Quiver
Authors: Tobsha Learner
A P L U M E B O O K
Q U I V E R
Tobsha Learner was born and raised in England and has lived in both Australia and the United States. She is a playwright as well as an author and writes for several genres. Other collections of erotic short stories include
Tremble
and
Yearn
; her historical fiction includes
The Witch of Cologne
and
Soul
; and among her thrillers are
The Map
and
Sphinx
. She divides her time between London, San Diego and Sydney. If you want to read another erotic short story, go to www.tobshaseroticfiction.com and click the link for a free download of the story and subscribe to Tobsha’s quarterly newsletter.
Q
U I V E R
A B O O K O F
E R O T I C T A L E S
Tobsha Learner
A P L U M E B O O K
PLUME
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
Published by Plume, a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. First published by Penguin Books Australia Ltd.
First Plume Printing, July 1998
Second Plume Printing, May 2013
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Copyright © Tobsha Learner, 1998
All rights reserved
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has been applied for.
ISBN: 978-1-101-62005-2
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| ALWAYS LEARNING | PEARSON |
The Khoisan are the hunters and gatherers of the Southern African savannah. They are known to hunt with arrows and have a respect for their prey that borders on the mystical. Besides their hunting pouch, they also have a smaller, magical quiver filled with tiny love arrows. These are kept for the women they desire.
C
ONTENTS
The Woman Who Was Tied Up and Forgotten
Q
U I V E R
HE
W
OMAN
W
HO
W
AS
T
IED
U
P AND
F
ORGOTTEN
S
andra and Brian are a middle-aged couple. Sandra is a statuesque blonde with a purposeful stride. She has been an architect for a long time and, like many people lucky enough to be focused early in life, she is now rich thanks to regular clientele and some astute property investment.
Brian made his money specializing in orthodontics, and has found a niche amid zinc fillings, metal wire and plastic plates. His patrons are the rich matrons of Double Bay who sit in his surgery clasping the hands of their bucktoothed offspring, and find Brian’s brown suits strangely comforting.
Sandra and Brian have a routine to their lovemaking. It begins with a series of signals. The first comes from Sandra, who puts on her flannel nightdress after a regime of skin care. It reminds her of boarding school. It makes her feel naughty. She then reclines on the bed and switches off the bedside lamp. Brain, dressed in his cotton shorts, obediently follows her cue.
The second signal involves Sandra suddenly wrapping her leg over Brain’s torso, inadvertently brushing the tip of his penis. In the ensuing silence Sandra mounts the compliant Brian and rides him until she reaches orgasm. Brian’s climax, a
high-pitched whimper, usually follows a second later. Afterward she likes to get up to brush her teeth.
Sandra is larger than Brian and likes to be in control; Brian likes to think he enjoys being dominated. This is their equilibrium.
Sandra has just submitted a proposal with the Sydney City Council to design a museum to house firefighting equipment dating from the beginning of the colony. She has spent months drawing up her design. The council is to announce its decision about the museum that evening.
Sandra and Brian are dressed for the opera: Brian has donned a light summer suit in an unfortunate shade of beige and Sandra is in pink organza. Sandra sits by the phone, waiting. The heat makes her glisten. A fan spinning in the corner blows her hair away from her face. Her portfolio lies open on the desk. The drawing of the museum is a collision of swirling red arches and stark vertical chimneys thrusting up into a charcoal sky. It looks like fire, as if the building itself is struggling with the elements.
The phone rings. She jumps and grabs the receiver. Brian heads for the drinks cabinet—either way he is prepared to fix his wife a scotch. He watches her face as he pours the drink. Impenetrable, masklike, with only a light film of sweat betraying her. She answers the clerk on the other end of the line with short, polite affirmatives. It is this cool control of hers that Brain finds impossibly erotic. He watches the ice cubes tumble into the whisky then bob to the surface.
He hands her the scotch. She puts down the receiver slowly then swallows the drink in one gulp. She throws the glass against the white stippled wall. It just misses Brian’s head.
“I’ve got it!” She dances around the fan, her pink organza flying. “I’ve
got it!” Tentatively he reminds her that they are running late for the opera.
They get there just as the lights are dimming. It is a production of Humperdinck’s
Hansel and Gretel
. The director has created a Gothic nightmare of epic proportions. From where Sandra sits she can see the tenor sitting on a giant chair, his feet swinging a good ten inches above the floor, his golden curls and painted pink lips a pederast’s dream. The witch trills madly as she binds his feet and arms to the wooden limbs. As the final knot is pulled tight Sandra feels a strange heat flooding her lower limbs. She looks at Brian, who is leaning forward, face flushed, his tongue playing with the gap between his front teeth. She looks back at the stage. The opera singer’s legs lie parted, tied to the chair with bright pink ribbon. Perhaps it is the feeling of success that makes Sandra unusually aroused. Perhaps it is the humidity that hangs like a collective mist over the audience. Sandra suddenly finds the image of the singer tied to the chair more than a little sexy.