able to experience such pleasure. What an amazing thing.
Does she still want me to fuck her up the ass? Because I’m ready. I’m more than ready. I’m ready to burst. My mouth comes down on her nipple and sucks.
She pushes me off of her. She gets off the opium bed. Her wig is slightly askew. Turns and I can see her fully from the front.
It’s time for me to leave. She needs to get ready for the party.
But. I look down. I’m… My happy ending? Where is my happy ending?
Olga is back. I can get my happy ending there.
She walks through the door in the direction of the other rooms. I’m alone. But only for a moment. The Servant enters. I’m handed the robe. He pretty well tosses me out of the room after telling me my clothing has already been removed to my bedroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Home
I’m put to bed by dad in the second room in the suite that was originally intended for me. The cave was for the nanny. Who I strongly suspect was not a real nanny.
Dad sits with me. My hair is still damp from the shower he had me take before putting on clean pajamas. He strokes my forehead. He had such a nice time in Pompeii. He promises me he’ll take me to Carthage. He doesn’t expect me to understand why he had to take mum to the bazaar in Tunis, but he did. When I’m a married man maybe I’ll understand.
No. I’m never going to understand. When I get married I’m going to marry someone that’s nothing like mum. Someone nice and kind.
Probably a good idea. But just so I know, sometimes we can’t control who we fall in love with.
Marriage isn’t about love.
Did grandmother or grandfather tell me this?
Both of them.
Their marriage isn’t really an ideal I should strive for.
Why not? They get along really well. They’re nice to each other. They both like to garden and ride horses.
Maybe someday I’ll understand. For the moment it’s enough for me to know things aren’t always what they seem. Things about granddad’s best friend Lionel. Maybe when they’re dead he’ll tell me what’s really going on. He owes his parents that much when it comes to their secrets and lies.
I don’t like to think about my grandparents dying. So I yawn widely.
He kisses me on the forehead. He’ll sort out my luggage for me. I’m to go to sleep and dream of nice things.
They take me home the next day. Mum stays in London. Dad and I take the train to Exeter. Mr. Gresham meets us at the station with the Land Rover.
I’m
so thrilled to see my grandmother, I run to her. She smells of her garden roses and home. She takes me around the house to her garden while dad goes off with my grandfather. I lay on the green grass and stare at the sky as I listen to my grandmother make the sounds I associate with tending to her roses.
A shadow falls over me. I open my eyes and look up at dad. He crouches down next to me. I sit up and I’m given a hug. Bigger than I ever remember getting.
He’s leaving. He doesn’t need to tell me this, but he does. He’s going. He’s not sure when he’s going to be back. He and mum need to sort some things out. Granddad and grandmother are going to take care of me. Maybe we can try to have a family holiday again. But better planned.
That would be nice. I don’t say that I know it’s never going to happen. My mother will never release her hold on him ever again. This family holiday has brought them closer to the edge of splitting up than either of them is comfortable with. I’m not worth the risk of losing her in his mind.
He walks off after holding me tight again. These are his demons he’s struggling with. Not mine. I’m home. My part in their drama is finished. If this were a movie or television the director would call out that I am wrapped. The two people that have always played the part of my parents are now officially my parents. I don’t know this at this moment as I sit on the grass, but I will learn in time that my father has given his father what he’s wanted for years. Legal guardianship of me. The papers were sitting in wait in my grandfather’s desk. Prepared in advance by my responsible Uncle Albert.
The one consequence of this relinquishment of parental authority is that my parents and grandparents begin to find common ground. They start to get along. Make no mistake, they will never like my mother, but they start to tolerate her. Now that I’m not her problem anymore my mother warms to me slightly. I become the son they always wanted, and not one of the ones they had. It took them two tries before they got the third one right.
My bad behavior would be brushed off as boyish hijinks and my successes proof that I am their brilliant Oliver. In essence, they become indulgent older parents in whose eyes I can do no wrong. Talk about setting me up for failure.
As for dad and mum what happens to them you may wonder.
I won’t see dad again until the summer after my thirteenth birthday. I don’t care enough to find out about whatever caused the fight between him and mum that brought him back to Wold Hall without her. I’ve discovered the writings of D.H. Lawrence, Henry Miller, Collette, my own blooming libido and the Gresham’s granddaughter. How could such freckled perfection be beneath my nose for so many years and me never notice? Her lips are like butterfly wings against mine. It’s all so perfect until grandmother catches us together. She’s sent home and there is much tittering behind napkins during meals for several days until something new catches their attention.
The summer after my fourteenth birthday mum and dad return to Wold Hall. They announce they will be spending every summer with me. Two months. Guaranteed. Just us as a family. It’s too late. I could care less. I’ve discovered Elon.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
1001 Nights
I return to the room. Olga is back. How did the Samurai know? Weird.
How was the Samurai?
I don’t want to talk. I just want to fuck. I’m certain we’re being watched. I want the Samurai to know precisely what she just tossed out of her bedroom.
Olga has changed out of the dress she wore earlier. She’s in a golden silk robe as she fusses around with the shopping bags. I come up behind her and wrap my hands around her upper arms. I missed her.
How much?
Pressing my erection against her bottom in my answer along with a few kisses to the neck.
That much.
If I promise I will be very quick…
Blah blah blah. Help her move the bags off the bed. And don’t muss her hair. She just spent a fortune to have it blown out.
She unties the sash on her robe.
I pull her to me before she can take it off. I open my robe just enough to give her access.
She straddles my thighs.
Like this?
I don’t want to be accused of hair mussing. This seems the safest.
She truly appreciates that I think about these things. Hair really does matter.
Absolutely.
I wrap my robe around us slightly. Our spectator can only imagine what we are doing because I’m not letting her see a thing.
Olga does me good just like I could predict she would.
We’re done with a satiated pop as she slips off of me.
What happened with the Samurai?
Nothing. Just conversation.
Did she get my books?
Maybe. She can’t be sure. There wasn’t much of a selection. She hands me a bag.
Agatha Christie. I can live with that even though I’ve read them all before. There are a few magazines. A Sudoku book. This will do me for the next two days. She gets a kiss on the cheek.
The door opens. The Servant enters.
Our costumes. We have two hours.
He leaves.
I open the first garment bag. Olga’s again. Harem girl. She coo’s a delighted OOOHHHHH! She loves it!
I open mine. Ali Baba. Fuck me.
I shower. I read nearly half of Murder on the Orient Express. I turn my attention to the Sudoku. I’ve never tried Sudoku before. I could never get what the big deal was. Olga hands me a pen rather than let me go through her purse to find one myself. Someday someone is going to figure out what it is with women and their pocketbooks and win a Nobel Peace Prize.
Sudoku. I love Sudoku. Bury me with a pen and a Sudoku book to take with me to my next life. Give me a cup of tea and a Sudoku book, sit me in the rose garden on a beautiful day – I am a happy man.
We have to go.
I hold up the pen. Just… one… more… minute…
We have to go. I still need to get dressed.
I’m wearing fucking harem pants and a vest.
Get dressed. She takes my Sudoku book away from me.
Fine.
I get dressed.
I go for inspection.
We are let out into the garden. Again the party began long before we arrived.
The company is bibulous and desirous of entertainment. The wine a nostrum promising a good time for all if they only keep consuming. The Samurai sits within her dais. The curtain is open. She is dressed grandly is golden robes. The turban around her hair. Her mien is that of an emperor or a sultan or even a grand vizier. The mammonish display of the dancers painted in gold twirling about between the guests would please Ba’al himself in terms of pure gross extravagance.
I am passed from guest to guest. There is nothing more to add because there is no variation. It would be as if I wrote today I woke, took my breakfast, walked the dogs, had my lunch, finished a few Sudoku puzzles, ate my dinner, watched some television, and went to bed. Day after day. Just substitute fucked for Sudoku and performed felatio for walked the dogs.
The Samurai requests my presence in the dais.
Finally. An exit out of the party.
The Servant closes the curtains as I join the Samurai.
She enjoyed what we did earlier.
I did. But then again not. I would have appreciated a bit of attention.
Why did I fuck Olga wrapped up in the robes?
She didn’t want me to muss her hair.
She thinks I did it so she couldn’t see what we were doing.
She told me to get my happy ending from Olga. I did.
True. She has been considering the issue of her virginity.
She has nothing if not my undivided attention.
I am not to answer her at that moment, she would prefer I take a day to think about it, would I be her first?
I’m simply delighted I’ve been given time to think about this. Because I’m not certain I want to do this.
Will I do to her again what I did that aft
ernoon?
Yes. That I will do.
She gives me one of her small condoms. I give her a mind blowing double orgasm. This is how I roll.
I don’t make it to the platform. I spend the remainder of the evening with the Samurai in the curtained dais.
Abruptly, I am dismissed.
I wander around for about five minutes.
With the sound of a gong, the party ends abruptly.
We are back in the well lit room we were inspected in. All of us are looking a bit worse than the day before after four hours of fucking.
The Servant enters the room with two of his flunkies again. The same routine is repeated, count the stamps, pay the cash.
I have relatively few stamps, but I receive the same amount as the previous evening. Access has it’s privileges.
Olga waits at the door for me. We walk back to the room together. We shower. We go to bed. Nothing new to report. Except a woman wants me to be the first man she has vaginal intercourse with. That’s different.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Awkward Moments
How do these things begin? With a touch in the dark generally. That’s how it began between me and Elon. A simple touch in the dark.
Elon began coming home with me during the summers the year after that disastrous cruise my parents forced me to go on. Misery. Pure misery.
My grandmother put us in my bedroom. The house was already full with guests and there was a film crew running about like ants on a hill getting ready to shoot a movie. This little side venture had turned out to be surprisingly lucrative for my grandparents. That we had the furniture and chattel in place made the cost of renting out Wold Hall well worth the money.
She thought nothing of us sharing a bed. We’re two fourteen year old boys. What difference could it possibly make?
It’s late. Near midnight. My parents are entertaining friends on the terrace below. I find my mother’s attempts to engage me in conversation nothing short of irritating. I much prefer my Uncle Harvey who has taken to swanning around whenever the movie people are near. He lives in hope of getting at minimum a walk on role in the Channel 4 miniseries which will begin shooting in the next few days. Some WWI thing that involves lots of parties and women in ball gowns. Uncle Harvey is a crackup.
