Excerpt
He
took my hand and pulled me into the bedroom, then disappeared momentarily. When
he returned he was carrying the bowl of butter Mrs. Hudson had brought for the
breakfast table. She liked to bring it up early so that it would be soft for
the biscuits. He set it by the bed. As I watched, he threw off his
nightclothes to expose his satiny white skin, and spread an India rubber mat
over the mattress to protect it from stains. He placed lengths of rope and a
leather whip beside him on the bed and stretched out naked on his belly. I
hadn't seen the leather whip before. This was an escalation.
“I
have been perusing the works of the Marquis de Sade,” he said, with a hunger in
his voice.
I
had read them, of course, but was dismayed that Holmes was making ever deeper
forays into the world of sexual domination fantasy. What Holmes wanted, what
Holmes thought he needed, was to be fucked by some mythical buccaneer of the south
seas, his safe version of what we Londoners call the “rough trade.” That happened to be me, Dragoș the Merciless.
Very well. The least I could do was to teach him a lesson.
I
tied him securely to the four posts of the bed and smeared his callipygian
buttocks so thickly with butter that I could almost see my face reflected in
their convex curves. I wiped my hands off on a towel and unbuttoned my
trousers, pausing to observe how eagerly Holmes offered himself to me. His glistening
body writhed sensually on the slippery rubber mat and his breath accelerated
into an animal pant. I feared he would spend himself before I thrust myself
inside.
“Holmes,
darling. You forgot to tell me the script.”
He
hesitated for a moment, the spell broken. “What do you mean?”
“Who
do you want me to be? Not myself, certainly.”
“Well,
when I saw your eyepatch, I thought you might be…”
“Blackbeard?”
“Yes.
He was such an evil man.”
“Before
or after he was beheaded?”
“Dragoș,”
Holmes groaned, “you mustn’t break the mood.”
“Yours
or mine?”
“Ours,
silly. You don’t mind do you? I’ve always wanted to be ravaged by Blackbeard.”
“Then
ravage you I will! But I need a scenario.”
“Very
well,” he said, sounding exasperated. “You have been hiding down by the river,
when you see me walk by, and…”
“Not
a beach?
He was a sea captain, after all.”
“Very
well, a beach! Will you stop interrupting?”
“Do
continue,” I said.
“You
have been hiding in a secluded cove from agents of the British Navy.
There is slight rustling noise a few paces to your right. You steal towards it
to investigate, alarmed of course. Perhaps you have been discovered! But then
you see a slender young man, like those ones you see running around those
Etruscan vases.”
“And what is
he doing?”
“Eating a pomegranate
under a palm tree.”
“Is
he naked?”
“Not
yet.”
“Do
I pull down his trousers?”
“Etruscan
boys don’t wear trousers.”
“What do
they wear?”
“For god’s
sake, Dragoș, rip off his clothes, would you?”
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