| "Oh
sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle - O Antony!"
It
was hot. The great, feathered fan, waved sinuously up and down
by the enormous Ethiopian slave Igran, did little to break the
spell of heat. It clung to the palace rooms like a heavy veil,
creating a slow torpor throughout the massive stone building.
Cleopatra
lay on her bed, studying the draperies which had been sumptuously
gathered and strung about the soft platform. One finger twirled
a piece of hair, letting the smooth strands run between her
fingers in a lazy loop. She wore a gold necklace that felt cool
against her skin, despite the heat, and a sweeping robe that
hung from one shoulder, clinging to her dark belly and leaving
one breast exposed. She gently brushed her fingertips across
her flesh, pausing to caress her nipple until it hardened, wishing
it were his fingers that played her so well.
He
was not here. He was dead, curse him. She would have
given him the world and more, but he had left her. Once again,
she felt the grief boiling in her belly, but decided against
giving it sway. It was too hot, and she could think of better
things to do.
Tensely
she pulled the fabric away from her thighs, and reached between
her legs. Who needed him anyway? Her fingers brushed against
her dark fur, expertly finding the moist warmth within. I am
a Queen. I need no-one. They need me. Her index finger
moved back and forth in a slow rhythm, teasing the bud in a
gentle, luxurious way. Her body responded with pleasure. She
was an empty vessel, aching with desire... it had been too long.
Her gaze flicked to Igran. As usual he watched everything impassively.
He'd seen her touch herself so many times, without once blinking.
He was handsome, yes, but this was not his job.
Abruptly
she sat up and clapped her hands. Instantly a maid appeared
from behind a curtain. "Summon the Isis-men. All of them.
They are wanted." The maid ran to do her bidding, and she
relaxed back with a contented sigh. Yes. That is what she wanted.
It would make her feel so much better.
She
closed her eyes, and thoughts came, unbidden, of shared moments.
Of the time he had kissed her as if his soul depended on it,
of his lips upon her body, of the day they'd hidden in the far
end of the palace, naked in each other's arms, the cares and
demands of the world forgotten, if only for an hour. The memories
made her ache, made her diaphragm clench and her breathing stop
with unfulfilled hunger... and grief. How dare he?
"The
Isis-men, your majesty," the maid said, and Cleopatra opened
her eyes.
Three
sinuously muscled men stood at the foot of her bed and bowed
to her. They wore only loin cloths, and their biceps rippled
as they moved, a sensual grace directing their limbs. The one
on the left, Shem, was sandy haired and young, a slave from
Gaul who found himself in work he was extremely grateful for
- it beat working the kitchens. He was barely 17 and naive,
but he applied himself well, and Cleopatra had sometimes considered
freeing him for services rendered. But he applied himself a
little too well.
The
one on the right, Ebad, had left the priesthood of Osiris in
shame several years ago. The mischief in his smiling green eyes
hinted at the reason, although no-one really knew the truth
of it. Sometimes he laughed when he had pleasured her, and she
had been glad of it in the past. It made her feel good.
Siptah,
in the middle, was an enigma. His jet black hair hung to his
shoulders, and his face was excessively handsome. His eyes were
intensely serious, and she knew that he loved her with all his
heart, that he had loved her for years. When he touched her
it was with both reverence, and barely restrained passion. He
went to great lengths to keep her happy, and she knew that he
dreamed and hoped beyond hope that one day he would be hers.
It
was a pity, she mused. Siptah would have made a perfect lover,
but she was bound forever to him, to the one love who
had captured her soul and taken it with him when he left her.
The
three men silently waited as she studied their bodies. Having
looked long enough, she nodded her head, and the Isis-men began
their work.
They
unpinned her robe and let it fall away, leaving her firm body
naked before them. They rolled her onto her stomach, gentle
hands lingering and leaving tingles on her flesh. She placed
her head on the soft pillow and closed her eyes in anticipation.
Ebad positioned himself at her feet, rubbing scented oil onto
his hands and carefully rubbing her soles, brushing his fingertips
against the harder skin of her heels. Soon he was rubbing her
ankles with a circular motion, and she felt tension begin to
slide away. He poked his fingers between her toes and goosebumps
travelled up her legs. She sighed with pleasure.
Shem,
meanwhile, began work on her fingers, and arms, massaging the
sore parts of her palms and then tickling gently so the hint
of pain subsided.
Siptah
knelt at her waist, and slowly drizzled oil on her back. It
was slightly cool, and left shivers in its wake as stray droplets
trickled into her armpits. His strong hands began to knead her
muscles, but she could feel him pressing his desire into her
skin with every stroke. Her shoulders were massaged until the
knots of muscle loosened and the stress of the last few days
eked away. He ran his hands down her sides, just brushing past
her breasts, and a resulting tingle made her mouth turn up in
a smile. Next he started at the top of her buttocks and began
to circle them with his adept fingers. Thumbs slid along the
creases at the at the base of her buttocks, and her smile grew
wider.
Light
fingertrails tickled the back of her knee, and she knew that
Ebad was working his way upwards. Shem, meanwhile, had moved
to her neck, almost tickling the skin at the base of her skull
so that shivers again rippled outwards.
Siptah
pressed her thighs further apart, and began to stroke the sensitive
flesh just below her buttocks. Cleopatra felt the heat begin
to throb in her crotch. She was exposed and open to them, the
shiny pink lips slightly parted and open to their view. Ebad
and Siptah did not stop their labour, but she knew they looked,
and it gave her a thrill of pleasure.
Shem
removed the elaborate gold net that covered her head, and began
to gently trail his fingers through her dark hair, occasionally
manipulating her temples. Ebad and Siptah were both working
her thighs, and their strokes moved higher each time. Once,
twice, thrice she felt fingers brush against her pubic hair,
and her heart beat in anticipation, but they edged away again.
At
last, Siptah's fingers stayed where she wanted them. They ran
along her now moist slit, trailing up towards her buttocks and
back down again, pausing to briefly nuzzle inside. She moaned
with pleasure. Again, he teased her, and again until, at last,
his expert fingers probed inside and found her throbbing clit.
She opened her legs wider as he began to stroke her bud, and
she ground her hips into the bed as his rhythm increased.
Abruptly
he stopped, and three pairs of hands rolled her over onto her
back.
Now
the massage was over. Shem bent his head and began to kiss her.
His lips was soft, and sweet, like ripe fruit, and she responded
eagerly, accepting his tongue as it occasionally flicked into
her open mouth. She sucked on his bottom lip as though it were
honey.
Ebad
moved to her breasts, and traced his fingers gently around each
mound with a smile in his eyes. He took a nipple in his mouth,
swirling his tongue around the aureole and then sucking, his
mouth warm against her taut flesh. His hand squeezed her other
nipple gently and then rubbed it, so it stood erect against
his attentions.
Siptah
had resumed stroking her, so that she felt consumed by ecstasy.
After a short time he knelt as if to bow, and plunged his tongue
into her waiting wetness, inserting two fingers into her wet
hole as he wiggled his tongue and lapped at her swollen clit.
Occasionally he'd swirl his tongue between the folds of her
labia, and dip it into her dark cave to taste her honey, before
returning to his ever-increasing rhythm
Cleopatra
rode on waves of pleasure. Every part of her was alive to incredible
feeling, and she knew she could not last long. She could feel
the pressure of a climax building and her breaths came in short
gasps.
The
Isis-men knew their trade well, however, and once again the
attentions ceased, if only for a short time. This time Shem
sat on the floor at the foot of the platform, his head bent
back onto the bed. Ebad removed his loincloth and stood over
Shem while Siptah helped manoeuvre Cleopatra into position,
bent forward over the top of Shem with his head between her
legs, her upper body supported on the bed by cushions. Already
Shem was licking her, as Siptah also lay back, his face gazing
up at hers. With an almost tortured look of love he moved to
her nipples and began to suck.
Ebad
moved forward and gently traced the tip of his member along
her dripping slit as Shem continued to lap her clitoris. Her
buttocks were exposed and he stroked them as his manhood nudged
within her hot folds. With a push he entered her, and she moaned
deeply when his cock filled her. Now the experience was complete.
She was a river of outrageous pleasure, a flash of lightning
in the firmament and even Ra could not create a better universe
than the one she was in.
Ebad
increased his strokes, and she felt his flesh smoothly flowing
against hers, she felt the soft wetness of Shem's tongue meeting
the soft wetness of her clit, and she felt Siptah suckling at
his breast as if longing to draw the sustenance of love from
her throbbing nipples.
In
an instant the climax was there, and she cried out as the orgasm
hit like the midday sun. Heat radiated outwards, shivers followed
as nerves exploded in wondrous joy. She cried out, a moan mixed
with his name, and then the pleasure was fading, and
she was spent.
The
Isis-men arranged her on the bed, and promptly left. She didn't
see the disappointment - the sudden hatred - in Siptah's eyes
as he turned away. After a time, she slept, and her dreams were
the same as they had always been - of Mark Antony.
She
was awoken by a sharp pain in her breast. And another. She screamed
and came fully awake, thrashing away cushions and huddling into
a corner of the bed in an effort to get away. With a low hiss,
the asp slithered under a pillow, eager to be away from possible
danger.
Cleopatra
looked down. Two telltale fang marks marred her skin, the flesh
already reddening as the poison seeped into her bloodstream.
She
screamed for her maid, screamed for the guards, but no-one came.
The venom worked quickly, and she felt the drowsiness of death
close in upon her.
Peering
from a nearby curtain, Siptah watched the asp do its work, and
fought the regret the roiled within his gut. She deserved it.
She was cruel, crueller than any fierce creature of the desert,
and she deserved to die. If she could not love him, she would
not live to love another.
With
her last breath, the great queen sighed the name of Mark Antony,
and Siptah's eyes began to bleed tears.
This
story features on my site Cleopatra's
Den |
