Thirst Satyrday for Eros (in fiction)

Marika (a short story)

By Bob Boldt

Richard met her in a bar on St Patty’s Day. He was drawn to her strong features and wild, glowing hair back lit by the red neon of the old Miller’s Beer sign over the crowded bar. She had to be 20 years his senior and yet his calculations were made irrelevant by her inviting smile and enticing eyes. This was definitely someone worth meeting.
    His striking features and dark hair made him a confident operator with the ladies. As he sided into the empty stool to her right he actually found his confidence strangely shaken and his voice devoid of its usual self-assured tone. “A-are you a-alone,” he stammered out as he fumbled for his lighter.
    “Not now.” Her husky voice, exhaled over her poised cigarette, made his flame flicker.
    “I usually don’t smoke these, but when I saw authentic Egyptian cigarettes for sale, I couldn’t resist.” His confidence returned a bit and he pocketed the lighter. “I couldn’t help but notice you as soon as I came in,” he said. “I was hoping you were alone.”
    She exhaled and coughed slightly at the unfamiliar smoke. “Yes, I saw you too. Do you think it was only by chance we met here and now?”
    “I don’t know what you mean,” he stammered, again becoming confused.
    She leaned confidentially closer to him, her had resting on his thigh.
    He felt an immediate stirring between his legs.
    “I mean that I’m not one for all this small talk,” she whispered close enough for him to smell her exotic perfume. “If you are interested in some real stories I think I can tell you some that will surprise and excite. That is, if you are interested.” She immediately produced a business card.
    He turned away from her, toward the light, to read it:

This card is to be used exclusively by Richard Stone for purposes of his higher education and instruction. To matriculate, please be at 805 N. Chester St. at 6:30 PM on Wednesday March 19th. If you come late you won’t come at all. Signed Mistress Marika.

    Amazing! he thought. When he glanced back all he saw was her cigarette in the ashtray on the bar. She was gone.
    An eternity passed until the hour arrived and he was standing, bouquet in hand, his finger on the buzzer next to the ornate gate guarding a small Italianate patio. A click released the iron barrier. Impatiently he crossed the flagstones, opened a large oak door, and entered a dark vestibule. It took a moment to adjust to the candle light.
    A familiar voice spoke from the darkness. “You may place your offering on the table to the left.”

The drapes parted, revealing a small dressing room with a make-up table mirror. On one wall hung a dressing gown with a paper note attached.

Put this on and nothing else.

    He quickly undressed, put on the robe and placed his folded clothes on the chair. As if on cue, the drapes at one end of the room suddenly parted revealing a larger, baroque-styled boudoir. In the center, surrounded by theatrical lights high in the ceiling was a large round bed. Lounging languorously in the middle of it, dressed only in a shear lavender negligee was Marika. She smiled broadly and let out a little laugh. “I see you are good at following directions, Richard.” She gestured toward a comfortable upholstered chair at the foot of the bed. “Please have a seat and a drink some wine.”
    Richard sat. From a small end table he lifted a sizable glass full of red wine. “When I came in, I—”
    “They’ll be no talking on your part—for now,” she spoke, a little sternly. “In my house the mistress of the house rules. Have a sip of wine while I prepare to tell you my story.”
    He complied, lifting and sniffing the fruity essence of the contents of the glass. It had a sweet, mulled taste that went down smoothly with a slight, spicy aftertaste.
    They sat quietly for a time. After he had taken his second draft, she sensually slipped off the bed and came over to him. Her magnificent body was a promising outline beneath her garment.
    “Now, for my first story you will have to be blindfolded so you can focus more fully on all the details of the sense of touch. And I want no distractions.”
    His reply was silenced by her stern finger pressed against his lips. She began:

“A long time ago, there lived a wealthy merchant in one of the suburbs of Krakau. Of course, he was able to acquire one of the most beautiful women of the village for his wife. He had everything but an heir. This was not due to his wife’s lack of effort, for she did everything to entice and sexually stimulate the old man. It was unfortunate, but the poor soul was just not able to arise to the occasion.
    “Finally, in desperation, they sought the advice of the local mendicant. After a period of trial and error, trying this remedy and that, the mendicant came up with a radical suggestion. He said to the merchant, ‘You must go to the neighboring village and find the most virile looking young man and bring him home with you.’
    “Then, plucking a large peacock feather from an urn next to his table, he handed it to the merchant. ‘The next time you try to make love, the three of you must get naked, and while you mount your wife you must instruct the young man to move the feather over you in a circular motion occasionally touching your head shoulders, back and buttocks.’ The merchant was slightly taken aback by this suggestion, but his desire for an heir finally got the better of him.”
    As she was telling the story, Marika slowly began slipping the robe off Richard’s shoulders until the upper portion of his body was bare. She continued:
    “It didn’t take long until the required preparations were fulfilled and the fated night was at hand. The merchant had secured the services of the strongest, handsomest young lad from the neighboring village. The merchant’s wife noticed that the young fellow was exceptionally well-endowed as well.”
    Marika began stroking Richard’s neck and shoulders with a feather. He began to perspire. Was it the wine? He took another drink. Marika continued:

“The three assumed the necessary positions. The merchant’s wife was prone on the bed. The merchant carefully placed his body on top of hers as the young man began to wave the giant peacock feather as instructed. The merchant struggled manfully to mount his wife. The young man worked incessantly, waving the feather to and fro but to no avail. This futility continued for some time until the merchant finally climbed down in defeat.
    “The next day, the sad couple returned to the mendicant’s lair with their tale of woe. After the mendicant assured himself that they had followed his instructions to the letter, he pondered a while and said, ‘To be successful, you must reverse the order of things. Instead of the young man holding the peacock feather, and you mounting your wife, you, sir, must wave the feather while the young man tries to mount your wife.’ This time the merchant was even more taken aback but his desire to follow instructions again got the better of him.”
    By now Marika had stripped Richard’s gown completely off. She noticed with satisfaction his wonderful member standing at full attention, its tip glistening with a tiny dewdrop of moisture. She disrobed and knelt between his legs so he could feel her breasts on his thighs while she licked the drop free from his head. She continued:
    “The next evening, the little drama was again ready to play out, only this time with a slight change of roles. The young wife was positively red from head to toe with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. The young man was hardly up to the task, as he too felt a shameful inhibition that left his large member hanging useless and limp.”
    As she narrated, Marika began to gently stroke Richard’s erect member with slow touches and tweaks. Between sentences she paused to attentively lick the swollen, enraged head of his cock.
    Marika continued:
    “The poor wife was beside herself. She decided in her desperation to take matters in hand. She lifted the young man’s cock, surrounding the flaccid head with her plump, full lips. Immediately she could feel the member slowly but inexorably become fuller. With each small hand she lifted first the left then the right testicle and shyly squeezed them. When she did that, the giant member stiffened noticeably. Encouraged by this response, the wife cradled the shaft in both hands and slowly began to pull back and forth while her mouth voraciously sucked and licked the inflating head.”
    At appropriate moments in the action, Marika took opportunities to pause in her narration to demonstrate in exact detail the action of the story on Richard’s willing organ. She was not averse to add a few of her own unique techniques in fellating him. As her story proceeded, she continued her ministrations on his prick with increased vigor.

“By this time the lad was sufficiently prepared. He needed no further prompting from the merchant’s wife. He forced her head down deeply on his cock. She made a struggling, gurgling sound as she willfully attempted to gag his member as deep into her throat as it would go. He pulled her head back off his cock with a loud pop and, with the merchant’s wife still gasping, pushed her on her back on the bed.
    “The merchant, who had been watching in amazement, suddenly remembered his role and began furiously fanning the prone couple. The merchant’s wife had her legs spread so wide that the young lad’s engorged member slipped into her wet wound with no more difficulty than sliding a foot into a soft slipper. The lad paused a moment deep inside her and then began to move rhythmically in and out, up and down. Of course the diligent merchant bent to his task of waving his peacock feather.”
    Marika had now positioned herself with her body directly over Richard’s cock. The chair had been amply designed to accommodate sitting with a second person crouching. Slowly she lowered herself tightly onto Richard’s cock. It was fortunate that Marika had been so aroused that she was fairly dripping. This natural lubrication allowed his large organ to slide tightly, securely, and deeply—very deeply—into her. All the while she continued her story without a pause or any hint of the incredible passion that was arising within her.
    “The young lad’s penetrations became more urgent, faster, more violent, and deeper. The merchants wife began a deep moan that seemed to come from the earth itself, pouring through her body as she began a glass-rattling scream that shook the rafters and the pictures on the wall. Her cum was so violent the poor lad had all he could do to keep from being thrown like a startled jockey from a bucking mare. The merchant continued his duties with the peacock feather with redoubled effort.”
    While narrating this part, Marika had been sitting still skewered, as it were, by Richard’s giant peg. This did not mean that she was inactive in the nether regions herself. As she talked she kept a constant massage of his cock going by means of rhythmic contractions all along the length of her vagina. This Tantric stimulation nearly caused Richard to lose consciousness a couple of times. In the darkness behind his blindfold, Marika’s words seemed to synthesize into bright colors of mesmerizing illuminated hallucinations:

“The lovemaking went on for hours, with the merchant’s wife experiencing orgasm after orgasm, each more ecstatic than the last. The poor merchant began to wonder who would give out first, he or his young proxy.”
    At this point Marika began to move rhythmically on Richard’s throbbing shaft. He was pinned between an unmovable cushion and a very deliciously movable Marika. He felt her arms surround his neck and the points of her exquisite nipples thrust into his shoulders as her movements became more extreme. Her body moved up so far that the tip of his penis actually left her sweet crack and felt cold air surround it for a moment, and then it was violently plunged to its full length up to the hilt deeply back within her warm, moist pussy. This full-hrottle fucking continued non-stop, seemingly forever.
    Richard wanted it never to stop, except, all too soon, he felt his climax beginning to arise within him. Marika sensed it too and began to slacken the intensity of her movements in order to extend and delay the inevitable eruption. Her fingernails pinched and tweaked his nipples as she began to slowly slide gradually up and down and side to side, his cock deeply planted, throbbing, ready to come.
    Just before his excitement hit its peak, she tore off the blindfold and kissed his mouth more deeply and more passionately than he had ever been kissed. He came so violently that he began to lose consciousness as the room began to spin in a blurred collage of candles, the bed, the lights, and Marika’s beautiful body and her wild hair.
    When he awoke he was alone again. He got up and stumbled back into the dressing room where his clothes were. Pinned to the top of his shirt was another carefully printed note.

In case you are wondering how Marika’s story ends: Finally, and to the great relief of the merchant, who was on the verge of fatigue with all his frantic waving back and forth of that damned peacock feather, the young lad at last reached his own orgasm. As he rolled over and lay exhausted next to the merchant’s wife on the sweat and sex-stained sheets, the merchant shouted pridefully at the young man, “That’s the way you wave a peacock feather, you lousy schmuck!”

    Under the note was pinned another card.

This card is to be used excursively by Richard Stone for purposes of his higher education and instruction. To hear your next even more amazing story please be at 805 N. Chester St. at 6:30 PM on Wednesday March 26th. If you come late you won’t come at all. Signed Mistress Marika.

    Amazing! he thought.

Copyright © 2015 by Morris Dean