Note: this story has to be read in its entirety. I confess that a friend of mine related this to me and told me that something like this had been published in a Indian dialect a long time ago. Of course, it wasn’t so graphic. But then, writing for Literotica, I suppose these descriptions are a part of the fun. Intended to titillate and excite.
I have never read this story, only heard about it. And god forbid if the one who told me the brief synopsis ever realizes that i have changed it and presented it in the only way i know it should.
For it was my wife who told me the story!
THE VISITOR pushed his plate away, caught the waiter’s eye and nodded. As the waiter made his way to his table, the Visitor looked around him at the restaurant, lighting a cigarette. Besides him, there was only one more old man sitting three rows across, sipping from a tall glass.
“A black coffee. With a quart of brandy. And get the check”, the Visitor told the waiter.
The old city was slowly going to sleep. Damn it! He thought. Does it ever wake up?
He paid his check, poured the brandy into his black coffee, took a large sip and smacked his lips. He felt good. He had spent the whole day driving, and he reckoned that it was pure luck that he came across this old hick town where he could probably have a few drinks, some food to fill him up and maybe relax the whole night before hitting the road again.
He blew smoke in the direction of the old man, and then picking up his drink, sauntered over to where he was seated.
“Good evening, grandpa!” he said jovially to the old man. “Mind if I take a seat”?
“Not at all”, the man replied. He was a wrinkled old wreck of a man, maybe in his late seventies, tanned brown, the face lined and weary.
“You from round here?” enquired the Visitor, trying to make conversation. They were all alone in this weird little restaurant, and he had not spoken more than just “Fill ‘er up” to the man at the gas station besides ordering his food and asking for his check from the waiter. He was bored.
“Yes and no, I guess”, the man replied.
The Visitor ignored the reply, pulled out a chair and lowered himself on in. “Tell me something old man” he whispered conspiratorially. “Just had me some good food and some good drinks. Now, if only I had some good sex”
The old man smiled wanly. “Ask the waiter. He knows all the spots”.
“Oh, I don’t want just spots. I want me a real fine lady”.
“That too he would most likely know”.
The Waiter was summoned, and initially refused to be involved. But a slight nod from the old man, and a few locations were reeled off.
“But the finest, sir, is the Lady from the castle, or so I have heard. Lot of important people have certified her charms. She is very exclusive and comes at a very high price”.
“Oh, that’s no problem,” said the now inebriated Visitor.
The old man dismissed the Waiter after the latter revealed the exact location of the castle, and lowering his voice, he said to the Visitor “ I would like to warn you about this Lady. There’s been rumor that she ain’t right.”
“Ain’t right?” the Visitor laughed. “The way the Waiter described her, has already made me feel randy.”
“He hasn’t ever seen her. He’s just telling you what he may have heard from the others. Me, I know a story that proves downright that she’s no ordinary human being”
The Visitor took a long pull at his drink and laughed again.
“Tell me about it. I mean, I want to get laid ‘cos I’m feeling very horny and I got no woman with me”
The old man looked at him for a long time. The Visitor began to feel uncomfortable under the long hard and piercing stare.
“Tell you what, lets get outta here. There’s a garden just behind this restaurant. Maybe I’ll tell you the story, as I know it. And mind you, this is true”.
“C’mon, old man. This is the twenty first century. You are almost a hundred years old. Your times were different; these times are different. I don’t think I would believe any kind of stuff that you’d hand me”
In spite of his reluctance, the Visitor found himself following the Old Man to the garden where the two sat side by side on a bench.
The Old Man began relating his story.
******
There were three of them and they were best friends. All were in their early thirties, and if one would look at them, one would get a feeling that perhaps they were brothers.
They spoke alike, walked alike, ate the same food and shared the same bottles. And like the Visitor, they too had come upon the town by chance, dined and drank to their content, and were on the look out for a ‘good night of loving’.
They were told of the Lady in the castle. Since no one in town knew them, they were called as the Big man, the Small Man and the Thin Man.
It was Big Man who decided to go to the castle on the first night that they stayed there. They had initially decided to leave town the next day, but as Thin Man had said, “Maybe if we get the lay of the town and feel comfortable, we could relax for an additional day”.
When he arrived at the castle, the Big Man parked his car under a large banyan tree and got out. He looked at the castle; in the fog it looked incredibly huge. He could see barely three or four windows lighted up. There was a chill in the air and he shivered. Pulling his jersey closer to him, he gingerly walked over to the castle.
He pulled the ancient bell hanging outside and waited. Two minutes later, the door creaked open and an old woman peered out at him. “Yes?”
“Good evening. I was, er…I mean I came to see…”he let his words hang.
There was a faint light behind the old hag and he could barely see her face. What he could see were the intense blue eyes that pierced at him. Since this town was located around the West belt, he knew that blue eyes were common around here. Yet, he had never felt the intensity of eyes such as the one he was feeling now. He could faintly see the lines on her brown face and could make out that she was wearing a shapeless black robe.
He thought he saw a twinkle in those eyes.
“Oh! Come on in, young man.” She stepped inside and he followed. “Go right up the staircase. Turn left when the stairs end and walk up the corridor. Knock twice on the door under which you see the light. Wait for a while, and she will open the door for you.”
It was a huge castle, maybe resplendent in its time: the huge room that greeted him reminded him of a film set he’d once seen. A sturdy oak enameled table, now covered with a layer of dust occupied the center of the room. He could dimly make out a number of chandeliers hanging down from the ceiling. He couldn’t quite see the ceiling; besides being dimly lit, the hall had very high ceiling. The table had more than a couple of high-backed teak chairs around them. He could also make out large paintings hung on the walls. Mostly portraits of turbaned men and demure women. Perhaps, occupants of the castle from the past.
Without looking at the old hag he followed her instructions. The enormous, wide staircase ascended up two flights, and took him almost two minutes. He could feel his neck burning with a strange kind of heat. Perhaps it may have been the old hags eyes, he thought musingly.
But he was burning under his collar. This was the first time he was doing this. The alcohol gave him the strength to walk past the long corridor. There were a number of doors to his side, but having seen light emanating from the bottom of the door at the end of the corridor, he walked straight up to it and very slowly almost tentatively he knocked twice.
He had to wait for quite a long time before he heard a bolt pulled back (or down and it really did not matter) and the door swung open.
He did not realize that his mouth had fallen open at the sight of the bewitching Lady. He had never seen such a beautiful face (and a gorgeous body to match) in his life before.
She was about five feet four. Long dark hair fell to her waist and framed one of the most beautiful faces he had seen in his life. Smallish forehead, small upturned nose, wide cheekbones and blue eyes. Perhaps the old hag was her mother, because the eyes had the same intensity. Her lips were generous and her mouth curled upward as if a permanent smile was affixed upon her.
She was dressed in a blood red gown, tight up to her waist and billowing below. He felt faint as he glanced at her breasts, exposed almost down to her nipples by the deep ‘V’ of the gown. The dress resembled the Victorian gowns he had seen in photographs and paintings of that era.
She stepped aside and beckoned him to enter. “Please come in,” she whispered. Her voice was low and husky, almost a faint whisper. He thought he could detect an unspoken promise, a hint of an invitation in her voice.
He was already feeling the heat between his legs and was aware that he was breathing heavily. His understandings of prostitutes were of heavily made-up, scantily dressed and smelly hags trying desperately to look younger and more seductive than they would ever be.
This Lady was something else! He walked unsteadily into the room. He could make out a few candles lighted around a single chandelier that hung from the ceiling. A heavy smell of incense sticks pervaded his nostrils. As if from a very far distance, he could hear the faint sounds of classical music.
“Please be seated,” she whispered, indicating the huge ornate bed at the center of the room.
He looked around, walking dumbly to the bed. It must have been padded up by at least a dozen thick mattresses, he thought as he lowered himself onto the soft material. The thick mattresses were covered with a blood-red quilt.
He could make out a huge couch sitting below one side of the wall. A quadrangular teak table lay in front of it. In addition, there were three more heavy chairs around the table.
The large room had wall-to-wall carpeting, and if he was not wrong, it was Persian. Towards another end of the room, he could see a tall door, presently closed, and he guessed it led to the bathroom.
On his right, a large French window overlooked the dark gloomy courtyard. The windows were covered with thick curtains and he could see beyond only when they billowed due to the occasional blasts of air coming through.
He twisted his neck to watch the woman. She was standing beside a long teak dresser, pouring some thing into a pair of silver glasses from a heavy looking brass pitcher.
He cleared his throat. “Uh…uh, I…mean, wouldn’t you, er, I mean wouldn’t you like to discuss the rates?”
She laughed softly, not looking up at all. When she replied, her voice was low and husky.
“There are no fixed rates here,” she murmured. “This is a very exclusive place and hardly a dozen people visit; that too, maybe once a month. You are the first stranger and it is surprising you got a referral.”
“An old gentleman told us about you.”
“Us?”
“Uh…y-yes,” he stammered. “I have a couple of friends with me.”
She looked up sharply at him, setting the pitcher on the desk. “You aren’t telling me that they are waiting outside?”
“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. We decided to take it one day…er, one day at a time.”
She laughed and he thought her laugh was more melodious than the strains of a sitar he could hear.
She walked to him and he was aware of her swaying hips in spite of the billowing gown trailing behind her on the carpeted floor.
She handed him a silver glass, and then, taking a step back from him, she raised hers. “Here’s to the night!”
The glasses touched, he continued to stare at her bewitching face as he tipped the contents into his mouth. He guessed it was wine: and damned good at that!
She took a very tiny sip and set the glass down on a small desk beside the bed. She looked at him right in his eyes and he suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“I could never drink liqueurs from glasses,” she smiled.
