The Garments of Caean

‘I say,’ he drawled at one point, ‘I won’t have to go through any ceremonies, will I?’ Not until he was ushered into the adytum, with Reggae by his side, did he begin to sober up.

The walls of the interior were broken at intervals by arches which led to screened passages or else to cosy alcoves. The atmosphere was one of luxury and indulgence; the adytum had lavender walls brocaded with extraordinary erotic murals, chaises longues of soft magenta fabrics, and deep armchairs. Several members were present – all males, this being a male-only sodality – and they turned to greet the newcomers with friendly smiles. Some were of a commanding appearance, looking very smart and handsome in military-style uniforms. Others seemed to exude an almost repugnantly intense masculinity. And there were others, mostly younger, who exhibited the same svelte quality of deliberate sexual ambivalence he had up until now chosen to ignore in Reggae. One or two of these wore slashed doublets that allowed glimpses of frilly chemises and undergarments – Mast knew that slashed over-garments were considered daring and even indecent in Caean.

But it was the phallocrypts that informed his befuddled mind most plainly of the nature of the sodality into which he had wandered. Projecting from trousers, breeches and hose, curving sharply upward before the belly, the horn-shaped penis sheaths exaggerated the member they enclosed in such a magnificent way that they altered the entire stance and character of the wearer.

‘Oh no,’ Mast groaned. ‘Sorry, Reggae, I’m not …’

‘No one’s a hundred per cent,’ Reggae murmured in a voice that was like rough diamonds. ‘It just has to be brought out, that’s all. Come on! It won’t hurt you to let yourself go for once.’

Mast learned with a shock that the Caeanic sartorials did indeed know how to ‘bring it out’. There was something about the slim, erect lines of the young man by his side that sent a shivering, trembling sensation right through him, and in his own breeches he felt his own horn rising, responding to the horn sheaths worn by the others.

‘I have to change now, Realto. Come along and I’ll give you something suitable to wear.’ Reggae gave his hand a squeeze and made for one of the arches, taking Mast willy-nilly in tow.

*

At some stage during the evening Amara lost track of Abrazhne Caldersk, her hoped-for consort, but she did not let that disappoint her for long. As the party wound down she went on a night tour of Inxa with an acceptably presentable, if slightly intense, man, much younger than herself, who had been pursuing her for hours.

He went by the name of Holosk. His pudgy face showed, perhaps, a rather unconfident attitude for a Caeanic, being once both eager and hesitating. The outlines of his body were practically obliterated by a dark-coloured suit, and he seemed to hang on Amara’s every word, to be fascinated by any details she could tell him of Ziode. Amara could not help but sense something behind his pressing enquiries, though she was at a loss to understand what.

‘What do you do, Holosk?’ she asked him. ‘Are you in the government?’

‘No, I’m in business,’ Holosk explained. ‘Export-import. My firm trades with fifteen planets in this sector.’ His voice was quiet, almost inaudible. ‘Tell me, in Ziode … do the women … er …’ He trailed off.

They were leaning against the balustrade of a terrace overlooking a great plaza where coloured fountains played. Amara looked at her watch, which she had already adjusted to Verrage time. ‘Oh well,’ she said, ‘I’d better be getting back to the ship.’

‘I live very near here,’ he told her quickly. ‘Why don’t you come up for a nightcap?’

‘Well …’ With a doubting expression she went with him across the terrace to the street.

Holosk lived in an apartment block only a few hundred yards away. He fumbled with the key as he opened the door, clearly in a state of excitement. Flattered but also filled with curiosity, Amara entered. The apartment was small and unpretentious, but moderately comfortable. Holosk gave her a drink then paced nervously back and forth.

‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘You’ll wear a hole in the carpet.’ She held out a hand invitingly.

For answer he suddenly went down on his knees before her. To her astonishment his lumpy face was filmed with sweat and he was tense and trembling. He was in a sexual frenzy!

‘Come on!’ he cried with bulging eyes. ‘I’ve heard all about you Ziodean women! It’s true, isn’t it? That you – that lovers –’ He swallowed and choked, unable for a moment to bring out the words. ‘Undress one another!’ he gasped hoarsely.

‘But of course,’ Amara replied lightly. ‘What else?’

‘Oh God, oh God,’ moaned Holosk, writhing on the floor.

All at once Amara understood, and struggled not to burst out laughing. She was in the hands of a Caeanic pervert – one so depraved that he actually gained erotic excitement from the thought of uncovering the body!