"Oh sweet as balm, as soft as air, as gentle - O Antony!"
It was hot. The great, feathered fan, waved sinuously up and down by the enormous Ethiopian slave Igran, did little to break the spell of heat. It clung to the palace rooms like a heavy veil, creating a slow torpor throughout the massive stone building.
Cleopatra lay on her bed, studying the draperies which had been sumptuously gathered and strung about the soft platform. One finger twirled a piece of hair, letting the smooth strands run between her fingers in a lazy loop. She wore a gold necklace that felt cool against her skin, despite the heat, and a sweeping robe that hung from one shoulder, clinging to her dark belly and leaving one breast exposed. She gently brushed her fingertips across her flesh, pausing to caress her nipple until it hardened, wishing it were his fingers that played her so well.
He was not here. He was dead, curse him. She would have given him the world and more, but he had left her. Once again, she felt the grief boiling in her belly, but decided against giving it sway. It was too hot, and she could think of better things to do.
Tensely she pulled the fabric away from her thighs, and reached between her legs. Who needed him anyway? Her fingers brushed against her dark fur, expertly finding the moist warmth within. I am a Queen. I need no-one. They need me. Her index finger moved back and forth in a slow rhythm, teasing the bud in a gentle, luxurious way. Her body responded with pleasure. She was an empty vessel, aching with desire... it had been too long. Her gaze flicked to Igran. As usual he watched everything impassively. He'd seen her touch herself so many times, without once blinking. He was handsome, yes, but this was not his job.
Abruptly she sat up and clapped her hands. Instantly a maid appeared from behind a curtain. "Summon the Isis-men. All of them. They are wanted." The maid ran to do her bidding, and she relaxed back with a contented sigh. Yes. That is what she wanted. It would make her feel so much better.
She closed her eyes, and thoughts came, unbidden, of shared moments. Of the time he had kissed her as if his soul depended on it, of his lips upon her body, of the day they'd hidden in the far end of the palace, naked in each other's arms, the cares and demands of the world forgotten, if only for an hour. The memories made her ache, made her diaphragm clench and her breathing stop with unfulfilled hunger... and grief. How dare he?
"The Isis-men, your majesty," the maid said, and Cleopatra opened her eyes.
Three sinuously muscled men stood at the foot of her bed and bowed to her. They wore only loin cloths, and their biceps rippled as they moved, a sensual grace directing their limbs. The one on the left, Shem, was sandy haired and young, a slave from Gaul who found himself in work he was extremely grateful for - it beat working the kitchens. He was barely 17 and naive, but he applied himself well, and Cleopatra had sometimes considered freeing him for services rendered. But he applied himself a little too well.
The one on the right, Ebad, had left the priesthood of Osiris in shame several years ago. The mischief in his smiling green eyes hinted at the reason, although no-one really knew the truth of it. Sometimes he laughed when he had pleasured her, and she had been glad of it in the past. It made her feel good.
Siptah, in the middle, was an enigma. His jet black hair hung to his shoulders, and his face was excessively handsome. His eyes were intensely serious, and she knew that he loved her with all his heart, that he had loved her for years. When he touched her it was with both reverence, and barely restrained passion. He went to great lengths to keep her happy, and she knew that he dreamed and hoped beyond hope that one day he would be hers.
It was a pity, she mused. Siptah would have made a perfect lover, but she was bound forever to him, to the one love who had captured her soul and taken it with him when he left her.
The three men silently waited as she studied their bodies. Having looked long enough, she nodded her head, and the Isis-men began their work.
They unpinned her robe and let it fall away, leaving her firm body naked before them. They rolled her onto her stomach, gentle hands lingering and leaving tingles on her flesh. She placed her head on the soft pillow and closed her eyes in anticipation. Ebad positioned himself at her feet, rubbing scented oil onto his hands and carefully rubbing her soles, brushing his fingertips against the harder skin of her heels. Soon he was rubbing her ankles with a circular motion, and she felt tension begin to slide away. He poked his fingers between her toes and goosebumps travelled up her legs. She sighed with pleasure.
Shem, meanwhile, began work on her fingers, and arms, massaging the sore parts of her palms and then tickling gently so the hint of pain subsided.
Siptah knelt at her waist, and slowly drizzled oil on her back. It was slightly cool, and left shivers in its wake as stray droplets trickled into her armpits. His strong hands began to knead her muscles, but she could feel him pressing his desire into her skin with every stroke. Her shoulders were massaged until the knots of muscle loosened and the stress of the last few days eked away. He ran his hands down her sides, just brushing past her breasts, and a resulting tingle made her mouth turn up in a smile. Next he started at the top of her buttocks and began to circle them with his adept fingers. Thumbs slid along the creases at the at the base of her buttocks, and her smile grew wider.
Light fingertrails tickled the back of her knee, and she knew that Ebad was working his way upwards. Shem, meanwhile, had moved to her neck, almost tickling the skin at the base of her skull so that shivers again rippled outwards.
Siptah pressed her thighs further apart, and began to stroke the sensitive flesh just below her buttocks. Cleopatra felt the heat begin to throb in her crotch. She was exposed and open to them, the shiny pink lips slightly parted and open to their view. Ebad and Siptah did not stop their labour, but she knew they looked, and it gave her a thrill of pleasure.
Shem removed the elaborate gold net that covered her head, and began to gently trail his fingers through her dark hair, occasionally manipulating her temples. Ebad and Siptah were both working her thighs, and their strokes moved higher each time. Once, twice, thrice she felt fingers brush against her pubic hair, and her heart beat in anticipation, but they edged away again.
At last, Siptah's fingers stayed where she wanted them. They ran along her now moist slit, trailing up towards her buttocks and back down again, pausing to briefly nuzzle inside. She moaned with pleasure. Again, he teased her, and again until, at last, his expert fingers probed inside and found her throbbing clit. She opened her legs wider as he began to stroke her bud, and she ground her hips into the bed as his rhythm increased.
Abruptly he stopped, and three pairs of hands rolled her over onto her back.
Now the massage was over. Shem bent his head and began to kiss her. His lips was soft, and sweet, like ripe fruit, and she responded eagerly, accepting his tongue as it occasionally flicked into her open mouth. She sucked on his bottom lip as though it were honey.
Ebad moved to her breasts, and traced his fingers gently around each mound with a smile in his eyes. He took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the aureole and then sucking, his mouth warm against her taut flesh. His hand squeezed her other nipple gently and then rubbed it, so it stood erect against his attentions.
Siptah had resumed stroking her, so that she felt consumed by ecstasy. After a short time he knelt as if to bow, and plunged his tongue into her waiting wetness, inserting two fingers into her wet hole as he wiggled his tongue and lapped at her swollen clit. Occasionally he'd swirl his tongue between the folds of her labia, and dip it into her dark cave to taste her honey, before returning to his ever-increasing rhythm
Cleopatra rode on waves of pleasure. Every part of her was alive to incredible feeling, and she knew she could not last long. She could feel the pressure of a climax building and her breaths came in short gasps.
The Isis-men knew their trade well, however, and once again the attentions ceased, if only for a short time. This time Shem sat on the floor at the foot of the platform, his head bent back onto the bed. Ebad removed his loincloth and stood over Shem while Siptah helped manoeuvre Cleopatra into position, bent forward over the top of Shem with his head between her legs, her upper body supported on the bed by cushions. Already Shem was licking her, as Siptah also lay back, his face gazing up at hers. With an almost tortured look of love he moved to her nipples and began to suck.
Ebad moved forward and gently traced the tip of his member along her dripping slit as Shem continued to lap her clitoris. Her buttocks were exposed and he stroked them as his manhood nudged within her hot folds. With a push he entered her, and she moaned deeply when his cock filled her. Now the experience was complete. She was a river of outrageous pleasure, a flash of lightning in the firmament and even Ra could not create a better universe than the one she was in.
Ebad increased his strokes, and she felt his flesh smoothly flowing against hers, she felt the soft wetness of Shem's tongue meeting the soft wetness of her clit, and she felt Siptah suckling at his breast as if longing to draw the sustenance of love from her throbbing nipples.
In an instant the climax was there, and she cried out as the orgasm hit like the midday sun. Heat radiated outwards, shivers followed as nerves exploded in wondrous joy. She cried out, a moan mixed with his name, and then the pleasure was fading, and she was spent.
The Isis-men arranged her on the bed, and promptly left. She didn't see the disappointment - the sudden hatred - in Siptah's eyes as he turned away. After a time, she slept, and her dreams were the same as they had always been - of Mark Antony.
She was awoken by a sharp pain in her breast. And another. She screamed and came fully awake, thrashing away cushions and huddling into a corner of the bed in an effort to get away. With a low hiss, the asp slithered under a pillow, eager to be away from possible danger.
Cleopatra looked down. Two telltale fang marks marred her skin, the flesh already reddening as the poison seeped into her bloodstream.
She screamed for her maid, screamed for the guards, but no-one came. The venom worked quickly, and she felt the drowsiness of death close in upon her.
Peering from a nearby curtain, Siptah watched the asp do its work, and fought the regret the roiled within his gut. She deserved it. She was cruel, crueller than any fierce creature of the desert, and she deserved to die. If she could not love him, she would not live to love another.
With her last breath, the great queen sighed the name of Mark Antony, and Siptah's eyes began to bleed tears.
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