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The Quiver of Dry Bones

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I will cover you with love when next I see you, with caresses, with ecstasy. I want to gorge you with all the joys of the flesh, so that you faint and die. I want you to be amazed by me, and to confess to yourself that you had never even dreamed of such transports.... When you are old, I want you to recall those few hours, I want your dry bones to quiver with joy when you think of them.
– Gustave Flaubert, letter to his wife Louise Colet, 1846

Mac stretched her arms out over her head, her hands searching for purchase on the smooth cool brass rungs of Phryne’s headboard. Behind the bed the wall was hung with heavy purple and gold fabric, decadent and sturdy, that would not be rent by hands gripping and fingernails digging in the heat of the moment. Mac knew that from extensive experimentation. But she also knew – from experience – that when Phryne Fisher made love to her, it might literally bring the curtain down. So the headboard it was. She wrapped her strong hands around the brass bars and arched her back, pushing her sex against Phryne’s mouth.

The tip of Phryne’s wicked tongue flicked across her clit, the fingers inside her twisted just so, and Mac was gone, gasping and sobbing and panting out curses she didn’t entirely understand, in the little Scots Gaelic she remembered from her childhood.

Phryne just chuckled. She’d heard it all before. “Ready?” she asked, dragging her wet lips across the soft skin of Mac’s inner thigh. “Or do you need that again?”

“Hell no,” Mac retorted, forcing her hands to unclench from the bars. “Another of those and I’ll be useless for the rest of the evening.”

“Mmm, and that would be a disappointment…” Phryne ghosted her way up Mac’s torso and pressed her lips to her lover’s, letting Mac taste herself on Phryne’s lips. She twined her fingers with Mac’s and gently rolled against Mac’s cunt. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. It’s you, after all.”

Phryne kissed her gently and left the bed. Mac concentrated on slowly her heartbeat while she watched Phryne prepare. She’d be lying to both of them if she said she wasn’t a little nervous… Phryne buckled the harness around her hips and positioned it so that the dildo was roughly aligned with her clitoris. Mac knew in theory, though not in practice, that the resultant pressure on Phryne would be highly pleasurable.

She licked her lips and breathed in and out slowly through her nose, relieved that the phallus Phryne had chosen was of a moderate size. Phryne, she knew, from long late-night drunken conversations she would much rather not have been privy to, liked her men to be ‘adequately long’ – whatever the hell that was – and (she had demonstrated very precisely with her hands) thick. However, Mac had the dubious distinction of seeing more penises even than Phryne Fisher, and she knew damned well what their general size range was and what she was willing to have in her body, artificial or not.

It still wasn’t her first choice of sex act, but Phryne had asked, and if she was going to try this with anybody… it could only be with Phryne.

Phryne resumed her place on the bed, between Mac’s legs, which was Mac’s favourite place for her to be, and leaned over to kiss her deeply and thoroughly. The dildo brushed over her stomach. It was warm to the touch, but no warmer than Phryne’s skin against hers. Mac ran her hands over Phryne’s beautiful shoulders and then up into her hair. “You’re amazing,” she murmured, stealing a taste of Phryne’s throat.

“Mmm… I know.”

And Mac loved her for knowing. She rocked her hips up, insistent.

Phryne cupped her, teasing between her labia with her fingertips, somehow making her even wetter, and then she sat back. She aligned the tip of the phallus with Mac’s entrance and, slowly, pushed forward.

“Fuck…” Mac gasped. It was the first time she’d had something other than someone’s fingers or tongue between her legs since the second battle of Ypres, when she and one of the male doctors, as exhausted and frightened as everyone else, had stolen a few precious moments of comfort in the back of an ambulance, away from the blood and the bombardment. She hadn’t minded men so much in those days. Everyone was equal on the battlefield. She hadn’t thought of that chap in years, couldn’t even remember his name… and with Phryne Fisher’s rubber phallus slowly slicking in and out of her, she couldn’t recall any of the other few men she’d ever been with.


“I… yes, yes.”

Phryne slid her hands over Mac’s thighs and pulled her forward, so that her legs gripped Phryne’s hips. The motion drove the dildo deeper, forcing a helpless guttural groan from Mac’s throat. “Dear God…”

“Phryne will do, Mac, darling.”

“You are so full of yourself,” Mac snapped back, grinning hotly.

“I’m not the one who’s currently full of me,” Phryne teased. She placed her hands behind Mac’s knees and pushed, bending her legs so that she could stay fully buried inside her lover, and lean over her and kiss and fondle her, and fuck her until she shook.