"Come on, baby, we're almost home," I said to the little blue coupe and opened her up as the Nevada border sign flashed past.
Wonder how fast I'm going to get to Vegas? What the hell am I doing it for, anyway? Why did McGraw pick me?
Special Assignment: the words sloppily printed beneath the memo from the desk of managing editor Ross McGraw.
Christ, why me? Why the fuck does McGraw figure I need a break? I'm really happy just doing the astrology columns for the Sunday supplement.
A buzz came up from the dash. Oh no, I thought. Car, don't you go letting me down now. But it was only the speedometer cable as the pointer passed a hundred and ten and locked on the post at the end.
Come on, baby, there's plenty in you yet, so don't go pooping out on me when I got a whole goddamn story up there to do.
Up ahead in Vegas was the Big Man himself: Berle Bellows. At least he was supposed to be there-no one knew for sure. And McGraw had picked me, Philly Boy Carmichael, out of the weed patch of the ladies' pages and sent me after Big Man Bellows.
There I was just getting along swell. Doing a long night once a week to meet the deadline and every Monday morning showing up for payday. When the eagle shits on the first day of the week, baby, the week looks mighty long ahead, so you can bet your sweet ass I wasn't going to miss a payday. After a year of that I just had enough together to pop for this little buggy and I was looking forward to another carefree year of tooling around the town without an awful lot to do. But then that fuckhead McGraw had to go and louse things up by sending me out after Bellows.
"Philly Boy," he had said when I'd gone to his office to check out the mistake. "Philly Boy, it's time you took on something more than Mars and Venus. Don't you think so?"
"But, Ross." I was gulping for an excuse but still unable to overcome the tone of faith he managed to sandwich into his argument.
"But nothing, Philly Boy." He grated his yellow teeth around the huge cigar clenched beneath his moustache. He must have started growling his words as a cub reporter in order to make the older hardheads listen to him. And then, I guess he just fucking forgot how to use his vocal cords in a normal tone. Strange old dude.
"Get your ass out there to Vegas and tell me what the future of Berle Bellows looks like or get your ass onto the streets! Is that clear, Philly Boy?" He could, however, make those damn vocal cords roar when he got tired of growling. So, what could I do when he put it so subtly? I agreed and turned to go.
"Listen! You dumb punk. Do this one right and there'll be five grand and a byline to boot. Fuck it up and you better forget being a newspaperman."
Yeah? Fuck you. I started to say so out loud when that sweet bundle of money he'd mentioned broke through to my consciousness and stepped between my wrath and my new car. The car I couldn't swallow-so I put down my pride. "Don't worry, Mac. If I fluff it, something will become of me yet. I'm not so sure I want to be a reporter, anyway. But since you're laying down the law, you better have a loose pen when the story comes in, 'cause you see, I don't mind the astrology routine one fucking bit. It helps me get through the week."
"Yeah," drawled McGraw, puffing furiously, "don't get too far out in space, kid. It'll be a long time 'fore you're gonna get to the moon."
Fuck you, McGraw. I'm already on the moon and so is Berle Bellows. Before I'm going to become so involved in that man's life that I need him to survive-you can suck my cock.
I was so involved in reliving that Grade B movie dialogue which I somehow always managed to fall into with that bugger McGraw that I nearly missed seeing the city limits sign as it introduced the Strip.
Man, I wondered, what words could describe these electric titans using neon for blood? They battle like quick moving dinosaurs for the vegetation of money. It's a good thing money doesn't grow on trees, or the monsters would really eat themselves extinct again.
Christ, Carmichael! I had to laugh at myself. Have the doom beasties finally jumped in and started rattling your frig gin' little-brain? You start to think about devouring giants so soon on this one and you ain't getting anywhere near Bellows. You've got to slip in on him nice and easy. That's why you chose the Ferris Wheel to stay at, remember? As well as the symbology of the name. Just got to own up to those little writer's indulgences every once in a while.
Jesus. How am I gonna tell a story about a man when I don't really give a mother fucking goddamn what he does? It's enough that he simply is.
All right, Philly Boy, knock off the Socratic bullshit and watch what's going on about you, I reprimanded myself as I was forced to wheel the Porsche speedster hard into the parking lot beneath the giant spinning neon of the big Ferris Wheel.
"Put her somewhere where she won't get bumped 'cause she's a cream puff at the skirts," I said to the parking lot cat.
He grinned like he knew just how it felt and said he would.
All right! Things are starting good!
I stuck the ticket into my wallet for safekeeping and slipped a fin to the dude. When I turned back, my bags were disappearing through the frosted glass doors.
Christ, these guys don't miss a tip. But fuck it. I'm on expenses and McGraw can go jerk if he don't like the count ... Cool off, Philly Boy. After all, McGraw did say to stay on your toes. And Vegas ain't kid stuff.
Okay. So what did he want to go and send a kid like me for?
I was still mulling that one around when I got to the front desk. The clerk was talking to the bellboy, telling him what must have been my room number: "364."
"Ah, Mr. Carmichael. Welcome to the Ferris Wheel."
Now, how the hell did he know my name? The bag tags. I answered my own question just as my eye caught a blonde, angling her way over to the desk.
"Uh, any messages for me?" I was looking the blonde over real good and what I saw was looking just fine. Man, I would have bet her ass could twitch up a mighty fine piece of tail.
The clerk leafed through the message box while I took a long time studying her curves.
Her hair was like honey where it fell about her shoulders in a cascade of shiny curls. Long tanned flanks with just a hint of cords along her thighs played out neatly sculptured calves from a hip-swinging walk that was all sex. Her tits were bobbing about like juicy, ripe cantaloupes beneath a face full of soft lips and big eyes with a ski jump nose taking off between.
"Nothing, sir," the clerk finally answered me.
"Wanna bet?" I wisecracked and watched his face brighten when he saw what I'd been eyeing.
She reached the desk beside me and I timed my question to the clerk with a level gaze into her eyes: "What room am I in?" My mind implored her to fall under the number's spell.
"364, sir."
I thought I saw a flicker of understanding flutter through her eyes.
Her cat's-eye green, steady gaze looked back at me with humor at my attempt to be suavely direct.
"I've sent your bags ahead, sir. So if you'd like to leave the boy something you can safely leave it with me," the clerk said. He had a way of interrupting my train of thought.
He slid the key across the black slate of the registry desk and I handed him a buck. The blonde didn't seem interested in how much, although she was still looking expectantly at me.
"It looks as if you've got nothing to do but buy me a drink, Phil Carmichael," she said. I did a double-take. How the hell did she know my name? Her face looked like a Cheshire cat as she grinned back at me.
"No. You buy and I tell your fortune from the cards." Of course, I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about, but Jesus, what in hell was I supposed to say the way she'd come on?
"I'll buy, all right. But you can damn well tell your fortunes some other place."
Christ, she sure prickles easily, I thought, wondering if Bellows had something to do with the way she felt. Oh no, you don't, boy. You're not here to write the ballad of the sad cafe. Although if this babe was a hooker she sure didn't wear a sign advertising the fact.
She came on like a hot free animal when she was in motion. "Ross McGraw's my uncle-just for your information file, Mr. Reporter Man." Her eyes sparkled with the groan that must have passed across my puss.
"That's too bad."
"What's the matter, Phil? A little incest never hurt anyone."
I had to admit she had a point. Besides, I never was one to play hard to get. "Let's get that drink."
"Why not take them in your room," she suggested matter-of-factly. "Besides, that way you'll run into Bill, the bellboy, and you can tip him for carrying your bags. That buck you threw away'll never see him."
Well, it seemed like she knew her way around a lot better than I did walking into such a sucker play. So with a snarl at the clerk's back for the trick, I let her take my arm and lead me off down the hall.
We found Bill just coming back out of the elevator, and I spotted him a twenty for a fifth of Scotch and soda and told him to keep the change.
He must have had a case stashed on each floor, because almost before the door closed behind us he knocked and handed me a bucket of ice and the two bottles, telling me the opener was on the back of the bathroom door.
"What's your first name, Ross's niece?" I asked as I opened the Scotch and poured two fingers in a pair of glasses. "Here," I said, handing them over to her. "Put some ice in these."
"Linda." She was obviously enjoying my wondering what the hell she was up to. I'm no Don Juan. But then, I'm not a pipsqueak, either. Some chicks go for my kind of plug-ugly looks. Iron gray sticks off my head like spikes, and below my rather low brow sit two ironic gray eyes. My nose is kind of gnarled, but otherwise my face is okay. Yeah, regular lady killer, ain't you? That what this chick's doing here?
"Tell me, Linda. Are you another black sheep in the McGraw clan off here in Vegas on a holiday? Or what do you want, anyway?"
"To help you get your story, of course."
"Whose idea? Yours or McGraw's?" Slowly, I finished splashing soda into the glasses and twirling the ice with my finger.
"His."
"What if I said that the only kind of help I need from you is the kind you supply in bed?"
"You get right to the point, don't you?" She set the glass aside. I started hoping like mad.
She held my gaze with her eyes while her fingers began to play their way down the front of her green knit dress. While one hand opened the buttonholes, the other took a plaid scarf from her hair and shook it free. She was taunting me -but only slightly.
"So do you, I see." And unable to help myself, I lowered my eyes to the curves she was revealing. A thin ivory line was the only flaw in the picture of her melon-shaped breasts when the knit swung back and those luscious firm globes were free. Christ. This was the oldest hustle in the world and I couldn't help but look. Her tits were like strawberry sundaes and right then I decided to be a greedy little boy.
"As I said before, I'm supposed to help you get your story-and if that's where you want to start, well ..." She paused as if there was nothing more to say.
I wasn't in any mood for talking, anyway. Not with her tits popping out before my eyes and the triangle of blonde muff that I could see bulging in her bikini panties.
This little number knows all the tricks, I thought as I set my drink down and went over to be kissed. Her tits crushed against my chest and felt like balloons. Christ, but I mean she just fitted against me like she had been made for this moment and her lips devoured mine hungrily. She was taking slow, teasing little bites, rolling her hot wet tongue through my mouth and almost driving me wild.
There were no more thoughts of her being there for any other reason than because she was a woman and I was a man.
"I didn't come here to buck the odds, anyway," I whispered roughly in her ear after coming up for air.
"I'm not part of the odds, Philly Boy." She was breathing deeply and her voice was already husky with sex. She started tonguing my ear. I didn't want to get into anything but her pants at that point, so I let the conversation die.
It wasn't too difficult, either, with her luscious tits pressing into my chest and that beautiful little fur patch between her legs grinding against my prick. But she kept her tongue at my ear and started mewing low and slow, like she was a kitten licking a dish of cream. She purred in my ear until all I could hear was her tongue scraping the hollows of my eardrum.
I squinted, trying for a minute to see out of something besides my hard-swelling cock. Since I didn't want to give the wrong impression to this babe, I said: "How long can you stay?"
"As long as you want," she mewed real cute and low.
"Mama, that's just what I wanted to hear you say!"
"But let's not plan any further than right now, lover man." Her fingers were following the row of button down my shirt front, spinning them out one by one. Kittenish, her tongue licked out and caressed my chest. When her hands reached the waistband of my trousers, she yanked the tail of my shirt out and danced away. She stood with her legs spread wide and her hands on her hips. Running a slow tongue over her full ruby lips, she said, "Take it off, Philly Boy. I want to see just what I'm getting today."
Now, I'm no prude, you dig? But this kitten's got me going some. She was saying exactly what I'd been wanting to hear all my life. And man, she was a mother fucking knockout to boot. With a quick kick like she was jumping through a hoop, she skimmed her pants off and lay back on the bed to enjoy the show.
That bright blonde vee just kept staring up at me and it seemed to get wet and wild right before my aching eyes. I couldn't help but stare right back as I began unbuttoning my pants.
The gray-brown borders of her light pink cunt seemed to flower a little when she got a peek at my rod. I could dig it. It's really great, at that, to look at that monument with the red-brown crown of hair at its base. Man, I couldn't wait for the face of that little man between my legs to kiss into the lips of her steaming box.
Without thinking further about it I sandwiched the cuffs of my pants between my toes and took one leg off at a time. The tail of my shirt was still flapping about my hips and obstructing the lady's view, so without an awful lot of flexing I got rid of the shirt, too.
If this chick could get down to it fast, you bet your ass so could I. I knelt down like a serf and licked her snatch. And it tasted sweet as a bitch, you know what I mean.
Then I felt her legs come up around my ears, and they were silky, the way they grazed my ear lobes and then pressed gently. My head was encased by her legs, and it was like her pussy just shaped its way to my mouth in a perfect kiss. I was just scarfing away before I knew it, laying switches to her hips with my tongue. It was a blast furnace in there and it was all I could do to tongue the fire out, dig?
Her legs were locking tighter about my head and I was eating up a heat in her hips. You can imagine what my ears heard with the bumping brigade her hips were grinding out. Thinking to settle her down a little for some serious cunnilingus, I reached up and around her thrashing hips and grabbed two handfuls of tit. My palms felt her nipples spring into life as my shoulders lifted her ass and caused her head to fall back on the bed, and I cranked them on.
I could feel ripples of pleasure running down her body while her hips struggled, impaled on my kisser. It looked like it was going to be quite a struggle when our eyes locked together and there was that Cheshire cat again. She had me gagged. But, who wanted to talk?
I let my tongue do all the talking for me as I told her this was my kingdom and I was here to stay. But whatever it was that was kittenish about her came out now like a raging cat and she wanted to struggle me down.
Well, as soon as I saw that, I knew the only place for so much madness was the sweet cave of her mouth around my cock. Whatever bitch she had in her could work itself out right down there-since I was a Leo in any event.
The thought must have transmitted itself as a very clear picture to Linda's head because I saw her eyes change. She lowered the lids slowly and made her mouth a pouting heart. Out of the hole in the middle crept her pink tongue-tip, testing its way like a snake. It was both bitchy and beautiful the way she did it.
Suddenly I thought, who is this chick anyway?
What I wanted for an answer was this cunt's tongue sucking my hose with those greedy lips. And here she was making the most sexy acceptance speech with her beautiful face. But then, just as if the words that passed between us on our thought waves had been the only thing happening, her drumming hips broke in on my thoughts and she came.
And I couldn't scarf it up fast enough. It was like my tongue was body-surfing in pussy froth that tasted like a root beer float. I lapped it up glass-clean. The blow job could wait.
When I finally surfaced, her legs had relaxed around my head and I could hear her purr with relish. I kissed my way up her belly to those strawberry sundae breasts where it seemed to be a good place to rest.
I let my tongue lick idly out on a breast tip and wet the little bud, and then let my weight sink into her body below. She didn't like the crush and her hand said so with a push on my forehead. But when I looked into her eyes as I landed on my back, that same Cheshire smile played through them. Only this time, it looked more like my cock was going to be the mouse and she just loved to play before the kill.
Well, that may have been what her mind's eye saw but what she actually saw when her face came near the length of my timber was a different story. You might have some notion of her surprise. Before this kitten was going to be eating any mice she had to suck a tree down to size. She smiled with surprised delight up at me, but I was cool.
With my leg sneaking under her firm fleshy self, I urged her to wrap her body around it. She snuggled her crack down over the kneecap and I felt her breasts' rubbery crush as they tried to sandwich the hunk of my thigh. Her hand took my meat and led the head to her lips where she tickled a kiss up the slit with her tongue, all the while looking into my eyes.
With everything in her she told me that she was meant to suck cock, and I believed her. She was.
First, like blowing a woodwind musical instrument, she reefed her lips around the head of my dong and wet it with a lick. Her tongue tested the glands as a niche to take hold in; then she sucked the bulb into her mouth with a plop.
Christ, what an inferno! It was electric with head. Her teeth just seemed to fit over the head of my mountainous prick as it slipped inside. Her mouth was open nearly as wide as it could be and the slick purple bulb nearly filled it up. But then she surprised me. She laid her tongue back up in a bunch at the base of her throat and tickled the glands: flick, flick, flick. Then like a lasso her tongue spun around the distended head and wet it slick as I started a stroke.
Her teeth scraped my skin, so I paused while she widened her mouth and sucked the under-edges of her lips between her teeth and the shank of my cock. All the while that snake of a tongue in her mouth was licking the head of my joint and I was building up steam like a ram. I tested a stroke and found that her lips rolled like a rubber washer between the skin and her teeth. As I steamed I thought, My God! she's almost too good to be true! She was copping my joint like a suction cup while her tongue seemed to fuse my dynamite.
I rammed the shaft into the writhing cavern of her mouth and her eyes literally bulged. Her hands came up around the shank of my cock and she hung on while pulling it back out of her mouth. It was as if there were elastic in her lips, because no matter how hard I rammed my pole into her face, it felt like it was poking a taut rubber band. And her tongue went on licking the tip with absolutely wicked pleasure. I felt like my hips were attached to a timpani with my umbilical cock and each stroke I took caused her tongue to beat out a series of drumming rolls.
Time became only a matter of licks between the spokes of her liquidy eyes and the carouseling of her mouth on my thrusting cock. Like a beautiful child she looked wide-eyed at me from a bobbing merry-go-round horse. The blood pulsing in my cock was enormous and her face told me she could feel the throbs thicken. Her expression became pure lust.
I watched her cat's eyes become stellar in their depth and the golden greed was just a star among many galaxies of treasures. I felt the deep-heated boilings urge up below my balls and I closed my eyes and rocked my hips like a snapping whip. I came just that quick. And with each lusty gob her tongue centered itself at the spout of my dick and splashed the semen around the roof of her mouth while her throat worked voraciously.
I imagined I could see the white sauce fanned to a slick coating around the tunnel of her working throat and I steamed my cock straight ahead, wanting to hear her scream around my prick face. Still she wouldn't submit but rather swallowed the whole dick until the bulb throbbed deep in her throat. Somewhere deep within the waves of my mind-blowing orgasms I reflected on what appeals to me about girls wearing throat chains. The bobble of their Adam's apple has such a pussy look I'm ready to cream in my jeans on the spot. What was happening now in Linda's throat was something like that.
I could always buy her a necklace, I thought.
When finally I was spent, lying back breathing kind of long and slow, Linda asked, "Ever suck a cock, Philly Boy? You don't know what you're missing if you haven't, let me tell you."
I groaned aloud with the absurdity of the thought.
"What's the matter? Do these little nuts ache?"
And a nutcracker to boot. I began thinking Linda wasn't smart enough to work for Bellows. If anything, were she a spy of some sort, she would avoid her aggressions in bed; her only course would be to ... to what? What the fuck kind of paranoid thought-dreams was I cooking up as an excuse not to fuck her?
She was down there licking on my furry nut sack and it kind of tickled, but at the same time I could feel my pecker rising. This time I was going to handle her a little bit to see where she stood about a brute. Maybe I'd learn something about Bellows. And besides, Linda looked like she could take it and like it, too.
"You haven't answered my question, Philly Boy."
"What question, doll?"
"Have you ever sucked a cock?"
"What makes you ask?" I shot back rather than play it straight. I hadn't, of course, but that was none of this chick's business.
" 'Cause that's what I'm here to tell you. It's what I'm for. And you've been wanting to know why me and you for some time now. I can see it in your face."
I wasn't sure I was following what this chick was saying. "What are you trying to say, baby? It's all right-you can talk to me."
She hesitated, then said: "If you want the Bellows' story you're going to have to suck it out of him. He's dead, but if there's any life left in the old boy it would be in his prick. I should know, because I've sucked it enough."
She could see the anger well up in me like an oil geyser and the look that passed across her face told me she thought she was in for a bad time. Maybe she was, because even if she was joking I don't like tricksters, especially macabre ones. And I don't like being made a fool of. Absurdly I wondered if my cock were as big as Bellows' and decided not to give her the satisfaction of asking.
She grinned that Cheshire smile as if she could see the question in my eyes anyway.
"I don't like jokes, baby," I made my voice low and flat and saw her cut the smile off when she heard the tone of my words.
"No joke, Philly Boy. He's dead. For over three days. No one is supposed to know."
My heart began to stutter. The hell with the original idea of the story. What a scoop. I could see the dollar signs ringing for an exclusive!
"But don't try to print it, Philly. His organization will deny it, and you'll have the kind of trouble nobody needs."
"Yeah," I said and felt stupid. Then a little switch clicked a light on in my head.
"Your uncle know about this?" I growled suspiciously.
"Of course."
"Then why'd the son-of-a-bitch send me up here, anyway?" I exploded with venom.
"So that you could find a way to make the story stick. And besides, you're not a known reporter and he figures you'd have a better chance."
"I get it. I'm the goat."
"You're it, Phil. And you better be very wise to the ways of this town. That's where I come in. For instance, besides Bellows' organization, the syndicate doesn't want the story out. They figure they can grab control before it breaks and the commissioner steps in."
"Sounds like everybody's in a hurry but me. But let's get back to before. Why the hell did you tell me about Bellows' death the way you did?"
"I wanted to make you think the worst of me at the very beginning. That way there'll be no nasty surprises or suspicions later on."
I let that one sink in. Linda was sounding less stupid by the moment. And this goddamn assignment was becoming more dangerous. In fact, I was no longer sure I needed the aggravation. And if what she said was true, who could blame me? Bucking a dead man and the syndicate was going against pretty big odds.
"All right, look," I said, having no idea what I wanted to tell her. "I want to think about all this a while. So how about taking off and checking back later."
She nodded, got dressed and was gone while I tried to sort out all the pieces.
It had been rumored before that Bellows was dead, and always something had come up that disproved it. But somehow I had a feeling this was more than a rumor. And what was Linda trying to tell me when she chose the image of me sucking a dead man's cock right after sucking my rod? Curious. In fact, a little weird.
And she'd said that she sucked Bellows plenty. What the hell was I supposed to think about that confession? That Bellows liked his cock sucked? I got a picture of McGraw trying to edit that little tidbit into an obituary. Or maybe she just liked cocksucking so much she couldn't resist spreading the news.
CHAPTER TWO
I was out of the shower with a towel around my waist and unpacking my suitcase when there was a knock on the door. The phone rang at the same time. When those things happen, there is a choice to be made. Still, it is well to leave things to chance. I opened the door.
There stood a black broad who could only be described as delicious. But I didn't have time to take her all in with one glance as Mother Bell was still making herself known. I waved a gesture to the black chick for her to enter and padded across the flat pile carpet to the phone.
"Hello?"
"Philly Boy, this is Linda-"
"Just call me 'boy,'" I cut her off and then regretted the remark, since this chick that had just come in might take it to have some racial overtones. But I was getting tired of the way Linda slurred Philly Boy together.
I turned around at the sound of the door closing, wondering if the black beauty had stayed or left. She'd stayed.
"Very well, Phil ... I didn't know you were so sensitive," Linda's voice drawled in my ear.
"What is it, Linda? I've got company," I said, and motioned with my eyes for my visitor to make herself comfortable. I was hoping like mad she'd choose the bed. When she did I was so busy not believing it that I almost didn't hear what Linda said next.
"Philly, the syndicate knows you're here."
"Oh, beautiful," I moaned, realizing that even though what my eyes were seeing and what my ears were hearing were two different things, the word beautiful applied to both. Only the feeling in my mind about what I was hearing was ugly when compared to what my eyes were taking in. God, but she was gorgeous-whoever she was.
"Philly, did you hear what I said? The syndicate knows you're here and what you're after." Linda's voice cracked with impatience at my apparent unconcern.
"I'm not sure what I'm after any more, Linda. Tell them I'm consulting the stars and I'll call back later." With that I hung up to give my full attention to the luscious piece half lying on my bed.
Now, I have to admit that right at first I was a little shaken with how beautiful she was. Just to think about it made me want to squirm and dance like a cat. Besides, I feel like any white man about black flesh. Somehow black chicks make pussy look so beautiful that it's almost sinful. Now take it easy, boy, I counseled myself, and don't get carried away.
The smile she carried on her full heavy lips told me she had some idea of what I was thinking about and that she didn't mind a bit. So I took my time as long as she dug it so much.
Her toes held perfectly painted ruby toenails beyond her sandal straps like tiny shields. Manicured into a perfect contrast with her well-shaped brown toes, the bright red seemed like drops of blood on the end of her beautifully molded feet. Her skin in this light looked to be tinted with delicate pink. Fine ankles molded up impossible curves to sculpture mahogany calves and I wondered why there was so much red in her flesh.
Her kneecaps seemed like sexy molds and served as perfect connectors for her lower and upper legs. Thighs tinged with gold ended after a very long way at the edge of the briefest hot pants I'd seen yet. Bare midriff-slim and lean beneath an organdy top that let the dark nubs of her nipples shine through like M and M's. The rest of her breasts were pert cones that seemed to vibrate with every breath. Her throat was slender, and somehow the delicate vee that rose and fell below a slow pulse in her throat reminded me of a high, tight ass.
Her chin was small but square and just fit beneath full lips and a nose that flared at the nostrils like small brass bells, then ran straight between her full doe-shaped eyes. Her hair was in a natural and burst from her head like the crown of a burning bush. Needless to say, in the moment it took to look her over, I fell in love.
"I don't know who you are-but if you're as good as you look, sweetheart, let's fall in love."
"I'm Morgana," she laughed. "You sure don't waste any time." Her eyes danced as if they held twin sprites.
"Dreams come and go so quickly," I replied glibly and loved the way she smiled self-consciously. But she was a dream; of that there could be no doubt.
She glanced briefly at my midsection and suddenly realized I was only wearing a towel. But even that was too much if this dream were to come true and if she were to do what I was wishing she would. As if she were reading my mind she said slowly, "I'm not a dream. I'm real. Here-want to feel?" Her smile was patiently exotic. Or, if not that, it was downright sexy. I almost didn't have enough sense to smile back, much less have something to say.
Her hand came away from where it was curled in her lap and lifted slowly toward me. Almost without thinking about it I took it to my lips and laid the most courtly kiss I've ever indulged myself in on the tiny knuckle mountain at the center of the range on the back of her hand.
She was like that. I felt incredibly noble before her. Words of a romantic nature seemed to flit through my head and I felt too dumb to express them. I wanted to dance and shout.
When her hand trailed away from my mouth, my head slowly raised until I met her eyes. I swear to God I felt as if I were being absorbed. Perhaps that explains what happened next.
With a moan like a man coming ashore after thirty-five days alone on a raft, I threw myself at her like a blanket on a fire. Before I could think anything further her lips were kissing mine and I set out with excruciating care to show her my devotion to her cause. God, but she was lovely to touch.
Her lips felt like moist pillow puffs against mine, but there was something sweet and cutting in them at the same time. I pressed my mouth deeply into hers, suddenly conscious of the stellar depths appearing behind my closed eyes.
The sky was light gray and blue-black in its backdrop and it rushed away past lines of stars. The world grew to moon size yet remained a mottled green and brown and white and blue, and I wanted to sing of kissing her but my tongue was too occupied running along the rows of her even teeth. And she seemed to give in and start to burn at once as her mouth opened and took in my tongue-tip.
Wanting nothing more than to meet her equally in loving her, I tangled my tongue with the flesh of hers. Something of bliss passed between us. With the gentlest possible teasings, my tongue tried to tell her I was hers. And she talked back in the same language with silken strokes. I saw the words write themselves in my mind, without knowing what they said but feeling as if I were sinking into a celestial moat. Gently I walked my nipping kiss along her upper lip rim and felt my way along her nose side until I kissed her eye closed, then gently at her temple and with a greedy plunge back to her mouth.
Her body seemed to flower beneath me. I felt her go soft but sort of suck me in at the edges, and for an instant I felt trapped. Then her heat reached me and it was all right again. I kissed her deeply and the honey of her taste seemed endless. To my sudden distress I could already feel my prick beginning to swell to the edge of orgasm. Oh, no you don't, silently I pleaded with myself, not so fast! But her body encouraged it. In fact, by the way my cock was beginning to writhe and pulse beneath me I knew I'd certainly blast off unless I gained a respite.
"I've got to get this towel from between us," I grunted in a husky manner, even though a little shaken by my enormous feelings for this girl. I think she recognized it in my tone because she sort of grinned as if she understood. Then she thought better of it and stretched herself like a tawny cat.
Quickly I jerked the towel off and threw it across the room. While she was all stretched out I bent my head over and kissed her belly-button, running my tongue into the crater around it like it was a tiny moon. I was torn with which way to go from there. My eyes wanted to ravish her breasts while my mouth wanted a taste of her box. Her hands solved the problem for me by stroking across her own breast.
Almost too hungrily to be able to function, I ran my hands beneath the elastic waistband of her shorts and tugged them off. She wore no underpants and immediately I could smell something of the jungle from her.
Her mound was covered with tight steel-wool curls, and I was glad I would have to push them aside to get my tongue between her pussy's lips. The kinky hair was almost virginal in its expression of the box it surrounded. Trying not to hurt her but all the same in one hell of a rush, I buried my face in her musky cunt.
The first taste of her bit my tongue like acid, but then the flower parted and I found the nectar within. Her pussy-lips pouted and my tongue plunged into her bud. It was sweet. So very, very sweet.
Again I felt as if I were in the presence of royalty. And I let my imagination take the image to extremes. She was a queen bee and I her willing drone. Only in this hive she was the flower as well and my purpose was to give her pleasure endlessly.
My mouth began to suck her labia gently while my tongue whirled deeply into the caverns of her cunt. In and out I drilled for the sweet juices of her cum and felt the walls thicken with its flow.
Her hips began to work and rotate while her legs found my shoulders, then pressed the smooth marble flesh of her inner thighs against my ears. I was trapped in her leg lock about my head. But the feeling was glorious since my mouth belonged to her service completely.
She began to buck up off the bed in controlled, impossibly rhythmic motions, so that her pussy ground against my mouth at the moment of my tongue's deepest penetration. I felt myself go a little mad. I was eating the sweetest pussy I'd ever tasted and she was responding more ardently than I had imagined possible for any human being. With a glad gargle, I attempted to eat her with all my strength.
Before long I lost all track of time. The world was confined to my head by the clasp of her writhing legs, and I sought to touch her soul with each plunge of my tongue. Then I pulled back with all my might as if I were an oarsman propelling some galactic ship through the cosmos, while my mouth paused for a moment to suck on the nub of her growing rosebud.
Distantly I could hear the sound of her voice but what my ears actually did was feel the depth of her moans. They rumbled through her until they seemed to vibrate in the torrent of juice my tongue was forcing to flow from her box. Her muscled thighs were grinding a fleshy counterpoint to the lip syncopation my mouth was kissing on her pussy-lips. And then she screamed.
The cave of her cunt filled with the flood of one giant orgasm and I felt the surf drown me in the powerful waves her legs sent rolling through my eardrums. But, oh, she tasted so fine-and I sucked and sucked and sucked.
Slowly, like an ocean quieting after a storm, she calmed and was still while my tongue slaved willingly to dry up her torrid pussy. I licked and toyed with the tiny knob of her clitoris until she began to shiver with desire. I looked up from past the level of her belly just in time to see her yank her top over her head, then look down at me. With beckoning hands, her eyes commanded me to come up for a fuck. For the first time I was aware of the powerful throb in my loins.
My cock had swelled like a steaming battleship and now as I hovered over her and her hand surrounded the rod to guide the tip to her eager cunt, the meat of it felt immense. Absurdly I wondered if it were possible for the fleshy head to split. But before I could take the thought any further the moist soft lips of her pussy clasped the bulbous end of my organ with a soothing heat. With a groan of animal pleasure I plunged my meat in nearly to its full length.
It was like taking a bath. But that feeling took only a moment to pass because she bucked with the energy of a horse. I was nearly thrown off but recovered with another stroke. From then on it was full steam ahead.
I kissed her and our hips slapped against each other, then parted, and once again they met as my prick cut deeply into her wanton snatch. It was a simple one-two rhythm that we set together, but the sounds we were making were in perfect counterpoint and filled out the fuck until everything was making off in the same direction.
We were like animals battering against each other in some primal rite. Like a seesaw I plunged in and she met me, then we both bowed back and pushed again. Now we were in three-quarter time and a waltz began. I had never loved anything quite as much as this moment, fucking this absolute bitch of a girl.
My cock slid in and out of her glove-tight love-lips like it was greased with speed. Her pussy gobbled me up as if it had a will of its own. I put my hands beneath her and clutched the tight buns of her ass. They fit my palms like loaves of bread. I'm telling you, this chick had everything. Including me. Those buns just seemed like overstuffed eels in the way they moved around. They drove her hips like spoked wheels around and around while her pussy did impossible shivers on my cock head. It was as if the glands were being French-kissed. Yes, indeed, it was beautiful the way she did her woman-work. Exploringly I placed my index finger into the crack of her ass and found the way to her asshole with remarkable ease. I pressed the bud and felt her shudder, then set her in motion like a top onto my fingertip as she whirled a cone of motion around my turgid meat. I saw her eyes then, and they were raw with carnal lust. I engaged them while I began to press a pulsing fingertip into the rosette and felt as if I were thumping a bass on the end of my prick. Her body hummed the message I sent as if it were an organ sound in a cathedral, right back through me, using my cock for a speaker horn. I heard the sounds of harpsichord and castanets and for the first time wondered where this black girl came from. There was a tinge of Spanish lace in the rumba her hips were tattooing beneath me and now she yoked my hips with her legs and felt the oxen in me plunder a deeper furrow down the row.
I want love. I want love, love, love, my mind sang. I'm going down the rows. I was no longer bound to my body and my spirit soared like a bird. In steep, slow swirls I sang to myself, I'm going, down, down, down, oh yeah! I was just a seagull gliding on a howling wind slowly out to sea.
And there were her eyes again. Huge and white skied around brown jewels that I swear had red, white and blue spokes. It was earth all the way back to the Orient. For a moment she loved me with them with an infinite knowledge of the pain in love. But it's so goddamn good, her eyes screamed with such gut conviction that I felt tears sting my own eyes. I wanted to cry, she felt so good to fuck. I didn't care who she was! This moment, those big brown eyes were saying, she was absolutely mine.
I felt the orgasm boil far below me like a glass-portholed washing machine going into suds. From the incredible heights my mind had flown to, I rushed to get back and catch the crest tip of the flood as it shot from my prick and exploded within her. And like a set of tidal waves I laid comber after comber of hot cum on the beaches of her tight-covered box.
Boom, boom, I heard the surf pound in my head while she beached me flip for flop with an orgasm of her own. She was like a vortex as she sucked the swirling sperm down her glory hole. Sky rockets went off behind my eyes as I saw her lose control and melt with the flood.
Coming off the waves of bliss singing through us was no short matter. No. No, indeed. It was a long fall, then a slow rising until finally we were spent with our sex. Yet a glow of warm feeling remained.
We lay like that for a long time. Not speaking. Not doing anything but listening to each other's breath. All sorts of foolish crap was running through my head to say. But the thought of my voice interrupting the peaceful moment was too much to contemplate. So I kept my mouth shut and rolled to the side to take my weight off her.
And she came right with me. Her pussy was locked so tightly around my shrinking cock that her weight followed mine, and we were lying side by side with my cock still in her.
We stared into each other's eyes and said nothing with our mouths, except to kiss gently now and then. I was so content a lazy haze settled like serenity around my brow and before you know it I was asleep.
* * *
When I woke up she was gone. I guess I went to hug her in my sleep and when my arm felt empty space, then slapped against my chest, I knew she was gone. I jumped off the bed still groggy and my feet tangled in the towel as I took two steps away from the bed. Stumbling, I swore at myself for being such a fool as to let her get away. I didn't even know her full name.
Morgana was all she had said and it had seemed like there was nothing more that needed to be spoken about. The memory of the incredible time I'd just spent flooded over me. Where had she gone? How could I find her again? Like a hound trying to pick up a cold trail, I sniffed about the room for a note or at least some clue to who she was. I even tried the bathroom with the romantic notion she might have lipsticked some note on the mirror face. But nothing was there.
Morgana. What the hell had she wanted coming to my room in the first place? Suddenly I realized how easily she had taken me in. Without even trying she had waltzed in here a total stranger, told me nothing about herself but her first name, fucked me like I'd never been fucked before, then disappeared. I was getting a little weary already with the peculiar twists of this assignment. Not that I wasn't loving every minute, of course. But somehow I wasn't getting down to business as fast as I imagined the paper would like.
The hell with the paper. I might not finish the damn assignment anyway!
I decided the best thing to do was go down to the casino and look around. After all, with Vegas such a new place to me, a little background might not hurt a thing.
I showered, pulled on a polo shirt and light slacks, slipped my wallet, key and change into my pockets and was off to test my fate.
I'm sort of a numerologist as well as an astrologer, although I don't know very much formally about either one. What I do know is that sometimes fate plays a big part in everyday life. And I figured even in Vegas everyday life was still the same.
What I did then was so easy it was childish. I watched the play. It didn't take long after that until I had located the craps table where I felt most comfortable, and for a long time I just watched the game progress as the dice moved around the table.
Nearly half an hour had passed and I'd not seen boxcars come up. So, cautiously, I bet two bucks on twelve. It missed so I tried again. Missed again, and I put another two bucks down and it hit.
Now I'm either awful slow or the dealer was awful fast. But before I could draw my winnings back the dice were rolled. At first I was horrified. But incredible as it may seem, twelve hit again. Suddenly, I was $900.00 ahead.
Well, it takes a little more time to count nine hundred out, and this time I was waiting for him. When he finished pushing the last stack over I looked into his eyes and smiled. I pushed $300.00 on eleven, which was craps, of course. When it hit he nearly died. Or so it seemed from the pale that soaked his cheeks.
Incredibly, I was $5,400.00 ahead after maybe three minutes of gambling. On a hunch I scooped up my chips and stood aside. I knew that my chances of continuing the streak were mighty slim. Besides, five grand is more bread than I'd ever had at one time. I wanted to see how it felt-for a little while at least.
I didn't know what was going on, but I was sure having one hell of a lucky streak. First Linda picked me up and then Morgana, and now I'd won a small fortune. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but I was beginning to sense a pattern in all this.
Surreptitiously I looked around to see if I could spot anyone watching me. Trying to seem as casual as if winning or losing five thousand dollars was an everyday matter with me, I gave a delightful young change girl a hundred-dollar chip for cashing me in and bringing the money to the bar. I wanted a little time to think things over and I could certainly stand a drink.
I ordered a Scotch and rocks, not because I like it especially, but because it seemed to fit the image. You know what I mean? Well, sitting there, waiting for the ice to melt and take the edge off the whiskey, I began realizing there was more to all this than met the eye. You don't just walk up to a crap table and take five grand away unless you're blind lucky or you're a mark. My guess was that I wasn't all that lucky. The question was, whose mark was I?
I wasn't going for Linda's story about Bellows' death! Oh, it wasn't that I thought she was lying, of course. It was more a matter of not taking anything at face value. Or something like that. But she had come off with that syndicate stuff. And letting me win five grand was the kind of subtle play the mob might try if what Linda said was true. So, how could I doubt it? A feeling maybe. Nothing more than that.
Something stroked along my leg and interrupted my musings. I knew it was a hand before I looked down. Out of the side of my eye I caught a redheaded muff of curls surrounding a pixie face. I figured the hand must belong to her.
"Lady, your hand's in my lap," I cracked as I turned towards her.
"The other one's got your money in it," she said without a smile and kind of matter-of-factly.
"Too bad only one's full," I returned and saw her flush. Bad puns do it every time, I thought and waited for her to answer me.
Instead she deftly slid my zipper open and had my cock out in a thrice. After the way the day had begun, I was only mildly surprised.
"Eager, aren't you?" I queried and did nothing more than arch an eyebrow. The cat was out of the bag and I was content to go along with the play. My only concern was: whose mouse was she?
Her fingers had stretched my prick out as long as it would go and I felt her fingernails raking around the head. She was such a catty bitch that her face now held a perfect deadpan. Even her eyes wouldn't admit to mine that it was her hand down there jacking me off.
"Why not take this and go home, Mr. Carmichael?" she said, and smiled quite innocently. We might have been any couple sitting there talking about papier mache. She was that smooth. And her hand knew what it was doing, too. Many more seconds of this and she was going to have a loaded palm. I thought it might serve the bitch right but then figured she'd wipe it on my pants.
"Who sent you?" I asked, trying to hold my load.
"The girl you gave your chips to go cash in," she replied innocently while her hand urged my prick to shoot.
"I can play it as cute as you can, doll face." I tried to make my voice as nonchalant as possible. I wasn't going to be able to hold out very long at this rate. But what the hell, I wasn't made of iron. "Why don't we take this somewhere where I can slip into something comfort-able-like you, for instance," I said with a cool voice. A hell of a lot cooler than I felt.
"Sorry, Mr. Carmichael, I'm a working girl. Just dropped by to see you off and give you this." Her other hand brought up the bundle of cash and dropped it right in front of me. Like I said, it was a lot of bread.
The only place I wanted to go was to bed with this kewpie doll. And she wasn't making it easy to get off the subject.
"You're a hardhead, aren't you?" she asked, and gazed at me for all the world like the only thing happening was sweetness and light. Suddenly I lost all interest in the discussion; I was about to cum.
And I did cum. Just as soon as I'd started, the bitch dropped my prick like it was a hot potato and sauntered off.
I just sat there with a dripping prick and felt like an idiot. Perhaps I was crazy, but all this was beginning to get to me. One thing was for certain, though. In any event, it was a sure bet I was getting in over my head.
CHAPTER THREE
When my eyes fluttered open it was 4:45 A.M. I heard something and lay still, trying to locate where the sound was coming from. Somebody was in the room with me! God, I hope it isn't a thug, I thought as I snapped on the night-stand lamp and leaped out of bed.
It was Linda McGraw. And she had her hand in my pants pocket, trying to steal my cash. I wondered how she was going to explain this one.
She didn't try. She simply raised a silver-plated gun from her side and motioned for me to back off.
My mouth fell open-I was literally stunned by the change that had come over Linda. I did as she asked, of course. My mama only raised one stupid child and I've always considered him as sort of a charity case. So I carefully counseled myself to take the wiser course.
It was Linda's face that startled me. Something terrible had happened to her. Her face was all puffy and swollen. Her eyes were like razor slits in twin seas of black and blue. And that wasn't the end of it. There were finger bruises like a necklace around her throat and what looked like a burn. She was in such bad shape that the only way I really recognized her was because of the shape of her tits.
"Linda, what happened?" I gasped as I sank down on the bed's edge in deference to the gun. She didn't answer but simply moved to the door, and with only a slight pause to order me not to follow her, she was gone.
"Now, this is getting ridiculous," I exploded at the back of the door. "What the fuck is going on?"
Beautiful women were popping in and out of my room and life like they were jump-up targets at a shooting gallery. And now Linda looked like she'd been popped one real good.
I had been so startled by the gun and the shape her face was in that I hadn't noticed whether she'd taken the money or not. Quickly I checked my pants where they lay on the dresser and found she hadn't. Either she'd been after something else or hadn't had time. Probably the latter, because I couldn't imagine what else she could possibly want.
Suddenly I thought of the black girl, Morgana. I knew it was foolish of me, but I felt as if those moments we'd spent together earlier were the most satisfying in my life. I was in love with a girl I'd only just met. But now with Linda having been beaten up, I wondered if something similar might not have happened to Morgana. What could I do? Where could I look for her? For the first time during this trip I began to feel a little frantic at the enormity of the odds against me. Well, my chances wouldn't improve any by going without sleep.
Just as I was crawling back into bed, comforting myself that dawn was not far away and thence another day, I heard the light rap of knuckles on the door. I didn't know whether to answer it or not. But then, realizing that Linda had had little trouble getting in and figuring anyone with crime on his mind would probably find it just as easy, I decided to take a chance and let the fates have their way.
I crossed the room and opened the door. There stood the little redhead I'd encountered earlier in the cocktail lounge. Only she'd changed clothes. Now she wore something that looked like it was made out of plastic wrap. Cut like a toga and clear as a bell, the dress left nothing unseen. Believe me, I wouldn't have had it any other way.
"May I come in?" She arched an eyebrow and looked me over good. I was standing there naked as a jay, and the way she let her eyes linger over my crotch I felt as if I was being weighed for sale. It put me on my guard.
"Not without telling me your name and who sent you." I wasn't satisfied with the tone my voice took. It was a little too edgy, and it let her know I was nervous. But that's the way it goes sometimes; no matter how hard you try to be cool, something gives away the play.
"Rita LeRoi," she answered and pushed past me. "And I'm here on my own time. Call it unfinished business if you've got to have a reason."
"All right, Rita, let's not play games, shall we?" I said as I closed the door. "What's on your mind this time?"
"Simple," she said. "I want to finish what I started in the bar."
"What? Another message telling me to leave town?"
"No. No more messages. Though personally I think it's good advice. But do what you want. It's your life," she intoned.
"All right, what is it, then?" I asked, ignoring the implied threat in her answer.
"Like I said-simple." She began undoing the plastic belt that apparently held her dress together at the waist.
She looked like a China doll, kewpie-faced and pert. Her breasts seemed to tilt upward away from her chest and the effect was not unlike a couple of pink-tipped, flesh-colored pears.
And she was a real redhead. The flame-colored muff that split her legs was proof of that. Unless, of course, she dyed her snatch when she did her head. But I doubted it.
Her eyes were kind of amber-colored and I guessed she was a Pisces. Something made me ask, "What sign are you?"
"Pisces-but I don't see what difference it makes."
Doubter, I crowed to myself silently. I'd guessed correctly but the knowledge told me nothing really. At least nothing I wanted to communicate to Rita, if that was her name.
"What do you do around here, Rita?" I asked, attempting to get her talking about herself.
"Entertain," she said, and threw her shoulders back to let the dress slip off. I could see how that could very well be. But still it told me nothing-except perhaps that she was a hooker.
"You a pro?"
"No. A dancer." she corrected me, without being in the slightest insulted by my mistake. "Here in the hotel?"
"Yes." She was just standing there. Naked and delicious-looking as good as a raspberry sundae. She wasn't much of a talker, I decided right then. But I could also play that game. So we both just stood looking at each other, not saying anything for a long, long time. Finally she broke the ice.
"Look, Mr. Carmichael, I was paid to tell you to get out of town, but I can't tell you who paid me. I can't tell you-that's all. You're just going to have to accept that. But right now, I'm here on my own. You might think of it as a way of saying I'm sorry for the jacking off I gave you in the bar. I really couldn't help myself, though. You are good-looking, you know."
"You mean your instructions didn't include the hand job?" I asked suspiciously.
"No, they didn't. That was my own idea. And later I thought about it and felt I owed you an apology. I'm here because of that and for nothing else."
"And you expect me to believe you! When do you think I was born? Yesterday? Who sent you? The syndicate? Or maybe it's Bellows? Who?" I felt a little foolish standing there naked and getting more frustrated by the moment. And my staccato questions told her so. She said nothing.
Instead she crossed the space between us with quick strides and knelt before me.
"May I blow you?" she said and my mind did a topsy-turvy. Now what kind of question was that? May I blow you? What other answer was there besides yes?
What pissed me off about her approach was that it was so disarming. It put an end to any other subject but sex. And from such a peculiarly gratifying angle. What man, when he's looking down on a pretty face begging to kiss his cock, has the right to refuse the privilege? That man certainly wasn't me, and maybe he didn't even exist. I said, "Yes."
Her hand came palm-up between my legs and cupped my balls. Very, very gently. She laid her mouth beside my meat and rolled it against her cheek. The contrast was delightful.
With tender cooing noises she began to tongue the fur on my nut sack aside and worm her spongy wet pink tip between the sack and the base of my gnarled prick. It rose at once.
She licked her tongue tip quickly up and hooked it in the vee of, the glands beneath the bulbous head. I felt the end strain with rushing blood. Her hand pumped along my rod, up and down like a slow-moving piston while her lips sucked licks from the elliptical purple head. She sure knew her way around a blow-job.
She began to roll her lips around the knob and lick it swiftly, all the while squeezing her hand around my prick so that the bulbous end felt about to burst with blood. And the sounds she was making got hungrier and more animal-like every second.
Her other hand crept between my buns, and one finger gently began to massage my asshole. I knew right then I was in for a bitch, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I clenched one fist in her mop of hair and pulled her face back off my prick. "Let's take this to bed where I can relax and enjoy it."
She nodded mutely and rose.
"You act like giving head is what you dig the most. Is it?" I asked even as I considered her square little butt for its saddle size. She's so small and tight I bet I would feel enormous, I thought as I watched the tight little package wiggle its way toward the bed. She stopped and turned her head at my question..
"Why? Do you think I'm good at it?" she questioned me instead of answering what I had asked her.
"If you like it as much as you seem to, I'd say you're probably one of the best."
"I am," she said without any pretense.
"Who told you so?" I asked, still pumping for information despite my erection.
That one stopped her for a moment. It looked like she started to answer, then thought better of it. My curiosity rose.
"You just did with your question," she answered mysteriously. "And as long as I'm here and you're over there, there is no way for me to prove it."
She had a point. And it was obvious she wasn't going to fall prey to one of my traps. She was much too foxy for that. So I gave up. Temporarily, of course.
"Okay, baby. Who the hell am I to keep you waiting?"
I sat down on the bed and scooted up until the headboard was against my back. Rita didn't waste any time, either. Like a hunting cat positioning itself for a charge, she crouched between my legs and lowered her face to my prick. With the same motion she clutched my rod with one hand and sucked the head into her mouth. Her lips felt like marshmallows around the ridge on my dick and she hummed. The sound was like that of a contented baby.
She began to mother me with her mouth. That's the only way to describe it. It was as if my prick tip were an infant and she was intent upon nursing it all the way to maturity. Her hand began a rhythmic stroke and squeezing the length of my staff.
Rita's hand and mouth were a perfect team. Delicate and wet, her mouth caressed my organ's head while her hand pumped blood to its end. And she hummed. Oh yes, she hummed. Her tongue was a conductor for the sound to orchestrate a symphony of feeling coursing through my distended member.
It wriggled and writhed upon the slit end and I could feel her attempting to speak to me in a language all her own. It was like my prick was a saxophone and she was blowing the sexiest riffs I'd ever heard. Toot on, I thought. And play it mean and low.
As if she'd heard, the thought her mouth left the knob of my gnarled staff and plunged to my balls. With both hands she raised my ball sack and pressed her mouth as deeply as she could toward my anus.
She was grunting and urging my buns to open with her tongue. I opened them as wide as I could and raised my hips. Her tongue tickled the tiny wiry hairs that bristle around my rectum, then swirled around the gathered button of the sphincter. The effect was like an electric shock. My body literally pulsed.
Then she drew her tongue slowly back toward my ball sack and pressed a fingertip on my asshole. Gently she began to suck on one of my balls while her loose-jointed finger wriggled in. She had left my asshole wet with her saliva, and with little trouble the finger penetrated to the first joint. She wiggled it.
Expertly her mouth mauled my meat until her lips again found the end and she latched on like a suction cup. Meanwhile her finger began to pulse against my prostate gland. A red light in my mind turned on-and I howled, then set my hips into a steady rock.
In and out of her mouth my cock drummed and I rode with a gallop, like rocking in a leather saddle. I saw myself as a raw boned cow-poke swaggering into the night. The universe was a bitchy broad and right now she was all mouth and fingering my gun. I would have let myself blow my wad right then and there, except for the pulse of her finger. It wasn't regular.
While I tried everything to establish a rhythm between her mouth and finger, she kept me just out of syncopation by making her fingertip movement random. It was weird. Like I was always jerking between the red throb in my anus and into her soft lips, then her tongue parried my thrust and drove my tip out of her mouth with electric-feeling tickles. I was like a puppet writhing on her strings, and I began to groan.
I rolled my head from side to side, then inched lower on the bed. She went right with me. Concentrating all my effort toward the tip of my prick, I lunged as hard as I could while my hands grabbed Rita's ears for a hold. When her lips reached the base of my prick I held her down and wriggled my ass more tightly around her finger. Now I was in control.
Using her ears to hang onto her head I began to slowly stroke her face up and down on my cock. And she never protested. She loved it. Her mouth gobbled my distended prick up, then sucked when I pulled out like I was a sour candy. She was amazing-the way she loved to suck cock.
Her finger started moving again, only this time moved in rhythm with my powerful motions. Hot little messages began to run down in my scrotum and I cranked her on. Somehow her mouth began a circle on its accent, then a counter motion on the plunge. God, did that feel good!
I felt my hips reach a kind of groove as I let my mind get behind the idea I was getting sucked off by the very best. So this is how it feels, I thought. The way she digs it is no stranger than the way you do, I told myself. Where she appears to humble herself, you seem exalted. An even trade-a perfect match!
Her mouth was a stroking, closely fit tunnel of wet heat. I thought about talking to her while she sucked. I listened for her breathing and thought it had increased, then wished to feel her pussy and see if she was getting hot. I wondered if her mind delighted in the symbolic significance of the act of fellatio and hoped it made her cum with perfect contentment.
On each upward motion her lips paused for the instant it took to ring the ridge of my cock head with a quick tongue tip. The feeling was magnificent. Just the right mixture of tail went into it. As though her tongue were a whip that flicked a swish, then a pop on the end of my prick, she tortured the bulb very softly. Then as wide and deep as she could, she plunged her mouth to the base of my prick. God! But it was beautiful the way she did it.
Up and down, up and down, pausing only to flutter her tongue on the end, all the while she sucked. Without a doubt she was an expert. It was with a feeling of reluctance that I felt the tickle urging me to orgasm. I didn't want these marvelous feelings ever to stop. Almost despite my will the cum began to spew upward, and my hips increased the tempo.
With the first hot blast I gave myself up to a feeling of triumphant elation. In my mind I saw a rocket blast off and heard the volcanic roar of fire and brimstone. The feeling crept all the way to my asshole where her finger was jiggling in staccato. The world was tinged with the flame of amber light.
Rita was sucking so hard that I felt as if my cum were being pulled up my dick. For a while I literally vibrated as time after time I shot my wad. Finally her tickling tongue began to chill me and her probing finger no longer felt good in my asshole. With my hands on her shoulders I urged her to stop.
"Christ," I sighed, "I've never been sucked off that good."
"I told you I was good," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
"And you weren't exaggerating."
I could only lie back and marvel at the easy way in which she snuggled her head in my groin and began to toy with my balls with her tongue. She was like a kitty cat toying with a mouse playing possum. Languidly I fell into a light sleep.
* * *
When I awoke it was nearly 9:30 and Rita was gone. Just as well, I thought, I've got to start working someday. Then I remembered the money I'd won the night before. Had Rita taken it?
I checked and found it undisturbed and decided to get rid of it as fast as I could. Oh, not gamble it away, of course. I'm much too practical a cat for that. I decided to wire it to Los Angeles in my name. Then I forgot about it and took a quick shower. I got dressed, ignoring the stubble of beard on my face. After all, I thought, I am a working writer-or supposed to be-so, who the hell is there to care what I looked like. Such are the privileges of a journalist, was my conclusion.
McGraw had set up an appointment with the town's mayor, Horace Conrad. It was set for 10:00 A.M. and I knew there was no way to be there on time.
As I examined my face in the mirror while combing my hair, I had a few words with myself. "Philly Boy," I said sternly (I always try to be stern with myself in the morning. Otherwise I spend the rest of the day not giving a fuck about what happens). "Philly Boy," I drawled, watching the face in the mirror to see if any absurdity showed, "Phil, it's boiling down to a choice between women and your work. You know that, Phil?"
I didn't answer. I was wondering what kind of a decision this bastard voice would make if he was me. The voice continued: "Now which is it going to be, my lad?"
Well, to be honest with you, offhand, I'd say the broads. But that was until this black chick, Morgana, came along.
"Now if you was offer in' a choice between one broad and many-and mind you now, I don't know this to be the case-" (Sometimes my monologues end at this point, or else they go nowhere. But this one was serious, I felt. So, I gave my full attention to the words and forgot the expression on my mirror face.)
"Like I was saying, Phil, if it were a choice between Morgana and the others I've come across, well ... I might just give a while to finding out if I could stay with that girl."
The voice in my mind broke in on my argument-
That isn't the question, Philly lad. (Sometimes I almost detect a brogue in the way I address myself.) The question is whether or not you're going to get to work. So far all you've done is fuck around.
"That's what I'm trying to tell you," I said, exasperated. "I think Morgana and I could make it and I might settle down."
Better go meet the mayor, Phillius Carmichael, the voice counseled formally. You can look for the girl later.
"I suppose you're right," I grunted, then terminated the issue by brushing my teeth.
* * *
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Carmichael, but after all, you were nearly an hour late," the nice gray-haired lady said kindly.
"May I see him some time later in the day?" I asked, and made note what a perfect grandmother this woman seemed. Right down to the squint-framed glasses. Only trouble was she was beautiful to boot. It was awful what a contradiction she seemed to me.
"No, I'm afraid Mayor Conrad has gone for an extended stay at the capitol. I'm very sorry."
There she was. The picture of faith and trust, the personal secretary to the mayor of the town where more vice took place than anywhere else in America. Who was she shuckin'?
And to top it all off she was as sexy as they come, looking like she's sixty. I mean what can I say? A grandmother I wanted to ball. I wondered if she had any kids.
"Do you have any children, Mrs. O'Leary?" I asked.
"Yes, three, Mr. Carmichael. And eight grandchildren I might add." One eye twinkled, but in the other she finally revealed herself with a squint that was rather blithe.
"May God bless them all," I said and left.
I hailed a taxi and headed back to the Ferris Wheel, thinking all the way.
So Conrad was gone. I didn't know why McGraw had set up the appointment in the first place, so it really didn't matter. And as far as that was concerned, I sensed the hotel was by far the best place to get the story-if there was one. Besides I wanted to find Morgana more and more every minute.
Back at the hotel I hung around the lobby for a while behind a newspaper until I began to feel like a grade B movie detective. I gave up casing the place.
It was funny. I'd gotten off on the wrong foot or something coming into this town, and I didn't have the faintest idea of how to correct it. It was like there was no place I wanted to start looking. I just wandered aimlessly around the casino waiting for fate to make a play. Surprisingly, I didn't have long to wait.
Across the room I caught a glimpse of a black chick. I only saw a little of her face in a space between a crowd of shoulders and necks, but it was just enough to make me think I'd seen Morgana. As I was about to start across the casino to catch her, something hard spiked me in the ribs.
"It's a gun," said a voice by my side. I didn't even try to look; I froze like a rock.
"Of course, this means someone wants to talk to you. Elsewhere. Come along." The guy pushing his coat pocket into my side and inviting me for a ride looked amazingly Ivy League for such a task. Perhaps that's a ray gun in his pocket, I thought. Oh marvelous, Philly Boy, a sense of humor coming to your rescue; I hope it's got a gun as well.
"I thought you'd never ask," I said lightly.
"Don't be cute," he growled out of the corner of his mouth. Ah ha! I thought, now he sounds more like a hood-probably has a knife in the other hand. Confident I knew my man, I turned as if to follow him. He fooled me by really having a knife. Without a change in his three-button expression or pin-striped business suit, he stuck a point three-eighths of an inch between my ribs and turned it just a quarter turn. Exactly enough. Pain and fear suddenly clouded my bantering attitude.
"Another two inches and I pierce your heart," he said in a matter-of-fact manner with a voice as somber as a tomb. This cat was cold enough to make a mummy sweat. And all the while he looked just like he'd been punched out of a computer card. I preferred bad guys when they looked ugly and they smelled. This cat was absolutely evil.
Fright had dried my mouth so that I couldn't answer him by talking. The best I could do was nod.
He twisted the knife a little to remind me to be good. Then, shoving me with his gun hand, he fell into step behind me and we marched across the casino and out the lobby door.
When I saw the black Caddy limousine, absurdly enough I began feeling better about things. At least, I thought, there's some of the old tradition left. This bastard behind me threatened to take all the romance out of life. The back door swung open just as we got there, of course, and I ducked into a smoke-filled back seat.
There sat a hood as mean looking as an old cobra, smoking a dollar cigar. I thought, now I know where I am. The door slammed and I was alone with the man.
He was small; that is, his body was. His head was large and so were his hands.
"I ain't gonna beat around the bush with you, kid." His voice wheezed. "I want everything you got on the Bellows' caper."
"What caper?" I asked brightly.
He looked at me a long time after the question. He blinked his eyes once or twice, studied his nails, studied his cigar, cocked his head to the side, then pursed his lips and said slowly between puffing smoke rings at my face: "Kid, you're within one stupid answer of dying. Want to see if it's the next one or not?"
"No," I said immediately.
"Good," he said. "That's smart. Now don't say another word until I tell you to speak, and then you better say the right words. Understand?"
I nodded.
"I want everything you've gotten so far on the Bellows' story, and then I want you to go home. Understood?"
Again I nodded.
"Okay now. Tell me what you know."
"Nothing," I said, then continued hurriedly when his hand started toward the inside of his jacket. "No, no. Really! I mean it. All I know is that there's a rumor around he's dead. That's all-honest! I don't know anything else."
The words poured out of my mouth so quickly I wasn't sure if he understood me or not. But I was afraid to go on talking.
"What about them three broads you been playing around with?" he snarled.
"I thought you might know something about at least one of them," I said, then wished I'd kept my big mouth shut.
"As a matter of fact I did send one of 'em," he snapped. "But she tells me she didn't get my message across."
He must mean Rita, I thought. Still I sat without saying anything.
"What about the other two?" he snarled. I decided to play dumb.
"Which two?" I asked, attempting to put as much trepidation in my voice as I could.
Again he studied me. Either my answers were the right ones or he found me particularly curious. I couldn't tell which from the viper-like expression that stayed on his face all the while.
"You better be telling the truth, my friend," he said gruesomely. He then leaned across and opened the door on my side, motioning for me to get out as soon as I could. I didn't waste any time.
For a while I just stood at the curb while the big black car glided silently off. Then, all at once, I felt the bottom drop out and I had to sit down.
I had just been interviewed by Antonio Nofka, the underworld's most feared and most respected boss. This story was getting to be one hell of a lot bigger than I had thought. And I no longer wanted any part of it.
I sat for a long time on the curb, just watching people stream in and out of the Ferris Wheel and wondering if some one of them knew what the hell was going on. That someone certainly wasn't me. That was for sure. If there had been some way to disappear without moving a muscle any farther, I would have taken it. One thing was for goddamn sure, I was thinking as I got up and went back to my room, I wanted nothing more to do with this whole fucking deal.
CHAPTER FOUR
I was down when I got back to my room. 'Way down. Something very tiny was telling me to go on. Be brave. Take your chances and go on with the story. But it was something tiny, indeed. I was feeling sick-the feeling was so small.
Who was I kidding? I was no match for the syndicate. I didn't want to be, either. So, I decided to call McGraw. Hell, I'd even pay for my expenses on this trip. Let him send somebody else or forget the whole thing. I didn't care which. But I wasn't going to be a pigeon any longer.
When I opened the door, there sat Morgana on the corner of the bed. Gloom vanished and the world was a slice of pie again. She was back. Her slow, knowing grin as I stood staring in the doorway nearly made me laugh.
"Come on in, you foolish white child," she said and threw back her head to laugh as clear as spring water over pebbles.
"And here I was trying not to mention the difference in our color. I was afraid of the racist thing, I guess."
"Nothing to be afraid of. I'm black; you're white-that's all." Finally, as she said that, I managed to close the door.
"Okay," I said. "To start with, where'd you go last night? And for that matter, where'd you come from?"
"I went to work. But, as to where I came from, that's a bit harder to explain."
"Do you have anything to do with Antonio Nofka?" I could see the name meant something to her by the way she started. My heart sank.
"Yes, I do. But that's going to be even more difficult to explain."
"I'd rather not even hear it, thank you. I just left Mr. Nofka. And you can tell him I'm taking his advice. Now get out."
"I can see you don't understand already. I've got to explain ..."
I cut her off. "I don't want to hear it, sister. Just split. I've had a very bad day so far and you're not improving it."
"I'm a white witch and Nofka is black. That's what I have to do with him."
"You're a what? Christ! Of all the ridiculous ... why, what do you think I am-crazy? Get out of here!"
"I'm telling the truth. And if you're interested, I can prove it."
"This better be good," I said with a disbelieving sneer.
"Very well. Touch me." Her eyes widened and seemed to fill with a liquid expectancy.
"What will that prove?" I asked with sullen suspicion.
"Touch me and see," her voice lilted with a touch of rum to it.
I did as I was told almost drunkenly and felt the swell of her breast beneath the softest silk. It felt hard and good. Before I knew it she kissed me and I was gone. Sucked up in an equatorial bliss. I dreamed I was a gull sailing on the Gulf Stream. Then she stopped kissing me and her words seemed to vibrate from the mound of her breast through my hand and up my arm until it almost tickled.
"Now don't you feel good?" she inquired with the palest of amber fires in her eyes.
"Yes ... mmm," I mumbled, completely lost in her spell.
"And what about Nofka?" she snapped suddenly, breaking into my reverie. The sound of his name brought that viper's face to my mind.
"You've felt my spell-and now you know he is a witch. Who is the black witch? Who is the white? Nofka or me?"
I was baffled. Her question made so much sense in the mood she had put me in. But what if we were somewhere else?
It was stupid. There wasn't such a thing as witchcraft. But did I really believe that? Wasn't it more likely I'd harbored a suspicion ever since childhood that there probably were spirits and such? Why not witches? Besides, the nipple of her tit was nearly burning a hole in my palm and if white stood for good, then that cherry-tipped black tit felt mighty good to me.
"But remember, white boy, the only place color counts is in witches. And then it's only to tell sides." Her smile was gentle but her words rang with truth.
"What if you are a witch? You could make it so I couldn't tell whether you were a black or white witch. How do I know for sure you're not a black witch in disguise?"
"You don't. But look at it this way. What difference does it make if I am a black witch? Who do you feel good with-me or Nofka?"
"That's not even a choice. You, of course."
"Then whether I'm a white witch or a black witch makes no difference. Unless you like feeling bad. And then I would have to admit that you're on the wrong side. Nofka's the witch for you."
She was right, of course. I really didn't care whether she was black or white. It was only a feeling I had that black was somehow deeper than white. Until I saw the free spirit in her eye. She was good. That's all. Even if I did have a blind spot about color I certainly knew good from bad. What felt right and what felt wrong. And she felt right to me.
I knelt before her as if she were a queen, and I experienced the same feeling I'd had the night before. I was her servant. Drone to a queen bee. But when I looked into her eyes, there was nothing imperial. The expression was like a summer day. I wanted to show her my love,
Pressing my face to her belly, I nudged her backward until I could inch her skirt up with my nose. She had red panties on and in the light of day her flesh took on a sultry glow. I couldn't believe how beautiful it was to touch her thighs with my lips. They were exquisite in their grace.
I pulled the briefs down slowly while my eyes feasted on the long muscles that corded in her upper legs as she raised her beautiful ass to let her pants come off. My palm found her delicate buns and crushed against them, trying to let her feel the way I felt.
My lips lowered and I let my tongue lead the way to her crotch. It was slit only slightly with the thin crack of her snatch, but when my tongue licked the lips parted and flowered for a kiss. It was damp there. And the sweetest taste I'd ever known.
As if I were a worker bee, I dipped my tongue into the flower of her and whirled the lips more widely apart. My lips contacted the soft inner flesh of her labia and I felt her shiver with desire.
Gently my tongue whirled like a drill deeper into her love box. I was an electric plug to her and like that I turned her love-light on. I could feel it start to burn.
Her legs locked themselves around my head and the smooth, rock-hard flesh of her inner thighs flattened my ears. She began to rock and I felt my neck begin to pivot.
I let the beginnings of her rhythm catch me up and attempted to lend my tongue to further increasing the tempo. I began to bob my head up and down as much as I could in order to give my tongue its deepest access to Morgana's juicy box.
It was a honeypot. Each time my tongue dipped in, it scooped out laden with her bittersweet vaginal fluids. My taste buds began to swell. Little pops of her flavor covered my mouth and I ground my lips savagely against her labia, hungering for more.
My hands worked themselves beneath the twin loaves of her compact ass and I clutched her whole lower body to my face with my lips sucking at the center of her cunt. And finally I felt her let herself go and rock.
Her hips slammed her belly up at my nose and I rode with it, tonguing her slow. My nose flared for air, then I burrowed it at the top of her clitoris when she reached the peak of her buck. Going back down, I pushed my chin up farther between her buns and she bounced on the mattress and bucked, then up we started again.
I felt as if my mouth were fastened to the softest possible volcano. I sucked and tongued her as deeply as I could while she roared and erupted like trembling earth. With every fiber of my kiss I tried to tickle her womb and even had the weird vision of kissing her pregnant. Then she started to cum.
It wasn't like last night, though-not all jungle and sweat worn thin. It was creamy from the bottom to the top. Her pussy was so soft and full of froth it was like nothing so much as the head on a glass of sweet stout. It just seemed to rise slowly while I sipped to keep it just below the brim. Her cum was like froth and I drank it off. And then she came again. And again. And again.
I went right on drinking.
"Oh, Philly baby, that's enough!" she moaned. But I had no intention of stopping. I licked my tongue slowly up and down her slit and felt her quiver.
"Baby, mama can't stand no more."
But I went on licking. Making my tongue as flat as possible, I whisked deeply into her pussy and extracted every drop of her love juice. It was like no pussy I'd ever tasted. I wanted to go on licking it forever. And despite her protests, Morgana's hips began to writhe with new vigor.
My tongue drove freshly into her pulsing walls. For a moment it was as if she were going to resist me, but then the tightened lips loosened and my tongue gained entrance to the silk-smooth cave between her legs.
She closed her incredible thighs around my head and locked me in a torrid grip. Her moans of pleasure thickened until I could hear them distinctly despite the pressure of her legs upon my ears. The blood in my head swelled and began to pound as I drove my tongue deeply into her vagina.
I made my lips as wide as I could and sucked her pussy lips into my mouth and then forced my tongue between them. When her labia were pinched between my lips and tongue I began to hum and whirl my tongue in mad gyrations. The effect was startling.
Morgana's hips began to buck as if I'd plugged a live wire into her box. And I made every effort to convince her that I had done that very thing. I increased the volume of the noise I was making until it was nearly a scream. At the same time I began to suck on her clitoris. I smiled when I heard her scream of passion.
The tip of my tongue was circling the erected love bud frantically. My mouth sucked, pulling the warm soft folds of her vaginal lips against my bared teeth and into the hot cavern of my mouth. Her back was arched like a bridge as she drove her mound into my face. Her heels dug into my back for support. "Oh! Argh! I'm cumming!" I heard her scream.
Morgana threw her legs wide apart as the convulsions in her cunt spread throughout her body. The contracting muscles in her womb spewed out torrents of her love juice and my mouth worked hungrily to keep up with the honeyed flow. I sucked as hard as I could and she continued to cum. Finally she lay quiet and I could hear her groaning as if she were completely exhausted.
"Okay," I said, raising my face from between her legs, "let's start over again."
"Oh no," she groaned.
"Oh yes," I said with a sneer. "Your name is Morgana. Or so you told me. What's your last name?"
"Pulver," she said simply.
"Morgana Pulver." I let the name trickle over my tongue. It sounded all right. "Now, what's all this stuff about witches?"
"I told you. I'm a white witch-"
"And Nofka is a black witch," I cut in on her. "Do you expect me to believe that nonsense?"
"But I proved it to you," she replied petulantly, coming up on her elbows to look at me. Her eyes were so big and hurt at the tone of my voice I had to look away.
"The only thing you proved is that I can't resist you. That's all." She said nothing.
The silence grew as I waited for her to reply. I began to get angry. This chick's trying to make a fool out of me, I thought, and finally looked back at her. She was crying without making a sound. Immediately I melted. I knew she was telling the truth. There was a long silence and finally I broke it to ease the tension.
"All right. I believe you. But I don't understand."
"Are you sure?" she whimpered.
"Yes, I believe you. Stop crying, goddamn it!"
"I can't."
"Yes, you can," I answered her, not knowing what else to say. I never could stand to see a woman cry. Especially one as beautiful as Morgana!
"Did you really mean it about not being able to resist me?" she gulped as her tears began to ebb.
"Yes, I meant it." My voice was gruff.
"Oh, Philly, I'm so glad," she cried.
"Yeah, well, there's probably lots of guys who feel that way about you."
"But none I feel the same way about," she corrected me. And my heart skipped a beat.
"Come on, be serious," was all I could say. "Can't you see I take you seriously?"
"I do! Really I do," she exclaimed. "And I am being serious. Why won't you believe me?"
"Because 'love at first sight' is just too corny to be believed."
"Well, if it's so corny, how come you're telling me about it?"
She had me there. I was contradicting myself all over the place, I knew that.
"All right," I said, as I attempted to switch tacks and bail myself out of this sticky spot. "Suppose you tell me what it is that a white witch in a black body has to do with a big-time hood like Antonio Nofka?"
She shook her head sadly from side to side as if I were a pitiful case. I thought she might be saying to herself that I was just another stupid white boy, but I kept my mouth shut. I'd had a mouthful of my own foot enough times for one day.
"I'm not a white witch in a black body, Philly," she said patiently. "I'm black, my name is Morgana, and I'm a witch. Let's ignore the white thing, shall we? Let's just say I'm good and Nofka's bad. Okay?"
I felt kind of foolish being talked to like a child with her pussy juice still dribbling down my chin. But on the other hand this witch thing was making about as much sense to me as the adult world made to a six-year-old. I just stared blankly.
"Look, Philly. All I can tell you about it is this: Antonio Nofka is not only a hood. He's a warlock." She paused to see if the new word threw me. It didn't. I knew a warlock was a male witch. Hell, anybody knows that, I thought. She went on.
"Okay. Whenever a black witch or warlock gets too far out of hand, as has happened in the case of Nofka, a white witch is sent to counteract him. Get it?"
Oh, I was getting it. And getting it good. This chick had to be nuts. There was no other explanation. She saw the look in my eye.
"I see you still don't believe me. Well, I guess I don't really blame you. Look at it this way for a minute or two, though. How do you suppose Nofka has been such a bad-ass for so many years and not gotten caught or killed by someone? How do you think he's gotten away with his life of crime for so long?"
"I don't know," I mumbled.
"Because he's a warlock. And a bad one to boot. And now he's about to take over the whole town unless somebody stops him. And that's what I'm here to do." She finished and waited for me to reply. But I didn't have anything to say.
She'd managed to weave such a spell over me during the two times I'd been with her that she could have very easily been a witch. That is, if I let myself believe in such things. And Nofka was a bad guy in everybody's book. Even his own. My interview with him earlier had proven that to me beyond a shadow of a doubt. But this witch-warlock thing, well, it was too much to be believed. I couldn't buy it.
"Look," I said, "does it really matter if I believe all this occult business? I mean ... what the hell difference does it make?"
"Not a whole lot, I guess," she replied.
"All right, then, why not get back to the business at hand?" I said and dipped my head back to her pussy for a lick.
"Hold on," she said and put her hand on my head to stop me. "Let's even things up a bit, shall we?" She pushed away from me and I quickly saw her intent.
With deft motions she shed her clothes and I followed suit. This was more like it. I didn't want to spend the day talking, anyway. In a moment we were both naked.
"Get up here on your back, white man," she said, lowering her lashes and motioning me to crawl onto the bed beside her. "Mama wants to give you a little taste of your own medicine." Immediately I saw what she meant.
With all the talking my prick had gotten rather soft. It didn't stay that way for long, however. Her mouth nuzzled my cock like she'd known it for a long, long time. She sucked the head in and I felt the blood rushing toward the end of it. The feeling was delicious. This was better than talking any day.
Her mouth surrounded the elliptical end of my dick and licked it lavishly. The soft inner flesh of her lips caressed the swelling bulb and send shivers coursing through me. In no time at all my prick was swollen nearly to full size. Somehow her kiss made me feel bigger than life size.
Gradually, as if there were no such thing as time, her lips choked down my meaty pole until at last the enormous purple head reached the back of her throat. And then she did an impossible thing.
Arching her noble rear in the air she swayed her back to straighten her neck out and took another inch of my prick down her throat. And then another inch. Then she flexed the muscles in her throat and I heard her make a gobbling sound that reminded me of... a turkey! The top of my head nearly came off with the feeling.
I looked down, trying to see if what I felt was real. And there were those soft brown eyes looking up at me and smiling. From that moment on I was a goner.
Morgana raised her head back up my shaft to the end and for a moment I thought she was going to take her mouth off my organ. But no, she was only getting set for another stroke.
Her tongue tickled my glands like a propeller blade. Rotating it as fast as she could, she spiraled her mouth down my distended member until the ellipse on the end again touched the back of her throat. But she'd found an inner rhythm and didn't pause a moment. Her butt stuck up in the air past the crown of her hair. Her back swayed and my cock plundered the depths of her throat.
In my imagination I could see the pink flesh of her inner throat. I felt the esophagus working around my prick tip. It was glorious. I saw my giant cock filling the hole in an erupting volcano! It's so good it can't be real, I thought wildly.
In and out the giant flesh pole of my prick plunged in her molten mouth, and I put every ounce of my concentration on the tip of the plug. When I looked down at the top of a stroke and saw the ridge of my dick appear at the edge of her lips, I knew that in only moments I would feel her throat gargle around my prick tip. The feeling of expectancy had my mind in chaos.
As if time were a carousel on which her mouth moved softly, gently sucking tingles in every centimeter of my prick flesh, I felt as if we'd been like this forever. Up and down her mouth rode on the pole all the way until her lower lip smashed against my ball sack. She huffed and blew like a Whale, gargled and started another stroke.
I felt my flesh quiver as she started up. My body was completely captivated. When she drew her inner lips up she sucked and I felt the energy level in me ebb. She reached the end and tickled her tongue. It was as if she were reviving me. And then down she plunged.
As a storm at sea hurls waves of immense proportions at the shoreline, I felt the heat of her descent and power returned to me. And then she reached the end and gargled again and it was time for another stroke.
It was all too much. I couldn't contain myself any longer. With a gigantic groan I set my hips into motion. The only way to fight this endless sea of feeling was with a fire of my own. So, like a bull, I began to hump.
It went on like that for quite a while, Morgana taking every inch of my tremendous pecker while I mindlessly rammed her face onto my abdomen. I could hear the impact of it through a roaring in my ears. But I didn't care anymore. My prick was being eaten alive and the only defense was to blow a hole in the back of her head with an orgasm. I set myself on the track like a diesel engine.
Boom, boom ... boom! I blasted the length of my meat at the back of her head like it was a runaway train. I could feel the cum in me boiling fire below, and I knew it was only moments before the boiler would explode.
When it did, Morgana's whole body literally lifted off the bed and she shook like a rag doll. But I have to hand it to her-she didn't give up. Instead she let her body go and concentrated everything on gobbling, up every little drop. She was fighting a losing battle, however. What she had unleashed in me was a veritable flood.
I looked down and this time found her eyes were tightly closed. My meat was buried in her mouth to the hilt, and I could just make out a white froth forming about the seal of her lips on my spasming organ. Her mouth was already overflowing and I let another wad explode.
Desperately she lunged forward and sucked the bulb deeper into her throat. Her eyes rang open like numbers on a cash register. I didn't think she could do it. I waited for her to choke or explode. She didn't do either; instead she smiled with her eyes. Very, very slow.
When the orgasm was finally over I felt drained as I never had before. Of all the blow-jobs in my life, nothing, nothing compared with this. I was captured. Through. Kaput. There was no doubt in my mind. Whatever Morgana wanted, I knew right then I would give her.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Philly," Morgana said in my ear as she lay cradled in my arm hours later, "darling, please be careful. You don't know how dangerous all of this is."
"I'm not interested in getting the story any more, Morgana. I told you that."
"Yes, dear," she mollified me. "I know that, but the others don't. And if you just stop looking they'll suspect you've found something and are just lying low. Believe me, you're in a terrible spot."
"Oh, it's not so bad," I kidded her and tweaked her nipple to make sure she knew I was talking about sex.
"All right, have it your own way. But something is going to happen. Of that you can be sure."
But she felt too good lying next to me for any thoughts other than those of the flesh-so I gave my full attention to them. Starting at the top of her forehead, I gently kissed all over the high plain until my lips found her temple. I lingered there, feeling the hot pulse of quick blood just beneath the skin. I nibbled along her eyebrow to her nose and then down the crest to her waiting lips.
They were soft as silk and twice as sweet as honey. At first we kissed only lightly. They were tiny, tender pecks that gradually grew hotter and more feverish. Teasing ourselves, we tried to prolong the slight touchings, but our passion got the best of our lips. And bodies, for that matter.
Soon my lips were crushed against hers and I felt her mouth open in response. I ground my lips against hers and ran my tongue over the even row of teeth beyond. Then I slid the tip of my tongue on the other side of her two front teeth and caressed the roof of her mouth with delicate flutters. She opened wider and began to suck. Our tongues entwined and the feeling was perfect bliss. As the two pieces of pink meat twisted and traded saliva, I felt my cock growing and Morgana's body pressing hungrily against me. Her cone-shaped, foam-feeling breasts pushed into my chest and I clutched her tightly against me. I felt the tight curls of her mound press into my groin and moaned with animal pleasure.
We were like two sensual beasts grunting into each other's mouth while our bodies sought equal satisfaction. We braided together like copulating snakes and the contrast of our flesh was a moving diamond design.
My mouth left hers to cherish its way across her cheek to her ear and to whisper sweet love nothings with my tongue in the shell. I felt the inner ridges and valleys swell and dip as my tongue wet her ear with love. I wanted my whisperings to mean something in code to her ancestors. Something basic to her being should know of my love.
She responded with a chill and then a flood of heat as her body trembled against my chest. I felt like a king as I slid my tongue to the hollow of her throat and wished to offer my queen a cameo jewel. My lips trailed down to the top of one breasts' swell and I paused to hunger for the areola. Like a suckling pig still blind from birth, I sought after the nipple with hungry grunts. My lips were like a mussel on the shoal of her ebony flesh, and I sucked to hold every inch until my mouth reached its goal.
When I felt the bud enter my mouth it was taut and soft at once. Greedily I sought to harden the delicate tip. My lips were a leech and I sucked for blood. Incredibly a warm sweet flood seemed to flow down the tunnel of my tongue. It was good. It was good. It was good.
I glued my mouth on the nipple, and I felt Morgana moan before I heard the sound. Quickly I switched breasts and treated the other nipple differently. Remembering how her tongue had felt on my prick, I lashed her nipple like my tongue was a propeller. I kissed it gently.
Back again to the other nipple I sucked, then bit just a very little and felt another moan from Morgana's tit. I began to tongue the whole of each breast as if I were sweeping up her scent to the crown of her nipple tip. And then delicately I sucked the nectar off.
Morgana was panting and writhing beneath my caresses and I sent my hand to her crotch to give her a little calm. At once the hot moist lips of her pussy slit parted and my finger found the fleshy tongue. I caressed up its fold until my fingertip found the bud of her clit and gently I cranked her on.
I tried to tell her with my mouth on her nipple what my finger was doing. I guess she got the message because she began to hum. It was a beautiful sound. I could feel her body vibrate with it and I made my fingerings as delicate as I could. Her body was an instrument on which to play a harmony.
Gradually I felt her movements quicken and she began to rock. Her hips were like slow-motion wheels beginning to roll a heavy freight train on. Once, twice, three times they rolled over and began to slowly build a steady roll. Chug, chug, chug, I thought with childish glee.
With my mouth suckling her tit like she was a hog on her side, I made my finger joint press harder. It rolled the nub of her clitoris while her pussy juice greased the meeting and I knew it got to her when I felt her hips stutter and the tiny bud vibrate. I rubbed deeper and the bud swelled until it was big and throbbing with her pulse.
I pressed her love button like it was a telegraph key and I was sending a message of greeting to my mouth. The way she moaned and groaned so deeply, I felt the sounds on the tip of my writhing tongue.
"Oh, Philly, fuck me!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. The sound reached me as if from a great distance; I looked up.
"FUCK ME, lover, FUCK ME," she gritted between bared teeth. "FUCK! I WANNA FUCK!"
Her eyes became savage in their lust. Naked glaring want that came from the darkest of nights-centuries old. It thrilled me to the bone.
Her hand came down suddenly and took hold of my prick with a demanding hold. She stroked and tickled the base where it met my ball sack and I felt my core stir. My rod was immense in her tiny hand as I parted her legs with a powerful motion.
In a moment I loomed above her, and I felt her other hand cup my beefy cock as well. Worshipfully she fingered my balls up tightly and led the elliptical end to her pussy's well. I felt the turgid purple head meet the heated slit and the pleasure was electric on the tip of my cock.
With a mighty groan I slumped forward onto her pillowy chest and pushed my rod deeply into the fold. Her breasts were still wet from my kisses and now she squirmed beneath my weight and I felt my meat slide deep in her well-greased box. Around the end of my prick head her womb seemed to bloom and billow; hot and wet it sucked at the core of my meat. I let myself go.
I was a bull buried deeply in a cow in heat. I snorted my glory and began to ram in and out of her cunt hole. The moist lips parted and sucked, parted and sucked, as if her cunt had the control of a mouth. With enormous fervor I clasped her ass in my hands and started to knead it like dough
We began a rocking seesaw motion. I was pulling her sweet ass up to meet each of my thrusts and she was bucking. Between the two of us there wasn't even room for sweat. But now it made itself known and our bodies became slick with it. The heat of our union surrounded us and we both became mindless to anything but animal rutting.
I was sending my flesh pole into the cave of her cunt as if maddened beyond control and she was responding with every ounce of her fervor. Her body was a seething, squirming, twisting beast beneath me and I strove to hold on and fuck.
I could feel the torrid bulb of my prick head part the walls of her pussy and they slid slickly along my cock sides. There was so much energy in our meeting that the sound exploded from between us and for a moment we were stuck together with sweat. Then we parted with an audible pop, only to ram together again. And again.
Her belly felt like a wall of marshmallows as it struck me. My meat was rammed as deeply into her snatch as my length would allow and desperately her body sought more. I strained to please her.
My prick began to feel like a red-hot iron as I slammed into Morgana's pussy. Then, far below in my testicles, I felt the first urgings to cum. With enormous concentration I attempted to hold it off but her cunt was far too ferocious.
I felt the hot white jism burn its way up my penile shaft. Finally I quit trying to control it. Instead I set my strength behind the blast, and bunching the muscles of my hips into rock-hard coiled springs, I let the cock cream steam into her twat. She was ready for it.
When the first hot spray seared into her pussy mouth, she screamed in pleasure and began to cum on her own. I felt the heat of her vaginal flow surround my pecker and it was as if I were drowning in a sea of cum. My prick spasmed and let loose another wad. My only purpose was to claim her; to that end I sent billions of chromosomes swimming ecstatically up her.
With each blast she bucked and came back at me like a snarling cat. Her pussy devoured my cock, cum and all. It was an inferno in her cunt and my cock began to feel as if it were welded to a geyser in full blow. Her pussy was like a living magnet. It took everything I had and sucked for more. Even as my orgasms began to ebb it sucked tighter. Finally, when we both had stopped cumming, we lay locked together as if we were one, shuddering and vibrating.
I don't know how long we stayed like that. We both must have fallen asleep, I guess, but the next thing I knew the phone was ringing. As I picked it up I glanced at the clock. Nearly two hours had passed since we started to fuck!
"Hello," I said sleepily into the phone.
"Mr. Carmichael?" inquired an efficient woman's voice.
"Yes?"
"Hold on, please. Police Chief Milt Lucerne is calling."
She clicked off the line and my mind came awake at once. "Wonder what the hell he wants?" I muttered.
"Who is it?" Morgana asked, stretching tawnily beside me as I rolled off of her. I was surprised to see that I still had half a hard on.
"The police chief," I said from the side of my mouth. I watched as an alert expression took place on her beautiful face. "God, but she is a truly beautiful woman," I swore beneath my breath just as I heard someone on the other end of the line.
"Mr. Carmichael, this is Milt Lucerne, chief of police here in Las Vegas." His voice was folksy with a sort of western drawl.
"What can I do for you, Chief?" I asked pleasantly.
"Would you mind stopping down at my office this afternoon? I'd like a chance to chat with you about the story your paper wants."
"Gosh, I'm sorry, Chief. But I'm not on that story anymore. You might say it just got to be too much. Besides, I am a little busy today. A personal matter. You understand." I winked broadly at Morgana.
"I'm afraid I don't, Mr. Carmichael. I've taken the liberty of sending a radio car to your hotel. The officers should be arriving shortly."
"Am I being arrested, Chief?" I asked, feeling much too good to give a damn whether or not I was.
"Oh, let's not put it that way, Mr. Carmichael. I just would like to talk to you some ... and my office seemed convenient. Just a friendly little chat and nothing more. Won't you change your mind and come?"
"Well, since you put it so graciously, Chief, I don't see how I could refuse. Do you?" I said, playing along. Besides I was getting curious to know what interest the police department had in me and the story.
"Very good, Mr. Carmichael. The boys will be there shortly and I won't take too much of your time. I'll see you soon. Goodbye."
" 'Bye, Chief." I hung up and turned back to Morgana.
"The chief wants to see you, huh?" she asked with a tight grin.
"Yes, he does. You don't happen to know anything about it, do you? My little witch?" I asked affectionately. She turned serious all at once.
"Chief Lucerne is a good man, Philly. Don't cross him. He always does the thing that is best for this town and its people. So try to get along."
"Christ, girl, you sound like my mother!"
"Never mind the smart mouth, boy," she kidded me right back. "You mind what mama says and you'll get along in this world. You don't and you'll reap the consequences."
"Yes, mama," I said and began to kiss her. A knock at the door interrupted us.
It was the chiefs men. Two uniformed patrolmen waited in the hall while I dressed and kissed Morgana goodbye. I promised not to be gone too long.
I walked out with them, trying not to look like I was under arrest, but I don't think I brought it off. We were nearly out the door when I spotted one of Nofka's troopers covering the door about as subtly as a truck. What made matters worse, the goon greeted the two cops I was with like they were chums. He nodded at them and leered wickedly at me. A disturbing event in anyone's book.
Suddenly a cold thought crept into my mind. What if this was a setup? What if these two palookas walking just behind me weren't cops? Well, I shrugged to myself, it's too late now to do anything about it but to go along. I sure as hell wasn't going to pull any stunts in the face of the brace of 45's they wore.
When we got to the squad car it looked official enough. Including the cage between the front and back seat. Well, maybe they were cops after all but in cahoots with Nofka, I reasoned. Lucerne and Nofka-now that's a combo that could own this town!
"Sorry, Mr. Carmichael but I'm afraid you're going to have to ride back here," one of the cops said and opened the rear door. I nodded and got in, trying to act cool as a cucumber. But that wasn't how I felt. I tried to find some alternative to thinking the kind of paranoid thoughts that were bombarding my brain. My mind turned to Morgana and I remembered what she'd said about Lucerne being one of the good guys.
Okay, I thought, I'll put my trust in you, babe, but I sure hope you're right. To keep my mind off of the cage I was in, I began thinking about her beautiful body.
My thoughts started at her rib cage. I remembered the xylophone feel of her bones beneath her rich brown skin as my fingers played across her side and cupped her breasts. She was like silk to my touch.
I saw her face gently bestow a cloudy kiss and the wink of water gems as they vibrated in the puddles of her eyes. The dark, fantastically long spokes around the infinitely black irises were magnificent to behold. I saw me and Morgana at a picnic in a field of clover.
The yellow daisy tops were spikes of contrast to her sun drenched ebony body as she lay beckoning me in a field of green. Everything was so sweet; the air was filled with insect sounds as I stood above her. I watched those lovely lips of hers come up and kiss my waving meat as if it were the most sacred thing on earth. Her eyes looked up in awe at the touch of her flower-petal kiss on my phallus. Like a stallion I trumpeted my face to the sun and screamed my contentment.
"Would you like a cigarette, Mr. Carmichael?" One of the cops was shaking a pack at the screen. I declined with a shake of my head, wanting to return to my thoughts of Morgana. But the cop wanted to talk. "Won't be long now," he said.
"Oh, how much farther?" I asked.
"Let's see, what is it? I'd say no more than one and seven-tenths of a mile. Wouldn't you say, Stan?" he asked his partner.
" 'Bout that, give or take a block."
I marveled at how they seemed conditioned by their job. They'd looked at their job in terms of district and patrol area for so long that they could gauge the town in tenths of a mile and blocks. I wondered if Las Vegas was laid out that perfectly and made a mental note to myself to check it out.
"The chief didn't happen to say what he wanted with me, did he, boys?" I asked.
"Nope," they unisoned, then fell silent. After a while the talkative one resumed.
"You know why the chiefs office is where it is-exactly in the center of town?"
"No. Why?" I asked, certain that I wasn't going to need the answer.
"Well, the town's laid out in a-Hey! Stan, will you look at that!" he interrupted himself with a shout and pointed out the window.
I glanced out to see the rosy cheeks of a nicely shaped being revealed to the world as the wind blew the skirt up a pair of pretty legs to the waist. The view was perfect and the girl didn't skip a step or even pause. She just went on her way until she felt the wind die, then smoothed the skirt back down over her bare buttocks. I grinned to myself. Sometimes the world is such a beautiful place.
In the next block we pulled up before City Hall and my escorts were out of the car and leading me up the steps without any more conversation. The chiefs office was on the next to last floor. The mayor's office, in which I had spent some fruitless time that morning, was on the floor above.
The boys bid me farewell at the door. I opened it and went in.
Unlike the major, the chief had a rather dowdy-looking receptionist. She was the kind of woman who spent her life screwing her face up to a prune shape and thinking she was just looking efficient.
"Mr. Carmichael?" A raised eyebrow accompanied the question. I nodded.
"Very well, the chiefs expecting you. Please go right in." I saw her fingers leave a buzzer switch on the desk console. She not only looked efficient; she was. I opened the door to Police Chief Lucerne's office without knocking and found a man as neat as a pin within.
Milt Lucerne was the perfect picture of the elegant cop. Suave, with temples of gray, he radiated an even, sophisticated manner and his handshake was warm and firm.
"Good to see you, Mr. Carmichael. I hope this is not an inconvenience?" It was a rhetorical question, but I didn't mind.
"What's on your mind, Chief?" I asked, putting on my best cub reporter smile.
"Berle Bellows," he said directly.
"I told you on the phone I'm no longer interested in the Bellow' story, Chief Lucerne. Nothing has changed my mind since then."
"Oh, come now, Phil," he said familiarly. "You're here because of that story."
"I was," I corrected him. "But frankly I don't give a damn whether he's dead or alive!"
"How can I believe that?"
"I don't care whether you do or not. What difference does it make to you, anyway?" I asked taking the offensive for the first time.
"Everything and everyone in Las Vegas interests me, Philly." (He was being damn condescending and I didn't like it a bit.) "You come up here after a story and it is apparent to me you've heard the rumors of Mr. Bellows' death. Rumors are not facts. Consider my words a warning."
"Look, Chief." My temper was growing short. "Why don't you knock off the song and dance and get to the point. What do you want from me?"
"Just your promise to check out the facts before you write anything about the story you came to Las Vegas for."
"All right, you've got it. I won't write a word. But on one condition."
"Which is?"
"That you give some special thought to Antonio Nofka. He doesn't seem to like me very much and wouldn't believe me when I told him the same thing I just told you. I'm not interested in Berle Bellows any longer. Dead or alive!"
"You can rest assured that Mr. Nofka will be well looked after." He checked his watch. "As a matter of fact ... right about now Nofka and his boys are being picked up in what probably will be the biggest catch of big-time crooks and petty hoods in Las Vegas history."
"Why? What for?" I asked in amazement.
"Let's just say it's for the sake of law and order," he answered noncommitally.
"Does it have anything to do with this conversation, Chief? Or with Berle Bellows?"
"I thought you said you weren't interested, Mr. Carmichael." Lucerne's eyes were suddenly shrewd, appraising.
"Look, Chief, why was I brought here? Let's knock off the bullshit, shall we?"
"To get you out of the way, Mr. Carmichael," he answered with candor. "There's a raid going on in your hotel and it could get kind of rough, depending how much fuss Nofka's boys put up."
"What connection does that have with me-or Bellows, for that matter?"
"Mr. Carmichael, for a man who claims no interest in the matter, you've got a remarkable curiosity."
"All right, Lucerne, I'm going to lay my cards on the table. Nofka threatened me this morning and I don't like to be threatened. What's more, I've met a girl who appears to be involved in this somehow. In fact I've met several girls, but there is one I'm particularly interested in. Now how about it? What the hell is going on?"
"Very well," the chief said, "I'll level with you. There's a power struggle going on. In simple terms it's the syndicate against free enterprise. Free enterprise in the person of Mr. Berle Bellows. And quite naturally the city of Las Vegas has an interest in the situation."
"What if Bellows is dead?" I asked.
"That's why we're rounding up Nofka and his bunch. If the rumor is true, at least we'll keep some kind of takeover from happening."
"Why haven't you thrown Nofka and his men out of town before this?"
"Because they own nearly a third of it. And until Mr. Bellows bought into the hotels, they influenced the other two-thirds. It's complicated, but what it amounts to is that we couldn't get rid of them at the risk of shutting down an entire city's economy. Now that they don't control the economy, we've been forcing them out of ownership positions gradually. This Bellows thing is a complication we didn't expect and I'm simply trying to stop a reversal of trend. And I must insist that what I've told you not appear in some news story. Strictly off the record, do you understand?"
"Sure, Chief. I won't report any of this. And I was telling you the truth about being off the story. You've renewed my interest, but only as an observer, not a reporter. In fact, if you'll let me place a call to my paper, I'll prove it to you."
"That's not necessary," he said.
"Oh, but it is, Chief. Your concern is economy and so is mine. If I don't use your phone, I'll have to pay for the call myself-since I'm quitting and there'll be no fee or expenses. See what I mean?"
He laughed and said he thought the city could afford the call.
I placed it, told McGraw goodbye, and left. The pair of officers that had brought me downtown were waiting at the curb as the chief had told me they would be. I got in the front seat before either of them could protest; the talky one had to ride in back. He remained silent all the way and I got a chance to think.
I had no job but I had Morgana. Or so I hoped I had her. In a very short while we would see what we would see. And I still had the five grand I'd won at the tables earlier. That was a start. I didn't know toward where just yet, but at least there'd be no money worries for a while.
When we got back to the hotel there was no evidence of anything unusual taking place. I bid the cops farewell and went in.
I started to whistle as soon as I was through the lobby and on my way to my room. The world was my oyster. And if I was lucky, I'd have a beautiful girl beside me to enjoy it with. And she was black to boot. I wondered what my mother would say, then laughed at the thought. Perhaps I've got a corrupt sense of humor, but I was so happy I could have cried. I almost did when I opened the door to my room and an utter shambles met my eyes.
"Morgana!" I shouted but got no answer.
"Morgana!" I looked in the bathroom and in all the corners-what few that were left that weren't filled with the clutter of a room turned upside-down. She wasn't here, and suddenly I didn't feel so well.
It was as if the fates were conspiring against me. I couldn't get away from this mess even when I tried. And now Morgana was gone, probably in trouble if the condition of the room was any indication. I just stood in the center of it, not knowing where to start.
The phone rang and I looked at it as if it were some alien creature. It kept on ringing despite my stare, so finally I answered it.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Carmichael, this is Milt Lucerne. I've got two pieces of news for you: one good, one bad."
"I've got news for you, Chief! My room's been burglarized and my girl's gone. What the hell is going on!!"
"I'm afraid Antonio Nofka slipped through our fingers. I'm also afraid you're not as disinterested as you'd like to be. Apparently he feels you've got some information that he wants. The burglary of your room may be connected in some way."
"Goddamn it!" My voice sizzled over the line. "What the fuck could the bastard want from me? I just want to be left alone and get my girl back. Do something, will you, Chief?"
"That's the other part of the news that's good, Phil. Morgana's safe. In fact, she's sitting here next to me."
"What the fuck is she doing there?" I growled.
"Here. Why don't you talk to her yourself? She'll explain that." His voice left the line and Morgana's came on. The sound of her voice was so good it calmed me down at once.
"Phil?" she said questioning. Something made me suspicious of her tone; it was too innocent. But I passed it off in the flood of relief I was feeling that she was safe.
"Morgana sweetheart. Thank God you're safe!"
"I'm fine, Phil." Her voice coarsened and I knew she meant to imply more than she was saying.
"What are you doing downtown?" I inquired brightly.
"I came down when they rounded everybody up. You know what I'm into with Nofka."
"Yeah, well, I want to talk to you about that. Should I come and pick you up? I've got a car in the hotel lot."
"No. Chief Lucerne will return me shortly, I'm sure. I'll be there as quickly as I can."
"All right. Ask the chief when he brings you back if he wouldn't like to stay for a while and help me clean up this mess."
Her voice left the phone to ask him, and I heard him laugh and say something.
"He says to call a maid," Morgana said with a short laugh.
"No. But I think I'll call Linda McGraw."
"Who?" Morgana wanted to know after a small pause.
"My editor's niece. The girl I told you about who was with me just after I got here. Then she later appeared with her face beaten up."
"Oh. Well, ah, what makes you think she'll clean up your room?" Morgana was suddenly sounding a little jealous.
"I don't know that she will, but I'd like to find out about her face. I'll tell you more about it later, baby. Okay?"
"Okay. It'll probably be about an hour. Maybe a little longer."
"How come?" I wanted to know.
"I'll tell you later, too. Okay?" She laughed at the way she'd quickly turned my words around and used them on me in the same way I'd done to her.
"Sure, sweetheart. See you."
"See you." We hung up together. And I called Linda McGraw.
CHAPTER SIX
Only a few minutes had elapsed by the time Linda returned my call. Without any prefacing sweet talk I told her to get her ass over to my room as fast as she could. She didn't argue at all. And she showed up only moments later. I had just finished putting the drawers back into place when her knock sounded on the door.
I opened it and she came in. Some of the swelling had gone down in her face, and she'd covered most of the bruises pretty well with makeup. But there was no doubt she'd been beaten up or hit in the face with a truck. "What the hell happened to your face?" I greeted her. "You didn't give me a chance to ask last night with that little gun trick."
She acted like she didn't know what I was talking about. She just stood inside the door and looked woeful. I grew concerned.
"What's wrong, Linda? Are you hurt or something?"
"Oh, Phil!" She broke into tears and sobbed against my chest.
"What is it, baby?" I asked, uncomfortably patting her head, trying to console her. She was certainly a weird one, all right. First we nearly eat each other alive. Then for thanks, she tried to steal my money and pulls a pistol when I protest. And now she's crying on my shoulder like I was a long-lost brother.
"Don't cry, Linda, tell me what happened to you. And I'll take care of it if I can." I felt pretty small putting an 'if' on my consoling statement. But hell, who knew who hit her? I never claimed to be a hero.
"It was awful," she sniffed. "I tried everything to keep him from beating me."
"Who?"
"I can't tell you. But I've never been so humiliated in all my life."
"Try not to think about it," I counseled her. "How can I with my face like this?" she screamed irrationally. "Besides, you don't know what the motherfucker did to me."
"He beat you up." I was thinking she might be going into some kind of delayed shock, the way she was suddenly pacing around the room.
"And that's not all he did. Not by a long shot." She was nearly running in her walk back and forth before me, shaking her head and wringing her hands as if in grief. For some reason I didn't want to ask her what else he did but felt compelled to play the fool.
"What else did he do, Linda?"
"He wouldn't fuck me," she shouted, and I burst into laughter. There was no controlling it.
"What's so funny?" she snapped.
"It's nothing. I thought ... I thought it was something serious or really sick or something."
"Sick? You call not fucking someone not sick? I'd like to know what you think healthy is, Phil Carmichael."
"That's not exactly what I meant, Linda. I only-"
She cut me off with a wave of her arms and screamed in my face: "I don't care what you meant. Look at my face! Look at it! That motherfucker let me try to seduce him and then laughed. All the time he just laughed." Suddenly she calmed. A clever, shrewd look crept into what I could see of her eyes.
"Haven't I got a good body, Philly?" she whined, and undid the top button on her blouse. Then she undid another and spread the opening so I could see the cleavage between her breasts. She leaned against me and ground her pelvis into my genital area. I couldn't resist it; I had to look.
Her breasts were like ivory slopes against the fabric of her blouse. It was black and contrasted sharply with her lovely white flesh. She buried her face in my neck and began running her tongue up towards my ear.
"Not now. Linda. I'm not in the mood. Okay?"
"What's the matter with me? Is my face too ugly to look at or something? Look at my body, Philly Boy. Look at my body."
She stepped away from me, and before I could stop her she'd let her skirt fall to the floor in a puddle and was stripping her blouse off. I was looking. I couldn't help it.
"Put your clothes on, Linda," I said, trying to sound gruff. But I was having trouble making it come off. She was getting to me and I didn't want that right now.
She came back to me and put her arms around my neck, then leaned back and pushed her pussy onto my cock. Despite my effort at self-control I could feel my meat heating up. Her pussy felt alive against my prick.
"Please, Philly. Don't you reject me, too. I don't think I could stand it if you did."
What she was saying and doing seemed ludicrous to me, even though it was so goddamn real! She was like a kitten mewing for cream. And I was beginning to like the idea of giving it to her. My prick was nearly full-grown and her rubbing box was beginning to roll it around like a sausage.
"Please, Philly?" Her eyes and voice literally begged me.
"Look, Linda, I ..."
"Don't say no. You can't. You just can't." She started to cry a little. I could feel the last of my reserve starting to slip away.
"Please, Phil," she whined. With twin tears trickling down her swollen cheeks, she looked into my face with a waifs longings. "Please," she pleaded once more, and I was gone. "I want to suck your beautiful cock," she breathed between puffed lips when she saw the look of admission pass over my face.
Maybe there was just something about how desperately she pleaded or looked or sounded. Or maybe I just love to get sucked off, but I nodded. In the wink of an eye she was kneeling before me and rapidly opening the zipper between my legs.
Now this may sound weird, but there was something terribly erotic about all this. In my mind Linda was screwed up with either Nofka or Bellows, probably both. And since she'd been beaten up and rejected, I somehow felt nobly justified in giving up my organ to her uses. It was like she was going to work some devil out of her on my tool and I knew she would give it all she had. So my prick was in for a reckoning of sorts. These facts combined with the way Morgana had me thinking about witches who were black and white. Well, you can see how it got all tangled up and how I could get to feeling kind of low and mean for being used so much.
All those thoughts and many more were ghosting across my mind as Linda drew my dick from the opening she'd created in my pants. She took it out like it was her friend and thought it was cute. She wanted to baby me.
"Mama's little dude, is it? Yes, yes."
I was towering above her straddle-legged, looking down my nose and hearing a child's voice as she played with dolls. My face sneered at first, hoping to give my prick a little maturity in her eyes. But apparently I failed because she went on with the gibberish.
"Mama's little man just woke up there, is it? Mama's got a kiss for its little head." She kissed the head of my prick. "Baby's an all-day sucker Mama wants to lick."
Her tongue came down and cradled the vee of my glands. As she brought my prick up from where it was hanging between my legs, her eyes came up to mine and I saw part of her face.
In her eyes there was an innocence exactly like a kid with an all-day sucker. Starting with the first lick, she was ambitious. With slow contented movements she tongued my prick head until it was swollen and purple with blood. The wet licks slid slickly around the elliptical bulb, and I felt tiny hot sparks of pleasure tingle through me.
Linda sucked my prick deeply into her mouth, then spit it out and sucked it in again. She was treating it as if it were made of rubber, and oddly enough the little devil liked to lick it rubber-hard.
Linda placed both hands around the length of my meat and took the head into her mouth with a gentle pout. Her tongue was a tickler. Pink and fleshy, it parted the slit on my prick's face and widened it to a grin. It felt like I wanted to piss but wouldn't with the hard-on I had. I nearly blew my mind. She stopped it and eased the feeling of relief with a syrupy lick at the vee of my glands. I was suddenly on the tip of a watery arrowhead and feeling good.
Getting into the passion of it, I looked down at Linda's bruised and battered face. Her eyes were slitted in a rage. All the colors there were earthen in their hues. I could not help pitying her for the beating she'd taken. I felt as if the stroke of my prick should soothe the hurt away.
I began an easy rhythmic motion, almost lazily. My hands came down and got her ears in a hold and I had control of her head. Like I was chopping wood, I stroked.
I watched my motion take effect on the way she shaped her lips around my pecker. Her tongue was a canal for my dick to sail through rubbery walls. Her pink hot mouth cave gobbled down my meat more easily now. We found a groove and held it for a while.
I was out behind the house, sawing logs to the right length with a two-man saw. Linda's face was a mountain valley full of lakes and woods that invited me to gaze far off. I sent my prick like a log rolling down a rapid stream and felt as if the waterway was endlessly long.
Wetly I felt the roll and pitch of her sucking mouth as its caverned walls stripped my trunk clean. She rolled her lips down my knobby timber length. Her under lips were electric currents on my cock skin. Her mouth was such a twisting, rollicking, molten passageway that my meat swelled immensely. I began fucking her face onto my shaft with increasing fervor.
I felt the bulb of my prick end contact the back of her throat and push her face back for another stroke. As my prick started out she sucked like her mouth was a vacuum pump. I could see her screw her lips up and heard her suck wetly. In and out I rammed my member as I strove to give her mouth a workout. Her bruises would heal faster, the more blood I pumped to her face.
My grip of her ears got rougher as I arched my back and socked her to me. Her mouth was a fleshy, flowering hole of writhing heat as it twisted around my distended prick. I abandoned myself to the glory of her honeyed sucklings. My hips thumped a tempest of rhythms for her to blow. I was a flute she played mad music on. She played and played. And finally in the depths of my balls I started to cum.
Linda was like a swamp in a fog when she sensed the urgings in my organ. Relentlessly, she closed in and sucked.
It came boiling up out of my prick in an endless stream. Her sucking didn't allow for the muscular contraction to ejaculate the sperm. For a moment I hung on the edge of a burning precipice and then I came in a steady, highspeed stream. The feeling was similar to pissing cum. It was sheer pleasure.
Linda took a long time licking her tongue about my crotch and cleaning my genitals up. Once or twice her tongue touched my asshole and I widened my legs for her to get in deeper.
"Thank you, Phil," she said and rose to her feet. Her face was flushed at the edges-from what. I could see of it behind the black and blue. Her hair was matted at the ears where I had clutched it and I fluffed it out while she leaned against me. I felt my prick stir.
"Do you want to fuck?" I asked, leaving it up to how she felt. I still wanted to question her about everything from A to Z but I didn't have the heart.
"No," she said slowly. "I just want to go sleep for a while. Do you mind?"
"No, Linda. You probably need it. But I want to talk to you later, okay?"
"Sure," she answered indolently. It was almost as if she were entering a trancelike state. Her motions were languid and slow as she dressed and nearly floated to the door.
"Call me when you wake up," I instructed. But I doubted that she heard me. She drifted out the door and down the hall without looking back. I shook my head and closed the door. I'd never seen such a remarkably changing girl. You never knew how she was going to be from moment to moment.
I had finished straightening the room out and even made the bed when Morgana got there. She was dressed in a lavender knit mini and white boots which contrasted delightfully with her mahogany complexion. I was just dozing off when she knocked, but with the joy of seeing her I was wide awake again.
She came into the room and into my arms. In a moment we were kissing. I could feel the electric resiliency of her flesh beneath the knit cloth as it rolled between my chest and her crushing breasts.
I was naked, not having bothered with clothes after being with Linda. I could feel Morgana against me perfectly. She was built like she was intended to fit there. The cloth of her outfit was an octopus pressed between us.
Her full lips pressed to mine like a sucking cup; we twirled our tongue tips just meeting each other as rapidly as we could. I felt I knew her, though she was still a complete stranger to me. The feeling was as intoxicating as her kiss. I wished we could forever remain this way, but we broke to say hello.
"Hi," we said shyly together. There was really nothing to say. I led her to the bed and pulled her dress over her head while she lay back down on the edge. I took her panties off then, being careful-as if she were an infant-to keep from tearing the leg holes on her high heeled white boots.
My tongue found her coffeed flesh at the edge of the boots where her sweat had stained the leather. I licked beneath her knee at the boomerang curve behind her leg and gazed up at her dark-fleshed trunk. Her snatch was only a shadow.
My tongue hungered up her silky flank and found the rougher flesh of her hairline. I began to nibble there, taking generous, wet bites.
Morgana's hands came down to take possession of my ears and I let my tongue and face be her willing slave. She moved my head with gentle hands until my nose was lined up with the top of her slit. My tongue dove out of my mouth and parted her pussy lips deftly.
I licked the honeyed lips until with an avid tongue tip I found her clit. I swirled the tiny love bud around as sharply as I could. Morgana's hips began to rock and she moaned way down low.
I pushed my hands up her stomach and walked my fingers along her rib cage, for steps. They climbed the resilient slopes of both breasts and took the nipple of each between thumb and forefinger. Slowly I rolled the ruby tips until they were rubber-hard and turgid.
My face was at the apex of an upside-down triangle as my palms twirled her aureoles and my mouth devoured her box. The cave of her cunt reshaped itself despite the way I pushed the triangle of my tongue hungrily into her pussy.
She growled deep in her chest while her mound ground into my nostrils. Her scent was clean and wild. There was something in her taste that was as old as ashes. It came out of her like wind as her hips snarled her hair into my nose.
My mouth found Morgana's clit. I pouted my lips as small as I could and sucked the love button gently in. My tongue stirred the tiny crease wider and the bud came out. It throbbed like the rising sun at dawn. I had a vision of a leopard rising and stretching tawnily on the limb of a tree. The sun was a red ball I sucked on as it rose, Morgana was the leopard in a tree. I know it sounds crazy, but I was seeing things like that all the time with her. I licked my tongue back down the inner flesh of her pussy's lips and heard her begin to moan. It sounded like a cat to me.
Her hips began to jerk up into my face. It was a struggle to keep my tongue implanted in her wanton cunt. Her mound crushed my nose, but I held on with every ounce of my strength. My tongue fought deeply into her box and for a while my clinging seemed a matter of survival.
Gradually we quit fighting each other and a rhythm was able to establish itself. Morgana's groans told me how much she was digging my cunnilingual method. And now her hips began rolling gently, like New England hills. I timed my tongue-dips until they just met the upward thrust of her luscious butt at the zenith of her hump. Cum! the pink serpent called.
Morgana began to roll her hips counterclockwise as well as pumping off the bed. At once my tongue countered with lightning strokes. It felt as if my tongue were the swirling center pole of a merry-go-round. On the platform as it twirled around, the mares and stallions fucked.
My tongue painted designs of every kind on the walls of her pussy, then wiped them away for others. I was licking her snatch like it was a cave of fire and felt her legs press the tune of my tongue against my ears. The muscled flesh of her dark meaty legs drummed with lust. Suddenly her hips began to bump and jump while Morgana began to grunt like a pig at chow. The way her legs were locked about my head it was as if she were a wishbone about to be broken. I wished she would cum a ton. That wasn't possible, but I felt her jiving as if it were.
My hands came up and took the buns of her ass into my palms and I began to make her work like a sea bottom against my mouth. I was a sucker who had found a hole full of sweet sap, and my hands trembled to make the earth give it up to me. Cum. Cum. I drummed the words over and over in my brain.
Perhaps she understood me. Anyway, her hips tempo seemed to pick up and we were off on a broom-ride. I could feel the length of my meat where it lay along my leg. When she jumped into high gear and took off I shifted with it and was at the command of her lightest touch.
She took us sailing out among the cardboard stars and moon-slices. The witches grinned and leapt up, dancing within easy reach. We looped and turned and went whizzing incredibly past them-and on. There were crystal pieces all about us as she rode my broomstick dick, with her clit at the top of my tongue.
With a tiny scream that turned into the roar of a boar turning back on the hunter, Morgana began to cum. Between her pussy and my face, things became organic. Once more I tasted the sweet scent of ashes. She came and I sucked her clean. It was good. It was good. It was good.
All the things that she was and ever had been came welling out for my tongue to taste and I was only quick enough to see a few of them. Even as I scarfed her pussy's juice into my mouth, I saw it as if we were two ships passing. Angrily I stirred my tongue into the cummy sea. Morgana humped a little extra and moaned as if I'd whipped her.
I saw that just as if I'd been her mind. Like a kittenish leopard she squeezed the paws of her legs around my head at her cunt, pressing out of herself and onto my tongue that sweet vaginal fluid I couldn't get enough of.
It was all so tangled there for a while that I couldn't seem to imagine anything ordinary. I mean her orgasm was a cunt full of picket fences on their sides or floating in the air. My tongue was a flame that licked them up. I drank the amber of her pussy water until it was over. A holocaust. At the end, her pussy was nearly dry, while my mouth was so sticky with her juices I couldn't talk. I simply rested my head at the top of her legs in the hollow, a weary serf; we were both exhausted. Or so I thought.
Morgana stirred above me. She threw one leg over my head and rolled to her side. Then she slid down my face so that my lips grazed loosely along her abdomen, then between her beautiful tits. Her skin was delicious. Then her mouth reached mine and we kissed. Or I should say Morgana thanked me with a kiss that turned me on again. She was sweet as brook water in my mouth as her tongue thinned her pussy's juices. Her mouth made promises I was anxious for her lips to keep and she left me to go below and carry them out. Her lips kissed down my neck to my ear lobe. Then her tongue tickled wetly into my ear and told me of things to come.
She was a river witch leaving patches of foggy dew on my flesh as she lowered her mouth to my neck once more. She sucked down my chest until she'd found one nipple on my breast. She mouthed it and I felt a thrill of pleasure. She lingered for a while.
My hands came up as I rolled onto my back and found her tits. But I couldn't hold them for long. She pulled them away from me as her mouth found its way lower on my torso. Her hands slid along my sides until they found my hipbones and paused there to support her while she adjusted herself on her knees between my legs.
Her hands began to stroke up my ball sack and caress the base of my prick as if it were a slender vine. It grew, of course, Her thumbs reached the base of my glands and rubbed the growing knob expertly. It was as if she were milking a glandular flower bud for its dew. Stretching the head tautly, she lowered her mouth to it and tickled with a pink-tipped tongue. I heard her sigh with contentment.
My cock was getting larger and more blood-filled with every moment. Her hands began to pump and squeeze while her lips kissed the elliptical tip. They parted wetly and sucked the slick-fleshed prick tip in while she writhed her tongue.
The ridge of the head of my pecker passed her lips and she fastened the soft inner flesh of her mouth all the way around it and sucked. Her teeth were closed so I could feel the spittle seethe between them on the slit of my prick. Meanwhile, she milked the tender head with her sensual lips. My hips began to churn.
Gradually, Morgana took more and more of my meat into her mouth. Widening her teeth so that they just scraped my shaft, she swallowed several inches in one motion. Her tongue was a wanton avenger as it wriggled over my slick purple glands: I could feel every centimeter of my meat's head being covered slickly. It was wild!
My hips began to ram more steadily now. Her mouth worked up and down on my flesh pole as I felt it touch the back of her throat, then out to the rim of her lips. She started humming, and I started punctuating the sound with a deep, hip-grinding hump.
Morgana flattened her inner lips onto my prick like a leech as she sucked. Up and down she pumped her head, while at my very center her tongue tried to drill its way into my urethra. It felt like my soul was on fire, and she was trying to suck it out with her mouth. Wetly. Like a swamp sump.
My cock felt like a root in her mouth. She was tonguing my glands so wildly, I lost control. It was beautiful. My muscles floated in free space while she lashed me about on a roller coaster. I held my stomach tight while we went over the brink of a steep drop; up went my rod, and we were off downhill. There was the steep slope when the pit of my stomach dropped out from beneath me; I hung weakly in the sucking cavern of her mouth. When my weight pulled my hose back, the elastic flesh along the outside of it stayed in Morgana's mouth for a while. Like a rubber band.
I snapped back up off the bed as quickly as I could, but not before she started her mouth down to meet me. I had the eerie feeling my meat was part of her mouth. It was a feeling like being glued within a molten cave with liquid plastic.
Her lips began to throb around my prick like inner tubes. She had begun to hum with a high-pitched screech that I drove back down her throat with each of my powerful humps. Deep in my testicles I felt the cum start up in a stream, and I drummed my hips up faster and faster.
"Here it cums, baby," I growled 'way down in my throat. She grunted and gulped as the first wad spat from my prick tip and greased her tongue. Slam! My ass pounded off the bed and my hips slammed another wad deep into her throat. And again. And again. I came and she gobbled rapidly. She kept on sucking until every drop was gone. Then she sucked a little more for good measure.
We lay a long while together before either of us moved. Finally, Morgana let my cock loll out of her mouth and spoke.
"You like that, Philly?"
"I liked that, baby." What else could I say? I had. It was beautiful.
"You tired, Philly?" she asked like an old friend. I looked down and saw her lazy eyes regarding me with humor.
"No. Just consumed," I quipped. "I don't want to talk," I yawned. "Come up here, kitten. Let's get some sleep."
CHAPTER SEVEN
I awoke Morgana with my mouth. She was so angelic sleeping next to me that I couldn't resist bending my head and planting a gentle kiss on her nipple. It hardened immediately, and I felt her stir beneath me.
I gazed at her while my mouth began devouring the tender flesh of her breast, and I saw her eyes open slowly. Her smile was like daybreak as I urged the nipple on her other breast into awareness. She put her long-fingered hands at the back of my head and pressed my face into her resilient breast.
I let my head fall into the deep, soft valley and gradually licked my tongue up each slope: one at a time, planting a tender kiss on the end. The buds were hard and full of blood so that I lingered, letting my teeth nibble slightly. My hand wound down her stomach and found her snatch.
My index finger worked its way between the folds of her pussy lips and found the vee of flesh surrounding her clitoris. I wiggled it. Morgana's hips stirred into motion. I pressed a little harder and the tiny love button grew as large as her nipple felt in my mouth.
Trying to coordinate my wriggling finger's motions with what my mouth was doing to her tit, I began to lavishly cherish the dark-fleshed woman moaning beneath me. With every ounce of love I had to give, I offered Morgana to my lips and hands like a sacrifice. And she responded hungrily.
She drew my head up with her hands to her face and our lips met in a deeply felt kiss. She pouted at first. But then when my tongue tip caressed her lips, she opened her mouth just enough to suck my tongue in. Gradually, she started sucking with the rhythm of the sea.
She rolled her lips on the sensitive flesh of my mouth's organ and sent it in and out between her lips like she was sucking a prick. I strained the muscles of my tongue as hard as I could in order to give her more length to suck on.
Morgana's hands went down between us and brought my hard on up to rub and be crushed by the flesh of our squirming bellies. I could feel the vee on the underside of my glands ripple against the knot of her belly button. The feeling was so perfectly sensual I tried to describe it to myself.
The button's nub gnarled with the crack of ages, presses my phallus sail; the wind comes on strong. I rub the sky with sea breeze and clouds in marshmallows and stacks of sea serpent clowns. I am a child at a circus, and the elephant hoses me with a water spray. I retort with glee.
Like they were meant to, Morgana's hips rode longer and wider until my fiercely swollen rod grazed the hair on her Venus mound and slid slickly between the lips of her pussy. A delicious feeling chattered through me with the way her cunt cave took me in.
Like a tongue, the bottom of her pussy found the slit of my dick and led it like a razor-sharp rail to her womb. One plunge and wetly she took me in. When I tried to pull back, she was so tight I couldn't seem to get out.
She opened up a little and my dick slid out in chatters of electric heat. Her box was like a meat-eating orchid digesting my prick. It quivered like a child's mouth and gobbled at the same time. I had the incredible feeling of being in slow motion. I pounded forward and my meat seemed to take forever descending the inner walls of her cunt. As it pulled back out of the void, a volcano of squirming muscle tissue contracted her cunt around my cock. The feeling was magnificent.
I began imagining myself to be riding a rocking horse as Morgana's legs came up around my hips. Pliantly she rolled her ass in a semicircular motion while her hips socked her wanton pussy up and down the length of my flesh pole. My hands took hold of the cones of her breasts like controls, and I arched my back and rode for all I was worth.
I looked at Morgana's face as I was fucking her. At first I was drawn to her lips. Large and fleshy, they were like a blood filled velvet bow beneath her wide-nostriled nose. Now those nostrils were pumping air to her heart, which was knocking out a thousand rhythms in her cunt. She was like a vibrator. My hands massaged the nipples of her tits as I turned her on and off, fast or slow.
Morgana's eyes were wide, then closed. Wide, then closed. In what seemed like slow-motion blinks, she lowered the lids and rolled her pupils up, digging my prick at the bottom of her molten box. Then open as I came out-whee!-they looked full of warm surprise and awe.
Her body was a practitioner of every erotic motion she could imagine: a perfect contrast to the sweet pond of her beautiful face. It was so magnificent to look at and to touch and so perfect to respond with her soul that I had to kiss her while we fucked.
I collapsed onto Morgana, and her luscious flesh vibrated the length of my torso. Our lips met, and maybe because our mouths were closer to our minds than our fucking was, she began sending carnal messages to my soul with her lips and tongue.
She told me her tongue was my cock and describes the feeling perfectly of her pussy in my mouth. I felt the hot pink prick of her tongue tip struggling with mine. I told her she was mine and always would be. She teased back that forever was a long, long time. Why be hasty when we've got right now? As beastly gentle as I could, I gave myself up to her counsel.
I drove my dick deeply into the pulsing inferno of her rocking hips and cunt. It was as if a rain forest in a jungle canyon had gorged itself on my prick flesh and now was trying to gain control. Her pussy was wet with a delicious heat. I pumped like an oil well. And I got a gusher.
My cock swelled enormously as the first burst of jism sprang out from the distended elliptical head. At the same time Morgana screamed an orgasm of her own, and I shuddered with triumph.
"Oh God, Philly, cum to me!" Morgana moaned low between the high, tight wracks of her orgasm.
"Here, baby, here!" I panted and shot wad after wad from my timber-stiff pecker. It was amazing. There had been no buildup to the orgasm. We'd just started fucking like a train, and now we'd cum together at the same time. And my prick wasn't getting soft. There was a heavy, joyous weight in my testicles. I just kept fucking on and on.
Morgana was impaled upon an electric circuit. Her body jumped as if in an epileptic fit. My erected member pumped in and out of her until the friction made her pussy gooey with our intermingled cum. The syrupy feeling got thicker and thicker; our bodies began to sweat. Sensuously our bodies writhed together. We were slick, sweaty beasts engaged in a carnal rite.
Both Morgana and I were trembling at the magnitude of the feelings sweeping through us. Lovers in a carnal dance, we changed positions. Morgana slid down my body and to the side, while I rolled over and got to my hands and knees. She arched her ass and turned in a semicircle on the bed until her lush buns faced me. I reared up on my hind legs and placed myself between the arch of her wishbone legs. Her heart-shaped ass was a perfect fit against me.
Her gentle hand came between her legs and took my member with her fingers far down the base. The head of my prick snuggled into her cupped palm like it was made to fit there, as with exquisite grace she nestled my cock into her pussy. Gradually, I wormed my stiff meat into her slick snatch until I'd impaled her to my base. Then I reared back and rocked her tome.
My stomach began to slap against the buns of her sweat-glistened ass. While the delicate, slick mounds of her butt rubbed against my abdomen, my stiff prick was purging the walls of her torrid cunt dog-style. Morgana had her head thrown back and her back arched nearly to breaking as she made her ass into a runaway horse.
She galloped down the straight with my heavy tool giving her a boost every other movement as I shot my enormous pecker pole into her rear. Every once in a while, she grunted and made a sound that was something like a pleasured scream. My hands came forward and took her tits into the palms. I began to knead and pull her back farther in a taut, vibrating arch.
The effect on my prick was divine. Her pussy was pulled tighter and more narrow so that the underside of my glands rippled along her clitoris. I could feel every centimeter of her glowing box on my cock. I let my mind freewheel in ecstasy. It was just at the moment when I felt the hot tingle of orgasm in my ballsack that the door opened. Antonio Nofka walked in with a gun in his hand.
Morgana and I saw Nofka at the same instant; everything froze. He just stood inside the door with an ugly grin on his face and stared at us. Then he began waving the gun from side to side, almost casually.
"Don't let me interrupt you two. Just go right on with what you were doing. I've got plenty of time."
We started to pull apart. Both of us had some idea of covering up.
"No!" he said commandingly. "I want to watch you fuck." He motioned the gun toward us and held it steadier, with a satanic gleam taking place in his eye. All I could see in the universe was that dime-sized black dot at the end of the gun barrel's .38-caliber snout.
Never was the devil more clear in his devices. I was caught in mid-motion, half in and half pulling out of Morgana's cunt. My mind was so flooded with the feelings of fucking I didn't want to believe any of this was real-
"You cannot harm us if we speak and act in truths."
"You know of the shield?" Nofka was suddenly incredulous.
"Only from within." Morgana's voice was tranquilly imperative.
What the fuck were they talking about? Then a dim light struck my memory, a pale yellow seed on gray felt. Like a kernel of corn. Very dry. They were a couple of witches dueling.
"I don't have anything you want." I joined the conversation despite the absurd feeling of being an actor in a surreal drama.
Nofka's eyes were transfixed by Morgana's, or so I thought as I looked into them like a child. Nofka looked just like a vampire confronted with a cross. In each pupil there was a coil of coupling rattlesnakes; I could almost hear the throes of their rattles mating with each other. Morgana's breath remained as slow and sure as a lazy river rolling wide and low.
"Is Bellows dead or not?" Nofka snarled, fulfilling my expectation of the part he played.
"I don't know," I answered truthfully. My cock snuggled a little deeper inside the protection of Morgana's pussy. I was a little afraid of this man, despite the hold Morgana obviously had on him. She must have sensed it, for she spoke to both Nofka and me at once.
"The truth has you paralyzed, Antonio. You cannot move against me or anyone in my protection." She quivered her cunt good-naturedly to let me in on the double-entendre.
"Do you love this witch?" he snarled. I was caught red-handed. I couldn't lie in this situation because that would release the evil Nofka from Morgana's spell. And with the emphasis he gave the word "love," well, to say yes at such a moment was an admission of unconditional surrender into her service. At least a lifetime long. You might say I was caught between the devil and the deep-blue sea. I took my chances of the ocean.
"Yes. But I still don't care where or in what condition Bellows is. Do you understand?"
"I getcha," he croaked. "So she's got you on a desert island, has she? You don't care what happens to the world as long as she takes care of your meat?"
"Not the parts you're in, I don't."
Morgana was silent throughout our exchange, but her hips had begun moving like a slow-motion mixmaster. I wished she'd cut it out because I couldn't concentrate. I wished Nofka would just disappear so I could just grab her hips and fuck!
"Stop it, Morgana. Let's not give him the satisfaction."
"I'm not trying to give him satisfaction, baby. I'm just satisfying myself. Besides, he can't see anything but my eyes because of the spell I've got him in. And I want my eyes full of how good I feel!"
Nofka's eyes had blinked once when I had asked Morgana to stop. But as soon as she spoke they became transfixed again. So what she said must be the truth, I figured. Well, if that was the case I'd let myself enjoy the situation to its fullest extent.
"Yeah, I love her, Nofka. But I'm sure you don't know what that means." Nofka's eyes blinked as my cock took a stroke.
"Don't be cruel, Phil," Morgana counseled even as her ass twirled around my flesh pole.
"How the hell do we get rid of this guy, then?"
"He'll go when there's no longer any reason for him to be here."
"When will that be?" I grunted, trying to keep my mind on the conversation despite the distraction of my prick plundering her glory hole.
"He's waiting for me to answer you. Whether I love you or not. He's waiting to hear the truth of my answer."
"Well, do you?" I wanted to know.
"Yes," she said simply. Nofka immediately turned and went out the door. I came as soon as we were alone.
* * *
"Listen, baby." I was stalking up and down the room, naked as a jay, waving my arms like a windmill and talking at the top of my lungs excitedly.
"Nofka came in here with a gun and with one look you transfixed him, or whatever the hell it was you did."
I waved her to cool it when she started to interrupt. I wanted what I was thinking out loud where she could hear. Hell, the world was getting so confusing, I needed some explaining.
"There he's standing looking like he's about to say 'I want to suck your blood,' only he doesn't-no, uh uh. You start staring at him and rapping about truth, and all the while your butt was tangoing around my prick. Where the hell do I fit in this scheme, if you two are witches or warlocks? There! That's a place to start. Go ahead-answer that one!"
"Why, you fit perfectly into the scheme of things, Phil," she said with mock candor and one eyebrow raised. "You were fucking me."
"That's not what I meant exactly. I mean, was I or wasn't I in your spell?"
"You were in my pussy. Whatever spell that is to you." Morgana was playing it cool.
"What kind of a spell did you have Antonio Nofka in, Morgana?" I was becoming exasperated with her evasions.
"I didn't have him in a spell, Phil. It was a truth spell, if you must know. I was only the binder between the truth and Nofka. Something he is quite unused to looking at."
"I don't follow you."
"Simple. Look, if Nofka had not so immediately seen the truth he would have gone on toward violence. I just concentrated all my-I should say our energies-onto making him see only the truth."
"Then he could see us fucking, couldn't he? And you said he couldn't." Somehow these words felt strange coming out of my mouth, but I said them anyway.
"Oh, it doesn't matter, Philly. We were fucking, and he came in without asking. What responsibilities do we have to ourselves in that situation?"
I hadn't thought of that, of course. "To stay healthy, I guess."
"Yes." Morgana used the answer to launch a new phase of her explanation. "To deny our bodies the gratification they were seeking to achieve would have been a negative thing, don't you agree?"
I nodded my head, trying to follow her clearly.
"Well, to deny our bodies would have been untruthful, without truth, a lie. And truth's spell wouldn't have held Nofka at bay for us."
"I see," I said as a light clicked on in my mind. She was right, of course.
"And I love you for being so good as to agree with me at a time so desperate for both of us," Morgana said, and beckoned for me to join her on the bed. One look at her smile and I didn't want to talk any more, anyway.
I lay down by her side and her flesh felt very soft against mine. Beneath all that pillowy heat, however, beat a primitive, muscular heart that swarmed of natives dancing around a firelight with her sex. I kissed her and she took me there. To a mating of black and white gods. Being white myself I necessarily placed my own color behind hers in the experience, since she'd shown me the way to be good. Her kiss was that sensational.
I kissed her back with all the flood of feelings I could muster. I called on my God for strength to show her things. I saw us somewhere off on a sea coast, but her lips were too demanding for further meanderings.
I couldn't think about me anymore; I could only think about Morgana and how to please her. I started with my mouth.
Speaking in tongues, I didn't know I understood before, I told her of centuries ago-of Arabian knights and other strange and mysterious things.
CHAPTER EIGHT
For a long time Morgana and I never left the bed. Not until the sheets were in tangled scatterings and the room was a general mess. We sent the maid away several times and had food sent in. We acted like honey mooners should.
For she had agreed to marry me as soon as we cleaned up our business. I told her there was nothing to clean up for me, and then got the shock of my life. She had to stay until Nofka was undone!
There was nothing that could be done about it. Facts were facts. The white witch-black witch thing again. The honeymoon ended when I got pissed.
Morgana had gone to do some shopping and thinking, I guess, and I started kicking about the hotel, trying to fill my time. I swam for a while, then threw a couple bucks away on the slot machines. Paying dues, I guess. I don't know. I was listless.
I'd cut myself off from the paper, and the money waiting in the mail at home would only last so long. What the hell was I kidding myself about-getting married when I'd just quit my job? I was a hundred kinds of stupid fool.
Maybe I wasn't the hotshot I thought I was. Where the hell was I going to go? How would I take care of Morgana? Where would we go?
All right, Philly, maybe you're not a reporter after all. I weighed the incriminating evidence of the past few days. I hadn't done the job, it was true. But hell, how could I have done it with all the fucking I'd been doing? To say nothing about falling in love.
And then that bullshit Nofka, Bellows and this whole goddamn town was hip-deep in. Who the hell but an idiot wanted to snoop around a place where men played with real guns as if they were children's toys? I didn't want to know any more than I already knew. So what if I wasn't a reporter? Hell, I'd told McGraw enough times that I wanted to stay in the supplement, writing astrology columns. Simple work. Just enough to get by. But no, the motherfucker had to send me up here, and now look at the mess, I ranted to myself.
I tried to see what mess I was talking to myself about. But as soon as I did, Morgana's face showed up in my mind and the much faded away. All I could see was her beauty. So, like a homing pigeon, I went back to the room we'd been together in for so many hours and tried to decide what to do.
I knew I was a writer of some sort. Knew it in my bones. So, following a whim, I took my pen and paper out and started doodling.
I wanted to write. But about what? I knew what I didn't want to do more than what I did. That's no place to begin, I thought. Why not give McGraw something to remember you by? Send him a story about how many broads you've fucked since you've been here. I told myself ironically.
I could see the bastard's face screwed around his cigar, trying to figure out whether I was putting him on or not. Besides, Phillius, I counseled myself in my best schoolmaster's tone-besides, what could the paper do with something with so much sex in it? I began thinking about the problems the editors would have and had to laugh to myself.
But despite that, the idea of writing about my experiences intrigued me. I began to write. After throwing half a dozen paper balls into the waste basket, I still wasn't satisfied. What good would it do to write it down? Who would read it? Then I remembered the current trend in fiction.
"Hey!" I said to myself. "You could write a novel." Not that the idea hadn't struck me before this. It had, of course, many times. It was just that I'd never had any experience to equal the past few days, and it seemed worth writing about. But I didn't really know where to begin. That was the problem. Then I had another idea. Why write about facts and try to make them appear like fiction? Why not just write something totally out of my imagination? I began once again:
The slave girl Cleo ran softly down the cold marble steps, hurrying to keep up with the gnarled and silver-headed eunuch. She was bewildered and excited by the richly colored beauty surrounding her. So much had happened to her since leaving her native land that she ceased to know fear; in order to survive, her mind had submerged itself below her spinning emotions. Now, as the breeze caused the chiffon of her dress to fondle her round, dark-skinned breasts and to tease into swollen hardness her cherry-red nipples, she felt the same tingling on her skin that she had felt earlier as the Arabian women bathed her.
Then, they had massaged her with perfumed oils, tracing patterns of excitement on her skin with their long and graceful fingers. She had not asked them "Why?" or "Where?" just as she would not ask the old eunuch who was leading her now. It was no use to ask questions, she had learned in the sumptuous quarters where she had waited out the last month, surrounded by beautiful, young girls just as bewildered as she. Very few of them could speak English with her, none of them her native African tongue. So, she had languished silently on silk cushions, sometimes venturing into the small, hot garden by the quarters to eat the strange fruit growing, there.
"Here we are, my dear," said the eunuch, as he pulled aside the heavy curtains for her to enter. "His Most Exalted Wonderment, the Sultan of Gandia!"
"Ah, Akiem," exclaimed the Sultan, upon glimpsing the charms of the lovely nubian girl. "You have chosen wisely tonight. Now, leave us, please." The old eunuch sidled back out through the curtains. The Sultan turned slowly toward the girl, his piercing black eyes lingering over every curve of her supple body which shone through the transparent chiffon.
The first thing he noticed was the excited state of her nipples. A sharp tingle shot to the tip of his cock. He imagined those nipples to be clear ripe cherry fruits to be sucked into his mouth. He looked up to her full pouting face with her slender lips parted in a shy smile. He pictured them parted and puffed around his enormous flesh pole.
Searching her face for flaws, he could find none. She gazed back at him with shiny eyes and he thought of a mountain brook. He was enraptured-drawn in. He stepped forward and cupped his hands beneath the round, full ebony moons of her perfect breasts. He felt their heat in his palms.
Who is this woman for whom I feel so much on our first meeting? the Sultan asked himself. Hold; not so fast, said a voice in his mind. His fingers left off toying with her breasts and took her hands.
"Cleo. What a lovely name." She blushed and the dark tinge of blood could barely be seen on her beautiful black flesh. Her hands felt cool and sure within his and the Sultan knew a press would bring heat. He knew somehow that he was especially going to enjoy the seduction of this beautiful slave girl.
"Come, my dear. We shall eat. Have you been away from your homeland for a long, long time?" His lips sought the back of her hand and kissed the tiny knuckle mountains without waiting for an answer. As his tongue licked the tiny crotch between the legs of her fingers he sensed a shiver run through her. He took her arm and led her to the velvet cushions of every rich color. Directly in front of the cushions were trays of figs and pears and oranges and melons, another tray of rice and steaming lamb, and a vessel of thick wine.
As he handed her a small brass cup and poured it full of the wine, she answered his question. "I have been in your palace for one month. Since the full moon before this one. But I have not seen my homeland for nearly four years. When I was taken by slave traders."
"Why, my dear, where ever did you learn to speak such perfect English?" the Sultan asked, his eye taking in the radiant curve of her calf and the long plane of her thigh above the knee.
"At the mission, where I was brought by the men who captured me." She wondered if this smiling, sultry man had hair on his chest like those traders, or if he were smooth and sinewy like the young warriors of her tribe. The hot thoughts of pleasures at the hands of such men burned up her thighs, touching her waist and breasts and causing her to drop her head back. Her breasts arched forward.
The Sultan's meat grew along his leg with the thought of laying its lumber between those peaks. With his forefingers and thumbs, he shaped a wise-looking triangle around his nose. Posed, he let his voice out:
"Maid, you must know these conditions about your being in this palace. First, that after tonight you will no longer be travelling away from your home. I have had you brought to me that I may hear a story from your lips. If the telling pleases me, you will be freed. If not, Gandia will be your home as my slave."
"Your Most Exalted Wonderment-"
"Oh, come, come, my dear. Highness will do."
"Highness, am I to understand that pleasing you will be my salvation and that what you hear will seal my fate?" Cleo asked with growing elation.
"Yes," replied the Sultan in a pleased, god-fatherly voice. She has a clear mind as well, he thought. And for the first time that night thought of himself as Sultan Tym Ali Ekhbarah.
Pensively, Cleo sucked an orange slice in between sips of the strange wine. She felt the hot burgundy sparkle trickle down the length of her finely muscled throat. "More wine, my dear?" invited the Sultan as he reached for the golden flask.
Cleo wondered if she dared-the engravings on the flask already looked to her like fornicating peacocks. And, as she asked herself where would this all end, the Sultan sensed her hesitation.
"Go ahead, my dear," Tym said and laid warm and delicately haired fingers snuggling along the plane of her thigh. "Begin."
The dark-skinned girl traced her tongue over her wine-stained lips as she thought. There, plumping the pillows up around her thighs as she sat tailor-fashion, she said, "Long ago the drums of my tribe were high like the sun at noontime."
"At night the young men twirled dancings around huge camp fires of war. At a feast by this firelight, a young female is called off into the forest by a full, chill moon. She thinks she hears voices of peace in the distant purple shadows and runs quickly and softly through the low-hanging branches of night time."
"As she runs, the warring branches fight jealously over her, grabbing her hair and pulling ferociously at her clothes. Soon the skin of her leopard dress is ragged, and the impassioned thorny vines are mauling her soft skin. There is a thin trickle of ruby blood on the ebony skin of her left breast. Jagged scratches encircle the full flesh above her delicate waist. She runs harder and faster through these abusive lovers until she is hot and panting and glistening with pearly lines of sweat."
Cleo was demonstrating the state of her story's heroine, as if she too were panting softly with the heat of the jungle she spun her tale in. Her firm, lovely, fleshy globes rose and fell beneath the clinging pale green chiffon. She relaxed sultrily from her crossed-legged position, spreading her legs and lying back slowly on the pile of yielding pillows. As she started to untie the silver ribbons which bound the front of her dress, the Sultan asked if she were hot.
"Oh yes," she breathed lustily, "I am on fire with this heat."
"I, too, am burning. I shall remedy the situation." He stood up to pull a long bell cord twice, evidently calling a slave from the distant recesses of the palace. Then he undid his flowing silk shirt, revealing a smooth, muscular chest, rippled all the way down to the tops of his low-cut pants. A few silky black hairs could be seen curling above the light silk, which barely concealed the throbbing of his great cock. Sensing that Cleo's hot and flashing eyes were transfixed by the outline of his member, he untied the sash at his hips, allowing the pants to fall abruptly around his feet. Cleo's eyes became glassy and melting at the sight of his magnificent rod bowing before her and the springing up like a proud hard spear.
She untied the last ribbon and revealed herself stretched out and bursting with passion. Like a ripe fruit she lay beneath Sultan Tym Ali Ekhbarah ready to pluck. At that moment, a slave girl entered, bearing a large bowl made of rubies cut like window glass bound together with strips of gold. A clear liquid could be seen shining through the precious stones, and strange, exotic flowers floated on top. The girl bent down and placed the bowl beside Cleo.
With a knowing smile, the slave picked a flower from the bowl and started to trace the wet petals over Cleo's hot body. The liquid was iced perfume, and as the trails of alcohol dried Cleo felt cool thrills take over her body and her head felt light. The slave then went to her master and dribbled the icy liquid around his neck and down his back. As it reached his hard and limber ass, she helped its effect with her long fingernails. The Sultan leered with pleasure as the tingle in his ass spread around to the swollen tip of his cock. His gaze fell down to Cleo's dark, musky cunt, still pulsing with heat. He watched as she reached over to the bowl, daintily picked up a flower, and started to play the perfume leisurely up the inside of her thighs. Still staring at Cleo, the Sultan began absent-mindedly to fondle the slave girl's heavy, pendulous breast. He molded it languidly in his hand until she brushed the cold wet flower on his throbbing meat. Then he closed his eyes as his fingers pinched and rubbed her alert and pouting nipple, the vision of Cleo writhing before him.
Suddenly he reminded himself of the delights to come. "Thank you, girl, please leave us now," he said to the slave and pinched her nipple gently one last time before she left.
Settling himself down on his back opposite Cleo so that his legs were between hers and he could rub her sculptured calves with the soles of his feet, he commanded her to continue her story.
Cleo considered for a while. What would most appeal to this man whose loins she now beheld? The long, slowly swelling organ rose up as if from a tangled, moist forest at the base of a cliff made of bone and muscle. She imagined her hot tongue running over those smooth bone ridges and hollows, and her small teeth taking even smaller bites of that muscled flesh. And then the thought of his cock between her impassioned thighs caused her to take a small ecstatic gasp and wet her lips. Surprisingly, the perfume that had dripped on her lips tasted delicious and left her tongue tingling with the rest of her body. Considering the tingling feeling, Cleo renewed her story with fresh fervor.
"Though now the jungle lashes her body terribly, the maid runs on. Light pink veins of blood begin to show in fingers running toward the nipples of her tender breasts; while her thighs, muscular and strong though they are, become weighed down with the chains of underbrush. As her journey lengthens, the cords of her muscles slowly give out. Finally she knows she must rest or fall. She slows then, and as if returning from a dream takes stock of her surroundings.
"She has come to the shores of a small mountain lake. The moon shivers yellow on the water in the star-twinkling blue-black night light. Immediately she longs to disturb this water mirror with her nipple tips."
Although the Sultan's face did not betray him, questions persisted in darting through and tantalizing his mind. Cleo's imagination was nearly beyond the scope of his understanding. He had never heard such a story as this: the way the nimble words danced the picture of the Indian maid's erotic flights upward in his mind. Ah, it would almost be a shame, he felt, for this fine woman to please him physically as much as she was tantalizing him mentally. If only there were some small flaw in her performance, he could, in all fairness, keep her chained to his passions in Gandia forever. But he would not spoil this evening with premature regret.
Fondly, the Sultan rubbed his feet over her ankles and calves, enjoying their smooth hardness and savoring the coming moment when he would allow his hands to touch them and his tongue to taste the tinglings he knew the perfume had left there. For now, he contented himself with tickling the insides of her knees with his toes, knowing by the pleading barely concealed in her proud eyes that she wished he would continue his titillations upward. He hefted the lance of his rod in his hand, daring and yet commanding her to continue her tale.
Breathing heavily, Cleo traced her fingers under the enticing folds of her aching breasts and brushed the fiery tips of her nipples-small relief from the Sultan's trials which she was enduring.
"The girl welcomes this clear place on a hot and twisting night. Without hesitation, she removes the garments of skin from her body. Her fingers run over the painful places and find no permanent damage done to the marble smoothness. Delicately she places her hand between her legs and runs a fingertip along the lips of her honeyed mound. The moist, pink mouth at once surrounds the intruder and rolls in the whole finger. Exploring the burning dampness of herself, her eyes loll upward with pleasure and suck at the bright yellow disc the moon is. Like clear light an idea comes to the girl. She will swim and the waters will soothe her.
"Her bronzed body shines in the moonlight. Like a sleek beast, this child of the jungle approaches the water's edge. But unlike a lioness she does not turn along the shoreline and prowl. Instead, she slips into the water's knifelike surface, and it cuts only a brief chill across her flesh. Then, like a glaze of loving, the waters heal her. From the cool balm of the depths, her body partakes of its goodness. She swims as her beautiful body drinks and drinks. Timelessly, her long graceful arms stroke the night water. Like a star-ladder, her glistening wake cuts a swath between the lily patches. Her clear-featured face becomes the reason for the night. She is encased like a very rare jewel.
"Her round, overripe breasts glow as they float on the lake's surface, mirroring the full moon like twins as it hovers over her. 'Why have you brought me here?' she asks the moon petulantly. 'Where is my satisfaction?"
" 'Be still, woman,' a voice comes to her from the night. Pouting from the reprimand and from the effort of trying to decode the moon's intent, she makes her way to shore and lies half in and half out of the water, its edge lapping hungrily at her source.
"Soon, cleaned by the healing wealth of lambent liquid, she emerges refreshed but unsatisfied. There, by the lakeside, she finds a lush, green cloth of moss. She writhes onto the sponge floor slowly, letting its soft teeth nibble the water from the flesh of her breasts. Then, rolling over onto her back, she grinds the muscled mounds of her ass wider on the grass. She coos with ecstasy as she feels the moss's dry, green tongues licking her petulant young skin. Wishing fervently that a man would find her in the clearing and cover her body with savagely throbbing hardness, she falls asleep dreaming of a warrior with strong, demanding, limber flanks, his balls round and firm like luscious fruit. She makes her lips round and puckered as if to kiss them, and moans with ecstasy in her sleep.
"Now, it so happens that not far off stalks a young and truly noble giant. A warrior of a neighboring but enemy tribe. As he treads a game path toward the lake there is nothing he does not notice and command.
"The jungle, always a fickle lover, is treating the warrior very differently from the girl. The tangled vines caress his massive shoulders. Each tendril strokes whispered secrets to his ears. His mind records the silent trail of his passage in every detail because his senses are alert for war.
"It is the custom of this warrior's tribe to raid the neighboring tribes for women. He is the vanguard's point, a place of honor for which he will get to choose the first of the captured women. At dawn he will select a bride.
"The jungle takes a passionate notice of the young man's silent passage along the trail. He moves between the overhanging brambles as if he were made of silk. At each turn, the low branches embrace his sensuous skin. A teasing jungle rose tugs at his loincloth, wishing to strip his war paint away and caress his skin, touches the flesh pole languidly, then brushes his loins. The young tree stiffens a little as it feels the plant's prickle kiss and etch a trail along his thigh to his balls. He feels it tangle briefly in the protective, heavy fur surrounding his sex and pauses to brush away the tender head of the flower. But, as his hand touches the flower bud, his eyes travel to the mossed clearing in which the naked maiden sleeps.
"The clear moonlight paints yellow shadows across her slender form. The warrior can see the slow, even rise and fall of her sumptuous breasts. Full, flaring hips depart suddenly from her lance-thin waist and flow like a river straight into her sculptured loins. As she sleeps, her delicate hand steals down, playing and tangling itself amidst the lush growth of the womanhood between her marvelous thighs.
"The entranced warrior steps away from the rose's entanglement, and as he does so, the petals of the flower face kiss the length of his shaft, leaving sweet wet traces.
"In the clear night, the sleeping face of Cleo appears full of blush to the approaching warrior. Her face glows with the moonlight. The warrior sees her awakening eyes open on him like twin orbs of daylight.
"Since the maid has been dreaming of being ravished, finding this tall, proud man upon her comes without surprise. Her eyes first greet the massive head of his arising cock, and she is truly awed. She imagines the velvet head of its tip piercing the softness of her lips, and a hot thrill runs down her spine to her hips.
"The man sees her growing awareness begin to pulsate as her hips undulate an invitation against the light green carpet of grass. Silently, he drops beside her and lays his warm palm along her thigh. Without words their lovemaking begins."
"Cleo, my dear," the Sultan broke in on the story. "Look at this." His eyes insisted she behold his huge erection. "This is what your story has brought me."
The Sultan was overcome with pleasure at the beautiful girl's engaging manner. He had begun to scheme on how to keep this girl forever as his slave. She told stories so very well!
"Why, Highness, I thought we both knew the purpose of the story," Cleo said, rolling the words out sensuously on her tongue. Still looking at him through half-closed eyes, she bent and placed her mouth beside his prick.
She licked slowly along the length of his lumber, leaving a hot, wet, sparkling trail of saliva and tasting once again the delicious sweetness of the perfume. A mingled pool formed at the base of her tongue as she sucked the bulb of the Sultan's turgid tool into her mouth and rolled its soft silken head with her tongue's tip.
Tym felt her worship pulse through him and lay back to enjoy the tribute. Mischievously then, Cleo nippled her way down the underside to the base of his rod and sucked one of his balls into her mouth. Her supple hand surrounded his staff and began to stroke it with her still warm saliva.
"Highness," Cleo said questioningly, raising her head and gazing past the tower of his erection. "Do you not wish me to finish my story?" Her hand continued to slowly stroke Tym Ali Ekhbarah's bulging cock.
"Yes," replied the Sultan, taking Cleo's ebony head between his hands and pulling her up to taste the flower of her full mouth. Her lips were cherry sweet and soft as spring clouds. He stroked his hands over the bronze curves of her magnificently shaped breasts. Rolling the hard tips of her nipples between his fingers, he longed to kiss them wet.
"Tell me the story while I cherish your breasts," the Sultan commanded and trailed his tongue down the long, sleek curve of her throat and between the scented valley of her breasts.
"He lies down on her and she welcomes him with an open soul," continued Cleo while Tym kissed and licked her silken flesh. The lush mounds began to tingle; and as he sucked her hot, red nipples and rolled them gently between his teeth, they became rubber-hard and burning, leaving Cleo with barely enough breath to continue.
"The dry, gentle night now embraces the lovers. The warrior has taken his mouth to her charms. Slowly, his insisting lips stalk their way around the hillocks of her breasts. His tongue traces warm rivers coursing across the downy slope of her belly and leaves her body aching with desire.
"Like a warm, dry wind his breath washes between the hairs of her mound and tickles her pussy to part a bit. His tongue follows quickly to lick the flower open, then his mouth settles for its first sweet kiss. The honey walls of her pussy shape themselves around his lips, and he tastes her pungent sweetness. Like a bee suckling a spring flower, the warrior dives his tongue and lashes her clitoris with its tip. Cleo's orgasm begins.
"The warrior's tongue now abuses her clit gloriously. With quick, flame-like darts, he twirls the little bud around and around her pink flesh. Her hands find their way to her breasts and she rolls her palms across her own rubber-hard nipples. She moans aloud, throws her legs upon the warrior's shoulders. Their figures churn together, mad with lust.
"It is not his tongue that she is after, though; but rather the full timbre of his cock pulsing between her aching loins. With her hand, she beseeches him to take her, and he rises above her like a mountain top.
"The full wave of the coming sea in her womb surfs at his first thrust. His big cock crashes into her cunt like a diving spear. She greets him with a tremendous buck of her hips. They rock, and with each thrust their ecstasy reaches a higher pitch."
"Well, my dear," Tym interrupted with an attempt at humor that didn't quite come off. "I can imagine they finally cum! But no longer do I wish to hear the story. It had more than pleased me. I wish not only to kiss your flesh and hear your moans of pleasure." The Sultan moved now toward the goal the story had excited in him.
Starting at the slim curves of Cleo's perfect ankles, he traced with his tongue a slowly widening path upward. He licked the sweet flesh of her calf and marveled at the pure, hard curves of her knee. His tongue swept the ticklish skin softly in the hollow behind the joint and moved on up the bronze goodness of her thigh. His lips nibbled the golden flesh and left hot, dark tingles quaking in her knees.
The sweet, musky scent of her sex rose heavily to his nose from the lush cave of her loins. Her pussy quivered for his lips to kiss the honeyed walls, and she moaned with increasing excitement.
She circled his head with her legs and locked his probing tongue deep into the passage of her cunt. It writhed there, twisting ecstasy up her spine. Her hands began to trace trails from the top of Tym's head up the trunk of her body to her breasts. The Sultan licked his tongue up from her cunt's opening to the tiny fold above her electric love bud, brushing gently insistent circles around the small, erect jewel. She gasped her passion one stage greater each time the loving tongue pushed harder against her clit. And then she sighed with pleasure as the electricity was soothed with slow lickings the length of her cunt, only to whimper uncontrolled when her clit was again softly attacked. She could not believe the passionate skill of this man driving her mad with ecstasy. Savagely unmindful of the world around her, she sculpted symphonic motions across her belly with her nails. Her hands pushed her breasts hard into mountains, and her fingers twirled the ruby nipples into dark red points.
Suddenly, with a deep, throaty groan, Cleo came, and the Sultan was engulfed with her nectar. He sucked the fruit taste up the funnel of his tongue. She was delicious.
Cleo was wild with pleasure. Her hips plunged and sent shock waves of carnal delight coursing through her blood. Her eyes rolled up in her head, when suddenly Tym surfaced from the sea of cum.
He rose and kissed her lips while her hungry mouth devoured him. Like a ravenous beast, Cleo's hot mouth ate its way quickly down the Sultan's chest. Almost frantically, she sucked the knob of his huge, distended cock into her pouted mouth. Her passionate lips engulfed the throbbing purple head, while her darting tongue sent sparks of ecstasy through him.
The Sultan's cock was bursting. She shaped her lips closely around it and began to suck rhythmically. He felt as if she were pulling on the very core of his being. She sucked and tickled the head with a quick, dry tongue. The Sultan gazed down at her beautiful face mounted around the head of his prick and found her misted eyes begging him to cum.
Then, as if he were a stag trumpeting a challenge to the world, he let loose his reserve and felt the first chill-throb of the coming torrent. Clasped onto the head of erected flesh as if she were a slowly, wing-waving butterfly, Cleo sucked the Sultan dry.
With each giant spasm of his tremendous member, she greedily pulled his throbbing stud farther down her throat. The taste of his cum sent earthquakes of pleasure shattering through her slender frame. The warm, white liquid cascaded down the open caverns of her perfect throat. At last, after she had consumed the full load of this man's essence, she was satisfied. She licked every tiny drop dry from about the head of his still-erect organ.
But the Sultan was by no means through. Once again he took Cleo's full, ripe curves into his hands. With easy sureness he stroked her breasts alive and sent new tingles coursing through her hard and willing nipples. Quickly Cleo began to moan anew.
Her hands gently guided his massive member to her anxious pussy. With one long, deep thrust he drove it home.
Cleo locked her limber legs about the Sultan's smooth, strong back and undulated to meet his powerful thrust. Their bodies welded into one and began to squirm against each other, breaking into a glistening sweat. With crescendo after crescendo, he drove his staff twirling deeply into her juicy cunt. She met each plunge with higher feeling and her moans turned to screams that prodded him to drive her on and on. Finally, as if they were both raging beasts intent upon tearing the most pleasure from each other, they came together in one ecstatic burst.
For the Sultan, it was as if the night had become clear daylight-rising blue skies with a golden sunburst into brilliance above a stretching shore. He hung on the peak of the sun and watched the woman cum.
She was the torrent of a river raging with its grace and ceaseless surf. But her spirit sang above the stormy drone like an owl hooting at the moon. In her eyes were everything that owls see and a promise to the night. Every shudder of her spirit welled up into her thrashing hips. Her body vibrated with owl-song. At the moment of her climax, white hot stars shot from behind her eyes, flashing her eyelids with what turned into salty tears. The perfect satisfaction of the orgasm caused loneliness and longing for her homeland to well up in her and the tears to roll down her cheeks.
The Sultan saw the tears and sensed their cause. The notion that the very conditions of telling him a story could grant her relief from loneliness burned like a candle flame in the depths of her mind. She had pleased him immensely-so much so that now the temptation to say she had not and thus keep her a slave warred with whatever was good and benevolent in his soul.
Cleo saw the disturbance in the Sultan's face and feared she hadn't satisfied him. Perhaps the story of her native land had been too simple; although it had been true, her mother had told it to her. Perhaps the fuck which had given her so much pleasure had been mere routine for a Sultan; perhaps her tears had displeased him. Oh, she wished she hadn't displayed the well of her loneliness to him. Perhaps he wouldn't understand. But she must know her fate and she must arouse the Sultan from his thoughts ...
CHAPTER NINE
Morgana had returned just as I was finishing up the first chapter. I was all excited with my new idea. Hardly taking time to kiss her hello, I sat her down in a chair and handed her the copy to read.
I have to admit I was a little nervous. After all, sex was still a funny thing sometimes to certain people, and I was afraid Morgana might not see things my way. She was so beautiful that she couldn't help but understand. Still, there was that tiny spark of doubt. Besides, I really didn't know whether the work was any good or not and that worried me.
Suppose it wasn't? Suppose it was just another one of my dumb ideas? I had to know. I could hardly wait for her to finish reading it. So much of our future depended on her understanding and acceptance of it. Nervously I paced back and forth, glancing at her every once in a while. But she didn't look up. Didn't speak. Just kept on reading and slowly turning pages. My God, she was taking her time about it! She should have finished long ago. She doesn't like it. I know she doesn't. Finally she was through.
"I can solve some of the mystery for you, Philly," she said and smiled in a gentle, almost maternally angelic manner.
What mystery? What was she talking about? I was so dumbfounded I couldn't speak. What she'd read hadn't been a mystery. Fantasy, perhaps. But mostly it was just good raw sex!" What the hell was she coming off with this mystery shit for?
"What mystery, Morgana? That wasn't supposed to be a mystery."
"Yes, I know. Well, there's no way of saying this but to come straight out with it. You may find this hard to understand, Phil, but it's the truth. I swear it. The story you wrote actually happened to my grandmother."
I'm sure she didn't expect me to do anything but stare at her incredulously, and that's exactly what I did. Her grandmother yet! She was too much! She had to be joking, of course. But the expression on her face told me she wasn't joking at all. I said the first thing that came into my mind.
"You're putting me on!"
"Not in the least. And there's only one way of explaining it. You've become a psychic. And I'm your contact."
"You're not starting that witch business again, are you? For Christ's sake, Morgana! This is important to me. Be serious!"
"You mean you don't believe I'm a witch?" Morgana asked.
"Of course I believe you. It's just that ... well, hell! Here I thought I was creating something fresh and new, and you come off about your grandmother. Don't tell me she was a witch, too!"
"No. I'm the first in the family. My grandmother was a very good storyteller though. That you can see by reading this."
"You mean it's true? She really did those things? Oh, no," I groaned.
"I don't see what you're so upset about, Phil," Morgana sniffed. "It's not as if she were bad or anything. Being my grandmother alone should put her above any moral aspersions. That is, if you do believe me that I'm a witch ..."
"What was the mystery you were talking about before we got sidetracked?" I asked, rather than answer her question. I waited for her answer, figuring it had to be a good one.
"Well, grandmother felt that she'd been drugged all during the interview with the Sultan. She found out later that she was. It was the orange perfume."
"How do you know all this?" I asked, having the strangest feeling this conversation had left reality completely and we were now being utterly fantastic. Hell, I wrote the damn story. I knew it was fiction.
"She told me, of course."
"When? After she got back home?"
"I can't tell you that."
"You can't tell me? What the hell do you mean? You're sitting there telling me a piece of writing that came out of my head is true. Why can't you tell me what happens in the end, then? What's the big secret?"
"You guessed it. I'd just spoil the end for you."
"Oh, brother! Thanks one hell of a lot, baby. You'd just spoil the end for me. That's beautiful! Really beautiful!"
"I'm serious, Phil. Why did you have me read this to begin with? What did you want me to say?"
"Christ, I don't know. I had some wacky idea that I could write a novel. That's all. I guess I wanted you to tell me it was good or something."
"It is good, Philly. What makes you think I don't think that? All I said was that it was true."
"But it's not supposed to be true, Morgana. It's fantasy. Fiction. Something made up out of thin air. It's not supposed to do anything but entertain. Don't you see? I started it because I don't want to be a reporter any more. And now you tell me that what I thought was pure fiction was really ... Christ! I don't know what it is, but I feel like some kind of spy or something."
I knew I wasn't making myself very clear. But the whole conversation seemed demented to me. It was all so frustrating. So goddamn frustrating that I wanted to scream. But how could I when I really didn't truly understand what there was to be mad about?
"Oh Phil, don't you see. If I told you the ending it would be like reporting. But if I don't, well, the only way you'll know what happened is if you write it out."
A cute, vixen smile came into her eyes then as she added: "Besides, if I know my grandmother, the story she tells you might not all be real by any means."
"Oh, come on, Morgana. How can I believe all this? First you're a witch and Nofka's a warlock. All right. So I went along, and you proved it. Or at least I think you proved it. Now you tell me that I'm a psychic and your grandmother's telling stories about herself and using me to do it. And just because I know you, I'm forced to believe you!"
"Are you sorry you know me, Philly?" she asked, and her eyes were ready to be hurt with the wrong answer. Jesus. My heart melted every time I looked at her. How could I doubt her? How could I not believe her? But the whole thing was so ridiculous. And besides, I didn't much like the idea of being taken over by witchcraft. If that was what was going on here, I needed to find out. There was no way but to do it directly.
"Morgana," I asked melodramatically, "am I slipping under your spell?"
"As a woman only, Phil." And I yearned to believe her. But this goddamn writing thing was too much; it had me fairly reeling. There must be an answer that would satisfy me. I didn't know what it was, but that couldn't keep me from looking for it anyway. Then suddenly it occurred to me that she'd said something about orange perfume. And a mystery.
"Are you sure your grandmother might tell a lie or two when she's using me to tell these stories?" Before she could answer, I had another thought and waved her to hold on as I spoke. "Like, what if I wanted to write something your grandmother doesn't know about? Like something for TV or a Western or something? Could she influence me in that case?"
"I don't know, Philly. That's something you'll have to answer for yourself. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just that if I could write a lot of books for her, then a few for myself, I just might get along with the old gal!" My chuckle told Morgana that everything was going to be all right.
CHAPTER TEN
"Philly?" Morgana's voice had a question in it as we lay in bed together, our flesh barely touching each other and every pore alive with desire. Our toes were mingling together at the bottom of the sheets, but other than that we weren't really moving, even though we were feeling each other with our skin.
"Philly?"
"Mmm?"
"You're not going to write about us, are you? You're not going to report what we do in bed?"
"Of course I am," I answered, teasing.
"You're not!" She pretended to be shocked.
"Sure I am. Here, let me describe it to you," I said, then leaned across and kissed her gently on the lips. It was like kissing deep piles of velvet. Only they moved: alive. "Your lips are like velvet flesh," I murmured against them, then kissed across her cheek until I found her ear. I made mumbling sounds into the shell of it and found I was too busy loving her to talk. Morgana must have sensed this because as I kissed my way down her neck she started whispering a commentary and giving directions at the same time.
"Yeah, baby, yeah. Kiss my breasts. Yes, that's it. Kiss the nipples. Oh, yes! That's the way. Run your tongue around it. Yeah, baby, yeah!"
I started to nibble just a little and could tell she liked it by the way her breathing quickened and her whispers thickened.
"Baby, your mouth feels so good. Do the other one for mama, baby. Suck on the other tit." Her hips began to undulate slowly and then her whole body got the message. It became serpentine in its motion while she talked to me.
"Baby, love me. Love me. Lick me all over with your tongue. That's it. Oh, it feels like you're taking tiny chunks out of my skin. Love me, Philly, love me! Your mouth, oh, that god-damn beautiful mouth of yours. Come up here. I want to kiss you."
I was torn. Just as she said that, I'd started down, hungering to taste her pussy. What it tasted like was on the tip of my tongue, and I wanted to savor a little of the juice. But then I decided there was time-plenty of time. So I went back up to her face for a kiss from her lips.
I wanted to take my time thinking about what they felt like to me. I mean, after all, ahead of us were a lot of years and there'd be plenty of time for regrets later. We were thinking about being together as long as we could make each other happy. I put myself to the task with all my heart and soul.
Her lips opened slowly to let my tongue enter her mouth, and all the while she made tiny, murmuring sounds like a fresh water brook. I took the time to run my tongue tip around the inner flesh of her lips and then to feel each of her even teeth as if my tongue were a finger reading Braille. The effect was startling. My whole face glowed, and my eyes popped open just as Morgana's did. Four orbs examined each other with volatile exposure and laughing tongues while our genitals savored the feeling.
I rolled to the side until we lay as twins. Figures shaped out of clay of opposite colors. But not black and white. There was only the color of flesh to us as we wiggled together. My cock and balls lay like a symbol on her thigh, pointing at the cleft between her legs. It was not a mountainous valley or a rock-strewn canyon even, but a hair-covered cunt.
Each of my thoughts climbed the spokes of her eyes like a ladder to the stars. We were both out in space looking at each other across a void while our flesh kept our bodies on Earth with the sexual contact. Like galaxies expanding together-or a slinky toy-we met and passed between each other's expression, then felt the other up with our minds.
Morgana's hands crawled up the back of my neck while her fingers traced a million canyons in through the hairline. I felt as if my head were my cock tip and she was giving me a hand job. Her lips came forward while her tongue dove into my mouth. I almost pissed, it felt so good.
I remembered what those lips felt like on my cockhead, and I ground my mouth onto hers as if to kiss her pussy. I hoped that she was having an experience equal to mine in love, and I tried to tell her so with my tongue. She fondled me back with languid pairings. It was as good as it should be and more, she said with love.
I felt the cones of her breasts flatten against my chest. But as she moved her head against my kiss, her torso undulated and her nipples squirmed indentations into my flesh. As they stiffened I tried to match them up with my own nipples, but Morgana was too full of wiggles to hold still for that.
Deliberately, we moved against each other slowly so that every possible inch of our flesh was touching and moving at the same time. There was a timelessness to our lovemaking we both felt; we explored it. We were underwater beings coupling our every erogenous zone.
I felt her hair-covered mound mingle with mine. The base of my prick fit naturally into the slit at the tip of her fleshy pussy lips. My meat was pressed along the moist crease, and she responded to every rub. I felt the blood vessel at the bottom of my shaft thicken while the bulb on the end of my dick distended with blood.
Gradually I lengthened my motions until I felt the ridge at the base of the elliptical tip catch in the fleshy folds of her cunt. I felt the button of her clit graze the tip, and my prick slid into her box.
Her heat engulfed my meat, and my legs writhed with pleasure. Her body shivered from the contact of my enormously hard prick against her hot inner walls. They felt glove-tight and followed every contour of my flesh pole as I drove deeply into snatch.
Bump, she pumped up, her pussy contracting. She was hot and plastic as her box tickled my dick its entire length. I slammed against her pelvis and immediately we were together in a savagely syncopated rhythm. Every time I stroked, Morgana met me midway down with such force our bodies slapped together, The sound was a perfect counterpoint to the animal noises of pleasure both of us were making.
Once again we entered a timeless place. We were one with both our minds and bodies. It was give and take from both points of view. I was at once selfish and generous. So was Morgana. We went at each other like animals mating. Our bodies began to sweat and become slippery. Everything served to heighten the experience we were having. It seemed to last forever. We fucked and fucked and fucked. Nothing was between us but animal pleasure as we both sought to reach a climax.
When it happened, it was as if we'd broken some kind of barrier. Like coming up from under water. We simply broke the surface and were overwhelmed with orgasm simultaneously. Hump, I shot a load of jism and she caught it, engulfed it and went ahead in an incredible burst of feeling. Her body seemed to chatter and celebrate at every nerve ending. She was glorious to fuck! She writhed around my dick as if her pussy had a mind of its own. And all the white-hot, sensual fluids mingled in her box and made the mating complete. For an eternal moment, between the hip-crunching, nerve-shattering climaxes, we were one, complete and alone.
* * *
"Morgana." We were lying side by side, barely touching but enjoying the tingle of trying to communicate with our bodies, when I spoke: "Morgana, what are we going to do about Nofka? And Linda McGraw?"
"That's all taken care of, Philly. Just don't think about it anymore."
"How can I not think about them? Christ! Linda was beaten black and blue by somebody and Nofka was here with a gun. Frankly, I think Nofka did it. And what's to say he won't come back to haunt us later on?"
"You are," she answered my question. "Simply by not thinking about Nofka you don't include him in your life. The only other way he can go on being is if you let yourself go where you can expect to find him. See what I mean?"
"You mean if I don't want him in my life, all I have to do is ignore him?" I asked incredulously.
"Well, not exactly," she said. "It's more like you have to not only quit giving him any mental consideration, but have to allow yourself not to think of what Nofka does as a sin. But I don't think we've been together long enough for me to communicate completely what I mean. Just take my word for it: Nofka won't appear anymore."
"For how long is anymore?" I asked with a grin.
"We'll have to get old together to find out."
"Hey, that reminds me," I said exuberantly. "I've got an idea about your grandmother's stories. I mean, what do you think of a sextet! Pun intended. Think she'll be able to come through with that many tales?"
"If I know grandfather, he'll give her plenty of tales to tell. All you've got to do is write them down."
"How did you know that?" I asked in awe.
"You told me, Phil, when I knew you long ago."
"But how could I have? I don't remember saying it or even thinking it before this moment. You've lost me again, Morgana. Is this always going to happen? Are you always going to be somewhere I don't know about?"
"Always somewhere, good. Come on, Philly, let yourself free. The world is only what you believe in. Put down your doubts. That's what I'm here for, baby. Don't you know that? I'm here for you to love."
