The Golden Serpent Pt. 01: Juliette

Note: After taking a hiatus from writing erotica, I decided to attempt a short multi-part series. I wasn't sure whether to categorize this as Horror or Fantasy, but I decided it was closer to supernatural horror.

Although this first part doesn't really have any horror elements, it sets the scene for the rest of the story. I hope you enjoy it.

Pt. 1: Juliette

Juliette sauntered into Tom's life when he was checking tickets at the local cinema. An older woman, pushing fifty, although she would consider herself in her prime. Not many people would have argued with her on that.

Tom first noticed her figure as she strolled into the cinema from the entrance corridor. He stopped talking mid-sentence with another usher when he saw her huge bust and her thin waist -- a combination he found hard to resist. And judging by the wide smile she flashed at him as he took her ticket, she knew it.

Her dark shoulder-length dark hair partially covered one of her equally dark eyes, lined with mascara. Her light skin was clear, with only a few laughter lines.

A red blouse, tucked into a pair of dark trousers, just about contained her bust. Everything about her stood out, from her clothes to her voice.

"I am sorry," she had a French accent, "I thought you were security."

Tom got this a lot. He was no bodybuilder, but his square shoulders and arms showed that he was the only guy working here with a gym membership. The older women who came in seemed to openly appreciate this. Occasionally they would say something flirty as he checked their ticket, brushing his bicep with their fingers as they walked into the cinema.

Tom smiled as he handed back Juliette"s ticket.

"We can't afford security here I'm afraid."

He wished he knew how to flirt.

"I don't think they need to with you on the door."

Juliette winked and walked into the cinema. Tom felt his pants tighten. He hoped Madeline, his fellow usher stood only a few metres away, didn't notice.

Madeline raised an eyebrow, giving him a look through her glasses. She didn't need to see the semi-erection in his jeans to know what was going on.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," said Madeline.

She peered up at him through her glasses. She was about half his height, her dark hair tied up in a bun, wearing a thick jumper. Although in her mid-forties, Tom thought she was younger than him when they first met.

"I love how forward French women are."

"Be careful who you say that around," Madeline smirked. "We have French colleagues here, remember?"

Which was true. But the French, Spanish and Italian women who came in as customers were all like this, even when accompanied by their silent, unsmiling husbands.

Eventually, customers stopped coming in and they closed the doors, before heading into the dark of the cinema to watch the film -- some Icelandic film that had won at Cannes. The sort of film that many a chin-stroking Guardian columnist would gush about. Tom sat right at the back, in a place where he could doze off without anyone noticing.

Tom was just a volunteer in this small, local cinema, housed in the local arts college. He worked here on Saturday evenings as a reason to get out of the house, escape the dull reality of his day job, and watch films for free. As much as he loved film and the arts, he would sometimes privately lament his inability to choose the films he had to sit through.

Tonight, all he could think about during the film was Juliette: tying her up, her hands behind her back, and ripping that blouse open. He tried picturing what those breasts would look like, jutting up towards his face as he kissed every inch of her skin.

When the lights came back on, that was his cue to wake up. He stood at the back of the cinema, waiting for the audience to get up and leave.

This time however, instead of checking the seats for litter, he was looking out for Juliette. She stood out in her red top, sat with her two friends. They were both women of around the same age, dark haired, also French.

When the French women got up to leave, he noticed Juliette look right at him and smile. He strode purposefully in her direction towards the doors, trying to look as though he had something important to do.

Juliette was in the lobby, waiting by the reception area.

"Enjoy the film?" he asked.

"Yes, it was wonderful. Listen," she said, clutching his arm, "do you know a good place to drink nearby? I do not know the city very well."

"Well, this area is a bit...studenty."

"I don't care."

"Okay, well there is a pub just next door that might suit you fine."

"Show me. I'll buy you a drink."

Her heavy mascara may have been hiding lines of age, but the lust in her eyes was more intense than any he had seen in women his own age or younger. He felt his pants tighten again.

"Sounds like an offer I can't refuse. Okay, I have a few things to do here first, but I can meet you outside in ten minutes?"

'Good, I will meet you outside darling.'

She pecked him on the cheek and entered the throng outside in the lobby. Tom turned around and saw Madeline, looking at him, that knowing look on her face.

"I think you'll get more than just a drink," she said, folding her arms.

"We need the repeat business," he smiled. "Just doing my bit."

Tom met Juliette outside, near the foyer of the college. Her friends were gone.

They walked, arm-in-arm, to the pub adjacent to the college.

The pub was quiet, only a handful of other customers. Tom knew it would get packed later. Juliette bought him a beer, and they talked.

He found out that Juliette was an artist -- an accomplished one too. She exhibited in Paris, London and St. Ives, doing well enough to own a property in one of the nicer areas of Plymouth. Tom felt embarrassed to tell her that he lives with his parents in his thirties. She didn't seem to care.

"Can you speak French?" Juliette asked.

"I tried learning," Tom replied. "but I changed to Spanish. I used to work with some Spanish ex-pats who convinced me to switch."

"Je peux t'apprendre des choses que tu n'apprendrais jamais au travail."

"Que?" Tom replied.

"Come back to my place," she grabbed his forearm over the table, "It will be

quieter."

Tom downed the rest of his beer and they headed to the nearest taxi rank.

Juliette's place, as expected, was no bohemian garret. The semi-detached house looked nice from the outside, but inside it was almost like a showroom.

She took him into a spacious kitchen that opened onto the most striking dining room he had ever seen. Everything was black and white -- six high-backed black chairs at a black dining table, under a black lampshade that looked more expensive than home. The walls, floor and ceiling were white, except for a monochrome mural of Marilyn Monroe attached to a wall behind the table.

"Tea?" She glanced back at Tom as she led him towards the kitchen.

"Yes, please."

Juliette put the kettle on. She noticed Tom staring at the mural.

"I like Marilyn. You don't see style like hers today. Such class."

"You seem to appreciate style. Your house looks like a showroom."

"I only moved in recently," she smiled.

"Well, you wasted no time decorating."

She handed him a cup of tea.

"Come with me, let's go into the living room."

Tom followed her into a room with hard wood flooring and white walls, like the dining room, but with a huge widescreen TV set against the wall. Suspended over a black coffee table were three mirror balls, each of differing size, suspended over the coffee table. Juliette sat on a grey leather couch by the table, opposite the TV.

Juliette put the mugs on the table and patted the seat beside her. He noticed her subtly glance at his body as he sat beside her.

She put her hand on his leg, close to his crotch.

"Stay with me, tonight."

She moved in closer, pushing those big, firm breasts of hers against his arm. Her lips parted, and he knew that he didn't have to come up with some lame answer.

As he kissed her, he felt her fingers move lightly across his chest. She moved on top of him, straddling him as she lifted up his t-shirt, while he started unbuttoning her shirt.

She ran her fingers up and down his pecs, his abs, his arms. As he unbuttoned her shirt, he saw more and more of her immense cleavage, until her breasts dropped out in a sturdy black bra. He was hard already.

She sat up and undid her bra, whipping it off in a showy manoeuvre, her huge breasts dropping down through her shirt, before leaning forward and smothering his face between them.

He was in heaven. He kissed her smooth skin, breathing in her perfume as his lips made their way to her large, erect nipples.

Her hands made their way down his stomach, reaching towards his belt buckle as he kissed every part of her breasts. Undoing the button fly of his jeans with one hand, she pulled down his boxers, releasing his hard cock. She immediately started stroking it to the base of the shaft, occasionally reaching down to caress his balls as his breathing intensified.

His face still in her cleavage, his hands ran down the side of her taut body towards her hips, where he undid her trousers and pulled them down, revealing a pair of black panties.

Holding her hips, he moved her onto the sofa, pulling down her underwear. Her bush was dark and well-trimmed. Still holding her, he carried on kissing her body until his face was firmly in her crotch.

Her back arched as she moaned with pleasure, before her thighs clamped down around the sides of his head.

He let this continue for a while, tasting the warm, wetness of her pussy, listening to her rapid breathing, before she moved her ass back up the sofa from him.

"Come on. Fuck me."

Tom fumbled around for his wallet, taking out a condom, and fumbling around for a little longer, before putting it on and mounting her.

"Harder."

Her ass drove into the leather sofa as she moaned louder. Tom managed to hold out long enough for her to climax, before he pulled out and came on her stomach.

Juliette lay on the sofa in silence as she got her breath back. Tom sat up and started to put his pants on. He only then noticed the two cups of tea going cold on the table. She reached up and put her hand on his forearm.

"Stay with me tonight."

"Okay," he replied. Had to be better than his single bed at home.

She got up, still only wearing the red shirt, wide open, parted by those huge tits of hers. She took him by the hand and led him up the stairs. He watched her bare ass as she walked up ahead of him. It was smooth, well-muscled, and he saw glimpses of her dark bush from behind as she climbed each step.

Tom woke up the next morning in her double bed, to the overcast light coming in through tall windows that looked out over the neighbourhood. Juliette wasn't there.

He swung his legs down to the carpet, put his t-shirt and jeans on and went downstairs to find her.

Juliette was in the kitchen. She was dressed -- to an extent. She wore a pair of sweat pants, a cord necklace, and nothing else. She was making coffee in a cafeteria.

She turned to face him. He couldn't help but glance down at her dark pink areolas, stretched out over her breasts.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

She turned around, put the kettle on and reached for a mug out of a cupboard just above her, as if this was completely normal. For her it probably was.

"Are you working at the cinema again, on Saturday?"

She spooned ground coffee into a cafeteria. Tom stopped staring at her tits for one second to answer.

"Yeah, probably. I have a regular shift, every Saturday."

"Will you be free afterwards?"

"I have nothing planned."

"Good." She poured out his coffee, and turned to hand it to him, before walking back to her seat at the kitchen table. Tom sat across from her.

"I want you to come with me to a gathering that night. It's at The Treasury. You know the place?"

"I do. What sort of gathering?"

"A gathering of artists. They are having drinks after an exhibition. I would like you to join me."

She pressed her tits together as she folded her arms, sipping from her cup of coffee. She knew what she was doing. He knew what she was doing. And he was fine with that.

"Okay. As I said, I have nothing planned."

She smiled at him

"Good. Wear something nice that evening. Do you own a shirt?"

Rude.

"Yes," Tom replied. "I own a shirt. Do you have any other clothes? Did I jizz on your only nice top last night?"

She reached forward and slapped his arm.

"Of course, I have other clothes." She replied with mock indignation. "It's my house, I will wear whatever I want."

"Of course," Tom replied. "You do you."

Tom left after finishing his coffee, wondering if she ever got fully dressed. She even followed him to the door and kissed him goodbye topless after he opened the door. She didn't care, and he loved that.

Tom spent the following week back at his day job. The contrast of his world and hers was almost soul-destroying. He worked in a data entry centre on the outskirts of the city. Every day he sat there, typing in postal addresses, staring at a screen.

That Monday, however, things were different. Walking across the carpark towards the glass doors of the huge office building, he noticed a police car. Two officers stood at the reception as he walked in and climbed the stairs to the office.

Later that day, a memo was passed around. A coworker, Jack, had gone missing on Friday. The police were talking to people, checking security footage, doing whatever it was the police did in this situation.

Tom didn't know Jack well. Few people did. Nice guy. Good taste in clothes. One of the few men at his job who dressed like an adult, and didn't just settle for cheap jeans from Next.

Tom gave this about two minutes of thought. His mind was still on Juliette. For once he looked forward to sitting through whatever boring art house movie they put on the following Saturday. He didn't even care about the gathering of artists going on afterwards -- he just wanted to go straight back to her place afterwards, so he could bury his face between her huge breasts again.

Saturday afternoon came fast, and Tom found himself stood in the lobby of the cinema, wearing a chambray shirt, chatting absent-mindedly with Madeline.

Eventually, he saw Juliette enter the lobby with her usual group of friends, the chattering french women in their dark coats. This time, she was in less colourful attire -- a black shirt that was just a little bit see-through. Her cleavage was concealed under a black silk scarf. She wore a grey, patterned skirt that went down to her knees, above a pair of grey heels.

"Hello," said Tom.

Juliette put her arm around him as she unsubtly pushed her tits against his chest.

"Tom," she kissed him on the cheek. "You are coming to the Treasury tonight, aren"t you?"

"Of course. Wait for me after the film."

"Okay," she winked at him, walking into the cinema with her friends.

"Juliette?"

"Yes, Tom?"

"Ticket?"

"Oh, of course!"

She pulled her ticket out of her grey handbag. As Tom quickly checked the ticket, Madeline eyed up the two of them.

"Going out tonight?"

"Yeah, there"s a party on at the Treasury apparently."

"You seem to be very cosy with that woman."

"Cosy is one way of putting it, yes," Tom smiled.

"Have you been..." Madeline trailed off.

"I"m just doing my bit to keep the customers coming in," Tom grinned.

"She old enough to be your mother! Well, nearly."

"Listen, Madeline, if it wasn"t for me banging elderly women, this place would have gone under by now. I don"t think my contribution to the arts is appreciated enough, frankly."

Madeline laughed.

Two hours later, the film ended. A British film this time, mercifully shorter than the other films they show -- only an hour and a half.

Tom had been sat at the back, paying little attention. He was gaming out how the night would go. He had never been to the Treasury, although he had heard that it was an upmarket place. Not the sort of place where the likes of him drink regularly.

Tom handed in his torch at the front desk after the credits finished rolling, and saw Juliette with her two friends. As he approached her, she immediately linked arms with him and they left the building.

Tom felt like Juliette was showing him off like a prize bull at a fair. Her two friends asked him small-talk questions in English: "What do you do?", "Where are you from?", etc. He had the impression that they were practicing their English on him.

The Treasury was a bar embedded into the medieval stonework of the Guildhall in the centre of the City. Through the windows he noticed women in elegant dresses, and men who knew how to pull off blazers.

Inside, the crowd was a gathering of local artists, photographers, actors, theatre directors. Tom recognized a few of them from his local paper. He headed straight for the bar.

"Fancy a drink?" he said to Juliette, extricating himself from her arm.

Tom ordered himself a pint of whatever artisanal real ale they had, and a round of gin and tonics for the ladies. From the bar, he noticed a small cluster of people

who stood out from the party.

There were three of them, sat at a booth in the corner, eyeing up everyone else. He first noticed the cleavage of the young woman sat in the middle. She seemed to be trying to outdo everyone in wearing the lowest cut dress. The deep V-cut of her turquoise dress allowed a generous view of her breasts. She clearly wanted everyone to know just how big her tits were. Her long dark hair had a red tint, framing a pale face with wide eyes, that were looking right at him.

Tom smiled, and pretended to turn away and wait for his order, while he checked out the other two in the mirror behind the bar. Both women, older than the one in the centre, probably in their late thirties.

On the left was a tall woman with long red hair in a grey dress. Slim, with long legs, draped across her seat.

Across from her was a woman who looked like she might be of Japanese descent, her dark hair tied back, wearing almost formal attire -- a white shirt and longer black skirt, like she had just come out of a work meeting and was letting her hair down. Tom noticed that her shirt was struggling to contain those breasts of hers. He imagined that if her nipples got hard, she might lose a button or two.

These two were engaged in a conversation across the table, talking over the lady in turqoise. They seemed to have their own thing going on, separate from the party, as if the party itself didn't matter.

Tom lingered at the mirror for a little longer, taking in another glimpse at the woman in turqoise, before taking the drinks to Juliette and her friends.

A voice from behind Tom interrupted them.

"Juliette?"

The red-head in the grey dress appeared from out of nowhere beside him, leaning forward and embracing Juliette.

Then the air kissing happened, calling each other "fabulous", the usual art scene bullshit. Then Juliette drew attention Tom's way.

"Celia, this is Tom."

Tom smiled.

"Pleased to meet you, Tom." She actually sounded like she meant it.

She seemed too well-spoken to be local. Her accent reminded him of the public school crowd he went to Uni with. Lovely people, but not quite what he was used to. If she was local, she had to be from the rural outskirts of the city, where the wealthy lived.

"And you. Do you two work together?"

"No. I'm no artist. I have bought her paintings though."

"You're a collector, then."

"Yes, you could say that. What do you do then, Tom? Do you have an exhibition on?"

"I'm no artist either. Juliette dragged me here."

"How do you two know each other?"

"I volunteer at the cinema, she comes in sometimes."