I stand near the interior entrance of the Queen’s Orgy Room, wide, circular, tan, with a sunken silk- and cushion-covered center.
Six foot-tall, two-armed playing cards stand around me. Some, like me, are royal blue. Others, who serve Santiago Diamondking II, king of Cardspain, are carnation red. Their picture-framed clothes are deep purple.
Santiago Diamondking II’s three-dimensional member caresses, spurts over the Heartjack’s open purple lips.
The red Heartjack, whose name I don’t know, looks around. Always thinking about better positions, those knavish palace jockeys!
Polly Diamondqueen, my Queen – in name only, she’s cuckolding consort to my sovereign – is lying in the middle of the central cushions, reveling in her lovers’ tantric antics.
Trent Treyhearts, loyal to the Queen and stupid as a puppy, buries his face and tongue in her sex, making snarfling noises while one of Polly’ s chambermaids fucks his slightly rounded buttocks with a royal blue strap-on.
Polly comes, clutching his head edges. She pushes him away, forcing Darla Diamondeuce to surcease her almost-rapturous thrusts in Trent’s rectum.
Darla is a luscious, loving lay. I, Stephen Jokerman, arranger of Polly’s get-togethers, share Darla’s bed when these soirees are done.
It breaks my heart to set these get-togethers up for “polyamorous Polly” (as Darla calls her). But if I tell my monogamy-minded monarch, Frederick Heartking IV, about it, he won’t believe me. He won’t hear any criticism about his manipulative, scheming wife.
Polly’s moans get louder. Trent fucks her hard, the King of Cardspain watching, while he fondles his wine glass, his cock half-limp.
Polly screams, panting hard, and comes again.
Darla, giving me a sideways look, exits the chamber as a Jackspade Guard opens one of the wooden doors for her.
Soon, I nod. She nods back, half-smiling.
Someone taps quietly on the door. One of the Jackspade Guards, blue and burly, opens it.
Two tall, skinny cards, members of the oft-feared Tarot, enter the Queen’s Orgy Room.
One of the Tarots, Charles Deathtarot, ink-framed with a sickle-bearing Grim Reaper, is friend and kin to my King.
Charles snaps his fingers. The seven red and blue Jackspade Guards drop to the ground, dead.
Charles smiles. “Thank you, Stephen, for inviting us. We’ll fix any problems with Frederick. Now, go enjoy your honeymoon with Darla!”
As I leave, Charles’ companion, an unfamiliar Tower tarot, hums a Blue Öyster Cult song that sounds hit-familiar.
The Tower’s frame-picture frontside – a tower struck by lightning, above a falling man – addresses Polly, who, blanching, starts to get up.
“I’m James Lightningtower,” he tells her. “This, as you know, is Charles, cousin to your husband, your king–“
The wooden door slams shut.
She is so fucked.
This story was originally published, under the title Dreamrealms: blasphēmos gamisia, on the Erotica Reader & Writers Association website in October 2009. It was republished in Steve’s anthology Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories & poems (available at Lulu.com).
Steve Isaak, also published under the name Nikki Isaak, lives in California. He is the author of the anthologies “Charge of the scarlet b-sides: microsex stories & poems” and “Behind the wheel: selected poems”. (available at Lulu.com). He is also the author/editor of www.readingbypublight.blogspot.com and the multi-author www.microstoryaweek.blogspot.com.