Simon sat at a table in a back room of the tavern nursing his glass of red wine. It was normally a raucous place after a performance at the theatre but tonight the atmosphere was strangely subdued. He stared into the candle stub, its flame flickering smokily as he recalled the afternoon’s entertainment.

A new play at The Rose, particularly for an avid playgoer, was something to look forward to in itself. Moreover, a work by such a talent as the brilliantly wayward Christopher Marlowe would be enticement for the most jaded palate and was the talk of London. Simon had gone forth from his home in Bankside that afternoon with a sense of great anticipation.

He made his way amongst the bustling crowds milling at the theatre entrance, paid for his seat and cushion and filed up the notoriously smelly stairways of The Rose. As he got to the balcony and looked for a space on the rapidly filling benches, his eye was caught by a comely, female figure as she progressed towards the more expensive seats in the gallery near the stage. She was closely accompanied by an older man, perhaps her father or the lucky husband of a much younger wife.

The gentleman protectively ushered her into her seat, and as she took her place the pretty woman caught Simon’s appreciative stare. Even before he heard that distinctive, breathy giggle he recognised her as Betsy, one of the more select and pricier girls who plied her trade at a nearby tavern. Noting her neat, modest, and undoubtedly expensive dress, Simon guessed that she had found herself a new protector and grinned back at her while her elderly inamorata was not looking.

However, that moment of humour faded quickly as the action started on the stage below. Along with the crowd he shuddered and gasped as the disturbing nature of the play unfolded. As a superstitious man in a superstitious age, Simon copied the uneducated groundlings' instinctive reaction and made the sign of the cross as Marlowe’s Dr Faustus made his fatal pact with the devil.

As Simon took another sip of wine, he remembered at how he was gripped as he watched Faustus wrestling with earthly temptations. He pondered as to how Faustus, a doctor like himself and a modern man of science could throw away his gifts to become such a wretched, godless creature.

He marvelled in remembrance at how Edward Alleyn, in the title role, had held the stage in full, imperious command of Marlowe’s peerless poetic lines; miles away from the amiable family man he had sunk many a tankard of ale with in this very tavern. He shuddered at the thought of the final scene of the play where the demons took a shrieking, wretched Faustus into the gaping Mouth of Hell; even though in his rational mind he knew this was merely Henslowe the theatre owner’s painted creation.

Simon sat quietly as he thought about the narrow line between science and magic. Necromancy, the filthy art of reanimating a corpse, filled him with horror, although he, like many other learned men of his age was fascinated by the idea of summoning spirits. He mused over how astrology and herbalism were a normal part of a professional doctor’s practice and used for healing, and so, despite old wives tales of witchcraft could be considered as far away from the dark arts. Also, alchemy was studied as a serious science, with even Queen Elizabeth’s favourite astrologer, Doctor John Dee having explored the elusive art of turning base metal into gold.

Simon sighed as he thought of the real issue that struck a chord with him in Faustus’s undoing. As any man in this Christian age, he was genuinely appalled by the acts of dark magic that were so vividly portrayed on the stage; but he also knew his own weakness. He had an unending lust and insatiable appetite for female flesh. He knew that, like Faustus, he could not turn down a night with a mythical beauty such as Helen of Troy and in his deepest heart that he would sell his soul to partake in such an exquisite carnal delight. That spark of self-knowledge made him shudder at the possible consequences.

Almost on cue, there was an uproar in the main room of the tavern and the merry sound of musicians starting up as though some entertainment was afoot. Simon was relieved to be distracted from his gloomy, introspective mood, and made his way through to stand in the doorway to watch what was unfolding.

Some benches had been hastily put together to form a makeshift stage or catwalk. As a young woman was helped up on to this platform, to his somewhat shamefaced amusement he felt this was a mind-reading parody of his lustful thoughts. The canny tavern owner had been so taken by the idea of Marlowe’s parade of beauty that he decided to exploit it for profit and general entertainment of the night’s clientele.

On the catwalk stood Teresa, commonly known as Tess, the daughter of a Spaniard whose forebears claimed North African heritage. Some of the poets who hung around the tavern claimed her as their Dark Lady, and an inspiration for their intoxicated love verses. Who better to be got up as Cleopatra of the Nile? Simon thought to himself, with an admiring smile at her delicious form.

Tess posed there, proud as a queen, gathering avid male attention with her near nudity. Her hair was braided away from her face and her head crowned with a diadem and her beautiful brown eyes traced with black to make them wider and even more mysterious.

Her face may have depicted all the secret mystery of the Nile but her body was almost totally revealed for the salivating delectation of the onlookers. Only her legs were covered with a long swathe of fabric gathered just below her hips, above which was a sumptuous amount of oiled, olive-toned skin. Her bare, high, glistening breasts were shown off further by the addition of a snake (evidently made from a gold-painted twist of rope and borrowed from the theatre's prop store) which was coiled around her neck and arms.

Simon felt his cock throb with appreciation as she moved sinuously to the music; her long, brown, pointed nipples quivering. As the tavern owner started off the bidding, the men gathered close to the makeshift stage and eagerly bartered for a night with her. Tess writhed and wiggled delectably until she was helped down off the perch by the lucky, if now appreciably poorer, winner.

Simon watched with amusement over another glass of wine as several more of the choicest girls, arrayed as mythical beauties, were auctioned off to over-excited members of the throng and led upstairs to the tavern’s now heaving bedchambers. As he watched the last giggling girl, lifting her elaborate skirts being chased up the staircase by her eager victor, he idly thought the girls had better get the costumes back without damage to Henslowe or they would have to pay back all the profit made this night.

The musicians had now finished playing and the crowd was now starting to wane. This was partly due to the growing lateness of the hour and the fact that a number of tonight’s revellers were otherwise occupied in the upper chambers; or not in sufficient funds to win a lady’s favour and so had slunk away disappointed.

Simon had finished his third cup of wine and was starting to think about heading homeward himself. Then seemingly out of nowhere, a luminous figure was enthroned on the dais. Simon felt his heartbeat slow and all the desultory chatter of his few remaining fellows faded as he gazed at her.

Part of him felt like he was back at the theatre, the open roof spotlighting this wonderful creature in a brilliant shaft of sunlight. He had been aroused enough by Marlowe’s storytelling, even when he knew it was only a boy actor on the stage tricked up to represent mythical queen.

But this was no play acting and that mild arousal become a roaring, insane compulsion as he knew this was Helen of Troy herself, come to bait him and tease him for his soul. He stood entranced as she stood like a statue, as unlike the other girls, those mere mortals, she did not giggle or entice but stood still and apart and effortlessly exquisite.

Her head covering was of the finest gold gauze barely stirred by her breath and he could tell by the delicate outline of her features that her face beneath it was perfection. Her body was contained in the simplest Grecian shift of the same fabric, its contours hidden yet exquisitely revealed by the ripples of fine cloth as if carved by the greatest classical sculptor. Simon felt like Paris in the legend of Troy, that he was spellbound by her beauty and had to steal her away and possess her as if his soul depended on it!

And at that realisation he caught his breath; this was his Faustian moment. Suddenly, even in his lustful exhilaration all the terror and self-knowledge from earlier came roaring back to his consciousness.

The devil knew his fatal weakness and had lured him with it. This was his instant of choice. He knew that he could simply put down his wineglass and leave the tavern and walk away from temptation. But even as that thought came to him, Marlowe’s poetry came to him as declaimed by the character of Faustus:

"Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships...

O, thou art fairer than the evening air

Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars,

And none but thou shalt be my paramour!"

As he uttered the words in his mind, he became the embodiment of Faustus, and almost without realising he had moved to the podium and lifted his arm to reach for his prize. Her cool, pale hand was in his as he led her out of the room, as if in a trance, with no one taking the slightest notice. Not one head turned to watch this decisive transformation of Foreman becoming in league with the devil.

He could not bear to take her to the upper floor of the inn amongst the heaving, groaning, shrieking throng, he thought possessively. He could not bear another man even to catch a glimpse of her, but greedily wanted his precious trophy all to himself.

He led her out on to the cobbled streets and she followed like a wraith, her lightly sandaled feet seeming to float over the uneven ground like the conjured spirit she truly was. They met no one on that noiseless journey; neither loud, late revellers or sly, predatory cutpurses. It was as though Satan himself had granted Simon and his goddess safe passage through the silent streets.

He hesitated when he reached his home, lifting the heavy latch as softly as he could. His servants had by habit left the door unbarred for his late-coming, and bringing a woman with him for the night was hardly a rare occurrence, but he quailed to think of their terrified reaction to his fetching the devil’s work into their midst.

The door swung open without a creak and he led his queen into the darkened hallway, bolting the door behind them decisively, then led her swiftly up the stairway as if all the demons of hell were after him. By his side, his Helen slipped up the stairs soundlessly, while he could hear his own over-wound, over-excited breath coming in loud, panting gasps. Once in the safety of his chamber, he paused, his back against the door as if to physically bar any interruption.

His heavenly beauty stood in the centre of the room and as he feasted his eyes on her, his breathing slowed and his heart almost stopped at the sight of her glamour. A shaft of moonlight hit on her form and turned her into a creature of white and silver, ethereal, ghostly and even more alluring.

Like the most respectful of servants, Simon slowly moved towards her and lifted the gauzy veil from her face, then unpinned the brooches which held up her gown. As it slid off her slender shoulders Simon marvelled at her exquisite body outlined in the moonlight.

Looking was now not enough and he could not forbear to touch her for a second longer. Gently, and with wonder he traced his obeisance with his lips; following the line of the finely chiselled line of her collarbone, echoing the full swell of her breast, fashioning the delectable curve of her belly and the inimitable arc of her hip.

His adoring mouth gradually reached the juncture of her thighs and her divine womanhood. Once at this precious altar of love, Simon increased his worship over and again with his tongue and his lips until, her hands tangling in his hair, his goddess responded to his unworthy touch. As she tensed and shuddered against his tongue, Simon saw her response to him as a celestial sign.

Kissing his way back up her body he bestowed an embrace on her trembling mouth, as he laid her fainting form on the bed. He ripped off his own clothes where he stood, uncaring if he tore them so desperate was he to cover her still form with his warm, breathing, passion-infused body.

When he did so, meeting her mouth this time in a passionate kiss, he almost cried out at the first touch of his enraged cock against the cool velvet of her skin. Then the worship began again in earnest, with hands and mouth and stiffly pointing shaft running over that neck, those breasts, that smooth, sweet belly. As he ravished her skin he maddened himself with his own frustrated need. Knowing he only had this once to enjoy this mythical beauty before the demons claimed him.

But as always, his desire overcame him and he could not wait any longer. As he leaned above her perfect body, sculpted as if from marble; he marvelled that as his cock pierced her it was not cold stone that greeted him, but delicious, intoxicating, female warmth. He felt lost in the glory of the moment as his cock slid in all the way, and he began to move with his illustrious paramour, the motion of her hips drawing him deep inside her as though she were formed just for him. As they rocked together their pace quickened and intensified as his Helen moaned and tensed beneath him, like the illicit, tempting fruit she was.

Her pleasure turned his lust into a frenzy of wild thrusting as he drove again and again into her into her heavenly cunt. He couldn’t stop pushing and pounding his impossibly swollen length into her soaking warmth; her womanly, pale body arching and peaking against him like a siren. In his intoxication, Simon fucked her wildly, his whole world swirling into a vortex of compulsion and need. His instinct took over, driving an impossibly hard and fast pace of destructive and explosive passion.

Then the crisis approached and he felt like all the classical gods and heroes wrapped into one. He experienced a moment of shattering, unearthly triumph as his hot seed claimed this immortal beauty. As he fell willingly into that little death, he scented the whiff of sulphur and knew that he was being claimed himself by the devil his master. He felt no fear, only acceptance of his chosen fate as he plunged through the hell mouth into the thick, suffocating darkness of the eternal underworld.

However, his final descent into the endless blackness of hell was disturbed an urgent wriggling beneath him.

“Simon!”

Betsy’s voice complained.

“You’re squashing me.”

Coming back to some sort of consciousness, Simon automatically rolled on his side despite the fact that he was slight for a man and Betsy was a well-made girl, his shrinking cock slipping from her body as he did so.

At the expulsion from her wet warmth, with his eyes still shut, he felt a sense of utter loneliness and despair come upon him. He was no Faustus. He could not pretend to be a bold, overreaching man of science and magic and dark arts, but merely a weak, lustful and deluded one.

He had fooled only himself. Of course he was not worthy to sell his soul to the devil for a night of bliss for a timeless beauty, but had paid over the odds for a tumble with a lady of pleasure he had already carnal knowledge of in a piteous parody of the Faustian legend. A sense of acrid self-disgust filled him at his failings and stupidity.

Until he was brought from his bitter self-berating by the gentlest of kisses on his lips. Taken by surprise, he opened his eyes to see Betsy’s bright blue orbs staring into his with the unmistakable rapture of a fully satisfied female. He felt his gloom lift and lighten as she gazed at him, her eyes wide and shining with recently fulfilled passion.

“Oh, Simon!”

She said simply, her actions counting for far more than words and he felt his heart skip a beat as she took his hand to cup her full breast and slid her soft thigh over his hip to hold him closer still. He started to smile as he felt her breathy giggle in his ear and she murmured;

”That was truly magical...”