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.
5 Comments
To those who leave anonymous, troll-cowardly one- or two-star ratings on other writers’ works without polite, constructive follow-up comments as to WHY said works didn’t crank your wank: leave a constructive, polite comment so the writer whose work you dislike can know WHY you don’t like the work(s), and can, via your constructive insights, maybe improve (a relative word) their work.
One or two star ratings, sans foll0w-up, constructive comments make you look like a cowardly piece of s##t. Note that I’m not calling you one, but your low-star/no-comment anonymity makes it difficult to distinguish you from the aforementioned piece of s##t coward troll, if, in fact, you aren’t one.
And, to those who do leave constructive comments (whether a piece – mine or anybody else’s – doesn’t ring your o-bell), thank you for being thoughtful to back your star rating/opinions with spine and constructive intent. You make this group worth being in. =)
I’ll be honest, I had to read this twice…(not much of a card player) but after the second time I realized just how clever it is. I especially enjoyed the continuation of “staying in the game” all the while making the sex more and more vivid as the reader continues. It is very difficult to take something like “cards” an create an erotic scenario, while keeping in maintaining the flow of the plot. Something I struggle with myself…Kudos to you Steve, I really enjoyed the story and give it four and a half stars.
PS. I will never look at a deck of cards the same way again! : )
Thanks, Emma – and those with supportive comments/star ratings.
I get how weird this story is – it was an odd experience to write it – so I can appreciate that at first read, it’s like “Hunh? What the f##k?” Still, it’s how my dream played out (in a loose fashion), so I had to stay true to its feel/elements.
BTW, my earlier/first comment is based in my frustration with trolls – which I deal with more than I should have to, as an editor, writer, low-level graphic designer and other job duties. And this week, for some reason, was troll-heavier than usual, so apologies for the harsh tone of my first comment, though I still stand behind its sentiment (don’t be a troll): it came from an honest place, not for just myself but other writers, like yourselves. Peace.
This is a really lovely story with an edge of madness that reminds me just a little of Roger Zelazny’s work. It’s so short, yet there seems to be a whole perfectly formed world that would sustain a long novel in the hints dropped.