Cautionary Tales (10 page)

Not that I'm recommending junk like this; I'm just showing how you can make it from a standing start, even from a foolish daydream when you should have been paying attention to the Pep Talk. You will want to try for a bit more quality, of course, and maybe a spot of realism. Garner an Idea, assemble some Characters, find a suitable place to start, and turn them loose in your imagination. Now go home and start your engines. Some few of your sorry lot may yet become Authors.

Addendum: SPAM circular:
Forbidden Love
, by Accountant & Coed, roundly condemned by literacy critics, banned in 14 states and three countries, dedicated to Piers Anthony, without whose bad attitude this titillating short novel, written in only one month, would never have come to be.

Sigh.

Note:
So I made it a kind of story. I understand that this Pep Talk did encourage some of the NaNoWriMo—that is, National Novel Writing Month—aspirants for November 2008. They have a similar project every year, so get in touch via
www.nanowrimo.org
if you're interested. But no, there's no physical gathering, so real-life Accountants and Coeds can't get together this way. Sorry about that.

Caution: aberrant sex

9. Knave

Jack stared at the ad. All it said was KNAVE WANTED, with a picture of the Queen of Hearts card and a phone number. She was routinely stylized, with a lovely face and ornate robe merging into the inverted image below.

But when he moved his head, the image shifted, and the Queen's nether section manifested. The robe was cinched at the waist to show off her silhouette, which was phenomenal. She would make an hourglass clog its sand in shame.

He refocused, and lo, it was a three dimensional image with a different scene beneath. The queen was completely nude. She was even more breathtaking that way, perfectly formed, her glorious red hair descending almost to her luscious breasts, her waist breathtakingly slender, her hips tantalizingly rounded. In fact she was the most beautiful woman Jack had ever seen or even imagined.

In another moment he saw her gentle breathing, which enhanced her marvelously full breasts further. She looked at him, smiled, and made a subtle beckoning gesture.

Jack blinked, and suddenly the ad was back to the original stylized card, clothed and still. He must have imagined it, or suffered spot eye fatigue from staring. 3D pictures existed, and ones with several spot variations, but this was beyond that. Her gaze had met his.

Well, it was simply enough to verify. He refocused, and saw the wasp-waisted figure. Then the nude.

She caught his gaze and mouthed a word: “Come.”

Jack shut his eyes, and the picture reverted again. Was he losing his mind? Jack was twenty, in good health, two years in college with the summer break starting, no specific future yet in mind, and horny as hell. To that extent, normal. But his face was politely described as homely, and he was no athlete, so his romantic life was nil. He was probably letting his rampant hormones affect his vision in a wish-fulfilling manner. No real woman of such splendor would give him a second look, let alone desire him. He was fantasying about a playing card.

Maybe he should just enjoy it. What else offered, after all?

He focused again, and quickly got the nude Queen of Hearts. This time she spread her arms and made an impassioned kissing gesture. “I want you,” she mouthed. And was gone again as he reacted.

“I'm a fool,” he told himself. He dialed the number.

It was of course a mechanized application form, establishing his name, age, health, marital status, availability and so on. He gave the information automatically, curious just what position they were offering. What did a Knave do, aside from being next down in the deck from the Queen? Why couldn't they simply draw a card that fit the role? And why did they run the ad with such a luscious creature?

This was suspicious. There were a thousand reasons to be wary of such an oblique come-on. Maybe it was a trap, setting him up for identity theft. Good luck on that; he had no bank account to swindle, no identity worth stealing. Still, he should break off the contact, lest they be out for something more devious, like live body parts.

“Your application has been cleared,” the phone voice said. “Your boarding pass is awaiting you at Gate Four. Five-thirty-one flight. Be prompt. Travel light. Your needs will be provided.”

Huh? “But I haven't even—”

He stopped, because the connection was dead.

He looked at the ad again. The Queen met his gaze and slowly nodded. She expected to see him soon in person.

Maybe it was a trap. But it would have been easier to mug him in an alley. Why go to this much trouble, for so indifferent a prospect? And that Queen of Hearts—he was already smitten with her. Just thinking of her made him stiff. He had to find out, even if it was destined to be a severe disappointment. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do this summer.

The flight was two hours, and it was first class, with no other passengers in the section. Jack was served a very nice dinner. He had no idea where he was going; somehow the boarding pass hadn't said. He wanted to ask the stewardess, but she was always busy elsewhere. What would he say, anyway? “Duh—where am I going?” He would surely find out soon.

The plane landed and he disembarked. There was a cabby with a placard bearing Jack's name. He followed that man to his vehicle. “If you don't mind my asking, where—”

“Soon,” the man said gruffly. And that was it.

The cab had opaque windows, showing nothing outside. Jack still had no idea where he was or where he was going. As job interviews went, this was mysterious.

When the cab stopped, the cabby opened the door and Jack got out. He was before the deluxe edifice addressing a spacious golf course. “I didn't come to play golf!” he protested. “I don't even know how!”

“Just get your ass over to the first hole,” the cabby said. “She's expecting you.” He got into his car and drove away.

Jack, feeling weirdly out of sorts, skirted the building and found the marked first hole. It was in a pretty glade, a verdant green surrounded by manicured bunkers. A woman stood there expectantly. Her luxuriant hair was black, fastened in place by a small black crown, and her robe was elegantly worked with designs of clubs. Golf clubs.

“Ah, you are the Knave,” she said. “Right on time.”

“Uh, I guess I'm applying for the position, yes,” Jack agreed. “But I don't know—” He broke off, because suddenly he recognized the woman, in a manner. Except that her hair was not red. “You're the Queen! Only—”

“The Queen of Clubs,” she said. Now he saw that she held a golf club, and had several golf balls. She was practicing shots.

“But it was the Queen of Hearts I was supposed to—I mean—the ad—”

“All in good time,” she said. “First I must interview you.”

“Uh, yes, of course. But I don't even know what the job is. They didn't tell me, just set me up for a journey here. Wherever here is.”

“To be sure,” she agreed, not taking the hint about location. “There are things we need to know about you.”

“I answered all the questions they asked.”

“Some questions can't be asked directly. Are you ready for the interview?”

“I guess so. But—” He broke off again, for she had just stepped out of her robe. She stood before him naked, a lovely figure of a young but mature woman. He noticed incidentally that her pubic hair was the same shade of black as her head hair, and just as appealing.

“Remove your clothing,” she said.

“But—”

She frowned. “Are you refusing the interview?”

“No! I just—what
is
this job?”

“You're shy, aren't you,” she said as if remarking on the timidity of a child.

“Well, I suppose—”

She put her hands on him and started removing his clothing. He just stood there, letting her do it, not knowing how to protest further.

“You seem reticent.” She set aside his shirt.

“But suppose someone comes?” he blurted as she loosened his belt.

“No one will come.”

“But this is—this is a golf course! There must be other players lining up.”

“You forget I am the Queen. This is my golf course. All golf clubs are mine, and this one is reserved for me alone.”

She meant clubs as in the whole golf courses, not just the sticks to hit balls. She was indeed the Queen of Clubs. “Sorry. I guess I misunderstood.” He let her draw down his pants.

Sure enough, in moments she had him bare, with his penis standing stiffly. She inspected it closely. “This will do,” she decided. “Is it experienced?”

“You mean—sex? With a woman? I never—” He stopped yet again, blushing. What a thing for a young man to admit!

“So you are clean and malleable. That's good. Sit down; we must talk.”

He was glad to join her sitting on the plush turf. It helped mask his embarrassing condition. “I don't think I understand,” he said. “The ad said they wanted a Knave.”

“Precisely. Knaves are hard to find and keep, especially for the Queen of Hearts. Very special qualities are required.”

“I'm not qualified for anything!” he said. “I have no training, and I don't know what any of this is about.”

She leaned forward and kissed him neatly on the mouth. He was half stunned; no woman had ever done that to him before. “Your very naivety is a qualification,” she said. “We prefer to break in our Knaves without an undue burden of prior experience.”

“Break in?” he asked warily.

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order. Observe.” She parted her thighs, showing her open cleft.

Jack almost freaked out. “I wish you wouldn't do that,” he said, afraid his eyeballs would bulge.

“Why?” She seemed genuinely curious.

“It makes me—makes me want to—” His glance strayed helplessly to his standing member. A driblet of ichor coated its tip.

“Naturally,” she agreed. “And we shall get to that. But first I must clarify the rationale.”

“Rationale?” he asked dumbly. What he craved right now was straight unmitigated sex. To plunge into that beckoning crevice and spurt. If she let him.

“The King does not provide me all the attention I desire. He has too many mistresses. This annoys me. But I am a woman. I am not free to take masters as freely as I would like. So I use the Knave.”

Was she about to clarify the job? “The Knave, he repeated. “Exactly what does he do?”

“His only desire is to get into my pants,” she said. “He is my servant, and must obey me in all things, so he is mine to play with. But the forms must be honored.”

“The forms?”

“I am allowed to masturbate, but not to have sex with men other than the king. So I compromise. I have sex with my balls.”

“Balls?” He remained numb.

“So.” She picked up a golf ball. Its surface was oddly smooth, rather than dimpled in the normal manner, but it looked serviceable.

“A golf ball,” he agreed.

“A sex toy.” She used her fingers to spread her vulva wide and put the ball against it. She turned it slowly around, so that it picked up moisture from her cleft. When it was thoroughly coated and slick, she pushed, and slowly the ball slipped into her open vagina.

Jack stared. He had had no idea she was going to do that, and less idea that such an object would even fit. But the act was excruciatingly sexy. His penis was dripping. “A sex toy,” he agreed. He was almost panting, though he had done no exercise.

She closed her vagina around the ball, making it disappear inside. That turned him on even more. If only
he
could do that!

She got to her feet, proudly standing. “It is within me, as you can see.”

“Yes,” he breathed, fascinated. The way she held the ball inside suggested that she had good tight closure. How would that feel around his penis?

“I am having sex with my toy.”

“Yes.” Oh to be such a toy!

She put her hand down, tensed her belly, and the ball squeezed out. “Now it is your turn.”

“My turn?” His member was drooling.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Bemused, mystified, still tautly erect, he obliged.

She stood behind him. She put her hand to her slick cleft, wetting it, then put it to his rectum, wetting it in turn. She poked her finger in, lubricating it inside. He was afraid he was about to jet onto the turf. “Now relax,” she said.

“I can't relax!” he protested.

“Where it counts.” She pressed the moist ball to his anus.

Oh. He obeyed, unable to deny her. She worked the ball around and in slowly as his sphincter relaxed. In due course the object passed the constriction and slid further in.

“Now close on it,” she said. “As I did.”

He clenched his rectum, feeling the ball slide further in. He had never before experienced such penetration, but it excited him ever further.

“It was in me,” she said. “Now it is in you.”

“In me,” he agreed, awed.

“Stand.”

He got to his feet, standing in more than one sense.

She stepped into him, lifting one leg, guiding his turgid member. “Thrust,” she said. She lifted her face to kiss him.

Nature guided him. He put his arms about her, holding her close, and thrust. He climaxed instantly, explosively. He had never done it with a woman before, but knew that this was a supremely potent effort. He spurted repeatedly, and felt her clenching in her own orgasm, matching him. It pleased him that she was as turned on as he.

Then somehow they were on the turf, embraced. “Well done, Jack,” she said. “You were an agent of my ball. I have not violated the forms, merely found another application for my sex toy.”

“I'm a sex toy,” he gasped. Somehow it made sense: she had put the ball in herself, then in him, and the ball had sought to enter her again, with him carrying it. So she had not committed adultery. Not exactly.