“Oh, this is agony, sister. I cannot bear it.”
As the sun hurried to hide its countenance behind the mountains in the west, I had soon realized I needed to fetch a candle or two, or I would have to put the book down for the night.
And as it was, the beautiful Lady Adelaide had just welcomed the Arabian prince into her chambers.
It was not my first reading of the story of the fair maiden and her handsome abductor, and I knew well what the next chapter had to offer. Neither was it the first time I hastened to find a candle before I read on, albeit not always for its ability to shine light onto the pages of the book.
Of course, with my sister Charlotte in the living room with me, lounging on the sofa opposite the fireplace, such a thing would have to wait. But I was already too impassioned by the descriptions of the ways the Lady Adelaide had prepared herself for the prince's arrival to simply turn back to a conversation with my discontented sister, and I wanted nothing more than to read on, and perhaps read it once more after I had found a believable excuse to retire early to my room, where, as it were, I had devices that for its purpose far outshone any candle.
“Do you not hear me, Elizabeth? Or do you simply not care about your sister’s suffering?”
I had lit the candles and sat back down at the table, my eyes quickly returning to the right paragraph.
Her hand slid gently under his garments, and soon she could feel his...
“Oh, can you not for one brief moment put away the scandalous fables you hold so dear? Is not your sister dearer to you?”
“You are,” I said, turning to her. “Much. But honestly, your woes are not uncommon, rarely of any serious matter, and I do now and then find it arduous to keep up with what causes them on each occasion.”
By now I had dismally accepted the fact that the prince would have to wait a few minutes more for the soft touch of Lady Adelaide’s timid fingers, not to mention the feel of her delicate mouth and tongue.
Though I often claimed otherwise, whenever my sister demanded my attention or my concern, however feeble the circumstances, I was never slow to oblige.
“What, pray tell, is bothering you, Charlotte?” I asked.
Charlotte threw her head back and theatrically covered her face with her left arm.
“She does not care!” she wailed. “She indeed has not heard a word I have spoken.”
“Arthur,” she continued. “The love of my life, with whom I was to spend this very eve and night in amorous carnality, dared to postpone his visit. And now I am stuck here, alone with my little sister and a pussy aching with hunger for his pulsating member.”
“Hush with you!” I said, gazing up at the painting of our parents on the wall behind her. She followed my gaze and then laughed.
“Oh, my sweet Elizabeth,” she sighed.
“And who is Arthur?” I said, ignoring her cheeky taunt. “Was it not Sir Oliver who was the love of your life not one week ago?”
“Bah!” she barked, sitting up with a jolt. “Do not even speak his name. He is a rat and a cheat and I wish for nothing less than to forget his face and all things concerning him.”
“Though indeed,” she said slowly, turning her eyes to the ceiling as if recalling a fond memory. “Some parts of him will prove harder to forget than others. But I shall try.”
I frowned, and she seemed to interpret it as me not understanding what she meant.
“His pintle,” she explained. “His trunk. His sword, his lance, his mighty weapon by which I was ferociously impaled night after night.”
I crossed my arms in disapproval.
“His pecker, Elizabeth,” she pressed on. "His shaft. His cock. His…”
“Hush with you!” I said again. “You should not speak in such a manner.”
But her lewd words had an abrupt effect on me, and I shifted a little in the chair, praying for it to be inconspicuous.
Charlotte sighed again. “Oh, Elizabeth,” she said, and then she tapped the painting with the back of her hand. “Mother and father shan’t be back home for another month, and the old hag I’m sure has turned in for the night hours ago.”
The old hag was Mrs. Coleson, our housekeeper and chambermaid. I liked her and got along with her well, but for reasons unknown to me, Charlotte could not stand her.
“Still,” I began, but she interrupted me.
“So I could shout my praise to Sir Oliver's manhood from the top of the stairs or through the windows of the tower if I so desired,” she said. “For surely it deserves praise. So long, so thick, so gentle yet so rough in my hands, and oh, the way it could twitch and throb inside me.”
Her words created pictures in my mind more alive than any of my books ever could, and depraved as it may be, the fact that my sister took part in these visions made them only that more affecting.
I saw her writhe and squirm, drenched in sweat as her lover’s rock-hard trunk brought her to climax again and again.
It was as if I could feel each thrust in my own insides as my mind's eye peeped at the two canoodlers. I could all but feel the pressure of his pubic bone against my own muff, so real, in fact, that I had to look down, and to my horror I saw I had my fists clenched and buried between my thighs, pushing steadily at my privates.
I quickly let go and looked anxiously at Charlotte, but she had not noticed.
She was much too busy expressing her frustration as strongly and graphically as she could, embracing one of the pillows as she lay on her back, moving her hips up and down and veritably growling like an animal.
“Aarrggh. I cannot take it anymore!”
“I… want… it!” she said, thrusting back at her imaginary companion with each syllable. “I… want… to… fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I said. “Must you behave like such a hussy?”
I blew out one of the candles, pinched the wick, and blew at it again until the wax had set some, and then I threw it to Charlotte.
“Take this,” I said. “It will have to suffice, but I beg of you, bid me good night and retire ahead. My eyes have seen enough of this conduct.”
She caught it, stared at it in confusion for a second, and then burst out in laughter.
“Such quaint wit,” she said. “What am I to do with this miserable twig? No, Elizabeth, though this would certainly be enough for your tiny slit, I would require twice this to even feel it. Did I not tell you of the length and thickness of Sir Oliver's cock? What's more, did I not also speak of the way it moved? That is to say, in the event you do not yet understand how it works, how Sir Oliver moved it. How he wielded it. And that is the lion's share of it all, dear sister. To be managed. How could I enjoy the performance if I myself must do all the labor?”
“Maybe I...” I began but halted myself. The idea that had entered my mind as she spoke was too perverted, too salacious to be voiced, to even be contemplated. I assured myself that it was merely because of the turn our exchange had taken and because of the way the book had warped my imagination, for surely such a thing was infinitely foreign to me?
“How?” Charlotte said, and with sudden dread, I realized I had indeed not halted myself, but instead, my lips spoke the words against my very own will and intention; Maybe I can help.
“How can you possibly?” she said. “By witchery, I would imagine? Are you a sorceress, dear sister? Will you conjure up a man out of thin air? Will you cast a spell on the old hag Coleson and turn her into a handsome, young gentleman? Or is there an incantation that allows you to grow a pecker of your own with which you intend to ravish me?”
There it was, the vision in my mind, spoken as if she had seen it as vividly as I had. And perhaps that is what gave me the fortitude.
“Dally here, and bide your time,” I said and ran out of the room, but as I crossed the vestibule a voice of doubt and fear called out in my mind;
Stop this, you deviant!
But I ran on up the stairs.
You cannot! It is sinful. Wicked. Improper.
But still I ran on into my room.
Turn back. Tell her it was only buffoonery, that you were simply playing the fool.
Still, I stooped by my bed and brought out the chest I had hidden underneath it.
She will not tolerate it. She will despise you, disavow you.
I unlocked it and fetched the nethermost item. A gift purchased in the much more unprejudiced parts of the eastern world and given to me, in jest although not quite so, by Josephine, the only person I had ever enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh with and even then only in exploratory and unrefined frivolous ways.
Though it was still very much unused in the way it was intended by its maker, I had on several occasions serviced myself with it when candlelights or a hair brush's handle could only declare their inadequacy.
I removed the cotton paper with which it was wrapped and studied it as if for the first time. It was a phallus carved out of cedar wood, neatly polished and smooth and even in the twilight glistening as if the oil had not yet dried. And it was, I could only assume, quite a bit larger than any sample of the real thing. The base of it, where the scrotum would be had it in fact been real, was a square slab with three pairs of leather straps attached to it.
I went back downstairs where Charlotte waited patiently, keeping the effigy behind my back as I walked towards her.
“Still alone, and still with all her feminine parts intact,” Charlotte said. “I am somewhat disappointed, I confess. Did your black magic fail you, sister?”
I stood in front of her and without a word I handed her what I had brought with me, presenting it like an offering, a remedy for her ailments. Charlotte's jaw dropped.
“My, my,” she said as she reached for it. “Sweet, innocent Elizabeth is not so sweet nor innocent after all, is she?”
She held it, weighing it in her hands and feeling the surface of it with her fingertips.
“No, she is not. She is indeed as naughty and misbehaved as her sister, isn't she?”
“But alas,” she continued after a pause. “As much as I appreciate the gesture, and indeed this contraption would serve its purpose regarding length and girth, it has yet again escaped you that there is more to such pleasures than merely that. I long not only to be filled but to be taken, to be grabbed and groped and maneuvered. Shall I seduce myself, pin myself to the bed, and bear down upon myself as I whisper lustful obscenities into my own ear? Ludicrous.”
“No,” I stammered. “No, but indeed I had another approach in mind.”
“This thing, it is intended to be...”
I could not even finish the sentence, so instead I took it from her, placed the base of it to my crotch, and fastened it around my waist, tying two of the leather straps behind my back. My skirt prevented me from fastening any of the other straps, but it was not necessary to do so, for Charlotte immediately understood and her jaw dropped again.
Looking up at me with narrow eyes she said. “I eagerly await your admission that this proposition of yours is merely facetiousness. Is it a joke, or dare you truly suggest such depravity, dear sister? For you are my sister, I should remind you.”
I blushed intensely and shrank away, but quickly regained myself.
“Of course,” I said. “Truly a joke, was that not obvious?”
Fearing my words did not sound convincing, I hurriedly delivered a brief laugh as if to say at least I thought it funny, and praying that settled the case I removed the cursed piece of wood and placed it on the table.
I returned to the escritoire, where I sat down and tried to read on, but the awkward silence that now permeated the room made it impossible to concentrate. So I simply sat there staring at the pages, knowing that if I immediately excused myself my state of distraught would be apparent. Pretending to read, even turning the pages twice, I counted the seconds until I could not endure it anymore and turned around. Charlotte was still reclined on the sofa, and she was holding the wooden member and seemingly studying it intensely.
“Well,” I said as calmly as I could as I closed the book and stood up. “It is late, I should retire.”
“I wish to try it,” Charlotte said.
“Pardon?”
“Do not think less of me, sister,” she said. “But I can not deny the fire that still burns in my loins, and much more so now than before, and I ask you to assist in my relief. You may disapprove, but I believe if we agree to certain conditions, it shall not be any more immoral than if you were to scratch my back for a troublesome itch.”
I did not answer, and choosing to take that as acknowledgment, she continued.
