When her body shudders in orgasm, an ancient seer’s third eye opens to the future. Trumpets blaring, the Queen of Sheba invades King Solomon’s court with sensuality and beauty. A woman falls deeply in love with her co-wife, and together their passion births a legendary city. In ancient Tibet, a bride weds seven brothers, then sexually dominates them one by one. A virgin queen claims her place – and her sexuality – with an erotic game among the hanging gardens of Babylon.
They are the Ancients. And these are their stories.
Seven remarkable women are revealed in this collection of erotic tales. Spanning the breadth of the ancient world – from the Sahara to the Himalayas – these tales of sexual discovery offer a glimpse into ancient women’s lives and passions. Inspired by true historical mysteries, with riveting characters, explosive sensuality, compelling settings, and stories swinging from romantic to purely erotic, Flowers for the Ancients combines history, sex, and romance, bringing these long-lost women back to life.
This collection includes six previously published short stories and one new, all set in ancient Africa, Asia, or the Middle East. The print edition is illustrated with original art by the author.
- Title: Flowers for the Ancients
- Author: Fionna Guillaume
- Type of Book: eBook, Erotica, collection
- Pages: 248
- ASIN: B01A16E3F0
A collection of stories inspired by the "unsolved mysteries" of ancient women. This book FASCINATED me. Ms. Guillaume took bits of history and asked "what if?" We don't often think of ancient women proposing a theeesome or sexually dominating a brand-new husband, but Guillaume leads readers to believe it's not only possible but likely to have happened.
My favorite stories were "How the Lotus Blossoms" (a possible origin for the barbaric foot-binding tradition in China), "Buktu's Well" (possible beginnings of the Timbuktu trading post in Mali), "The Girl with the Golden Eye" (a young woman with a prosthetic eye sees the future during orgasm), and "Queen of Beauty" (possible explanations for the mystery surrounding Nefertiti's unfinished bust and her disappearance after her husband's death). "Queen of Beauty" made me cry.
Some of the other stories were a little fetishy, challenging my ability to suspend disbelief, but there is enough excellent writing and variety to make this book well worth its five stars.
From The Girl with the Golden Eye
Khorshid led her donkey home from market, satisfied with another productive day. Her golden eye made people nervous but at least it didn’t keep them from buying her wares. Evening fell dark and fragrant, carrying scents of the desert, mysterious potions of dust and sun and life. She released her donkey, settled her purchases and leftover pottery into a corner, and flopped onto her bed with a grateful sigh. She unwound the cloth from her hair, freeing the mass of brunette curls to cascade down her back.
Rubbing her tired shoulders, Khorshid ate a solitary dinner of flatbread and lentil soup. Afterwards she undressed and went outside again, heading to the well for her bath. The stars were out, filling the sky like a sparkling blanket. She unfastened her golden eye and set it aside, so as not to get it wet. Hand over hand, she hauled a bucket of water from the garden well. Dipping in with a cup, she trickled it over her body.
A delicate breeze blew across her skin, sending pleasurable shivers down her back. Her nipples tightened; when her hand brushed across them she gasped with pleasure. Savoring the delightful sensations, she bathed slowly, washing each part of her body with loving delicacy. No one else had ever touched her, but Khorshid liked to imagine a man’s hands rubbing her with the rough cloth, rinsing with cupfuls of water, stroking along the curve of her breast and between her legs.
Something about the night, the sensual wind and the cool water, set fire to her body. There was a tingling between her legs, a deep and hidden longing. She squirmed but it would not go away. Khorshid splashed a bit of water there and cried out, surprised by the sudden wave of pleasure. Her skin was humming, begging to be touched. Oftentimes in the night she would stroke herself, but it had never been like this, this urgent need for deeper contact and stronger reward.
Shivering, unnerved by the powerful urge but unable to ignore it, Khorshid picked up her eye and went inside. She lay in bed, setting the golden ball in its special container. Every part of her was vibrantly alert. Warily, she laid her hands on her belly. Pleasurable heat radiated from the light contact. With slow, careful motions, she inched her hands higher, curling them around her small breasts. Her nipples almost vibrated, insisting to be touched. She lightly tapped her fingers against the taut, sensitive buds. A surge of pleasure overtook her body; she arched her back and moaned.
It was impossible to resist the determined throbbing of her sex. Khorshid abandoned herself to it, giving her hands over to instinct. Her palms glided down her belly, smoothly following the long muscles of her abdomen, sweeping around her navel, rising over the peak of her hipbones. Her thighs spread of their own accord, opening her to the coolness of the night. Sliding her fingers around her Venus mons, she parted the thick pubic hair with her thumbs. Carefully, with the lightest possible touch, she laid a finger against her clitoris.
Instantly she was gratified with warm thrills of delight, but it was tainted by a sense of missed fulfillment, of more to be had. She began to move her fingers faster, flicking them against the sensitive nub. Pleasure rose in a wave, focusing and coalescing, demanding completion. Slippery fluid appeared, lubricating the motion. Curious, she followed the delicious liquid to its origin, finding the hot, damp slit below her petal folds. Khorshid paused; it was a place no man had ever touched, and she herself had only timidly explored. Yet she could not deny the intensity of her desire – her body was demanding that she try.
She obeyed, gently wriggling her index finger between her outer lips, angling to slip it inside. It was strange at first to feel the heat of her hidden body against her familiar finger, but Khorshid could tell she was closer to her unspoken goal. Wondering what it would feel like, she pulsed her finger inside. The resulting rush of pleasure encouraged her. Just to try, she moved her finger in faster pulses, pressing against her inner walls while at the same time rolling her thumb against her clitoris. If skin could sing it would have trilled encouragement, urging her faster, firmer, deeper.
The explosive orgasm took her by surprise. She screamed voluptuously, thrashing in bed as ecstasy took hold, throwing her legs into the air and lifting her shoulders so her head fell back, enraptured. For a moment all thoughts were wiped away, erased by the wave of sexual delight. In that same moment a vision burst into her mind. Strangely, she saw it as though with her left eye, which of course was impossible since she had no left eye besides the golden one. Nevertheless, in her left peripheral vision Khorshid saw a rushing wall of sand, animals devoured by the sharp grains, and her town left ragged in the aftermath of a storm. Then, as her orgasm shuddered to a finish, the vision disappeared.
Khorshid lay still for some time, calming her body after its incredible voyage. It was the first true orgasm she had ever experienced. She waited while her heart returned to normal, but could not shake the vision from her memory. It had clearly shown a terrible sandstorm. With a sense of foreboding, Khorshid stood and went to the door. The night was calm and clear. There was no sign of sand. Yet she could not go to sleep; the vision preyed on her. At last, scolding herself for her paranoia, Khorshid gave in.
Throwing on a cloak, she went outside and gathered her small goat herd, her chickens, and her donkey. She brought them all into her little room, causing a ruckus as the donkey and the goats brayed at each other and the chickens chattered nervously. Shaking her head at her own foolishness, Khorshid closed the door and used an old cloth to plug the space at the bottom. Satisfied that even the worst imaginary sandstorm would be kept at bay, she went back to bed and, ignoring the animals’ disgruntled outbursts, fell asleep.
She awoke groggily, wondering why the door was blocked and why there was a rooster sitting next to her in bed. Remembering the events of the previous night, Khorshid sighed with exasperation and threw aside her blanket. Now she would have to clean animal droppings from her room, on top of everything else. Planning to go outside and relieve herself, she tugged the cloth from below the door. A stream of sand cascaded in. Khorshid paused. Her stomach dropped like a worried stone. Filled with apprehension, yet already knowing what she would find, Khorshid opened the door.
Her fence had been partially demolished by the storm. The little garden she tended with such care was buried beneath a thick layer of sand; only the very tips of leaves were showing. With trembling knees, Khorshid went outside. Thank goodness she had remembered to cover the well – sand was lying several inches thick on top. The vision was true, she realized in shock. It’s exactly what I saw last night.
She spent the better part of the morning sweeping sand from her garden and watering the poor, shredded plants. Only once the animals were fed and settled and her room properly cleaned did Khorshid think of going to town. She bridled her donkey and perched on its narrow back, heading along the now-obscured path toward the village.