The Pleasuring of Cleopatra (erotic flash fiction)

412px-Cleopatra_-_John_William_Waterhouse

I have never been so terrified in all my life. With her long, bronze thighs clamping my head in place, I do my best to massage the depths of her vagina with my trembling tongue. It is so dark; the flesh of it is so pungent and sour. A bush of sweat-shined black hair, wiry and hard, tickles and scratches my face.

This tension is beyond the powers of language to express. I value my life. I live for my one true love. I have children. Why did she have to pick me? Why? But there is no way out of it. The god-empress has the right to whatever she desires. I am but a lowly servant.

Her vagina is so musty and strong-scented I am hardly able to conceal my revulsion. But one twitch, one signal of displeasure or disrespect will be the death of me. How can I survive this torture, this test of will? Her thighs are tight against my cheeks. Her skin is warm and damp with sweat. I want to see her face, but I am too scared to glance up at her. Is she enjoying it? Please let it be so! Please, please let it be so!

The woman whose vagina I am required to pleasure has legions of men ready to do her bidding in the blink of an eye. If I die, I will not die well. It will be slow and tortuous. She will want to watch. She always wants to watch.

Her vagina is beginning to dampen. The issue from it is bitter and unpleasant. I carry on licking and sucking and massaging. How will I know when she wants me to stop?

As soon as this thought occurs to me a hand is laid on the top of my head. I look up. The god-empress smiles, and then, after a pause, slowly shakes her head. Two masculine arms grip me by the shoulders and roughly drag me backwards.

The god-empress diminishes in size as I am pulled further and further away from the divan. My time has come. May the gods grant better fortune to my children.

PG


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