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The Harlot of Venus
by Anonymous 1991
 
***

The women of Argyre, halfway around the globe on a high 
plateau in the southern hemisphere, were sought after 
among those who had heard of Argyre, for their scent. 
They exuded a kind of potent aphrodisiac perfume, when 
sexually aroused, from tiny glands in their vaginal 
canals. (MF, prost, rom, sci-fi)

***

By the red, sandy banks of Ferentinae Lacus, in Western 
Arcadia on the planet of Mars, stood the majestic City 
of Venus. The city spread languidly among the quiet 
delta streams of a wide river that wound its serpentine 
way down the northern slopes of Nix Olympica to spill 
into the lake at its southernmost point. The city's 
tall translucent spires in myriad pastel shades had 
scraped the pink sky for two thousand years.

 Venus was known as the most beautiful city in Arcadia, 
filled with a kaleidoscopic mixture of ancient 
architecture and modern sculpture. It overflowed with 
small museums housing six thousand years of Arcadian 
artistic masterpieces dating back to prehistoric times. 

The city's ambience and ubiquitous historical 
architecture attracted an unceasing flow of artists 
from near and far. Musicians and sculptors, painters 
and writers flocked to Venus. The flocks attracted 
followers aplenty until the city was littered with a 
carefree bohemian citizenry as colorful as the leaves 
that scattered through the city's many parks each 
autumn. 

Deep canals of cool water carried from the mountains to 
the south flowed in intricate, lacy patterns throughout 
the city, winding among the ancient buildings, 
connecting them with each other and the lake. 

These canals were perpetually filled with the brisk 
traffic of small passenger boats, driven by strong 
young men with wooden poles, and not a few commercial 
cargo boats carrying goods for distribution around the 
city. The flamboyantly dressed boatmen often sang as 
they poled, until the canals were filled with the 
babble of their musical voices, forming a river of 
sound in the humid air. 

In that beautiful port of legendary grandeur lived a 
woman named Cavortia, who was a harlot by trade. That 
is not to say she was a common whore, for she was not. 
Rather, she was a licensed independent prostitute; a 
proud member of a feminine guild who specialized in the 
arts of love, and traced their origins back into the 
mists of antiquity. 

Cavortia had narrow eyes of molten gold in which 
glittered flecks of deep amethyst like a scattering of 
stars, and hair as deep a blue as the ocean at sunrise. 
When she shook it free of ribbons, it cascaded in 
tumultuous curls down her shoulders and back until it 
reached her narrow waist, accentuating the perfection 
of her figure and the delightful shape of her long 
legs. 

Her skin, which she kept lightly clad in the humid 
warmth of the Martian summer, was as green as a forest 
glade in the spring and as smooth as the belly of a 
summer cloud. Her full lips were an enticing shade of 
deep violet; her kiss as sweet as the ripest fruits of 
summer. 

The gorgeous lines of her straight nose, and the height 
of her cheekbones, were an utter delight to behold, 
matching exquisitely her upswept eyebrows of deep blue. 
She possessed that rarest and most enviable of physical 
traits: a startlingly beautiful face with no 
unflattering viewpoint, so that no matter from which 
direction it was observed, its heart-stopping 
perfection was unmarred. 

When she was a young woman, she befriended a handsome 
Scandian sculptor. He was a sensitive man, delicate of 
build, who had attained some local fame, and was 
certainly destined for greatness. He tried once to 
sculpt Cavortia's likeness in clay, but found her naked 
body so stunningly beautiful that he swooned, and was 
unable to complete the work. 

Cavortia was not the oldest prostitute in the city, nor 
by the estimation of some detractors even the most 
beautiful, but nonetheless, she was by far the most 
expensive and the wealthiest. She did not cater to the 
baser tastes of smelly nomads and raunchy seamen, but 
to the more refined whims of wealthy merchants from the 
old families, brave ships' captains, and exotic 
adventuring heroes from distant countries.

Need did not drive her to her profession, as it did 
some impoverished girls, for she came from an old 
landed-family, and enjoyed a close relationship with 
them. She attended a respectable university in the 
city, and was well-educated and intelligent. 

But her sexual appetite was perversely insatiable -- 
from the time of her first awakening sensuality, she 
desired nothing more of life than to constantly feel 
the deep probes of a man's fine tool inside her and 
pressing down upon her while she gyrated her pelvis and 
clutched his rippling muscles in her long-fingered 
hands until her vagina seemed to dissolve in the 
sweetness of orgasm. She felt lucky to have been 
honored by acceptance into the guild of licensed 
independent prostitutes, and to have made a lucrative 
profession of her favorite pastime. 

But even such an exquisite pleasure as being paid 
handsomely for engaging unceasingly in one's favorite 
sport, and enjoying a ceaseless series of orgasms, can 
become tiresome after a few years of constant 
overindulgence. She had been in the profession for five 
or six years and, not caring to increase her ample 
riches, became more discerning in her choice of 
customers. 

Cavortia gradually winnowed her amorous engagements to 
the point where she had much free time, which she 
devoted mainly to the study of ancient literature. She 
was passionate about classical poetry and read all of 
the books she could find. Only rarely did she see even 
her favorite customers. When she did, it was chiefly 
for the sheer joy of sharing with them her favorite 
pleasurable exercise, and after a time, she ceased to 
even consider any payment from her chosen few 
bedfellows. In essence, she retired from the active 
profession to the quiet life of a wealthy single woman 
with a number of eager suitors and a few close friends. 

Her favorite partner of all men she had ever met was a 
foreign merchant and adventurer by the name of 
Magnanimo, whom she met through a mutual acquaintance 
during her fourth year in the profession. He was a 
strapping specimen: a tall, broad-shouldered man of 
Elysium whose people were widely renowned for their 
incredible strength and stamina. 

He habitually wore the tight-fitting trousers of a 
sailor, which accentuated his ample pelvic endowments. 
His hair was short-cropped and curly, of a medium-blue 
shade, and he wore no beard. Initially, his exotic 
appeal to Cavortia stemmed from the light blue color of 
his smooth skin and the fact that he, and the males of 
Elysium in general, had three separate penises which 
could be utilized in tandem with several partners, or 
serially to prolong one partner's pleasure. Cavortia, 
of course, preferred the latter method, though she did 
on occasion invite a female friend, or even two, for an 
evening's entertainment with Magnanimo. 

Cavortia and Magnanimo became emotionally intimate in a 
short time, and he grew to love her passionately. As 
their relationship blossomed over the course of nearly 
five years, she also came to care for him deeply, and 
they were more often together than separated. It became 
his habit to stay with her exclusively when he was in 
the city, though he retained his own rented lodgings. 

She refused to marry him, however, insisting that she 
preferred their relationship as it was. Besides, she 
rationalized, he was gone frequently on trading 
voyages, and she insisted that she would have preferred 
to spend less time worrying about the well-being of a 
husband. As long as they were not actually married, she 
said that she felt no obligation to worry about him 
when he was gone. This answer never quite satisfied 
Magnanimo, who was completely devoted to her. 

Magnanimo made no demands upon Cavortia at all, and in 
this he differed from every other man she had known 
intimately. If she wanted to see him, he was always 
there, but when she did not need him, he was as 
instantly absent. His lovemaking, too, was exquisitely 
satisfying. He knew every corner of her anatomy, and 
could excite her with the simplest touch. 

He shared her love of poetry and introduced her to the 
Elysian classics, which she came to find singularly 
profound and absorbing. He frequently brought her 
beautifully bound books of poetry as gifts, knowing 
that she especially adored the amorous poets and the 
erotic classics. He never spoke of his origins, but 
over the years she gathered that he had an unusually 
broad education and was exceptionally well-travelled. 

His knowledge of the most obscure subjects was 
continually surprising to her. There was always enough 
mystery and novelty about him that she never tired of 
being with him. She could find no fault with him, and 
supposed this to be an indication of true love. 

She began to believe that she had found in him a 
companion with which she could joyfully spend the 
remainder of her life. Perhaps marriage to him was not 
a thing to fear; they might even have children. Such 
thoughts began to occur to her more frequently. If she 
were to marry him, she sometimes thought, he would be 
no more demanding and no less perfect than she already 
knew him to be. He might even take her with him on his 
voyages. 

In her meandering search for a more productive pastime 
than reading and studying to fill the idle days, 
Cavortia also took up pottery. She quickly discovered 
that she had an unusual aptitude for throwing pots, and 
produced a number of functional items that she was able 
to sell to her friends without any undue effort; they 
bargained for the pieces of their own accord. She loved 
to spin the potter's wheel with her feet, letting the 
wet clay stream through her fingers. The moist clay had 
a sensual feel that she enjoyed immensely. 

Often she would sit half the day at the wheel, 
erotically stimulated while she repeatedly shaped a 
lump of clay; pulling it up into a deep vessel into 
which she could insert her whole arm, then abruptly 
pushing it down again into a flattened bowl. Sometimes 
she made nothing at all, but spun the wheel happily, 
pushing and molding clay while she relaxed and let her 
mind wander freely in sexual fantasies. 

Her first few pieces after obtaining her own wheel were 
moderately abstract constructions that were 
extraordinarily phallic in nature. Proudly pointing one 
out to Magnanimo soon after she took up the hobby, she 
said, "This one reminds me of you. Do you like it?" 

Magnanimo did find the shape moderately interesting. He 
put his arm on her shoulder and answered sweetly, 
"Probably not half so much as you like it." 

"It gives me fantasies," she answered, sliding her hand 
up his thigh with a throaty growl. By the time she 
finished with him, he had to agree that her pottery had 
a certain piquant sensual appeal, and that he might 
like to try the craft himself. 

* * *
 
One day in early summer, Magnanimo left the city on one 
of his frequent voyages. He had only to transact some 
business in a nearby coastal town, and would be gone 
but a few days. About this time, Cavortia had been 
having more serious thoughts of giving in to his 
requests to join her in marriage, but as yet she had 
not mentioned this to him. She was still unsure whether 
that was what she really wanted, though she had ceased 
to entertain any other lovers. Sometimes she wondered 
if he had noticed this fact. 

Standing on her porch to see her lover off, she 
casually bid him goodbye as if he would be back in the 
morning. The sky dimmed suddenly, and they both had to 
laugh when they found that he had chosen a most 
auspicious moment for his departure: it was just before 
noon, and there was a rare double eclipse. Phobos and 
Deimos met the sun simultaneously near the zenith, 
exchanged their curt greetings, and moved on. He 
shouldered his bag and hurried down the street in the 
subdued light. 

The day after Magnanimo left, Cavortia invited her dear 
friend Vanilla to her home in the evening after 
attending an afternoon concert at which Vanilla played 
the viol with her ensemble. She loved to watch her 
friend caress the instrument between her legs, fondling 
it delicately with practiced fingers, drawing out the 
exquisite deep tones with sensuous movements of the 
bow. 

The sound reverberated inside Cavortia's torso to the 
extent that whenever she watched such a performance she 
became sexually excited. She often wondered why Vanilla 
never aspired to be a soloist, but supposed that she 
could not overcome her innate shyness long enough to 
perform alone. Vanilla preferred being another 
anonymous member of the ensemble. Cavortia reflected 
that her friend was also unconscious of the raw sexual 
energy that poured from her while she performed. 

Cavortia and Vanilla had been the best of friends since 
childhood. Though Vanilla herself had never been a 
prostitute, she was a frequent partner in Cavortia's 
sexual escapades, and they had shared a series of 
handsome lovers over the years. Vanilla was somewhat on 
the plain side in physical appearance. She was not too 
thin, and her face was pleasantly round. 

She wore her hair long, in imitation of Cavortia, but 
it did not curl the way Cavortia's hair curled, so she 
frequently kept it bound up tightly with dull colored 
ribbons, lending her a severe look. Though she had no 
specific physical flaws, neither was there anything 
strikingly beautiful about her appearance. Cavortia had 
always told her that this was a predictable result of 
her unflattering attire and bearing. 

Being somewhat shy with strangers, and lacking graceful 
poise and fashion sense, she had significant trouble 
attracting lovers. Men's eyes would inevitably pass her 
by. However, she had no trouble keeping for as long as 
she fancied men who had once shared her bed -- she had 
learned a great deal about the physical aspects of love 
from her friend Cavortia. But she never seemed to 
become deeply interested in any one of her lovers in 
particular, and she quickly cast them off. 

Since the two were so close, Vanilla was usually the 
first friend that Cavortia invited in after Magnanimo 
returned from a voyage, and after she had already drunk 
her fill at his throbbing fountain of pleasure. The 
three of them were comfortable acquaintances and 
occasional bedfellows. 

The day was hot, so after the concert, Cavortia stopped 
by the public baths to refresh herself and wash her 
hair. Vanilla declined an invitation to bathe and 
waited outside for Cavortia to finish. The two women 
later sat in Cavortia's kitchen, dressed in matching 
summer skirts of bright orange. They sipped tea while 
Cavortia ran her fingers through her luxuriant hair to 
dry it, and cast her eyes about the room. 

Her home was large and comfortable, and recently 
purchased. Most of the interior had been painted pure 
white by the previous owner. It lacked furniture, many 
of its rooms being still entirely empty, but she could 
not think of what pieces would look well and fill the 
space advantageously. She thought perhaps she should 
obtain a library from some estate, as books could 
easily fill two or three rooms, and she idly wondered 
where she could find an auction in mid-summer. 

Cavortia pulled open her white blouse and waved the 
material in the air. The humidity was less oppressive 
than it had been for some days, but the weather was 
still hot, and her bath had done little to cool her 
off. Her hair was drying too slowly. She wished Vanilla 
had not asked for hot tea, and that she would stop 
talking about politics. Cavortia was bored and tried to 
change the subject, but Vanilla kept returning to the 
issue, and could not be averted. 

"How come you keep talking about politics?" asked 
Cavortia.

There was silence for a moment. 

"I played badly, didn't I?" Vanilla asked, dipping her 
finger into her tea cup. It was still too hot to drink. 
She thought perhaps she should have asked for cold tea. 

"No, you played beautifully. You always play 
beautifully," Cavortia answered brightly, and grasped 
Vanilla's hand. 

"I don't practice enough." She started to pick up her 
tea cup. 

Cavortia realized the problem. "You're still 
menstruating, aren't you? That's why you didn't bathe 
with me." 

Vanilla fumbled with her cup of tea, not meeting 
Cavortia's eyes. "Mmmm." Cavortia grabbed the tea cup 
quickly before it toppled onto the table, then held 
Vanilla's hand firmly down on the wooden surface until 
she released the cup. 

"Did you take the herbs I gave you?" 

Vanilla looked up uneasily. "Yesterday." 

"Then you should be through today. Did you bleed a lot 
right after you took them?" 

"All over the place. I ruined an evening dress, too." 
Vanilla fidgeted again, twirling her cup. "You know I 
don't like such things. It feels unhealthy to bleed so 
heavily." 

"But it ends quickly, right? That's the point: it's all 
out in one gush." Cavortia sipped her tea again and 
shook out her hair, combing it with her fingers. 
"There's no reason you should bleed for ten days when 
you don't have to." 

"I know." Vanilla was eager to change the subject, so 
she prattled on about politics. She was not usually 
interested in such things, but aside from her fidgety 
mood, the city government had grown oppressive of late, 
and there was genuine cause for concern. 

"Did you know that three people have been executed in 
the last ten days?" Vanilla asked, setting down her 
teacup. 

"No, I hadn't heard," Cavortia answered, not paying 
much attention. Politics had never been her forte. She 
was hungry, but did not feel like cooking anything, 
especially in the heat, and thought perhaps the two of 
them should have an evening out. Maybe they could go to 
a restaurant. Someplace with music, certainly, and 
maybe gambling. 

"They were guillotined. Isn't that awful?" 

Cavortia nodded. "There are a lot of new gambling 
houses. Have you noticed? I wonder if they changed the 
district restrictions?" 

Vanilla frowned in exasperation. "You haven't been 
listening at all, have you?" 

Cavortia suddenly took her friend's hand. "Vanilla, 
let's forget the political chatter. Why don't we go out 
this evening for some recreation?" 

"Not looking for a man, are you?" asked Vanilla shyly. 

"Of course not," replied Cavortia with a laugh. "It's 
just that it sometimes gets tedious when Magnanimo is 
away so often." 

"You two are constantly together these days. It's a 
serious affair isn't it?" 

"It's getting more so, I'll admit." Cavortia cupped her 
hands to her mouth and whispered, "I may actually be in 
love with him." 

Vanilla's eyes leapt open widely and she leaned 
forward. "Why don't you marry him, Cavortia?" she 
asked, grasping her friend's hand. 

Cavortia took Vanilla's hand in hers. "I've been 
thinking about that recently." She paused with a sigh, 
stroking Vanilla's palm, drawing circles with her 
fingernail. "You know, he says that if I master the 
basics of what he calls `serious navigation' he'll take 
me along on a voyage. I almost have him convinced that 
I don't need to navigate." 

Vanilla sighed and squeezed Cavortia's hand, thinking 
that nothing quite that romantic ever happened to her. 
"Oh, Cavortia," she said, "how can you not wish to 
marry him immediately? He's so gorgeous." Cavortia just 
laughed and tossed her head to the side.

Vanilla continued, "He makes love like a dream..." 

"Are you falling for him, too?" Cavortia asked, leaning 
forward. 

Vanilla flushed, "Oh, no, I was just saying he's an 
adequate lover." 

"Of course." Cavortia knew better than to believe that. 
Vanilla really liked him. Perhaps as much as she did. 

After a while, Vanilla casually mentioned there was a 
local festival in one particular district that had been 
recently opened to gambling, so Cavortia convinced her 
they should pay a visit, and the two set off 
immediately. Cavortia was in high spirits, and in her 
friend's shadow, Vanilla was beginning to recover from 
her depression. Talking about Magnanimo had helped to 
brighten her mood. 

They hailed a passenger boat driven by a handsome young 
man who was gaily dressed in tight fitting clothes 
striped in bright red and turquoise, with a yellow 
sash. Cavortia teased him endlessly during their ride, 
remarking on his seemingly ample tool, for his crotch 
was bulging as he watched her. He nearly collided 
several times, having been distracted by her beauty and 
the way she frequently let her long, slit skirt fall 
away from her thighs. 

When they left the boat, Cavortia slipped a hand to his 
crotch and pecked him on the cheek as she squeezed it. 
"Perhaps a little later, eh?" she whispered into his 
ear. The two women laughed, then overpaid him 
generously with a silver coin. The young man winked and 
waved boldly as he poled his boat back out into the 
crowded canal. 

Deimos, the larger and more stately moon, had set in 
the early evening, and the tiny moon Phobos was 
streaking alone across the sky, soon to drop over the 
eastern horizon. The stars had begun to wink into 
visibility in the darkening sky, but by full darkness 
there were no moons to greet them. Cavortia and Vanilla 
walked through the crowded streets, arm in arm, 
enjoying the scenery. 

They were in an older neighborhood of lavishly painted 
decorative architecture which would have been cheerful 
even had the district not been in the midst of a 
festival. A large number of people were dressed in 
semi-transparent or light frilled evening gowns with 
glittering sea-shell sequins and ells of lace. Most of 
the crowd had evidently had far too much to drink. 
Several young couples that they passed in the street 
were engaged passionately in open alcoves and doorways, 
oblivious of the crowds. 

Cavortia pointed out to Vanilla one couple who actually 
appeared to be discreetly copulating in a doorway while 
the crowd milled past without noticing. The young woman 
stood with her back against a painted marble column. 
Her skirt was pulled up above her knees, and the 
couple's hips were rocking together while they smiled 
at each other. The young man held her billowing skirts 
behind him with one hand to cover his bare buttocks, 
and had the other hand behind her head, leaning against 
the wall. 

Exotic aromas were everywhere, as the street was lined 
with carts selling fruit and finger foods to all 
passersby. Cavortia and Vanilla caught snatches of 
music from each bar and restaurant they passed. A 
balladeer here, a classical orchestra there, a nomadic 
ensemble elsewhere. The sounds drifted into the street, 
mingling with voices of the crowd in an amusing and 
ever-changing cacophony that rose and fell in waves as 
they walked along the thoroughfare. 

After walking for some time, laughing and joking about 
people they each noticed in the crowd, they found 
themselves near the edge of the district. Much of the 
crowd had been left behind. The streets were narrow, 
though well-lit. There were many small balconies with 
carved railings leaning precariously over the streets. 
Sometimes aerial bridges arched across a street, 
connecting buildings via the second or third floor. 
From many of the balconies hung damp laundry, which 
sometimes took several days to dry in the warm, humid 
air. After a while, the two women came to a gambling 
house at one corner. 

"Ah," said Cavortia, reading the sign, which was a 
brightly painted affair covering the whole side of the 
building. "I've heard of this place. Or the proprietor, 
anyway. Wasn't there an incident of some kind here a 
while back?" 

"Cavortia, let's turn back," said Vanilla, tugging her 
arm. She leaned closer and whispered, "it was a murder, 
Cavortia, and not a very pretty one. Let's go back." 

Cavortia felt a spirit of adventure, and would not hear 
of leaving. "Wouldn't it be rather exciting?" she said. 
"We might even see some famous underworld figures!" She 
dragged the reluctant Vanilla by the hand behind her, 
and they entered the establishment. 

The cavernous room was noisy and crowded, especially 
around the gaming tables, and filled with the haze of 
cigar smoke. They managed to find an empty table in the 
bar and ordered drinks. While they were sipping these, 
an elderly man in long silvery robes came up to their 
table. Cavortia knew him at once for a Daedalian by his 
lack of a true nose. His pale green skin was wrinkled 
with age and his nasal flaps looked dry and withered at 
the edges. 

"Good evening," he said in a soft, raspy voice with a 
thick foreign accent. Cavortia and Vanilla both replied 
in kind, smiling faintly up at him. 

The old man continued with a warm smile. "Are you by 
chance Cavortia, the prostitute?" He inclined his head 
as he spoke. 

Cavortia laughed aloud. "Well," she said, "I had no 
idea my name was so well known." 

"My master would be interested in obtaining your, 
uh..." he paused slightly, then continued hesitantly, 
"services... for a short while." 

"No, sorry," Cavortia replied shaking her head. "I'm 
retired." She sent the man away. 

Vanilla leaned toward Cavortia and flared her nostrils, 
closing her eyes. "Daedalians are so ugly..." 

"I agree." Cavortia grinned at her friend's distasteful 
look. "But they have other admirable qualities." 

"Such as?" Vanilla took a long sip from her drink. 

Cavortia whispered behind one hand. "Prehensile 
penises." 

Vanilla laughed then quietly spit the liquid back into 
her glass and returned it to the table. She became 
immediately nervous and stopped laughing, then tried 
again to coax Cavortia to leave. She had almost 
succeeded when, a short while later, the old man 
returned. 

"In that case," he said, bowing deeply, as he came up 
to their table again, "my master instructs me to invite 
both of you... charming ladies... to a private gaming 
room."

Cavortia's smile wilted to a tight frown. She picked up 
her shoulder bag and stood up to leave.

"Just for a few games and some conversation, you see," 
the man added quickly. 

Vanilla insisted they should leave. Cavortia, however, 
although somewhat intrigued, did not want to seem eager 
in the least to join the man's master. The Daedalian 
continued to chatter at them in a breathy rasp, bowing 
and inviting them away, waving his hand toward the back 
of the bar. 

"All right," Cavortia said finally. "Just for a little 
while." As the man led them away, she said to Vanilla, 
"I wonder who his master is?" 

Vanilla replied nastily in a whisper, "Don't be too 
curious... we should leave right now!" 

Cavortia turned back to Vanilla. "Probably another 
luscious Daedalian." They both giggled and continued to 
follow the man. 

They were led to a smaller private room in the back and 
introduced to the corpulent master of the 
establishment, a native of Memnonia whose name was 
Bubo. His skin was deep red in color, his eyes bulging. 
Like all Memnonians, he had a set of two long, 
prehensile tentacles sprouting from the sides of his 
chest and terminating in long fluffs of sensitive, 
finger-like cilia. He wore heavy robes and possessed a 
long beard which was, at the time they entered the 
room, greasy with animal fat. Wiping his face with a 
damp cloth as they approached, he attempted to stand 
up, but his weight pulled him down, and he remained 
seated. 

"Do come in, Ladies," Bubo called to them as they 
approached. His voice sounded deep and oily, though he 
put on a casual air. He was seated on some thick 
pillows at a low table spread with the remains of a 
feast. He shoved aside a couple of his minions and made 
room for the newcomers on two pillows next to him. 
Glancing at the women nearby, Cavortia decided they 
were merely common prostitutes and ignored them as she 
sat. 

Bubo beckoned a servant with a wave of his arm, then 
leaned toward Cavortia and asked, "Can I interest you 
in a cigar, perhaps, or a drink?" His breath was foul 
and tinged with the smell of meat. He rested one heavy 
elbow on the table. 

"Yes, maybe I will indulge myself," Cavortia answered 
simply, with no warmth. 

She sat with her hands in her lap, trying to stay well 
away from her host. The servant soon returned bearing 
cigars and tall yellow drinks. Each glass also 
contained a split cukeyfruit. The fruits were supposed 
to be set upright in the glasses, but they were 
overripe, and hung limply. Cavortia laughed to herself 
at the droll display of poor taste. The cigars, 
however, were slender imported affairs of high quality, 
having a light smoke and mild, pleasant odor. 

Lighting a cigar from the oil lamp on her table, 
Cavortia said, "I've never been to an establishment 
like this." Putting one hand on the floor behind her, 
she leaned back with studied sophistication, and looked 
around. There were several gaming tables crowded with 
customers who seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

At one table people were playing a card game; at 
another was a large spinning wheel with black and white 
numbers, against which people appeared to be making 
bets. It seemed like a large crowd for an ostensibly 
private gaming room. She wondered how they were all 
related to their host. 

Bubo lost no time in coming to his point. "Are you from 
Argyre, then?" he asked suddenly. 

Cavortia rolled her eyes back, but then smiled. "No, 
I'm Arcadian. My mother is from Argyre," she replied, 
puffing a stream of light smoke into the air above her. 
She thought he was probably too dull to understand the 
distinction between race and citizenship. 

"Ah, then you're half Argyran," Bubo said, moving 
closer. "It's true, then, what they say about Argyran 
women?" His long beard bobbed up and down comically 
when he talked. 

Cavortia cringed as she caught the scent of his foul 
breath again. "I suppose it is." The women of Argyre, 
halfway around the globe on a high plateau in the 
southern hemisphere, were sought after among those who 
had heard of Argyre, for their scent. They exuded a 
kind of potent aphrodisiac perfume, when sexually 
aroused, from tiny glands in their vaginal canals. She 
had known merchants to come from all over Arcadia and 
pay rather excessive sums simply to lie with their 
faces snuggled between her thighs, smelling this 
perfume and stroking her lightly. 

"Ah, yes." Bubo moved even closer, squirming on the 
pillows. "I should like to find out for myself 
sometime." 

"But as I said, I'm retired," she said firmly. His 
fetid breath rather nauseated her and she thought she 
should soon leave the place. She probably should have 
followed Vanilla's advice earlier. 

After a few more moments, politely trying to indulge 
their host, Cavortia and Vanilla were persuaded to join 
him at a roulette table. It was the table where she had 
previously noticed the large spinning wheel. Cavortia 
had never gambled in her life. The city had always had 
well-enforced restrictions on gambling districts, until 
fairly recently, and she did not frequent the sort of 
districts where gambling was formerly the main 
attraction. She kept her wallet firmly in view, and was 
careful to bet conservatively. 

Vanilla did not play at all, but sat mutely sipping her 
drink with a frightened look, chewing on her unlit 
cigar. When she finished her drink, she bit into the 
overripe cukeyfruit, enjoying its sweet taste which was 
by then suffused with alcohol. Glancing at Cavortia, 
she crossed her eyes and made motions as if she were 
performing fellatio, flicking her tongue across the tip 
of the dripping fruit. Cavortia giggled silently and 
put down several bronze coins on the table...

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 40