Queen Cleopatra: Moving Story
London never feels right unless it’s raining, a forgotten muse once said. In the sunlight, the buildings look their age, the light cruelly exposing the cracks in the mortar and the crumbling brickwork. But during a storm, it is transformed into a gothic masterpiece of a city, buildings silhouetted against a backdrop of primeval force. In that respect, London looked at it’s most beautiful that day.
The rain continued it’s constant assault upon the rooftops, with rivulets of water helter-skeltering down the slates, along gutters and down to the ground. At the bottom of these myriad buildings, the rain flowed into great long rivers, washing away the detritus of the day away like a tidal wave would obliterate a city. Through this torrent, a woman struggled her way through the Square to a large and imposing tower of glass. In years gone by this would have been the seat of power for kings or regents, but now it was just a place where people lived.
The water dripped from the woman as she pushed the revolving door in a semi circle, flowing behind her like some sort of liquid wedding train. She engaged the receptionist in a brief conversation, before walking over to the lift. A smooth and remarkably quick trip up to the eleventh floor later. She walked along a narrow corridor until she found the door she was looking for. The one that said:
“Excuse me, but are you the new tenant?” said a velvet smooth voice from behind her, and Cleopatra turned to see a man leaning against the doorway of the opposite apartment.
“Yes,” she said, smiling.
She turned her attention to the man. He was certainly big; tall or large or wide did not seem to express his dimensions correctly. The white of his shirt contrasted with his dark tone of his hair. He also gave an aura of smoothness, from his slight smile down to his well made Italian shoes. His face, his posture, his entire body language implied openness.
“Still raining?” he motioned to her dripping hair and her soaked overcoat.
“No,” she said with a wide smile.
“Ah, then I won’t offer you a towel and a warm drink…”
“Oh, ah sorry, I couldn’t. Mr?...”
“John Jackson. And you are?”
“Well then, seeing as we’re now on first, and only name terms, I cannot think why I can’t offer you a drink.”
“I’m flattered, but no…”
“Ok, I’m sorry if I embarrassed you…”
“No, it’s not that…Dammit, do you really want to help me?”
“Well, you can fetch up my boxes in the basement. Here’s the key.” She threw the key at him, and winked. “I might have dried off by then.” And with that she disappeared inside, with all the grace of a willow’a’wisp.
It was hard work. There were several boxes, all tightly packed in the locker in the basement. John decided to take them up in a couple of trips. By the time he’d got the last one up, he found the door to 1143 was closed.
“Well, fuck it…”
He rang the buzzer, waiting impatiently at the door. He was greeted by the sight of a true vision of beauty. Gone was the wet, sodden hair, replaced by a gentle frizzy waterfall of black hair, tumbling over the chocolate brown skin of this woman’s uncovered shoulders. The overcoat had been discarded for a backless one-piece dress of many colours that should have been awful but was in fact incredible, barely covering the magnificent curves and contours of her body.
“Cleopatra,” John said, scarcely believing this was the same woman.
“Oh thank you!” She said, smiling that same smile. “I only wanted the top two boxes.
You’ve been so kind! Please come in for a drink; it’s the least I can do.”
“Thanks.” John motioned toward the door.
“Don’t forget the boxes.”
The insides of the flat were eclectic to say the least. Modern art prints jostled for space with African carvings and mugs that said “You’re the Boss!” The fact that things were only half unpacked compounded the situation. John was guided to a black leather sofa, whilst Cleopatra disappeared into the kitchen area. Naturally, John took the opportunity to take her fine shapely bottom as she did so. ‘John’ he thought, ‘you’ve lucked out here!’
After returning with the drink, Cleopatra (John savored the name) sat down opposite, on an imposing black leather chair. She looked at him, analyzing his every reaction, every bodily nuance as they started to talk. It seemed to John, that Cleopatra radiated openness and that he felt he could say anything to this woman. That said, he made sure not to go into much detail about his personal life and just made small talk, as Cleopatra sat and listened and smiled.
God, she was gorgeous! Her lips were as red as cherries, and complemented her deep brown eyes. Her hair was long and as black as the midnight sky. Stunning was the word that seemed to describe her; shapely open face; eyes shaped like diamonds, and even the cut of her dress. And she wanted to talk with me!. I definitely can’t let this one get away; I’ll do just about anything to snare her.
Cleopatra sat and fingered the gold chain around her neck. She sat back in her chair and deftly flicked the large round pendent attached to the chain out from between her magnificent bosoms. The circular gold pendent had a black spiral on it. Cleopatra smiled at him as she sat down, the light from her pendant reflecting off of John’s eyes.
“I hope you liked the herbal tea,” she said as she pushed the coffee towards John. “It’s a very old recipe.”
“It’s nice.” His eyes focused on the pendent.
“I know,” she said, lifting the pendent up so the light from the candle on the table reflected ferociously against it. “My Mother gave it to me,” she gave the spiral disc a gentle swing from side to side, “she said it was the reason that my Father ended up marrying her.” The pendant swung faster, as John’s pulse started to quicken. “You seem a little distracted.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” John lifted his eyes up from the pendent, framed by her bosoms. It seemed hard to do.
“Is it this?” She gestured to the still swinging pendent.
“If you look carefully, you can see each and every one of the tiny lines etched onto the surface,” Cleopatra continued as she sipped her tea.
“I see,” said John, his eyes watching the pendant like a cat.
The pendant swung back and forth, over and over again, as John sipped his tea. The light reflected off Cleopatra’s eyes, and off of John’s; flash, flash, flash. John’s heartbeat seemed to stutter, as time itself seemed to slow down, the pendant swinging as if it were moving through molasses.
“Isn’t it relaxing?” said Cleopatra.
“Yes…” John’s eyes felt strange, odd.
“Of course, you could just be looking at my chest.” Cleopatra laughed as she said this.
“It’s ok…I’m happy for you too…I take it as a complement…that someone as intelligent as you could be so…transfixed by me, isn’t that so?”
“Fixated on my pendent…or my breasts…or my eyes…Do you like my eyes?”
“You should look deeper into them…”
“Go on, then…”
Something was wrong. The room was wrong. Everything was wrong...except Cleopatra. The room was wrong? The whole room began to dissolve and fade in front of John’s eyes, to a deep, deep, black that filmed at the edge of his vision. All colour seemed to drain out of the room like water down a plughole. And the center of the vision was Cleopatra. Even her body dissolved away until all that was left were her eyes. And then......
A voice was talking to him, a sweet soft voice. He couldn’t make out the words but he knew what it was saying.
“It feels so good to relax…to sink back into your chair.”
He felt warm.
“Let your eyes slowly close…let your head drop…feel yourself getting warm and relaxed…totally safe with me.”
He felt happy.
“It feels so nice to open up to me…to let me have control…feels arousing…”
He felt aroused
“Slipping away now…so fast…so happy…so warm…so horny…”
So many shades of black; a rainbow of saltpeter danced in front of his closed eyes.
“Feels so good to relax…relax for Cleopatra…”
The voice was right. He was warm. He was happy, his facial muscles pulling his face into a relaxed grin. He was aroused, as his crotch became warm, and hard.
“Now, I need you to listen very carefully…listen to the sound of my voice…going deep…deep…deep…deep into hypnosis for me…just listen to my voice…”
The voice talked again, the words drowning him. He felt himself pulled down by the undertow of her voice. His black world became darker and deeper and further away.
“Now, I’m going to count from 10 down to 1…as I do your mind will become more and more open to my suggestions…as I reach 1, you will be happy to follow any command I give you…10…open…9…relaxed…8…suggestible…7…aroused…6…weak….5…blank…4…empty…3…entranced…2…hypnotized…”
One last moment of lucid thought as he wondered what was tugging at the back of his mind, and then...
Whispered words in the blackness of his mind, too quiet to hear, to subtle to understand, and then…
John woke with a start. ‘Oh God,’ he thought, ‘I’ve dropped off in her living room, what must she think of me?’ He sat up, to see she was nowhere around. He smacked his lips, his mouth tasted funny. His top button was undone, that was odd. He got to get up, but his legs were like stone. At that moment Cleopatra came back into the room.
“Obviously, all that work tired you out,” she said laughing, “or maybe it was the tea.”
“I’m very sorry…I don’t know what came over me,” he said, still not being able to move his legs; desperately trying to rub some life back into them.
“Don’t worry. Come now, where we’re we?” With the words come now, a bolt of pleasure shot through John. “Are you all right?”
“Y-yes, sure.” What had just happened?
“Come, come now, you can tell me.” Again, he convulsed in abject pleasure.
“I don’t know, just felt a bit funny.”
“Well, it probably was the tea, but then again no-one ever turns down something for free. Come now.” With that, John’s legs jumped into life, and nearly kicked over the coffee table. “Are you ok, John?”
“Yes, just cramp, sorry.”
“I think you need some coffee.”
“Go and make some John.” By the time John thought how odd it was for someone to tell a guest to make coffee in their own house, he was already bringing it back in. ‘I should be insulted, but I’m not, why?’ he thought. He put the coffee down
“Sit John. Nice cup of coffee, well done.” She smiled. “So why did you offer to help me today.”
“Because it was the neighbourly thing to do.” He found himself staring at the cleavage on show in Cleopatra’s dress.
“Really? Tell me the truth, John,” she said gently tugging at the dress to expose more of her bosoms.
“No, it…it was because I really wanted to chat you up.”
“Because…you seemed nice.”
“Really? Tell me the truth John.” Tug, tug, tug at the dress; more flesh exposed.
“No…it was because you had a sexy body, and I want to sleep with you.” John could not control his mouth, nor his eyes for that matter, fixated on Cleopatra’s now heaving chest.
“Oh dear, was it to be a nice long loving relationship, or just a one night stand?”
“Tell me the truth John.” Tug, tug, tug.
“A one night stand.”
“Oh dear,” she said as she smiled, “oh dear, and you’d say anything to get me in bed, do anything to seduce me, correct?”
“Like some sort of butt kisser, yes?”
“I thought so,” and with that she turned and bent over the chair, pulling up her dress to expose her right bottom cheek. The dark brown colour of the exposed flesh filled John’s view. A thought started to bounce round his head. ‘Kiss the butt.’ Over and over. ‘Kiss Cleopatra’s butt.’ He found it hard to think of anything else. She started to swing her bottom from side to side, and all of a sudden he couldn’t resist any longer. He launched himself forward and started to kiss Cleopatra’s buttock passionately.
“Very good,” she said. “Now SIT!” John sat back down on the floor like a bad dog, as Cleopatra turned and smiled. “Do you like my butt?”
“Yes.” Why was he doing this?
“Is it the most beautiful bottom in the world?” She sat down
“Yes.” This is madness!
“I’m not convinced.”
“It’s the most wonderful bottom in the world! I want to worship it!” Where had that thought come from?
“Mmmm…thank you. What about my breasts? Do you like them?” She pulled her dress down, so that her shapely brown bosom threatened to escape the fabric.
“Oh God yes!” John was hysterical now, eyes completely fixated on her beautiful breasts, unable to stop the feeling of complete devotion from flooding him.
“Who has the most perfect breasts in the world?”
“You do! You have the most perfect breasts in the world.” He had to focus on them, no other thought remained.
“Indeed I do,” she said leaning over the prostrate John, and cupping his face in her well-manicured hand. “Do you know how to address me, my little fucktoy?”
“M-m-mistress?” John sat wide-eyed in submission.
“M-m-m…” John stuttered. What could be the correct term? Suddenly he knew! “My Queen.”
“Very good…Do you know why I am now your Queen? And you are my little devoted, mindless, fucktoy?”
“No, My Queen.”
“Because I, Queen Cleopatra the hypnotic, have placed you in a deep, deep mindless trance. I have programmed you to respond to deep hypnotic suggestions, ones that will grow over time, as you serve me, my newest slave. You will love this new role, and serve me well, as I brainwash you, over and over again.”
“Yes, My Queen.” And he knew that this was true.
“You enjoy this lack of thought, of will, don’t you?”
“Yes, My Queen.” And he knew that this was true.
“Do you know why I did it?”
“No, My Queen.”
“Because you tried to seduce me, you silly little boy. Aren’t you ashamed?”
“Yes, My Queen.” And he was. He started to cry, at his insensitivity, at his stupidity, and at his misogynistic arrogance. Tears ran down his cheeks as he felt uncontrollably ashamed. “I’m s-s-sorry, My Queen.”
“Ssshh…there, there my dear fucktoy,” she said as she placed a thumb over each eyelid and eased them shut. “Queen Cleopatra will make it all better…SLEEP FOR ME NOW!”
And there was oblivion.
John woke up in his bed. He’d had the strangest dream about his neighbour, Cleo. That and he had a raging erection this morning. Never mind, he thought, I’ve got to get ready for work. He showered, ate, dressed, went to work, all the while having brief flashes of the dream he had had the night before. Even as he chatted up the new secretary over the copying machine, erotic images of Cleopatra flashed through his mind. Finally, at the end of the day he made his way home. As he pushed his key into the lock he noticed a key-fob attached to his key. A little golden disc with a spiral attached. He’d stood staring at it for a while, when he heard the door behind him open. He turned to see Cleopatra standing in her doorway, looking resplendent and with an identical spiral hanging between her breasts.
“John, won’t you come now and have some tea?” She said, snapping her fingers, turning and walking back inside. John followed her, glassy-eyed.