Rebecca's Servant

Be careful what you wish for

A wintery night closes about the ill-lit streets of Prague; winds trample coldly through, where hours before horse-drawn traffic, street merchants and shoppers did the same. Above a kitchenware shop off Havelská , an old house on an old street, Rebecca bathed. She lay back, hot bath water lapping at her neck, nipples two small islands breaking the surface, her knees too. Steam dappled the candlelight, and lying back, she wondered, as she had each night for months, when had it all changed?

The house servant's heavy footsteps echoed downstairs. Rebecca could place each as he moved about the room. Outside, the deep, monotonous rumbling of the last few carts accompanied the alto wind rattling at the thin glass of the shuttered window. Below, the heavy footsteps paused at what Rebecca knew to be the stove, then resumed, moving slowly and predictably up the stairs. Thirteen wooden steps; two, three and nine creaked. Then, as usual, the footsteps approached, and stopped before the bathroom door. Rebecca held her breath, listening as the handle rattled, picturing thick fingers curling about the polished brass globe, hands so heavy and cold.

Her breath bated, sanctuary ruptured, the door eased inwards. The candlelit gloom barely illuminated the dark form of the servant as he placed a fresh towel, hot from the stove, on the chair at the foot of the bath. The servant did naught so much as glance at the naked woman in the bath. Rebecca had long ago stopped covering herself. The servant silently retreated, retracing its route down the stairs. Cued, upon hearing the it in the kitchen below, Rebecca heaved herself out of the water, rivulets tracing the valleys and contours of her body, dripping into the bath, her skin flushed pink with heat. For all of the ceremony, the towel did feel good, hot and scratchy against her skin. Perhaps this wasn't so bad after all.

Two years ago, as a wedding gift, Rebecca's widowed father, a potter, gave the newly-wedded daughter and Son-in-Law a truly unique wedding gift. Spending huge amounts of time and effort, he made for them a golem. The science and art behind golem animation was still unknown, so that the golem came into being more by luck than anything else. However, it was the skill of the man as a potter that gave the golem its near-human features. As the vodka and wine flowed at the wedding, the potter boasted that he'd taken his inspiration from Michelangelo's David, though it carried more Czechoslovakian build. Nevertheless, David is what they called it.

The gift was a godsend. The couple bought their house for a song, as it had been lying empty for some time. Dust blanketed dirt, crumbling plaster and dark stains patterned each surface. As the couple moved into their new house, the golem cleaned rooms, carried things in and out, and whilst repairing the roof, it bore the weight of the ceiling upon its clay shoulders, so that the roof itself did not need to be removed. It never broke a sweat. Then, as married life settled down, the golem was put to chores while Rebecca's husband went out to work. The golem remained indoors, though, and Rebecca enjoyed leisurely days of shopping or meeting friends.

Initially the golem would have proved useful to the husband at work, though being a creature of magical origin, they decided to keep it secret. Shortly afterwards the husband gained a promotion which saw him desk-bound, though for better pay, and at work wholly unsuited to the golem's abilities.

At home, however, the golem took on the brunt of the chores, leaving the couple plenty of time to enjoy newly married life. They enjoyed it as all honeymooners do, making memories that Rebecca often returned to during her evenings alone.

Evening after evening Rebecca found herself alone, again, save for the bulky mud reminder that she was, indeed, married. Her husband's long hours made her a little concerned of his fidelity, though deep down she knew that this wasn't the case.

Rebecca spent every day by herself, and now most evenings too. Her husband returned from work late, and tired, with no energy or appetite for anything that wasn't sleep. Instead, she tried talking to the golem, but the conversations were one-sided. She whiled away an afternoon, once, by putting it in a suit, then a dress, then by inserting amusing commands into its mouth; "dance", "carry me about the house", "talk". But though it performed every instruction to the best of its abilities, and looked fantastic in a ballgown, it lacked the capacity to speak. And what would it say, anyway? Rebecca was bored, and lonely.

And night after night she lies awake, staring at a ceiling she can't see, while her tired husband sleeps soundly beside her. He will wake quietly in the morning, so as not to disturb her, and she will see him again the following evening, maybe.

Tonight the sun dyes the evening sky orange, bells across the city strike six and the golem, cued, begins its evening routine. Predictable and metronomic, it prepares a bath, bringing up pot after pot of hot water, its hands do not feel the heat. Does it feel anything? It was hard to spend so much time around something that looked and acted in a human manner, but lacked the conscious, that she may as well just have a really useful cat.

Rebecca would usually decorously wait for the golem to finish pouring the bath before undressing, but this time, without thinking, she undresses first. Although she knows it is magically animated, and couldn't possibly leer at her, she still felt embarrassed to have the humanoid golem stand close as she wore nothing, that her privacy had been violated somehow, or that she should at least tell her husband. She covered her breasts and her dark pubic shape with her hands and arm, and although she felt silly for doing so, they remained.

Eventually the oblivious golem left the bathroom, leaving Rebecca free to relax into her bathtub. Tonight, more than any night alone so far, she felt an insistent tingling in her genitals. Rebecca had never learnt to masturbate properly, though her hands would often linger over her pussy during her baths. She wondered if she could make herself come. Would the golem hear, or understand? And did being naked in front of the golem bring on the desire?

Back downstairs, face flushed from her hot bath, and dressed in a cream silk nightdress, Rebecca takes in each item of furniture in the room: each one either a gift, new or old, or bought, new or old, the paintings on the wall, the vase, sideboard, and recalled the stories given with each gift. She watched the clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth, and recalled the benefactor. Her mind wandered further still, looking at the sofa, the table, each place where she and her newly wed husband had enjoyed their honeymoon passions, the poorly glued vase that had been knocked over and cracked in an early, but now rare, fit of passion. Rebecca thought back to each time that she could recall and realised that the most recent was almost a year ago. Did she resent her husband? It was hard to justify it, if she did, as she watched him return, exhausted, from work most evenings. But the flicker of doubt was there, all the same, illuminating dark thoughts of infidelity and hedonism.

But tonight, a bored and mischievous Rebecca removes a bottle of wine from the rack, glancing at the label only long enough to check that it would pour red, and uncorks it. From the cupboard a cheap, chipped glass goblet; buried at the back, hidden behind the delicate and engraved crystal that was a wedding gift from her in-laws. The hunt for the corkscrew took her through most of the seven stages of grief, mainly anger. They only drank the wine together, the last was so long ago that the corkscrew had been demoted to the third drawer down, along with other rarely used utensils.

Finally wined, Rebecca settles down at the settee before the fire that the golem had lit. Her cheeks glow bright red, now, her pink lips stained dark by the wine. After some time sitting back on the sofa, recalling past passions, she steps lightly to the kitchen to refill her glass.

The second glass really helps her unwind, and she calls the golem over for the third. It doesn't respond. Remembering it only obeys written commands she sighs, and watches it, firelight dancing across its 'muscular' torso.

She decides to make the golem a cock.

Her father keeps clay in the cellar; the logical way to give the golem the accoutrement that it missed. It wasn't that she found the golem attractive (though its classical beauty was hard to miss), but that she really needed sex, and felt that she knew nobody with whom to have an affair, that she didn't really have an appetite or strength for the guilt anyway, and that the marital gift seemed the most poetically suited to the task at hand; one that she retained full control of, being its master.

Her bare feet slap against the cold, damp stone steps to the cellar.

Rebecca takes a large lump of clay, cold and wet, and returning to the living room moulds a rudimentary penis for her servant. Formed by her bare hands, smoothed as best as possible, sausage shaped, thick and blunt, her skills nothing like that of her father. She couldn't fire the golem (did one fire a golem? There was so much she didn't know), its cock remained only as firm as the raw material. But, the clay was hard, difficult to mould, so she figured that it would serve the purpose adequately. She pressed it firmly over the modest fig-leaf that her father had moulded in place of the original penis. It stood comically out, and a little to the side, that she spent the next minute balled on the floor laughing. The golem stood motionless above her, immune to her mockery. Eventually Rebecca straightened up, and addressed her 'work', appraising it, and adjusting it, so that it pointed more or less outwards from the golem, was straight, and looked as she remembered her husband's, except that it was about an inch longer, and a great deal thicker.

The penis was darker, made from fresher clay, than the rest of the dry terracotta body. The golem was smooth, sculpted artfully by her father. The penis, however, was rudimentary at best, ridged deeply where her delicate fingers had pushed it into the fig-leaf, and with dimples and pockmarks from her fingers. These imperfections paled next to its size, being much thicker and a little longer than the modest and comfortable phallus her husband bore; Rebecca wondered whether the inability to get even her hand about it completely was a good thing or bad.

Giggling, now, she runs barefoot to the door at the top of the stairs and checks again that it is locked, that she wouldn't be disturbed, and scampers back to the living room, perching herself on the edge of a maroon-upholstered chaise lounge. She presses the palms of her hands together, squeezing them between her closed thighs. She is nervous, and curious, excited, scared, and very wet. She feels so naughty, so daring and rude, her whole body responds to each of these emotions as best as possible, a shudder, a nervous giggle, a deep inhalation of breath.

The decision has been made, but there is still the small matter of the command. She springs off the chair and over to the sideboard where the post-its that they used to issue commands are kept, takes a pen also, and returns to the fireside, to her wine, and sits cross legged before it, the light material of her nightdress riding to the top of her thighs. This ordinarily immodest act, exposing her genitalia, is of no concern to her tonight, the awareness heightened by the radiating warmth of the fire.

With a slight shake of the hand, Rebecca attempts the command, faltering over the words, feeling a bubble of excitement erupt through her body, at the thought of what will happen once the paper in her hands is placed in the golem's mouth. Rebecca checks the locks again, closes the curtains, feeling more moisture form between her legs; something that she hasn't felt since the early months of their marriage.

She wants the golem to fuck her. However, this should perhaps read much more gently - she has difficulty deciding on the command to be placed in its mouth. The predictability of the golem, of her life, comes from having a schedule placed in its mouth, hence the invariability of her day. She is lucky in that the only chore she is obliged to do for her husband is the cooking (the golem lacks creativity), but otherwise everything is done daily, with no variation in routine. Once, she decided not to take the bath, but it was run anyway, and simply went cold, meanwhile freshly warmed towels cooled likewise. She decided that it was a waste, and now took a daily hot bath, whether she needed to or not.

But the command. To "make love" is too intimate, inappropriate, and at odds with the utility of the action. There is no love here. Conversely, "fuck"ing is too fun, like teenagers against walls, whilst "have sex" is the opposite: merely two people who happen to have aligned their genitals. This was not going to be as easy as she had imagined. Fuck-fuck-fuck, was what she thought.

The difficulty with a golem was that it was so literal in obeying commands. How did she want to be fucked, was the question; there was scant room for ambiguity. Der Zauberlehrling (The Sorcerer's Apprentice) sprang to mind.

Rebecca decides that going upstairs to the bedroom, and lying down, would be too mundane, nevermind the risk of being squashed by the giant clay hulk. Lying it down upon the floor, and straddling it would alleviate that risk, but that wasn't what she wanted either. Instead she thought of the time that her husband had been most impassioned. One occasion sprung to mind:

"The couple stepped down from the carriage, into the street. He held her hand decorously in one, whilst his other supported her weight as he placed it strongly upon her crotch. He lifter her gently down, her whole body weight pressed into his palm, and she felt his middle finger press the fabric into the opening of her pussy. She could feel the cup of his palm, as he could feel the bones of her pubis. They hurried inside their new home, and tripping furniture in their haste to get to the bed, Rebecca bent over the sideboard, scattering its contents, and enjoyed the first truly unselfconcious sex of their lives."

Rebecca writes two words on to the small piece of paper in her delicate script, rolls the paper up, then walks over to where the golem rests in the kitchen. Her delicate script looks odd, issuing such vulgar demands. She gingerly places the command into the golem's slightly open mouth, its clay tongue pulls it deeper into its mouth, where it begins to digest the instruction.

The golem straightens imperceptibly, a tiny sign that it has understood the instruction, and is about to begin its task. Rebecca backs away from it, feeling a cocktail of emotions, from thrilled and excited to scared and nervous. She shudders in anticipation as it turns to face her. She, in turn, moves towards the table, her back to the golem, leans over it, elbows taking her weight, gets comfortable.

Reaching down, Rebecca clutches at the hem of her cream silk nightdress. With hands either side, pulling it up, the fabric folds like the curtain of a penny-theatre show, bunching at the small of her back. Dark hair shows between pale thighs, muscles taught as her legs reach full stretch. Light pink labia stark against the dark brown of her bush. The golem stares vacantly down at her, though somehow magically aware, and presses slowly forward, footfall by heavy footfall. It closes the gap in five long seconds, clay eyes unfocused but seeing.

Her nightdress falls away from her chest as she bends down, small breasts hang free, hard nipples an inch from the tabletop. She looks over her shoulder, watching it bear down upon her, and she loses sight of the penis as it closes on her, but feels it immediately, cold, damp, clammy, and pressing insistently at her pussy. Its clay hands grip her hips.

Rebecca feels the golem push its new cock forward, feels her opening stretch wide to accommodate the clay phallus. The golem doesn't pause, or apologise, it presses on until most of its length is inside her.

Rebecca's eyes bulge wide in surprise, her mouth a delicious O, hands gripping the sides of the table as she struggles with the shock of the massive penetration. She felt sure she would split in two, or that some catastrophic organ failure would occur from this huge mistake. Her wide eyes squeeze closed again as the Golem withdraws its cock, dragging the thick ridges formed by her fingers along the edge of her pussy, rubbing along her vagina wall. And it pushes forwards again, with a calm, concentrated power. The initial panic swiftly makes way for an intense pleasure, as the golem takes on a steady rhythm.

As she is fucked, Rebecca's moisture mixes with the clay, it begins to run in rusty streaks down her pale thighs. Thick chunks rub off inside her, while the golem fucks her harder, packing more clay deep within, so that before long he is simply beating a stub against her clay-stuffed pussy, and she feels fuller and fuller, its stone-like abdomen slapping against her ass cheeks with each thrust. With this constant momentum she can't move, and she loses control anyway as she is filled, and comes massively, all the while thinking that it was too much; too much pleasure, too much physical distortion, oh dear god what had she done.

As her orgasm erupts within her she can smell herself, the rich, ethereal aroma of her come, mixed with the earthy smell of clay. She can hear it, too, the clay cock sliding wetly inside her, making soft sucking noises with each thrust.

Rebecca is fucked hard against the table, so that it moves slowly, grinding along the floor, towards the wall, where it stops. She is pressed painfully into it, bruises forming below her hips. The golem doesn't tire. She lets go of the dress, and it rides up towards her shoulders, over her small breasts. Now freed, they strike lightly against the table. Her hands move beneath her, supporting her weight, her fingers extend, flex and curl rhythmically, matching each wave of pleasure as it ripples through her body.

As her second orgasm subsides and the golem shows no sign of stopping, Rebecca clutches at thoughts obscured by a fog of delirious pleasure. She is plenty satisfied with her experiment now, and panic wells up in her chest briefly, realising she can't reach its mouth to retrieve the command, before being overtaken by another orgasm. She can't hold herself up any more, and collapses onto the table, fucked to near unconsciousness. Her eyes close.

Rebecca's husband returns then, and opening the door sees the golem fucking the unresponsive body of his wife. He rushes over, pulls the paper from its mouth, panicked, worried about Rebecca, and about this apparently rampant golem. The golem stops immediately upon the removal of the command, and the husband unfurls the sheet to read the instruction written in Rebecca's delicate hand. The golem stands, the stubby remains of its penis moulded into the shape of her ass, the fine curls of her pubic hair pattern the clay.

Rebecca opens her eyes and, over her shoulder, looks at her husband, watches myriad emotions distort his face. He reaches towards her, brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek, sees her smile weakly at him. He helps her up, tenderly arranging her nightdress to return her modesty.

He leads her gently to the bathroom, so he can begin to clean her, to remove the clay from her vagina.

She stands unsteadily, hands on the sink, fingers splayed along the cold ceramic edge, gazing blankly at herself in the mirror, the thin strap of her nightdress fallen off one shoulder, exposing her right breast. Her husband holds the nightdress up, his left hand pulling the fabric out of the way, and resting on her hip, while he tenderly cleans away the clay with his other. Clay is matted in her pubic hair, and some has dried on her thighs, which he removes with a hot cloth. She can feel it, warm and wet, can feel his fingers pressing into her, his breath on her skin. The warm water trickles down her thighs, tickling. His two fingers extend inside her, pressing hard against her flesh, and curls around some clay. As he tries to withdraw, his curled fingers rake against the front wall of her vagina.