"Yo! Fuck me." The white woman skittered around the hotel room in the nude bitterly smoking juju, "Blow Bro. Cocksuck. Yo!"
The black man stood in the doorway, remaining where he had entered through the unlocked door after rapping in the hallway for unknown seconds.
"That supposed to be some routine of yours, gorgeous?" the man said. "Heard your singing before all the way down in the lobby."
"I was in the shower. Just having fun."
"Uh huh."
"You're the house dick. A black one."
"Maybe I haven't heard that one before. Not this evening or morning-I'm not sure. That your game?"
"I want to see it."
"My black dick."
"You got it. Strip."
"Why?"
"You're an actor, aren't you. Out of work?"
"This is my work these days. Work in several shifts a week as house security while I shuffle along through law school. Smart for a jigaboo."
"Nude. I want you nude."
"Like you?"
"Naked. Stark staring buck naked. Black buck naked in the flesh."
"And the rest."
"How much you want?"
"Any amount would do. You know I'd love you just to do it."
"I couldn't allow that."
She pulled a pile of large bills from a sack that looked filled with them. "Logos, phias."
"Come again? That's Greek."
"For?"
"Word, sister. If you insist. Capice? Italian expression that asks you if you understand what I'm saying-"
"Know where I'm coming from? You know languages pretty well, then."
"Some. I sing opera."
"Should have known."
"You never by chance have played Othello?"
"He wasn't exactly my kind of fellow. Wasn't typecast as being noble anyway-so how could they play me in tragedy? That's why I'm here."
"Poetic in its own way."
She fluffed the mazuma across her face like a ruffed fan.
Extended her hand toward his sleek red-hardwood form with a trim thinlipped grin twisting across her mein that turned on a dime into a leer.
He took the money without a change of expression to his face and sat.
Pulled off his clothes.
Slowly.
As she reclined sublimely in a chair across from him. Sucking her own lips. Trembling.
Tremblant white flesh.
Voluptuousness in shades of white, ivory, and buff tones, with slices of red. He leaned back.
Mahogany cockhead tamped up at the tip of curved ebony shaft.
Blue-black bull shit puffed up. The white woman began to fan her fingers through her muff. Fleecy flocculence. Swollen succulence. "That's immense," she said. "Isn't it."
"You're keeping your distance."
"Maybe I'm afraid."
"Never had it in your head before."
"Oh, sure."
"Hair? Hands? Ever had black dick between the tits? In the armpits."
"And in the rest."
"You like it."
"Yesss."
"Get with it, sister."
Her hand lurched up from her white snatch and out about his black prick. She flicked her wrist. Bent forward. Sucked black dick.
He fucked her white meat raw in the mouth, ass, and pussy with his mahogany hard-on.
Rinsed her down with freshly flowing white-chocolate jungle jizzom from mouth-cheek to ass-cheek like drawn palm wine.
The pair was human.
The fuck, divine.
* * *
The henna-headed spic him receptionist eyed the black house detective as he walked with apparent and studied diffidence through the hotel lobby at the ass end of his overnight tour of duty.
He always thought she-likely turned a few tricks. She always wished he would play some.
"Any messages, Chiquita?"
"You got exactly one."
"From?"
"Morrigana."
"Say it isn't so."
"She says call Donovan."
"Oh?"
"Hey, since it's none of my business I thought I'd ask. She an old flame? That dolly. Morrigana. You don't have to answer."
"You didn't have to ask."
Her deadened smile lingered for a while as her tits grew taut.
Pussy panted, hot.
She watched his ass flex brashly as he slipped inside a telephone stall, smiled, dialed.
"Who is that?" Donovan answered through a hazy crackle of line interference.
"Buckminster Black."
"Listen, spearchucker. We got a little hot nut dropped on us this morning. Hopped-up white chick phoned the office early ay-em babbling about a possible burglary involving jewelry out at Hood Cove Conservatory and Arboretum Environmental and World Cultural Center."
"Who?"
"You know it. When you see it you do."
Donovan's voice was again washed over in a cloudy wave of static that Buckminster knew to be a product of highly sensitive though short-circuited and overloaded telephone debugging monitors and secure-line apparatus.
"Whoa, Donovan. Can't understand a solitary syllable, dude. You aren't going to impress many of your chichi clients with your top-of-the-line high-tech security services if they get battered eardrums just gabbing with you over the yakker."
"Must be a thunderstorm coming in. Pretty expensive weather-forecasting equipment and not too accurate at that. I'll turn the fucking thing off and clear the line."
"Why not the police?"
"They want to keep it hushabye out there at the cove. Scandal and such. Going private, the media angle is controlled."
"Especially if it's an inside job. So why can't you take it?"
"Morrigana and I have a full-force security gig on for a cracked-out preppy-deb bitch in the industry-you know which one I mean-caught between blackmailers and tales about her equestrian sex life."
"So Shiv Donovan gets wind of this not-too-hairy number and out of the whiteness of his soul seeks to pass the goodness along to a little inexperienced shucking chuckler like me."
"Hey. It's your education. Take you sightseeing and out of highball hotels and law libraries. Plus you get to pick up a little extra dinero, which we can all use. Why don't you tool on down here to my offices? I'll be gone pronto but they all know who you are. Take a gander at the dossiers on Antoine Chevalier and L.L. Jebal Hood."
"Now I know what scene you mean. Not the sort of scheme a righteous black man would want to get himself mixed up in. You know, we're responsible for every crime committed by anyone of our race."
"Just like the other guys. Before we both go blind from cracking wise, I should inform you that major endowments for the park and cultural society come from those guys. You know them?"
"Antoine Chevalier used to stalk my neighborhood in plainclothes police hombo drag before he went glorious. L.L. Jebal Hood is the stud buck owns this hotel I'm sleuthing at-"
"As well as numerous discos and casinos. We did a little snoop work for them a couple years, back. Pay special attention in our files to any mention of wives, former wives, girlfriends-"
"Motives for crime?"
"Who needs motives these days? Just thought you'd like to thumb through some pictures of the dames you're going to meet."
"Aren't you sweet."
* * *
In the heat of the morning sun Buckminster Black gunned his vintage Corvette around the corner of a cliff road overlooking Gulf Beach's expanding oceanfront urban center. Highrise and bungalow condominiums glowed along the myriad coves.
Ranch-style estates on the inland side of the highway seemed to specialize in cactus and sagebrush. Suddenly jungle lushness swept both sides of the road. A thin waterfall glinted from a pussy-like gash in buff-colored rock.
Beyond the bend a long looming structure was cantilevered out from the cliffs. Domes and arches of stylized Spanish Moorish, Egyptian, Mayan, Abyssinian, Nubian, Carthaginian, and Creole-Colonial design were worked and warped in steel and glass, modeled in blown concrete stuccoed over and set with colored tiles. Thick wetland foliage went on for miles behind a slender silver beach.
Several sleek greenhouses loomed up on the left amidst unstructured semitropical gardens. There was a gigantic black-latex Olmecoid head embedded in the overhanging ledge of a reflecting pool.
An ellipsoid array of park and benches among stonework towers bearing a startling lack of resemblance to those of classical Zimbabwe served as architectural setting for a series of stone-and-metal sculptured busts looking not too much like Spike Lee, Malcolm X, and John Fitzgerald Kennedy.
Hood Cove Conservatory and Arboretum was what the tiny sign said. Concern for the environment and the furtherance of world culture for the benefit and future of all humankind seemed to be the pithy gist of all this display.
Buckminster recalled the dismay and subsequent uproar a few seasons back when it was found out a bunch of dinges had bought up all this imagine real estate and were opening a cultural retreat-just like white folk gentry.
Of course the jigs were going to name the digs after black gangsters.
Elementary.
A joke?
Buckminster figured that Antoine Chevalier and L.L. Jebal Hood had all their angles figured. Those two dudes wouldn't be in it if everything were straight up and all announced.
A hump in the road like a dead camel bounced the undercarriage of the Corvette. Buckminster in the midst of a line of rudely worked traffic bumps slumped in his bucket seat.
Bleakly worked the gears of his automotive machine as he backed, crunching over humps, down the road and then drove slowly through the tree-hidden gate to the Hood Cove estate.
Buckminster quirked the Corvette to a halt in a wide white flower-lined gravel drive running by a slashed-metal bronze-chromium gate fronting an opened double doorway inscribed with phony modernistic Arabic-English script identifying the wing as Chevalier Rotunda.
Stabbing out a damp unfiltered cigarette, Buckminster ejected himself from the Corvette. He rang a set of copper chimes by the gate and peeled his eyes inside. Peepers caught the flash of what looked like naked white ass off to the side.
He saw an art-littered interior of a fig-domed rotunda framed in ivory and ebony seams striped through panels of white peach marble and a lot of wickerwork and thin hardwood furniture and woven rugs in remorselessly large rooms and halls.
A loosely languid Jewesse grew up silently inside the doorjamb by Buckminster. He shuddered for no good reason as she extended her hand palm up.
"You like to sneak up on a guy."
He placed a card onto her palm.
With undead eyes she read it.
Nodded.
Said: "Come in. Please wait in the foyer while I announce your arrival."
Unconvincingly sexless and alien, she kept her gaze trained upon Buckminster's face.
Buckminster sensed a simmering kike cunt underneath the gossamer robes she wore.
His mouth went wet and dry at the same time. His lips both spasmed and locked.
He walked in past her, sniffing her rose-oil scent as he went through the door and she turned without looking back and disappeared through a vestibule.
Buckminster stepped into a silent shade steeped in refracted sunrays. Jagged sculptures jazzed and clashed with early American white bread paintings and those glorifying the slaughter of Indians.
A translucent mosaic backlit by the sun featured a dusky dude in dark combat clothes from another place and century who was undoing some vines entwined about the belly of a blonde white chick who was all tied up on the underside of a winged serpentine beast, most recently deceased.
Before Buckminster could ponder the symbolism, he swore he heard a giggling white girl out of sight and through the hall somewhere, but his actions were distracted by a hissing in his ear.
"Hello there," Buckminster said to a floral-skinned pixie with long piss-blonde hair and most vacant of stares.
"Niggerniggernigger," she tittered and belched. "Bet your cock is bigger."
"How do you figure?"
"I don't figure. I know."
"I don't figure you know either."
"Laugh? Thought I'd never start? The fuck are you, blood dude."
"Black. Buckminster."
"I get it."
Her mouth hung open. Tiny tongue pointed outward over a rack of small sharp teeth.
"You came here why?" she said without expression but as though motivated by an animal passion and tossed her head to the skylight.
"I needed an alibi."
"You're a criminal?"
"I'm here on business."
"Must be a criminal."
"Black, aren't I?"
"Huh?"
"Everyone knows I'm criminal cause I'm black. Don't you know that? Whenever I go into a liquor store they all look me over cause I'm hombo. And cause I carry a gun. Remington."
She looked up.
"The gun, not the painter."
"Funny today, ain't we? You are carrying one, aren't you. A gun. Not a painting."
"No, doll. 'Fraid I'm not. Otherwise I'd take it out and show it to you."
Her hand snaggled out and a tiny red derringer pointed at Buckminster's face.
"Don't move, mother-fucker. You turn your blackhoy ass around slowly. Let me see those paws up all the way. And keep that bowling ball head of yours focused upon this body."
"Monkey fuck."
"What?"
"You want to monkeyfuck."
"Sure. You can do it. Here's my twat. Screw it. And screw my ass too. When you're through with that you come down my throat."
"Don't gloat. I wouldn't do this at all if you didn't have a gun on me."
"Don't pull any funny stuff."
Buckminster turned slowly.
Crouched.
Pulled his black dick out.
"Ninininini!"
She did twist and shout.
"Yana-na."
Her eyes narrowed to iridescent slits of green and gold and lead and clay. Mouth hung open halfway.
Tongue lolled out over reddened lips between canine incisors.
She shot her tits out.
Pumped rump up.
Allowed her lacy vestments to go liquid over her white shoulders and fall into a puddle at her high-heeled ankles.
She stared straight up into the insides of her skull, showing moon-like whites.
Tight tits, pink-tipped and taut, flaunted toward Buckminster's face.
Gold-brindled pussy pouted.
Pert white-rose fanny puckered and suckered. Crinkled pinkly, wrinkly in the cranny.
Slackjawed maw with claws dangling from paws placed beside her craw.
Red gun pointed at Buckminster just for fun. She danced the derringer across her face.
Slipped her hands inside his legs, prying them apart with hers.
Buckminster darted his head about.
Felt fingers at his waist.
"You know," she said. "You dress pretty straight. Almost like funky white."
"That meant as a compliment?"
She tore his tropical tie-dyed teeshirt over his head and the baggy pastel jacket along with it. Pants and shoes snapped off simultaneously.
Her mouth moved aimlessly.
Shamelessly.
Body athwart body, contrasting and yet subtle skintones crawling across cool peach marble amidst junkpiles of artwork.
She jerked her head up and down.
Hard.
Taking long black dong deep into her throat.
Rotating pink Cupid's bow lips on the tip of mahogany twanger.
He slinked an ebony finger within her and she lost all semblance of rhythm.
"I feel that jungle jizzom juicing up in your jim-jam, my man."
His lips smiled like a line of hot liquid chocolate in a imagine lash all over his face. Dark lips holding blushed nippletip in embrace.
Purple-gray bull shit flew to work in their sacks. Brewing up fermented cream.
Buckminster reamed her mouth with his pullulating black peckerwood.
Her sinister biscuitgirl sneer snaking all over her face and turning her body into a wriggling fantasy of lobes and globes and undulating white flesh blushed with rose dust and glints of gold.
Her fucklust had taken hold.
"I waaaaant it. Black. Prick. Big. Black. Prick. To fuck. Fuck me."
In the hushed silence broken only by the squeaks of their rutting miscegenate bodies upon the marble floor, Buckminster sensed a queerness about all this. A sense of destiny.
As if he were a black knight in a romantic adventure. A taut modern fable set in Dudesville downtown near the City of Dark Angels not far from the place the devil resided.
He shuddered inside.
Felt her chin upon his balls.
Gnawing blackmeat hawg.
She jogged his jimjam with flat white palms as though giving alms.
Through prayerful grip, white-hot jizzom lanced toward her tongue.
"Yum."
Her finger snicked the trigger of the tiny red handgun. Flame cracked out. Whang-aaaaang!
"Blanks," Buckminster said frankly. Choked off his ejaculation, the blank gunshot had. Wasn't all bad, Buckminster reflected. She aimed and fired the derringer errantly. "Whiiiii-whiii-whin!. Din on the marble.
"Don't worry," she barfed, "no one will come in. They'll just know I'm here is all. Let's have us a black-and-blue ball."
She crawled upon Buckminster. Pawed him all over and randied her twat.
She sucked the joyjuice from his tightly napped nougats. Drew a line around his anus with her quick pointed tongue.
Drilled in a thumb.
"Aiiiii!"
Purple balls blew out.
Dangling dusky dingdong refilled with dark blood and snapped to rapt attention.
He rolled all over her. Lanced fresh white tits with his lingam in a welter of rutsweat. Panther-like prick prowled her underarms.
Blue-black bull shit whacked against her rose-blushed white ass.
Ebony shaft hafted into gold-streaked pussy. Red-mahogany hard-on head embedded in webbed russet and gilt peachfuzz.
"Un-un-un."
Her pink-tipped titties were tight and hard against his proud pectoral muscles.
His caramel ass-cheeks hustled.
Drove dinge dick between carmine-lined twatlips swollen for the occasion.
"Fuck me, black man. Fuck your peckerwood all the way up my can if you can-can."
She whammed her white tits into his face.
Embraced his waist with her legs.
Rode her clit up his belly as his prowler slinked panther-like from her gumbo. She frictioned her clitoris upon his bulleted nips.
Rubbed her ass-hole over his navel.
Sat back.
Blackmeat hawg oinked up her ass. Puckering rim stretched out over cockhead. Glistening white fanny. Sleek lean darkmeat.
"Pleased to meet you," she suddenly said, face red and delirious after mounting a rising pyramid of orgasm.
"How do you do? Didn't we go through this before? Over by the door?"
"I never told you who I am. I'm Belladonna. My daddy owns this place. And he owns Club Disque au Go Go too. I work there when I feel like it. Come by when you do."
"I knew all along. I'm an investigator, doll. This dude has investigated you."
"I'll consider it true. Look who's watching you while we screw."
There was a framed three-dimensional portrait in metal and glass of a snazzy penis-pointed helmet-shaped dome the color of metallic eggplant. One knew at a glance it was a representation of the famed shaven head of L.L. Jebal Hood.
Belladonna leered and years passed through her animalistically, ritualistically to the wilds of human beginnings.
Buckminster felt his blood thinning.
He then caught a glimpse of the dandified portrayal of Antoine Chevalier modeled in black-and-gilt metal latticework.
Quirked grin.
Snicked chin.
The artist had really caught him. More than the law could ever do. Buckminster strung a load of jizzom up into Belladonna's ass.
Black pecker blasted white shanks as hardwood dong sprung from her blowhole.
A chink of jungle jizz fizzed onto Belladonna's nectarine poontang.
Slime slinked in a twisted nacreous cord across Belladonna's face. Leaving traces of scum as latex lacework writhing upon her bangs.
White-chocolate lather slathered between her rose-dusted titties.
Blue-black bull shit squished on top of her bellybutton. He continued his blind rut between the turrets of her nippletips.
"Finished," she said. "My mind's blipped."
She gave him the slip.
CHAPTER TWO
Ultra-white tits pitched upward toward the sun. Slick chick trying to get a tan on her overall body, including toes, titties, tush, twat-all the hot spots.
"I never fuck niggers," Cassandra said into the microphone. "I just watch." She snicked the tapedeck off with one thumb.
Nicked her clit with the other.
Cassandra lay nude to the face of the sun.
Buns creamed in cocoa butter. She felt her ass-hole flutter. Her snatch water.
She sensed the movement of the shadows cast by the flock of sandpipers chattering in flight above her. Craned her neck up toward the birds. Lord, how they bored her.
She tossed down her cigarette.
Lit up another.
Cassandra pushed down her foot and crushed the burning cigarette into the wooden deck.
She dusted the ash from the pad of her bare foot.
Smirked.
Of course it hurt.
But the trick in this instance was in not minding that it did hurt.
Inhaling the smooth tobacco smoke, Cassandra passed her eyes quickly over the surrounding greenery. Hood Cove Conservatory and Arboretum featured landscaping that included habitats exemplary of what was now left of the beach, wetlands, lagoons, and sand dunes-as well as any stray wildlife originally indigenous to Gulf Beach that had escaped encroaching highrise condominiums, beachfront estates, and nightspots.
Abutting the cliffside retreat Cassandra used as her seaside home, a small island had been constructed in the center of a small manmade lake that via sculpted waterfall stretched a silvery silken liquid ribbon between a slit in the rocks and the cove below. Cassandra preferred to take the sun here on the fanciful islet for its seclusion-the privacy it afforded her mind, rather than any reticence about bathing more publicly in the buff.
Cassandra focused her eyes on the cliff house's tallest tower, where she observed the sunlight slant through the open French doors of one of the house's guest suites.
Within, Cassandra saw tanned limbs flicker alive from the big sleep as the sun's rays lanced into the canopy over the bedchamber's pallet.
So Cassandra's ward was already awake.
The long-limbed gamine form of Cassandra's houseguest Roxanne slinked now in gray silhouette. Then, with the impression of innocence and grace, Roxanne took her place naked in the sunlit slit of the high window.
She brought her arms together above her head. Hips went liquid.
Tempered titties slacked against her leonine rib-cage.
Nude muscles oiled, cocked, flexed. Gravity helped with the rest.
"Farewell, my lovely," Cassandra sighed.
She followed Roxanne's glide into the long goodbye. Were Roxanne a sister less skilled in the art of the platform dive, it might have been the kiss-off for an act of suicide.
But make no mistake, the lady in the lake was as at home in the air and the water as she was in the comforts of her bedchamber lair.
Cassandra espied Roxanne's primly clipped pubic hair torque in midair. The slash of Roxanne's nates slipped beneath the water's break.
Retracting her gaze to the tower bedroom, Cassandra then caught a glimpse of floral-textured skin hovering within the shaded confines of the guest suite's bedchamber. From the angle of the dangle, the apparition resembled the tremble of Danielle's spread froufrou.
What was Danielle doing there?
In Roxanne's bedroom?
In the nude?
Cassandra smiled as she lay back to bathe in the rays. Her mind refocused.
Tracing a circle about one pink nipple, she crinkled the tip with the edge of her fingernail. Once again, she tabbed on the tape recorder.
"I never fuck niggers. I just watch-or maybe I just lust. Or is that too much? Too vulgar or not vulgar enough?"
She absently played with her vulva. Curving fingernails into the slit to her cuticles.
"Maybe if I say that fucking and sucking with cock in mouth, ass, and cunt at once is nothing to compare with fucking one's mind-well, that may be too blunt." She breathed into the mouthpiece.
"If so, I'll come up with another line."
Opening lines, she thought, should always be sublime. If not-the whole piece was a crime.
Cassandra sighed at herself-she was the horror of her family, ghostwriter of sensual romantic crime stories of some renown. Played around with literary exploitation and sensationalism of social themes and the fucksuckrut. Sales to screen were more than coincidental. Her books were essentially fleshed-out treatments-scenario and script written up in novelistic prose form.
Hell-it was all a plot.
Lusting for black dick while simmering in the sultry sun.
Cassandra aligned her lightskinned body so that she was perpendicular to the oncoming rays of the sun. She knew deep within herself that cultivating an artistic tan took as much talent as anything she or any other literary luminary could write.
She began to tease her twat with the nub of a platinum swizzle stick.
A few slips and slides.
Inside the slit.
Along the outside of the lips.
Her labia began a quiet drizzle.
She sighed at the rise of mild masturbatory dizziness. Recognized the familiar haze that cast a veil over the precision of her vision.
Then came the comfortable daze.
The detached ease that framed her conciousness as she applied friction. Liquefaction in the rise between her thighs.
Her mind quickened.
The plot thickened.
As did the juices in her quim.
* * *
The voiceover to a sweeping camera panorama of an outrageous orgy in progress inside the marble halls of the conservatory's ballroom:
"I never touch blackmeat. I just lust."
Camera close-up on the moving mouth of one who was not unlike Cassandra herself. But who indeed had a life of her own in this script.
This fictional and real Cassandra found herself fondling a long strand of pink pearl beads twined a number of times about her columnular neck. She sucked several of the nacreous globules, playing them with her tongue.
She let the pearlescent strand drop.
Between her boobs it slung.
The camera zoomed in on her bazooms.
And the white lady stripped.
Cassandra fingered gingerly her rose-and-noir lingerie trimmed in handworked lace.
Cautiously smoothed her captivating bustier, partially baring rouged boobs.
She cupped the crotch of dark pink panties. Touseling the fringed vanity of lacy flocculence that emerged at the apex.
Cassandra next checked the seam of her sloe-colored silk stockings.
Examined the elastic fastenings of her high-rise reddish-black garter belt.
The lady's tapering toes were secured within the dizzying scaffolding of jet lizardskin stiletto-heeled fuck-fuck-fuck-me pumps.
She gave out with a bump to her rump.
Fiddled with her fish.
Cassandra leapt upon a marble pedestal carved in the form of a truncated modernistic column. She crouched as she brought an opened bottle of pink champagne up between her knees.
Her spike heels lifted from the marble as her ass-cheeks cracked open.
Cassandra took the bung of the wine bottle into her blowhole.
Twisted it in past the rim.
"Enough!"
She chewed her lips to strips as she ass-fucked herself.
Juice of the vine.
Sluicing her thirsting innards.
Cassandra saw through the bay window the arrival of a purple Jaguar with L.L. Jebal Hood himself, her alleged escort for the evening and benefactor of the foundation that supported Cassandra's charitable not-for-profit environmentally oriented enterprise, trailing a chamois-kid glove in a wave toward the self-fucking Cassandra.
A dark Daimler limousine ejected a party in Middle Eastern garb.
A female chauffeur in open-breeched livery opened the door to the coach of a sky-blue Rolls-Royce Phaeton convertible.
Top down on the automobile. Tops down on the nubs of white girl nipple inside.
Cassandra witnessed this flock of nubile birds as they took flight from the lap of a silver-blonde black man she didn't recognize.
"Ah! You are Cassandra-are you not?" a tan-skinned man with the Creole flair whispered into Cassandra's hair. "May I have this dance?"
"Why, I don't believe we've properly met," Cassandra said. "So I will have to say not just yet with regard to your request."
"Is pleasure beyond measure, my mademoiselle so demimondaine, to introduce yourself to none other than Antoine Chevalier-myself-at your humble yet illustrious service."
"Speak American."
"Fuck you."
"See how easy it is?"
"Join me in this dance."
"As you suggest," Cassandra lifted her wrist to be kissed. "But remember this, you brute. I never fuck. I just watch."
She casually slid the bottle of pink champagne from her punk.
Sucked down a slug.
"A fine bubbly wine," Antoine said. "Have you tried the Fleur de France Rose?"
"In my mouth or my rear?"
"Anywhere inside, my dear-"
Warped grin winced from within languid leering lips as he twitched his hips.
Cassandra lifted her legs above her head.
Her ass-hole worked lividly.
She drained the remainder of the pink champagne into her intestines.
Snapped the empty bottle from her rump.
Cassandra gave a tap to her bloated belly.
Her ass-hole sputtered and thumped.
Richly colored liquid ran like fruitjuice. Spurts from her asscrack piped down the sides of the marble pedestal as a gaggle of semiclad servants rushed to attendance.
Nubile Nubian nymphettes tossed several crystal decanters full of mineral water between the white lady's cavorting legs.
Rinsed out her squeaking bowels.
The nearly naked slaveys then wiped down Cassandra's alabaster body and the marble pedestal and flooring with snow-white towels.
"I think I'm almost ready for the dance," Cassandra said with a cock of her head.
"As you wish."
"But first I must take a piss."
A slavegirl in Arabic-styled gauze knelt between Cassandra's knees.
The girls parted Cassandra's pubes. Pressed open her slushing pussy lips.
Shimmers of glittering liquid crystal blistered the nymph's face to freckles.
Cassandra drenched the gamine's piss-bleached tresses with a fine hissing mist.
"Look, my ritz putainette," Antoine said, pointing to the center of the ballroom with eyes alight. "Such inspiration."
Roxanne drifted sylph-like over the ballroom floor, in the embrace of the woman Cassandra had earlier seen arrive with the noble rogue who had just introduced himself as Antoine Chevalier.
"May I ask who is that?" Cassandra spat.
"My spiritual sister Danielle," Antoine said. "Where I come from such women are considered junk. Garbage. White trash-as you say? But some would conceive of me in the same vein."
"Which is why you guinea wetback spic frog wog jiganigs all hang out in the US of A anyway. In Africa and Europe you're treated like skunks-here your specious titles are most endearing."
"On another subject, if I may. I admire your blondey-blonde girlfriend-friend's brassiere."
"Oh, dear," Cassandra said, slanting a glance toward the two women's ravenous dance. "I am afraid my friend Roxanne is not wearing one, Antoine. You do mean bustier-do you not?"
"Ah, your devotion is already improving my language skills. What are those," he worked his finger in a circular motion, "Little hills on her chest? Ah. They are the tits."
"Breasts."
"Ah, yes. I will keep my mind on that." Cassandra floated her eyes over Danielle's lurid form.
Her limbs were aswarm over Roxanne like a spider at feed upon netted prey.
Castanets chattered above the jeweled tiara in the woman's dark hair.
The space between Danielle's crisp paps was revealed and framed by a gem-powdered bodice plunging deep below her waist.
Adorned by another gemstone, Danielle's navel signaled the outlines of her whim.
Ultra-white foothills of the Venus Mount.
Pale opalescence of juices running within their casing of absolutely colorless skin.
And the iridescence of eyes whose flame challenged that of the stones in her crown and whose daring was far greater even than the spareness of her gown.
Suddenly Roxanne went down.
Her tongue lapped the place between Danielle's tits. Face suctioned the navel.
Teeth clattering upon the setting of the geinstone inset there.
Nose nudging the hitherto unseen stubble of sheared pubic hair.
"I don't care to join in," Cassandra mused. "Nor do I mind if you prefer to, Antoine Chevalier, ofdid you say?"
"Until I may claim the throne of homeland-my realms are in Miami and Nueva York now. I will join you, Cassandra, in watching the white ladies suck. I fuck my fair seester Danielle until she blistered already. But that is for little kids. I am a connoisseur. I like the way your girlfriend Roxanne kisses her."
The man Cassandra knew as L.L. Jebal Hood had arrived upon the scene and now joined the two white women in the dance. He kissed both tangling trollops in their lesbic embrace.
Slid himself in between their frolics.
Purple-black cockhead mirrored L.L. JebaPs shaven and oiled pate.
His darkling length of lingam curved between Roxanne's lips.
Bounced beneath Danielle's utterly white tits.
Tip of purple-black prick appearing like the head of a spear.
Glancing off the sides of the women's faces.
Lipstick traces running from purple-black pricktip down the haft to where the black-and-blue bull shit grew like the dewy subtropical blooms.
L.L. Jebal grappled with four tits. Prowling prong kissed.
He stooped graciously and licked the two women's milky boobs.
Toured his tongue down Danielle's middle and sniffed a tuft of powdered pubes.
Lubed Roxanne's underarms with licks.
His mouth sprayed a mist amidst the drizzling kisses he applied to the misses.
"And who, may I ask," Antoine said, "is thathow do you say-brash young chap?"
"You mean my escort of the night?"
"Your black buck," Antoine sucked through his front teeth as though he thought he were making a joke. "Your hung nigger."
"Uh uh," Cassandra said, "that's not him," with no tone or tension in her voice. "Mine's bigger," quietly and remorselessly.
Aha!
Cassandra knew there was an element missing from this improvised scene.
She needed a strong character-no mere foil-a man endowed with unflappable restraint among the libertines.
A man whose thoughts were dreams.
Whose actions were extreme. And at odds with his place. A new face.
Neither noble nor humble.
Obscuring his wit with cultivated bumbling. Speech alternately clear and mumbling.
"Everything okay?" the new character with the liquid grin and lips like poured chocolate addressed Cassandra in whispered passing as he strolled by on seemingly leisurely patrol.
He leaned back from her ear and spoke a trice louder as if in surprise at Cassandra's ticklish reaction of his tongue to her ear and spoke:
"I mean, this is your show, after all. I'm only the security you hired. If you don't give a damn about their balling at the ball-"
"That will be all," Cassandra smiled. "The events are well in hand. But thank you for your interest in the welfare of my guests."
Cassandra watched the darkskinned private dick walk quickly, flicking his peepers from one end of the long ballroom to the next.
Keen eyes.
Lean thighs.
His evening clothes an obvious disguise.
Pose of gentrihood an evident ruse.
Simply an excuse for the man under cover to remain alienated from his surroundings, of which he was neither in awe nor contemptuous.
Aroused, Cassandra kissed Antoine's cheek with an unexpected rush. Antoine flushed. Returned the buss. Trussed her bosom with his paws. "We are destined to become lovers," he said. "Not yet."
"Would you care to bet."
"This isn't Monte Carlo."
"Who says no."
"It's my show."
"What am I-a dog, a mutt? Do I have to prove my pedigree to rut with every bitch in heat."
"How sweet."
"I am of the most regal Caribbean and African lineage-by right of birth I should be chieftain in Afrique, a king of two countries on two continents-and emperor of the islands."
"I had a pedigreed poodle I called King-"
"I am a banker, financier-a man of commerce as well. Being a businessman is a very noble and ancient calling."
"So is the world's oldest profession. Sounds like a cover for drug running and arms smuggling. How chic."
"So you would prefer the streetwise manner of your roguish black knight."
"I never said that."
"I see the lust drool from your eyes."
"But do you really know for whom the look applies? It could even he for more than one of you. And don't forget-horses are well hung, but one would never dream of actually sampling their sex. Dream, yes-but-"
Antoine spoke abruptly.
"I see the dance ends. I thank you for your courtesy. But do not think for an instant that my lady's lack of encouragement in these romantic matters will in any manner discourage me."
Antoine turned his rump toward her.
He approached a strolling European baroness and took her by the arm.
Cassandra's gaze was caught by the size of L.L. Jebal's dong as it drifted in and out of the space between Danielle and Roxanne's four tits.
Sheik Asani Saba in flowing silk robes sat smack on the back of a stripped-down and oiled black filly. He humped her like a camel. Her nuded buttocks bucked him silly.
He grabbed the nubile Nubian nymph by the dangling black dugs.
He suckered the chocolatey nipples of her jugs. Gave them a tug.
Laughed suavely as he flew off the back of the cavorting dark-skinned princess. The tightly entwined bodies twisted to the floor.
Blinding flash of ivory, olivewood, and ebony. The dusky gal flailed her gams.
Asani sported mouthfuls of nappy kinks of pubic thatch saturated with exudations from the free-running morass of briny quim.
Asani Saba now laid the length of his twanger down the black woman's throat. Ran bristling fingers through her froufrou.
Cassandra clicked pink pearls against her teeth. She observed closely as L.L. Jebal pulled forth his dipstick from Roxanne's cunt from the rear. Danielle slowly minced his balls in her mouth and fingered Roxanne's ass.
Antoine Chevalier had indeed impressed the baroness. They soon had a lanky Spanish duchess in tow as they strolled through the garden.
Cassandra saw from the side the size of his hard-on. He had taken the two titled trulls to tangle in seclusion among the rows of wild roses. But Cassandra's view became unobstructed as she passed onto the patio.
Cassandra listened as Antoine said, "Blow."
"That's right," Cassandra heard the baroness whisper. "You learn English well. Now see if you can say the word job."
"Job."
"Okay. This is a blowjob."
"Angh."
The lips of the baroness spoke, full of thick cock. "Duchess, are you hot?
"Naturally. Am I watching?"
"You can put yourself to good use."
"Of course. While your mouth is full, I shall continue our lesson. Antoine, you know what it means to go down? To suck?"
Cassandra saw Antoine stab the baroness in the neck with his twanger. His uncovered buttocks stuck out and, coated with rutsweat, flashed like mirrored jet in back.
Went slack.
Then jacked forward.
Thorns stuck into his tightened gluteal muscles. Rosepetals caught in his moist pud.
The baroness sucked on, sloughing the top of her gown down over her arms.
Pressing her molten breasts to Antoine's knees. Giving his balls a sensitive squeeze.
The duchess raised the hem of her dress. Her clit winked like a rosebud.
Antoine's hands crawled up the backside of the duchess's haunch.
Fingers launched into the space between the halved melons of her ass.
"Yes. Yes. Yesss."
The pussy peeled open across the crimson slash of Antoine's mushroom mouth.
His tongue rummaged within the labyrinthine folds of her labia.
And his phalanges pinched the wrinkle of her anus with manicured nails. iny finger dipped in to the cuticle. The duchess's butt hustled. Cassandra saw the woman shudder. The duchess uttered unintelligible sounds of rut. "Ululululu."
Orgasm swelled over the duchess's flesh. Antoine's mouth and fingers did the rest.
And the darkling hips of that man continued their thrust.
Cockhead held tightly in the baroness's yap. Balls bandying about her neck. Antoine bent his knees. Shifted his angle. "Aiiiii!"
The baroness seemed to be strangled. She gagged, clutching her throat. Her cheeks bloated out. Then burst open.
Globules of African-Caribbean Gulf Coast jizzom rolled over her chin.
Her stammering jaw dropped in awe.
Pullulating penis flipped from her maw.
She seized the dusky pecker with her paw.
Curds of the sweet milky goo glued her jacking hand to Antoine's stick-ebony shaft and head the color of deep mahogany.
The duchess hunkered down and gave a lick.
"My," Cassandra said to herself. "They've certainly got him in their clutches."
She turned her head away.
Scooped up a flute full of pink champagne from a passing tray. Walked back within the ballroom to observe the deeds of her other swain.
L.L. Jebal was giving a whack to Roxanne's back crack with a riding crop.
But as Roxanne's sap began to flow faster, L.L. Jebal flagged his wanger to the point of disaster. He kicked her in the ass with his black dude ranch lizardskin cowboy boot.
Spurred her cheeks as he shot off.
And suddenly Danielle's face became visible peering over Roxanne's shoulder. Catching a face full of L.L. Jebal's lashing come.
Slime streaked through the air.
Decorated Danielle's hair.
Galloped up the middle of Roxanne's bare back.
And L.L. Jebal leapt.
From L.L. Jebal's position, he could dip his dong wherever he felt it belonged.
Cassandra watched as L.L. Jebal's smile grew.
The voice of the black security man in eveningwear assailed Cassandra's ears. "Who's the preacher riding the giant dildo?"
"Sanbino Bourree. He's an artist."
"Oh."
"Brasiliano-maybe."
"That explains it."
"Sometimes he dresses like that."
"I thought so."
"And you," Cassandra spoke without emotion. "How do you feel about drinking on the job?"
The man drank in her face with his eyes. "I'm carrying." He tapped twice with stiff lank fingers beneath his left armpit.
"What is it?"
"Browning."
"How do I love thee, let me count the ways?"
"Automatic. Not the poet."
"I see you take your work seriously."
"I never read on the job either."
"But you are supposed to mingle with my guests as part of your job, Mister-I am afraid I've forgotten your name-"
"Black. Buckminster."
"Mister Buckminster, is it? Won't you have some champagne?"
"Buckminster. Black's the last name. I guess soabout the bubbly stuff. Crazy hanger, no? My name. Because it could go either way."
Cassandra snorted silently.
A pair of blimp-titted white waitresses passed their way. One offered up servings of orange-rose salmon caviar, straight. The other wench wielded her supply of champagne with nimble fingers.
Buckminster reached out and up smoothly. Flipped Cassandra's pearls between his fingers.
Lingered his loosely coiled digits between her boobs. Fondled the strand with his hand.
"Same color as the champagne," Buckminster observed. "Same color range as the fisheggs. These pink pearls you got here."
"Try some."
Buckminster drew a line of beads across his tongue. "Like this?"
Reining Buckminster with her pearly bridle, Cassandra pulled his face to hers.
Buckminster drew back. "I can't kiss someone with fisheggs on their breath."
"Wipe my mouth out for me. With your tongue."
"Suppose I could."
Buckminster knocked back a swig of champagne. "Beaten eggwhites," he said. Cassandra sucked down some. "You're right. I never noticed that. What else do you taste?"
"In most fine rose champagnes," he said after swallowing another yapful of liquid, "I can taste a trace of sour milk. And a bit of brine."
"You are a connoisseur of wines?"
"I like stuff that bubbles. Seltzer. Beer."
"Do tell."
Buckminster scooped up two more flutes of champagne from a hovering tray.
He toasted toward the frolicking crowd. Lined his mouth with another helping of caviar. Sucked it down as he chugged more bubbly.
Buckminster then wiped the slime from the stubble of his beard with the back of his hand.
"You're putting me on," Cassandra said. "I think caviar tastes like cunt, myself. The better stuff anyway. Got any cigarettes? Hit me up with one."
* * *
Cassandra pondered the scene she had just sketched out verbally into the tape recorder. It was a fanciful plot, to be sure. But it was a tale her readers would gobble up. For it went straight to the heart of their fantasies.
There was a rustle in the wind.
Someone coming?
"Shitruckcunt," Cassandra muttered.
Interrupting both her sunning and the drumming on her tummy.
She slipped the swizzle stick from where it had dallied within the wrinkles of her snatch.
Cassandra worked her eyes open a peep.
Creeped her fingers up to her chest.
Gave her tits a quick twist.
Fished in her mouth with the swizzle stick.
Slid it back into the glass among the molten cubes. All that remained of her drink.
"Hello?" she lowed, adjusting her hair. "Yoo-hoo. Anyone there?"
CHAPTER THREE
Pliant white girl pUSSy in toughgirl disguise was how in her eyes Cassandra had hastily configured the heroine for her script. She'd give it a try. Consomme of cunt-juice ladled Cassandra's thighs as she cupped her eyes from the sun. "Hello? Did I hear someone?"
She gave her clit one last squeeze.
Closed her knees.
Reached for the duster of raw silk brocade that lay loosely over the deck beside her. Tossed the lightweight robe over her shoulders.
Shading tanned white tits.
Shielding tawny ivory thighs.
Obscuring faintly sunpainted fanny from any prying eyes.
"Roxanne?" Cassandra sighed.
She let the duster fall open wide.
"Is that you, Cassandra? Thought you might be up here."
Roxanne appeared, nude.
Body lubed.
Sucking an ice cube.
Pussyfuzz trimmed razor sharply.
Sporting bare clitoris where her labial forest had been defoliated.
She carried an opened bottle of champagne lazily by the neck, dangling it behind her bare fanny. Held two long crystal flutes against the cranny between her brightly nipped tits.
"How's about some pinkie champers, doll?" Roxanne jawed slowly. "I'm like so totally awesomely wiped out I need some bodacious fizzwater in my veins."
"Glad you brought up the bubbly," Cassandra said, sucking out the melted liquid in her glass. "I too was in dire need of drink."
"Bombs away," Roxanne said.
The bottleneck foamed. Sparkling liquid overflowed the champagne flutes. Rolled in frothy slips over her breasts.
Roxanne tittered.
Shivered.
Shot a snootful of liquid into her gullet as she trained her gaze on Cassandra's gams.
Up past Cassandra's partially revealed pubes and boobs, to her face.
"How's the sunburn coming, doll?" Roxanne drawled. "You in it for the long haul?"
"What do you think?"
Cassandra lifted her leg.
Showed her ass.
Pressed a pinkish nippletip between thumb and forefinger.
Snapped it like a trigger.
She threw her other arm over her head like a ballerina and aimed a freshly depilated armpit at Roxanne's face.
"You could use a little more of that below the waist, Cassandra."
"If you insist," Cassandra smirked.
She herky-jerked her clit with her fist.
"No," Roxanne giggled. "I meant the depilatory, silly dolly. Your pussy's beginning to look like a mangy collie."
"Thought I'd get a trim this afternoon," Cassandra mused. "Any other criticisms of my physique?"
"Well, the color of your tan seems a little weak. I mean, it's even and all that. And I know you're layering it on slowly-"
"I still want to look white," Cassandra said, reclining back into sunning position. "You know, there are a lot of people around who think I'm some kind of Creole bitch."
"Everyone makes mistakes, Cassandra. And yours was just a little one."
"Yeah," Cassandra blurted. "I married for love. Tell me about it. In any event, I won't let it happen again-"
"You haven't yet."
"Since then," Cassandra said with a smoky gleam to her eyes, "I've managed to keep my love life and my married life separate."
"You didn't love L.L. Jebal?"
"No."
"Not at all."
"Never."
Roxanne cast her eyes at the small tape recorder. "Working?"
"I guess. I have a lot of thoughts on the cassette now. I should give it to Danielle and let her figure it out."
"Yeah, Cassandra. You've done enough work for today. Pack it away."
"Okay. Talked me into it."
"Want to take a dip with me?"
"I think not. That kind of exercise doesn't seem to appeal to me right now. But thanks for the thought, dear one."
"Yeah, well, anyway," Roxanne said. "I almost forgot. There's this dude down at the big house waiting to see you."
"Huh?"
"Danielle told me to tell you when she saw me coming out here with the champers. I thought I had his card somewhere with me." She puzzled her brow. Crinkled her nose. "Where the fuck is that?"
A bright look passed across her face. She reached around to the back of her waist. Slid her digits between her ass-cheeks.
Brought out a mildly moist rectangle of cardboard. Held it aloft. Wafted it under Cassandra's nose.
Cassandra read impassively.
The card was embossed in the center with plain capital letters spelling out BUCKMINSTER BLACK. In the lower left corner, set in small italic type, was the single word consultant.
"I know him," Cassandra said slowly. "Or I know who he's supposed to be. Didn't expect him so soon. He's a private dick."
"Something wrong?"
"Not any more than usual."
"You knew Mercedes blew."
"She left already? Big fucking deal. And you knew
Belladonna's due."
"Shit. Fucking harem whorehouse this place is turning into. Retreat for lovers and wives of those guys L.L. Jebal and Antoine Chevalier-"
"Among others. But remember-legally and on paper, the decisions are mine. Motherfuckawd believe it. I think it would be a good idea to have a little extra house security on our side as a preventive measure."
"Sure blows me away," Roxanne said. "But then, you're the smartypants around here."
"Stick around me, sis, and you'll become a prodigy in a jiffy."
"What about that Buckminster Black dude that's waiting around? Tell him to kiss off or what."
"Shit. I'll see him."
"Shall I send him up?"
"No. I'll have to get dressed before I meet him."
"But, like, Cassandra. He's not one of us, you know. He's like-almost like a servant. You shouldn't have to care whether something like that sees you naked. I mean, you wouldn't care if a hound were around while you took a shit-"
"I'm afraid I do have to treat the boy as if I think he's half human. I need his good professional graces in light of the occasion."
"Too bad."
"Oh?"
"In more ways than one. I caught a look at him while he was talking to Danielle in the foyer-he didn't see me-and if he weren't so common he might be a bit of fun."
"Hmmmmm. That's one thing you can begin to learn, Roxanne."
"Huh?"
"You don't have to forgo fucksucking someone simply because of their supposed social status or dearth of imagine-ass family background."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Roxanne put her arm around Cassandra.
Leaned her mouth into her head and whispered into her earcup. "As long as the conversation's getting a little personal, Cassandra-just what was it that drove you to-uh-love Antoine?"
"In how many words?"
"So he really was a good screw, huh?" Roxanne said. "Too bad about that temper."
"So I did have an affair or two. Shit, Roxanne. He was out banging every slice of cuntmeat he could buy."
"And he gave you a divorce?"
"It was my claim first. Then the black prick coun-tersued, saying I was a prostitute from the first and fraudulently entrapped him into marriage."
"Fuckingchrist. And him a fake king. Who won?"
"Settled out of court. If anyone won, the lawyers did."
"Jewboys, I bet."
"Roxanne-please be a bit more open-minded. Yes, coincidentally the attorneys involved did happen to be Jewish. But mine was a woman."
"You fuck her, Cassandra?"
"You tease. If you didn't have such tight little titties, Roxanne, you'd never get away with half the foul things you say."
"And who's this private dick sucker supposed to be anyway?"
"He comes most highly recommended as one who is sensitive to the values people like us hold in our hearts and minds."
"What values are those?"
"I'm going to set him to a little matter that has come up pertaining to some pearls."
"You mean the pearls you."
"Those are the ones I have in mind."
* * *
"Leatherfaced whitelady," the black man mumbled to himself without a trace of irony as he finished resuming his clothing. He patted the mask of rawhide that decorated the marble face of the depravely sculptured bust of a helmeted female that stood on a pedestal in the peach-marble rotunda off the foyer of the cliff house at Hood Cove Conservatory and Arboretum.
"They get one look at this Halloween outfit," he said bemusedly, "and it's an open-and-shut case as far as the police are concerned."
His voice echoed unexpectedly loud.
He shrugged.
Laughed.
Gave the statuesque woman warrior with leather-masked winged helmet a hug.
Loved the touch of cool marble next to his ruddy mahogany skin.
Peeked under the mask.
Looked about with ears keened to make sure no one else was within sight.
Bussed the statue's nordic cheek with liquid lips like poured melted chocolate.
He then laced the marble Valkyrie's face with a quick French kiss. Licked up underneath and into the narrow nostrils.
"Too bad this tootsie stops just below the neck," he muttered. "I'd like to get a mitt on some marble tits."
"Pardon the wait," Cassandra's voice crystallized behind him. "I see you like Brunhilde."
"The mask. I like the mask. Girl's got not such a bad mug on her, either. But I like that mask."
"Try it on?"
"Oh, no. I don't go in for any of that kind of stuff. Not for real. But I read about it." Cassandra drew her breath in deeply. Her slightly tanned tits popped up offhandedly from between the padded lapels of her handpainted silk kimono.
Edges of light-colored nipples were seen.
There was rounded titflesh as smooth and pure as the marble from which the Valkyrie had been cut.
"Look before you leap," he peeped.
His head seemed to clear abruptly. "I don't know why I said that. Must be a habit."
"I know what you mean," Cassandra said, extending her hand. "Restraint is always a virtue. Anything unleashed can mean trouble."
"Ask any masochist about restraints-that what you call the ones who like to be tied up?"
"Tut-tut."
The man peered back at the pert pink nips that peeked at him out of Cassandra's cleavage. Took her loose fist. Shook her by the wrist.
"Pleased to meet you," Cassandra said. "Aren't you going to give me a kiss?"
"Me too. Not until I know the answer to the question: Which one are you?"
"Pardon?"
"You the rich bitch or the little witch."
"Excuse me?"
"In your books. There's usually two nifty numbers. One doll's real cold-calculatingly manipulative. The other gash just makes hash of the arrogant male romantic interest through her naive, offhand sexuality."
"You knew?"
"I'm a fan, madame. Of the other dame-the name you write under. From your books I know you're familiar to some extent with my professionyou can probably guess the rest."
"So you already investigated me. Mister-uhBuckminster."
"Black. Buckminster's the first name. A lot of people just call me Buck. It pays me to know who might be hiring me."
"I see, Buck."
"I forgot to tell you. I don't necessarily like for people to call me Buck-but they do."
"Cute. Buckminster?"
"Fine. If it's all the same to you-"
"Cassandra. Although-I guess like you-I'm used to being referred to by my professional namethat's good, Buckminster. You do your homework. Mind if I smoke?"
"Go ahead, choke."
"So far, so bland. Someone teach you to pull that chocolate soldier tough-guy act?"
Buckminster said to Cassandra, snidely and airily: "Literary cock-tease."
"And cuntsqueeze. Most of my readership is female. You a faggot, by the way?"
"Thought I heard you say-"
"Queer. You seem to read a lot. That's suspect these days for real hard guys like you."
"I guess you could say I'm a gay blade. But don't let that get into your way. I'm not real delicate with the poetry these days."
"You fuckingchrist studied Shakespeare in true home style. Actor?"
"Awhile back. Thought I'd give this line of work a crack."
"Acting must come in handy."
"Lots."
"I hate to make it sound as if you're auditioning for a part. But tell me how you intend to express your investigative art here."
"Well, trouble is my business. The main problem I run into is when somebody hires me for no particular reason. Maybe they have too much money and too little to do."
"A sad state of affairs."
"Boredom is the root of much evil. These people simply want somebody to have around to play with. Then if they're romantically inclined they might come up with schemes involving undercover work."
"Undercover. That is romantic."
"Not when you see how it actually works. They may want me to set up dangerous liaisons to entrap their spouse-so they can have documented grounds for divorce. Or else-believe it or notthey might even want to try to seduce me to see how mercenary I can be."
"The games the rich do play-"
"I know your books are not strictly fiction. I see those shenanigans myself."
"Do you want to hear my situation? Or do you want me to continue to pay you to be my personal literary critic?"
"Either way. I'm game."
"Pearls are a nuisance."
"I heard that one before."
"If the plot is jaded, Buckminster, I'm sure that the money is not."
"Correct. Shoot."
"The pearls in question were to have been included among the pieces to be auctioned as part of a charity function we are organizing."
"Oh, really. Socially concerned, are you?"
"That's neither here nor there. I tell you quite frankly that I am hosting this event in order to clear my name-so to speak."
"Have anything to do with your married life?"
"Mister Buckminster-I mean Black. Buck. Shit-I let it slip. Please pardon me, Buckminster, while I blush."
"You're too much."
"So of course you know about Antoine."
"Claims he should be King of New Spain. Sultan of Timbuktu. Emperor of Liberia."
"Spanish, isn't he?" she grinned wearily. "That is-you know-not from Spain."
"Wasn't sure you knew. Part New Orleans Creole by birth, but he's been around."
"You know him?"
"I remember him from when I was a kid. He was a plainclothes detective in the neighborhood for about six months before he was dumped from the force-they had a housecleaning. Got rid of all the good guys on the force."
"So Antoine was a good guy once?"
"He's still a righteous hombo. It's just his ethics have shifted somewhat."
Cassandra flinched her vision off Buckminster. Faked a quick grin.
Buckminster jawed: "Don't believe me, babes?"
"I do."
"Maybe you shouldn't have said those last two words so often."
"I married Antoine quickly and divorced him twice as fast because of young love. I didn't care whether he was royalty or a pimp. I have my own money and I did not particularly care to hear about the source of his. It was there."
Cassandra's eyes told Buckminster she did care about something-fiercely. But it was not necessarily the men in her life.
"And as for my later extremely brief and now no-longer-lamented period of wedlock with Mister L.L. Jebal Hood-" Cassandra tossed her head and blew out furls of smoke from flared nostrils and darted to another subject "-Buckminster, what do you know about pearls."
"They're for girls."
"I may have only misplaced them. But once they're recovered, I think they should be kept under guard."
"If they weren't stolen-why now?"
Cassandra was silent a split second too long.
"Let me help you," Buckminster said. "You want to maybe let on to the press that the gewgaws are pretty and pretty valuable. Lay onto them how the pearls were recovered and how it was so upsetting that they were lost. Nice little column in the newspaper with a nice big picture of you with the pink bangles hanging out over your boobs. Draw some big spenders to the upcoming event you're hosting. Am I okay so far-or am I off the wall?"
"I haven't announced publicly yet that I'm planning to auction the pearls. I only had the idea, actually, early this morning. When I went to look for them, they were not where I normally keep them-among my lingerie, as I am sure you would ask anyway-"
"Thank you."
"I asked Danielle to ring up your office. I knew you were already somewhat familiar with my affairs through your work for Antoine Chevalier during the negotiations for our divorce."
"I wasn't the one. It was a couple other operatives who work through the agency."
"Nevertheless. Since your firm did such outstanding work peeping on me, I thought you might do similar good deeds spying in my service."
"Tough lady."
"I use only the best. Whether it's champagne, bodycream, or private Ds."
"Smart lady."
"It's simple logic. Only the best works best for me. What's that look, Buckminster? I assure you that the pearls are not in their usual place. Stolen? Misplaced? That's what you're here for."
"Who's this Danielle?"
"She met you at the door, I believe."
"Your-uh-maid?"
"Secretary. Though I shouldn't call her thatshe's much more. Danielle helps me put my books together. She has a fine public relations head and very able in the kitchen. Unless there is a formal occasion, we by and large try to get along out here without servants."
"I see. So the butler didn't do it cause there's no butler."
"You don't think Danielle-"
"She's got to be covered. And I tell you I have to do it straight. You can warn her first that I have to question her, but don't let her escape. Who else you got running around here?"
"Roxanne is visiting. I know her through my fundraising efforts on behalf of international athletics. She's a synchronized swimmer and diver in the combined watersports events."
"Roxanne? Did I hear of her in the Olympics?"
"Not yet the Olympics. As a swimsuit model she's been on the covers of quite a few magazines. Perhaps not any you read. Higlistrung, but a simply delightful girl."
"And it shall be delightful I am sure to converse with her. Who else? Maintenance personnel?"
"Filipino boy comes for the pool three times a week. Jap gardener once a week and one full week a month with a slope-eyed crew. Deliveries-but none of the above ever get in past the door."
"That you know of. Maybe they cased the digs."
"I thought of that. There are no servants, as I said, and we do have the cliff house electronically protected."
"You don't want to think it's an inside job. I understand. But I gotta do my job. Now this statue of the Viking dyke, for instance? Bugged?"
"We did have the place swept for eavesdropping devices. You don't think--? "
"The more I can think of the better. The more you can think of the better."
"Yes-s-s. You have not by chance run into my ex-stepdaughter-in-law Belladonna?"
"Briefly in the foyer."
"That kitten is from one of L.L. Jebal's previous wives, though he is not actually Belladonna's father-she's way too white. And she's older than she looks."
"And acts."
Cassandra cracked an empty smile: "I received a message Belladonna called and announced she was going to be hiding herself out here and there for a few days. Didn't know she arrived already."
"In hiding?"
"Antoine Chevalier-her godfather-sold her upon birth as a bride to Sheik Asani Saba, who happens to be in town this week. Another reason I thought we could use some security around here."
"This kind of stuff go on around here much?"
"We just now are in the process of opening up. I want to acquire permanent security-independent of the foundation's hinders."
"Donovan should be back in a couple days. He's the one you should talk to there. In the meantime, I think I can dispense with any further questioning of Belladonna."
"Oh? Did she grate on you?"
"Sat in my lap."
"I take it you let her know you don't go for that. Who do you want to start with."
"Who's closest, besides you?"
"Danielle."
"Yes, Cassandra?"
"This is Mister Black. Buckminster. I believe you two have met?"
"Sorry," Danielle said. "I couldn't hear what you were saying."
She pulled the earphones from her ears. Made sure the audiocassette filled with Cassandra's morning musings was on hold.
Danielle mechanically dangled a pair of slipper sandals laced in gold piping.
Crossed her ankles.
"I don't know what I should say, Danielle. But there has been a disappearance here-as you know-about the pearls-uh-"
"I understand," Danielle said. "Buckminster wants to talk to me about it."
"Enough said," Cassandra sighed. "I'll be either on the sundeck or in the conservatory."
As Cassandra left, she left the door to the study open wide.
Buckminster took a look around the room.
"Aren't you going to close the door?" Danielle said, burning the end of a cigarette with a fizzing matchstick. "Give us some privacy."
"So soon?"
"Thought I might as well get it over with. Do you want me to record our conversation."
"No. I think my memory will do."
"Cassandra thinks the pearls might be fakes. Did she tell you that already."
"Yeah. Do you?"
"Don't know. I've only seen them occasionally. Cassandra rarely wears them." Danielle blew out a trail of cigarette fumes toward Buckminster's face. "Mind if I smoke?"
"You know what you like. What were the occasions upon which you personally viewed the pearls?"
"When we go through her things-you know, rummaging through her clothing-"
"You're her secretary?"
"Oh. More like a-her advisor. On literary matters. But, yes-we do have a bit of a personal relationship as well."
"Going through each other's clothing."
"Something few men could understand. I have been with Cassandra for a number of years."
"And she seems to find you trustworthy. After all, she did have you call to set up this appointment. You had no hesitation upon meeting me at the door before. All obvious signs say you're innocent. But I gotta go through this routine for the record. Think she lost them?"
"Misplaced them-I hope."
"Oh, listen. I was wondering about that fake Zimbabwean ceremonial garden out there on the grounds. You know. The statues-"
"Want to donate one? Couple hundred thou should do for now. You'd be one of the first."
"Oh?"
"Those on display now are the first selections to the Hall of World Culture. How you get elected is someone fobs us the money to fund the exhibit."
"Plus some extra mazuma for incidentals?"
"Why not underwrite Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.? There was a coon you couldn't refuse."
"How about Abraham Lincoln?"
She tossed her head back. Snapped her jaw open and emitted a cackling peep.
"Ninini."
She screeched: "Abraham Motherfucking Lincoln! Aiiiii! Jolly."
"Humor me and show me around this office here? Library, study-whatever you call it."
Danielle smirked.
Blew out a scarf of cigarette smoke. "So let's do a few turns," Danielle said. "Tell me where you want to look first."
"Under your skirt," Buckminster blurted. "Is that your idea of flirting."
"It's called a joke."
"Only if it's funny."
"How's looking where the lady keeps the valuables?"
"Safe," Danielle said smoothly. "I can open it for you. Underneath the desk here."
Danielle hunkered down to the floor.
Buckminster inspected the crack of her ass as she bent forward and twiddled with the knobs on the front of the file-drawer-sized metal box. The material of her dress was filmy enough to show off not only that she wore no underpants but also the wooly contours of her pubic flocculence erupting from underneath her rump.
Buckminster saw her hips pump.
She grunted once.
The door to the safe sighed open.
"Get down, Buckminster. Look inside."
Buckminster shot a finger to his nuts.
Loosened them up.
Got down beside her like a pup.
"Sure enough," he said. "Lots of bucks. Few little trinkets-diamonds, emeralds."
"But no pearls."
"Why did she keep them with her lingerie? If she kept her other jewels in here."
"You'll have to ask her."
"Thought maybe you'd know. Being so close to Cassandra and all."
"We're friends. But not that close."
She threw her head back haughtily.
"Watch your noggin," Buckminster said as Danielle's head bumped the underside of the overhanging desk.
He brought his palm up to cup the back of Danielle's head.
"It's okay," Danielle said. She paused a long second. "But you can kiss it to make it better."
Buckminster wettened his lips with his tongue. Brought Danielle's head forward. Applied a kiss to the point of her skull. As Danielle's head dropped straight into his lap. He sucked the back of her brain through her waved tresses. She sucked his cock through the seam of his trousers.
The zip released his prong with a zinging sound. Buckminster felt the wetness descend from the crown to the top of his scrotum.
Danielle's tongue rotated about the tip. Then she suckered the entire shaft of Buckmins-ter's dark dick into her yip.
She held the coffee dingdong firmly in her grip. As though to prevent him from giving her the slip. Her hands tightened about the neck.
Prickhead popped out wider beneath her eyes. Increasing in size with theingestion of pulses of the dark blood of erection.
"Help me come off," Danielle wheezed. "I'm dying for an orgasm."
"Will it make your day."
"My hour, anyway."
"Let's hope."
Darkling fingers split into teeming white flesh. She gnashed teeth.
Buckminster wheezed out in a light spatter of saliva: "This all right?"
"Uh huh. Now do the rest."
Buckminster grappled with her dress.
Hiked it over her hiney.
Danielle lifted it over her breasts.
"Now the other accoutrements," Danielle seared through her lips. "You'll find them in with the other valuables, lover."
Buckminster reached into the interior of the safe. Pulled out twined strips of leather with whip-like dangles on either end.
Danielle wrapped her wrists together behind her back. Whined aloud.
"Tie them, please," she breathed.
"Tight, I take it."
"Yesss. So sweet."
Danielle pumped the crack of her translucent rump into the air at Buckminster.
Shot her heels out, wiggled her toes, and crossed her ankles.
Buckminster began to wrap Danielle's feet with two lengths of the braided leather twine.
He rolled Danielle out from underneath the fruit-wood desk. Trussed her wrists with a strand of twine down the split of her behind, running it to her tied ankles.
"Aaaaah, yesss," Danielle slathered. "The best. Give me the best."
"There's a mask in here. Want me to wear it? It's got eyeholes."
"Yes. Put on the black mask. So you can see me. But I can't recognize you."
"The fuck--? "
"It's the thought that counts. And I'm thinking of your masked cock. In my cunt. At me front and back and all over."
"Stick it where the sun don't shine."
"Inside me. Stick your nigger prick inside me. Fuck my mouth. Fuck my ass. Fuck my cunt. Make me your pig, your slut."
"That all?"
"Fuck me quickly."
"In which order?"
"Take a spin."
"One thing you should know beforehand is that my prick ain't no nigger."
"I was just kidding."
"Not to you or to no one else."
"Yesss."
"My prick ain't no nigger. But I is."
"Give it to me."
Buckminster slashed his pelvis in an arc. His prick speared clear into something.
He felt her body open up.
His thick black prick jerked right up her ass with a rutting shudder.
Danielle felt her clit stutter.
Buckminster pulled his twanger from her backside slowly. With no additional lubrication, Danielle's assoils had proved insufficient for fuck friction.
"No!" came Danielle's harrowing scream.
"Shhhhh. I just want to pack my pecker with a little liquid from your slit. Then I'll go right back in."
"But I want it to hurt so much," Danielle said. "So that it ruptures to the touch."
Buckminster struck up inside her cunthide. Twat-lips spread apart.
Danielle's bound wrists jacked Buckminster off as he fucked her from behind.
The twine about Danielle's ankles scraped Buck-minster's blue-black bull shit as she crushed into them with her heels.
"Now hit me," Danielle said.
"First give me the news."
"Beat me to a fucking pulp, you sniveling dingy sleuth. Blind me with your jungle jizzom first. Then maybe I'll tell you a story."
He smacked her temple gently with his open palm. Continued the rutruck in her cunt.
"Unh," Danielle sighed.
"Okay?"
"Again. Isn't there a sap in there? A little leather club-the kind that cops use."
"Here we go." Thwap! "More."
Wap!
"Harder."
Ssshlat!
"Hit me harder, mother-fucker!" Zeee-ap!
"I'm come-ming!"
Danielle twirled Buckminster's testicles with her tied ankles.
Kicked them with her bound feet.
The rush of white-chocolate jizzom flared first in his brain.
Danielle's tied limbs cranked and curlicued uncontrollably. Face a mask of alternate spasmic grimace and orgasmic rictus.
Limbs bound.
Cunt gagged.
She couldn't leave him if she tried.
"Danielle."
"Mmmmm."
"Danielle. Hear what I'm saying?"
"Hmmm. Oh, fuck. Please whack my bloody brains to jelly."
"Cassandra kept that string of gumdrops where she did-and not in the safe. From what you know about Cassandra on an amiga level-"
"You're the private investigator. If you take a crack at it I'm sure you'll come up with something better than I could ever. Ask Cassandra."
"We'll get to her. Can you give me a little hint, nielle?"
"Ummm-you know I don't want to implicate anyone. If I were a detective I'd to consider everyone-not just people hanging around-"
"You won't be implicating anyone, Danielle. I'm just trying to ascertain our lady's rationale for her unsafe hiding place."
With dick exploding come inside her bound form, Danielle coughed out.
"For goodness' sake. I'm coming off now without even being hit. You really can work that stick. Why don't you try the lady in the lake?"
CHAPTER FOUR
Dusky lipS licked by ruddy tongue. Buckminster strung his mouth of liquid chocolate into a whip-like grin at the sight of honeysuckle clit-clove that shone like a gemstone in the labial centerfolds of the white girl watersprite who floated on the still water.
The white woman's wily body warped suddenly in a backward circle, sending wavelets skittering across the small lake's surface.
Nearby a deliriously cluttered flower garden and conservatory greenhouse-which sent floral musk rampant through the air-set off the pool's pure glare like a liquid gemstone in a living setting.
Buckminster squinted.
Time for Buckminster to discover who, precisely, was this water nymph bathing in the buff.
It impressed him neither way that he found her undressed.
Such was the nature of the place.
The nature of his business.
Not a bad job, examining misses regarding the whereabouts of missing pearls. And anyway, Buckminster liked talking to girls.
"Excuse me," he called, not bothering to avert his eyes.
"Oh. You surprised me. Don't you know you're not supposed to sneak up on naked women like that?"
She spumed a spear of water toward him through slightly parted lips.
The stream snagged him along the leg of his pants. Wet the seam where his bull shit were piled alongside coiled-up prick.
Roxanne stuck out her tongue at him.
Buckminster caught a glance of Roxanne's well-trained nippletips.
Two panting paps.
Standing up like a pair of begging pups.
"I'm not exactly unannounced," Buckminster said with an inclination of his head.
"That's okay," Roxanne said. "I'm only playing you along. Help me out?"
She reached up and caught him about the forearm.
"Upsy-daisy," he said.
"Bullshit."
As he pulled upward, Roxanne clutched higher on his arm. Kicked one gam out wide and slid her calf back in at an angle about his ankle.
"The fuck!"
Roxanne jack-knifed backward and to the side.
Buckminster sprang, plummeted into the water, the giggling Roxanne splashing furiously.
She spat more water at him, turned tail and swam away. Her flutter-kick sent foaming water at Buck-minster's face in his pursuit.
"You'll never be able to catch me," Roxanne said with a snicker.
"Everybody knows junglebunnies can't swim. But I'm a homegrown California dude."
"Won't catch me rudeboy. Not so long as you've got on those soaking duds."
"We'll see who's quicker."
"Don't be such an ass-snarfing dweebo. It isn't fair if I'm the only one bare."
"I don't care about fair," Buckminster said as he closed the gap between them. "Or bare."
"Or that you're a flaming aaaaassssshole! Who can never get a haaaard-on from his shine peeeee-nis cause he's got no darkie dingdong and eschews the wearing of blue-black balls as an unnecessary vulgarism in front of a naked white Venus."
He grabbed at her ankle.
Snapped out toward her wet tresses.
Snagged a slippery breast.
Roxanne glided away with ease.
"Just fuck yourself off if you're gonna be like that, Mister Black Buck." Roxanne called out gaily. "If you want to talk dirty to me about Cassandra's shitty strand of pop-it beads, do it in the nude."
"You'll find me no body beautiful."
Roxanne crinkled her nose. "I don't care how crude you are. I like all kinds of naked. Just take off your clothes."
"Will you let me catch you then?"
"That you'll have to find out."
Some little vixen.
Smooth as quicksand.
Roxanne was on him, wrenching his uncon-structed duck sportsjacket around his neck.
She swam strongly, pulling the material tight about Buckminster's head and neck as he kicked off his clothing.
His engorging dingdong broke the surface of the water. Roxanne tittered when she saw the dark glistening cockhead bob.
Roxanne dipped beneath him. Coiled about him and took his dank dick in her face as her legs choked his neck. "Ngh."
"Duck yourself, bub."
Buckminster blew air and water through his lungs and maw. He sank to the bottom of the pool as Roxanne extricated herself from his flesh and hopped up. Buckminster pressed himself up partway out of the water with both arms.
Roxanne let a palm drape over his forehead. Pushed down with all her weight.
Buckminster again sank beneath the surface.
Sputtering, he clipped both hands about Roxanne's ankles, but lost the angle.
Roxanne's toes were in his eyes.
He bit out.
She kicked him playfully in flare-nostriled snout.
Buckminster reached his hand aloft.
"How about you helping me out this time?" he said. "Make any sense?"
"I can handle it," Roxanne said offhandedly. "But first get your fucking duds out of my lake. I don't like the way they muck up my practice area. Looks like seaweed."
Buckminster paddled about the pool. Gathered up his discarded clothing and piled them on the side.
Roxanne's tits swayed toward his face as she bent to help lift him from the water.
Her fingers squeaked along his skin.
Laughing, Roxanne then released her grip, and he slipped downward.
Buckminster bobbed back up and rubbed his eyes.
And was thereupon blinded by the liquid slicing inside his eyefolds.
"Na-na-na-na-na."
The guzzling sound echoed in his ears. Fizzling noises drummed against his forehead. Buckminster dodged left and right. "Yabba babba!"
Roxanne followed him. Aiming her quim straight into his face.
Pestering his gaze with trickles of tinkle. He pulled a smile.
His own thick rictus perpendicular to the crinkled grin of Roxanne's groin.
"Wheee!" Roxanne chirruped. "Whiz-bang. I got you right in the teeth, you snide geek."
His tongue slavered around the lips of his face. Face to face with Roxanne's sheared pubis as urine spumed from her lace.
He gargled her fresh piss as he stretched forth his neck. Buried his choppers into Roxanne's snatch, spewing and raw.
Buckminster's dentition tore into her labia like a saw. He worked his head from side to side.
Sucking in her succulence through her trimmed flocculence.
Tasting tartness of twat as the last traces of piss raced from her slit.
"So you like water sports," Buckminster gummed out into her grime.
Roxanne shrugged.
"Stuff comes easy to me," she said flatly. "I enjoy doing what I'm good at. How about you, Mister Private Dick? You like working over chicks in the line of business?"
"No. I'm not very good at it."
"Not bad for a cad," Roxanne snorted. "Go ahead. Drive me mad."
Buckminster churned his chin upward.
Nipped into her clit.
Slowly, sucking in clamjuice from Roxanne's cockleshell, he emerged from the drink. Roxanne began to sink to her knees on the surface beside him. Legs glided aside.
She stretched back her neck.
Tits beckoned his fingers from her chest.
"Neaugh."
Buckminster found boob in his grip. Pulled a nippletip toward his yip.
"Omigawd, you're good," she said with apparently genuine surprise.
Ground a nipple into his face.
He trailed his tongue down between her paps. Thundering the tip along her ribs.
His tongue tapered like a stinger toward her buzzing clit.
Roxanne flapped her arms like a hovering insect. Several small jets of piss came again from her winsome snatch.
"Sssss," she hissed through her teeth. "Oooooh. Love that sound."
Roxanne's tongue clapped against the top of her pallet. Clacks and sucks echoed through her snout as the snot snorted out.
There was a cringe in her craw.
Drool drooped from her yammering jaw.
Whimpers strained from her gullet.
Smacking sounds emerged from her smirk.
Rutsweat slimed from Roxanne's underarms. Her unshaven armpits asked for the fuck as much as did another woman's slit.
"You know," Buckminster spoke grimly as he took a sip from her slimeslit, "you are the first pink chickadee I've seen today with a monogrammed pip."
"You mean the way my pussy is clipped? I really like it like that too. I was gonna get a tattoo-"
"Would be a tight fit."
"Always is."
"That an invitation?"
"No-no-no-no-no. I never cuntruck men. Bad for my training regimen."
"But you still go all the way, I take it. Just not that way."
"Depends. I just don't need emotional involvement. I have to save that kind of energy for my athletic training and competition."
"Must be very draining."
"But I can kiss your dick."
"Sure it's okay?"
"Yeah. I've never done a black one."
"Go ahead and have a thrill."
"Should be fun," she shrugged. Her face split in a wide-open blithe grin of soon-to-swoon innocence. Faked.
He kicked up his hips, balls in hand. Stuck his stick between her lips.
"See?" she said. "I can give you head. And,-likewho needs cuntrucking when cocksucking feels so good?"
Mahogany hawg tooled down her throat. Deep amber bull shit piled like ancient treasure over the sides of her chin. "Indeed," she breathed.
Roxanne took hold of his testicles and squeezed. Yanked down hard. "Awk!"
His jimjam jumped in her jaw. Panther-like penis on the loose. Buckminster's mouthrut increased. Then the thrusting subsided. Roxanne held his darkmeat hog captive in her white girl maw. Teeth clamped about the base.
HI
Neck muscles strangling the tip. "Unh."
Roxanne played her hands along the length of her muscular neck. Jacking the prick inside with wide flails of extended fingernails.
Loosely flowing lather erupted up the deeply colored wafting scrotum through the twining ejaculatory ducts.
Roxanne gave the pullulating penis a jab with her tongue.
Her lips milked the charging bull as it horned deeper, goring her gullet.
The first pellet of come crackled against her tonsils.
Dripped slickly to her tumtum.
The next blast of jizzom was a white-hot splash to the inside of her teeth.
Seed glistened her smile.
Prick pumping all the while.
Roxanne knew how to chew in style.
Piles of gnarled goo tumbled from her chin to her chest.
She worked the muck into her pearly breasts. Melting the nuggets of jizzom. Shellacking her nippletips.
Buckminster pried himself from her puss. Peeled his underside from her face.
Slid on spread haunches over her sperm-caked cookies to rest his ass-hole like an octopus's sucker on her bellybutton.
Coming to rest on her waist.
He kissed her face.
"Don't do that," Roxanne said warily. "I'm not quite in the mood." She winked one eye. "Try this instead."
Roxanne brought her heels up underneath her fanny and turned out her knees. Slinked on her back. Undulated like a snake. Buckminster took the hint. Roxanne twinged.
Flung all her limbs in a wide arc. Slid onto her stomach and posed with raised rump.
"Get hold of my hair from back there. But don't tear it with your teeth."
She waggled her meat.
Turned her head around and stared at him blankly.
Addressed him frankly.
"Know what? I'd like you to suck me. And don't stop till after I come."
"As the lady requests."
"When you're done there, stick your tongue inside my ass-hole and nun it around in circles. Then you can stick your prick there."
"Dream on," Buckminster said. "I've gotten my fillings all caked with your cuntslime already. I'd like to try a new flavor."
He pointed toward her torso with a wiggling finger.
"First, Roxanne dear, I'm going to fuck on you right there."
"Where?"
With a stifled yelp, Buckminster jammed his penis up the outside of her rib cage.
The enraged cockhead came to rest in the flap of skin beside her chest.
Prickmeat petted the inside of Roxanne's armpit. Working in and out as though it were but another orifice.
"Eeeeeh."
Roxanne's underarms were charmed by the squiggling prick. She buckled, tickled half to death, twanger tight by her tit.
"Such wit," she stammered. "Now hammer me where it really does some good."
Hardwood-tinted prick curved outward.
Buckminster aimed his spearstick at the yammering target of Roxanne's ass.
His penis bent.
Snapped out straight.
Glanced off the sides of her ass-cheeks. Twirled around underneath.
"You'll never get it in that way," Roxanne crowed. "The chlorine makes my skin go dry."
Buckminster smooched the pink pucker with the flaps of his mouthlips.
His tongue traveled inside her yielding hide with tapered tip. She wove circles in the air with the torsion of her hips.
Asshole opened like the mouth of a fish.
Rim kissing lips.
Gripping tongue tip.
The musty flavor of Roxanne's fanny crawled through Buckminster's gullet.
He pulled his facecheeks reluctantly from between her buttocks. Lanced into her armpit with straight tongue.
Licked out.
As his penis snicked the edge of her bung. "Aaaaanh."
This time the cock squeaked in easily.
Curved up inside her haunch.
Lapping Roxanne's underarms in doubletime, Buckminster axed all the way up Roxanne's buns on the first slide.
Then he drew back.
"No."
Pulled his dong out. Then nuzzled it back in. Asshole oinked once.
Cockhead buried to the neck. "Ahhhh."
Fucking and sucking in counterpoint, Buckminster anointed the conch-like interior of Roxanne's earcups with the message of his mission.
"You are familiar, I take it, with the missing beads?"
"Indeed."
"Any guesses where they might have landed."
"Didn't know they flew anywhere. Unh. Keep that fuck going in my rump."
"You knew where the pearls were kept?"
"Pump. Yes. Oh, pump."
"Where?"
"Fuck. In Cassandra's bedroom. Fuck my ass-hole harder."
"In her drawers?"
"In-unh-with-unh-her-unh-bras and panties and other dainties. Oh, please. Break my fucking buns."
"Did everybody know where she kept those things?"
"Just a couple of her friends."
"Real close ones, huh? like you and Danielle. Her girlfriends. Any men?"
"How the fuck should I know what Cassandra does with dudes?"
Buckminster corkscrewed his cock deeper into Roxanne's easygoing ass-hole.
He tugged her jugs as she pressed her cold assmeat into his belly.
"Shit," Roxanne gagged. "I'm dead."
Fission of senses streaked through her head. She heard colors. Saw sounds.
Orgasm caressed her brain.
Blowhole babbled in climax.
Buckminster randied her rectum.
Chattered into Roxanne's straining face, held next to his in embrace.
"You ever see Cassandra wear the gewgaws?"
"Fuck me. Can't I even come around here? Wear them? Only to some informal affairs."
"Wore pearls to affairs. What kind?"
"Oh, fuck. It's over now, you aaaaass-hole. Cassandra sometimes wears those whory-looking pink-pearl baubles to balls. Dinners. Volleyball tourneys where they gamble and money goes to Hood Cove Conservatory."
"Noble pastimes."
With a sneer, Roxanne wrenched her rear end to the side.
Buckminster's prong squealed from her bung.
Her ass nipped shut with a smack.
"You buttered my rump and then wouldn't get me over the hump. Go suck a pregnant skunk."
"Anyone you know have a professional interest in pearl diving?"
"Give me a break. My ass-hole aches. You got off nicely right down my throat. I have to be satisfied with a few little jolts."
"About Cassandra? She misplace things-often?"
Roxanne wiped around the rim of her ass-hole with a finger.
Sniffed the fingertip in her nostril.
Glared straight into Buckminster's face.
"Try asking the lady herself," she said. "Isn't that like something you're paid to do?"
"In due time."
"Oh, I see," Roxanne said, narrowing her eyes. "Like, first you want to have the all the answers yourself. So you can see if Cassandra is lying when you pretend to try to get it out of her."
"People's rationales for their actions-as well as how they perceive those of others-are more informative than whether they lie per se. Lying is so much a given practice that in itself it tells you nothing if someone is lying. People often don't even know that they themselves are lying."
"So where are you there?"
"Primed to find the motive behind the deception-whether the deception is consciously calculated or is self-deceptioningrained into their egos as a defense against past deeds."
"So, Mister So Clean He Won't Come Up My Asshole. I see you're a dick and shrink rolled and hardboiled into one."
"Part of the package."
"Fuuuu-uck you say. Maybe Cassandra keeps the pearls near her person for sentimental reasons."
"Maybe she's auctioning the pearls off for sentimental reasons too."
"Toodle-oo," Roxanne said, leaping to her feet. "Gotta get back to practice now-If I'm gonna be ready to compete on the synchronized swimming team at the next Olympics."
"That's like water ballet?"
"The shit you say," she brayed. "It's a brutally demanding sport. I'm a finely tuned athlete. I'm ordinarily not rude, but if I could fart on cue I'd do it in your face."
"Didn't mean to insult you. I'm just ignorant."
"Your ignorance is an insult."
"And top of the morning to you, too."
Roxanne turned toward the pool.
She jack-knifed at the waist.
Brought her hands together behind her butt.
Her ass-cheeks flared open as she crouched slightly in a diving posture.
Her ass-hole juddered open.
"Toot," she blew through her blowhole.
Her hinder flews shuddered.
Anus stuttered.
"Craaa-ack!" Roxanne hacked out breezily from her rump as she gave it a pump.
"Here's another one for you, black dude," Roxanne chewed crudely.
"Boop!" her ass-hole chuckled.
"Talented girl," Buckminster wheezed. "Got unnaturally good rhythm for a whitemeat."
"Don't forget to take your clothes with you, dude-o," Roxanne cackled as she sailed through the air. "Their presence distracts me."
CHAPTER FIVE
Wild pink slash slippery in his recent memory, Buckminster Black danced a few jigsteps. Bull shit bounced like a sack of baubles. Shrinking skein of scrotum drew up tight in his underbelly like a nut shell.
Perhaps Buckminster's balls were telling him something. Saying to him, "Do you really like the flavor of the witch's cuntbrew you and the rich-bitches are getting into? The word is this: When in doubt, brother dude, get out. And if you can't do that-at least curl up your cock and balls beneath your belly and protect yourself." Well, well.
Was Buckminster going nuts?
Or were his nuts going--?
Buckminster strolled across the graywashed wooden planking of the sundeck. Checked for indications of Cassandra's whereabouts.
He squeaked a walk toward the swinging screen vestibule door set into the side of the glass slats faceting the dome of the nearby greenhouse.
Peeked inside.
Spied Cassandra, stripped to her mildly tanned hide, watering plants and uttering birdcalls.
"Oh, Buckminster," she cried, squinting her eyes over the spray of insecticide. "Come on in. Be sure to shut the door, will you? Don't want the birdies to fly out."
"This an aviary too?"
He had a jaunt to his march.
An arch to one eyebrow.
"Nice cockatiel," he said as a greenish-white crested parakeet tweeted in flight. "They're frail, aren't they?"
Cassandra tittered as the bird alighted on her extended finger. "This one's a robust little chick anyway. Capable of putting up a good fight."
"Any cock could tell you that one."
"As I presume you should know. However, I take it you're here primarily to talk about something besides birds."
"I like talking birds-"
"So let me-"
Cassandra kissed the cockatiel on its beak and sent it twittering among the overhanging branches.
"Hang on a sec, Buckminster. Got to shut the waterworks down. Meanwhile fetch yourself up something to drink if you'd like. Under the table by the loveseat."
"Got any cups?" Buckminster said as he inspected a clear jug half-filled with a liquid the color of chamomile tea.
"You don't want that stuff," Cassandra said. "It's nectar for the hummingbirds."
"Hmmmmm hmmm hm," Buckminster emitted from between tight lips.
He shot his tongue toward the jug of hummingbird nectar, raised his eyebrows and watched Cassandra's smile in response.
Dark soil striped her face.
Sweat streaked her tawny body from her underarms to her waist.
Cassandra looked less like a wood nymph than a pig in a poke.
Still and all, her jugs were no joke.
Tits jigged in time as Cassandra ran her fingers between them, wiping sweat as though it might make a difference.
"You'll have to take it straight from the bottle," Cassandra said. "We are destitute of manners here, I'm afraid."
Buckminster twisted a champagne bottle into his teeth. Breathed up a cottony ball of bubbly into his craw and swallowed.
"Thirsty boy," Cassandra chattered.
"Save you some?" he gurgled.
"Should be another bottle icing there in the bucket," Cassandra said, absently tweaking a nipple with her thumb.
The cork soles of her high-heeled espadrilles oinked wetly as she slithered her toes through the soil and gravel.
The high heels plumped her assmeat out like a plover breast. A streak of peaty liquid snaked from her buttocks break.
Cassandra sat her wet fanny onto a quilted pillow on a wrought-iron loveseat that sat beneath an archway constructed of peaty bark profuse with cunt-like blooms of hybrid orchids the size of a woman's pompadour.
"Hot in here," Cassandra said. "Excuse my use of the bucket."
She picked up the ice bucket and rubbed its coolness to her sweltering tummy. Sat it onto her lap, oozing her thighs apart.
Cassandra next clicked on the flame of a decorative blowtorch brazier that rested on the clear glass top of the white-painted cocktail table beside her. Using her fingernails, Cassandra sliced a minuscule wedge from a cake of pitch-like gum displayed on a saucer held aloft by a jade statuette of a seemingly self-satisfied nude of ambiguous gentler.
She spread a serving of the black resin into the recess of a shallow brass cup affixed to one end of a slim bamboo tube.
Cassandra then inserted the tiny pipebowl into the brazier's flame and sucked deeply on the narrowly tapering brass mouthpiece that shanked the opposite end of the hollow reed pipestem.
Her boobs rose and fell.
Nipples achingly hard.
Tempting for the touch.
"I like the opium pipe," Buckminster remarked.
"So do I," Cassandra said. "A curiosity I picked up in a Hong Kong junkstore."
A wisp of black smoke feathered from the pipe. Cassandra nicked the pipestem against the rim of the table, nudging a tumble of ashes out into the gravel. She pressed another gooey dollop into the pipebowl as she breathed out a whisper of invisible fumes through her pulsing nostrils.
"By any chance, Buckminster, are you familiar with Oriental calligraphy?"
"Somewhat-on a conversational level."
"Know where this pipe was made?"
"See the way the symbols line up vertically along the bamboo stem? That's Shanghai style, circa 1919."
"Really?"
"Could be. Or a copy. Can't tell. Been used a lot, though."
"Smoke?"
"Thanks. But not right now. I was okay with the fuzzwine-"
Cassandra dredged the dripping magnum of pink champagne from within the ballast of the silver ice bucket.
She shot some froth down her gullet.
Passed the oversized bottle to Buckminster's waiting fingertips as he sat in a wobbly chair across from her.
Their hands touched.
Cassandra grinned like a gunman.
Edgy and tough.
"How's the investigative front, Buckminster? Anything show up?"
"Your sisters here-uh-seem to have a kind of fixation with my ethnicity."
"You find that odd?"
"Bunch of white women hot for my bod."
"I'd gather not so odd."
"It's something I did notice. No more, no less than an observation."
"Any luck elsewhere?"
"After my chat with your assistant Danielle, she was eager to tour me through the cliff house. Plenty of places to hide-but no pearlies."
"Surprised?"
"Not at all."
"Your clothes look rather damp-uncomfortably so, if I do say, Buckminster. Been yachting?"
"Little round of water sports with your friend Roxanne. When I interviewed her poolside-well, I guess I just got wet."
"I'll bet the little snit pulled you into the pool with her. She's like that."
"Thanks for warning me."
"I figured you'd make out okay with her anyway."
"Reet."
"Anything pop up at all."
"No pearls.
"Were the girls of any actual help to you?"
"Oh, yes. They helped eliminate some obvious doubts about the pearls' whereabouts." He slugged away at the bottle again. "And they also more or less pointed the way I maybe should pursue this gig. Conceptually, anyhow."
"But no leads."
"Correcto."
"Clues?"
"No clues."
"Given up?"
"I haven't given up. What's your guess?"
"That's your department." Cassandra sucked on the pipe. "So why don't we get to some more of your undoubtedly learned and fertile ideas-about the pearls. Unless you're more interested in discoursing on opium pipes or parakeets."
"Maybe later you want me to discuss orchids?"
"Only if they're hybrid." Cassandra looked up dreamily into her forehead. "I have no interest in anything pure."
She yawned as she crossed her ankles, extending her long gams toward Buckminster.
"But-of course! To the marbles. They could be out of here." He took another swig. "But I don't think that's-likely."
Buckminster popped out a cigarette. Stowed it between his choppers. He bent close to Cassandra, smelling her rising rut as he lit the cig in the opium brazier.
"Didn't know you smoked," Cassandra said. "I don't. Not when I'm working."
"Time to pack it in, Buckminster."
"Guess so. Abyssinia. My work is finished."
"Buckminster."
"Yes?"
"I think not. Not by a long shot."
"I think so. Police involvement is the only way you can go convincingly from here-if you want to keep up your end of whatever publicity act or insurance con you got going."
"Bullshit, Buckminster. Thought you were going to show me your good stuff. Thought you said you hadn't given up."
"Doesn't mean I don't take my leave now."
"I say not yet for day one. You have not met your professional obligations to me today, Buckminster." Cassandra wiggled her fanny in her seat. "Not nearly completely. In fact, hardly at all. You certainly haven't looked everywhere, questioned everyonenot by any means."
"Everywhere and anyone who counts. Process of elimination. And everywhere's out."
"Bullshit, Buckminster. Whatever are you saying? Have you no imagination?"
"Don't need any. Not for this set-up."
"What is this, Buckminster? A stall?"
Cassandra felt a chill roam at will over her head, shoulders, and hinders.
"No stall. Just let's say-that's all, folks. I've searched the house and its grounds-not completely, but enough to get the drift. Browbeat everybody who was anywhere-except right in here. And, thank you, I will have one for the road."
Buckminster stooped to the gravel between Cassandra's ankles. He snatched up the bottle of champagne from the bucket between her legs. Drained it to the dregs. Shoved the empty bottle neck first into the bucket.
"You tell me, lady. Am I getting warm? Those pearls feeling a little hot by now?" Buckminster stood, turned, walked. Cassandra called out.
"Aren't you going to see if-for instance-the pearls might be in the ice bucket?"
"Not when I know they're in yours."
Buckminster snapped about-face.
He drilled his eyeballs into hers for less than a second.
Dropped smoothly into a crouch.
Buckminster slid a hand into the frigid liquid hugging the butt of the empty bottle. Cassandra shivered as she saw him make a fist-as though grabbing up a handful of melting shaved ice.
Buckminster brought his soaking arm out into the open in a trice. Whipped his hand through the air in a lazy slice.
Brought it home like a hammer between her thighs.
Her twat fluttered.
The ice bucket tipped topsy-turvy into the gravel as Cassandra's buttocks rose off the seat. Buckminster's cold paws mauled hot meat.
"Unh."
The sphincter slid on over his thumb and forefinger. None too gingerly, Buckminster twirled his fingers higher into her haunch.
"Anh."
"Sorry, cookie, about this intrusion on your privacy. But then you know that Buckminster only aims to please his client's imagine."
He folded his three spare fingers against the side of his palm.
Wrenched his arm.
Cassandra's fanny bounced.
Her tanned hiney humped.
Her ass-hole snickered on over his fist.
Cassandra sat impaled.
Buckminster was buried to his wrist.
Cassandra chewed her lips. Licked her tongue furiously across her face.
"Okay," Buckminster said. "I think maybe one more twist. Let me make this good."
"Eaugh!"
"Gotcha."
Buckminster snaked his hardwood fingers higher within Cassandra's ass until they coiled about what felt like-unseen-a connected strand of smooth spheroids.
He clanked them together.
"Pearls, are they?" Buckminster chewed. "Pink pearls, by any chance?"
His forearm probed, fist deeply embedded in her haunch. She rutted her flanks.
Buckminster gave his forearm a crank.
"Ouch!"
He drew his arm out in a yank.
There was a rustle in Cassandra's buttocks as Buckminster's fingers flew forth.
He trailed a set of dank beads from the bud of her bung. Pink pearls gleaming deeply, wrapped about his darkling thumb.
Cassandra smiled smugly, the beads burping from her anus as Buckminster twined them upward through his hands.
Setting off her glands anew as each pearl popped through her chuckling pucker.
"You knew I had them up my ass all along, didn't you, Buckminster?"
"Not hard to figure-I mean, especially after the way your girlfriends were so protective. They just had no idea why you might have been keeping those beads so close to yourself-"
"Wrapped in my lingerie. Secreted in my boudoir. One guess goes far."
"No guess. Not with you. Not with those other two around. Incidentally, I appreciate the dress code you ladies endorse around here."
Buckminster wound the long strand of pearls around his fist.
Dropped them into Cassandra's lap.
"Fun game you had with me, Cassandra. Hope you got your money's worth."
"One more thing before you go, Buckminster."
"There a hitch?"
"No. You're hired."
"Thought I heard-"
"This pearlie show wasn't the real job. iou checked into me. You know the rest."
"Or I can guess."
"You willing to get mixed up in this?"
"Depends, Cassandra. On a number of things. Such as how strictly and to whom and when does your dress code apply? And how well do you like to be fucked up the ass by fists?"
"And--? "
"And you know my fee scale."
Cassandra played the pearls around her face, draped them over her boobs.
Dangled them to her pubes.
"As long as I'm paying, Buckminster, see if you can play it my way for a little while."
"You're right. We'll see."
"See these pearls? You know where you got them. Why don't you put them back." She parted her legs. Spread her asscrack. Threw her head back.
"Now you can start by taking those fucking mucoid clothes off."
In an instant, Buckminster had pitched his duds into a dingy heap to the side of his feet.
Cassandra reached up and gave his dark chocolate nipples a tweak. Buckminster bent into her and kissed the crack of her mouthlips.
Cassandra's ass-hole went slack.
He gave her clit a whack.
Saw the ointment pulse from her snatch.
Cassandra wrenched her body.
Vulva and ass-hole displayed before Buckminster's face. Cassandra flexed her legs about his neck to draw him closer.
Buckminster snagged her bumhole with one end of the pink-colored beads. He pressed the strand in, working quickly, uninterruptedly.
Cassandra twinged with the insertion of each pearl into her anus.
Spasms flared her limbs.
With several pearls dangling from her rim, Buckminster brought her open-faced snatch down the head of his curlicued cockhead.
Cassandra's cunt lips hogged on over the scrol-like flare at the rear of the mahogany prick's helmet-like carapace.
Cataclysmic seizures took place at the forefront of Cassandra's cunt.
Twatlips jabbered and juddered.
Cassandra shuddered.
"Come again?" Buckminster said.
Reached beneath Cassandra's hobbling haunch. Snatched the dangling line of pearls.
"In-ni-ni!"
Buckminster popped a pearlie spheroid from her pumping poopdeck.
Prime prickstem stabbed her once more. One more pearl popped from her ass-hole.
One more stipple of the initial tides of orgasm burst in Cassandra's clitoris.
"Unh," she sighed.
The panther-like prick did drive.
Her tawny hips did writhe.
Fpih!
Another pink pearl blew from her blowhole. "Aw-naw-naw."
Another miniclimax brought tears to her eyes.
Her ass melted in his grip. He pipped several more pearls from Cassandra's ass-hole.
Buckminster humped fiercely into her cunt. Then pulled the pecker out to the tip.
Cassandra's rectum exploded its nerve endings as Buckminster's fingers burbled the remainder of the strand of pearls from her rectum. Her fannycheeks shuddered and her assrim quavered.
Her tongue savored sweat.
Buckminster's deeply toned cockhead grinned as it bit in again to the chin of her suntanned and blushing quim.
Dusky prick slid within.
Cassandra's ass shimmied as the pink nacre of the dank pearls belched from her ass. She hummed. Twirled her tongue. Buckminster fobbed her buns. Pulling the baubles out.
Pearl after pearl. Orgasm after orgasm.
Buckminster's penis backed from Cassandra's cunny. He jacked once.
Scum barfed from mahogany hoghead. Semen streaked like liquid pearl through the softly tinted sunlight.
Nacreous white-chocolate spermlets snaked against Cassandra's face.
The pullulating pussy smacked against Buckminster's hefty bull shit.
The string of pink beads bobbled against the front of Buckminster's thighs as he continued to ejaculate junglejuice onto Cassandra's tits.
She took one more hit of jizz in the face. Come draped from her eyelashes. Lined her cheeks with pearlescent streaks.
Dashed onto her chin as the remaining chunks of jizzom tumbled from his pricktip.
"Now that we've gone on a ways," Buckminster said. "How well do you know your ladyfriends."
"What do you mean?"
"Like we have to watch them from now on. What are their habits. And don't tell me you really don't know what I mean."
"Where should I start?"
"How about Danielle? Any visitors? Phone calls?
She smoke locoweed, blow candicaine?"
"Yeah. Everything you said. Fucks and sucks dollies as well as dudes. Same for Roxanne, to save your asking. You gonna tail those two? You've got to be shitting me."
"No. You're shitting pearls."
Cassandra yawped: "Why don't you wrap those beads around your balls real tight? Make them real black and blue. Then collar your pecker with the other end. I want to suck them."
Cassandra wove the strand of baubles about Buckminster's bull shit.
She noosed the neck of the prick and pulled the nacreous beads into a tight cockring.
"No, these are not the fakes," Cassandra said. "I keep the fake ones as decoys and backups in the safe, as you certainly know by now."
"See what I mean about your ladyfriends, Cassandra? There were no pearls in the safe. Tell me something, Cassandra. Is either of us smart enough to fuck and talk at the same time or are we beyond all that?"
CHAPTER SIX
Black ass eased lower in the office chair into a position that was not that comfortable. Buckminster Black was fresh out of trouble.
Minding his own business. Alone in his office space down the hall from Donovan's suite. Feeling his blackmeat respond to unseen whitemeat.
Clicking of heels arrested his senses.
Buckminster burned in his loins.
His bull shit crinkled up into his belly.
Legs turned to jelly. Asshole hopped. Prick popped.
When Morrigana walked in.
Buckminster's memory recalled the dimestore slime with which their lives had been from time to time entwined. Morrigana Lafayette was, sure as day-and these days he was never very surewalking toward him now-again.
Memories of rows of rings jingling from the lining of her labia. Hooks and clips strung by silver chains from her clit to her nippletips.
Asshole limber and rimmed in rubber.
Tits done up in rouge and black lace.
Never could forget that face.
Nor those stiletto heels and legs so long they stretched from hell to paradise.
"So, Buckminster." She sucked down a long drag from her foot-long black-pearl cigarette holder. "You figure this is your kind of place? Kind of nice-for your kind of guy."
"Aren't you supposed to be working on a gig with Shiv?" Buckminster glared.
"Special assignment. Just so happens I'm in the market for a black dick. Kind of inevitable I'd come your way. Don't you think?"
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"If I can buy you."
Buckminster reached inside the deskside refrigerator and pulled out chilled tequila. Tried to ignore what was rushing through his mind.
Morrigana could buy or sell anyone else in the world who had a taste for sadomasochism, silver threads and golden needles, fistruckery, bootlic-kerish skullduggery, tequila and peyote enemas, rumproast on brochette, as well as the innocent diversions of plain old-fashioned fuck-and-suck.
With women and men.
The complete modern whitegal.
A woman for all seasons.
And all kinds of sessions.
Plus, she gave lessons.
Self-defense.
Strangulation, assassination techniques, sexual martial artistry.
Buckminster was a black belt.
He could still feel,the welts.
"Look, pussycat. We're running a business here. We aren't in the market for any of your sadomasochistic games right now."
"Oh, this is most certainly a business proposition. Not a game."
Morrigana took out a sheaf of fax-copied photos. "You know these dames?"
"Cassandra, Danielle, Roxanne, Belladonna. How could I forget? Clients of mine. Of Donovan's actually at this point. What's your interest?"
"They recommended you. To another floozy whose in hiding because she has the misfortune to be married to L.L. Jebal Hood."
"Cassandra must have told her to check it out through you. Comes to your workouts?"
"She did this morning. Says she needs protection. Said I'd set her up an interview with you. Get you out of this rat trap office, away from the law books."
"You said yourself this place was swell."
"So is hell."
"This is my territory," Buckminster said. "Then fight for it."
Morrigana's face moved in tight until their lips touched lightly.
"Gotten stronger, Buckminster. Now that you've been on your own."
"Stronger without you."
Morrigana lifted one boot-sheathed leg. She stabbed the stiletto heel into the vulnerable bony part of Buckminster's foot, just behind his toes.
Pinning his foot to the floor through the thin canvas of his deck shoe.
His ass-hole twitched.
Bull shit clinked.
Cock slinked up to his belt buckle. Semen jumping within like fish.
"Getting pissed?" she said.
He went fuck-blind for an instant. And then recovered his mind.
"About that last kiss, Morrigana? How often do you make them that way?"
Morrigana smiled thinly.
Her cynical white girl grin.
"Read my cunt lips," she said. "You are now going my way."
* * *
Blushing breastmeat tingled against the lowcut silkiness of her dress. She crossed her knees and the slit up the side of her black gown parted to the edges of her rump.
"The way I see it-uh-Mrs. Hood," he said, standing before her in the wide white room, jiggling the icy liquid in the tall, nearly empty glass, "is that the problem is-you've got no problem."
She shifted her position on the long lounge chair that looked modeled on the order of a plush stretch limousine.
"That would be a problem," she said as though it were no concern at all to her.
She saw the dark man jiggle his balls. Looked straight at his face, her eyelids at halfmast. Her peripheral vision took in the movement of his growing hard-on.
He watched her eyes through the purple haze as she blew smoke out through her nostrils. Her ass twitched and she uncoiled herself from her seat.
He made a mental note that the slit in the skirt of her dress went up way past where one might expect to see the leg bands of a pair of panties.
"You see the problem," he said. "If you want us to place someone in deep cover, we have to show an ostensible reason for our operative to be there."
"A cover story, more or less," she said.
"Exactly-which of course wouldn't be necessary if we were operating with full cooperation of all principal parties."
He saw her conceal the change in her facial expression by biting into her lower lip and producing a slight smile that, under the circumstances, must have been painful.
Her body touched his at the hip and she poured another round of drinks.
"Make this one a double," she said, topping off his highball glass with a dollop of foam.
His eyes caught hers. There was a flicker-a spark-between them.
He jerked his eyes away. Her gaze held an instant longer.
Then the spasm of a tight smile spread across her lips and died at the ends.
"These are the longest drinks I've ever had," he said admiringly, absently.
This setup was no harder than many others he had weathered.
But he was wise then.
Something about the way this babe was carrying on made him feel stupid.
He shifted his position, angling his partially erect cock down the left side of his pants.
"Incidentally," she said, swaying across the room like a charmed snake, "I don't use my husband's surname. I am still Miss Mania to the press and I would be pleased to be Mercedes to you-Mr. Buckminster?"
"Buckminster's the name," he said, sucking on a chip of crushed ice as he ran his eyes up the split in her dress. "Buckminster Black."
"Oh, won't you pardon me? I just knew you as Buckminster Consultants-I think that's what Cassandra said-I assumed Buckminster was-"
"People do call me Buck."
"Well, Buck-"
"But I like Buckminster."
"So, Buckminster," she said without losing a beat. "We need a problem, do we? A reason for existence, an existential dilemma, as it were-considering this affair of my husband's."
"Suspected affair."
"I was counting on you to come up with that angle."
"You're the one who's hiring."
"But you can and do supply the problems. When it is necessary, of course."
"I can and do." He smiled. "But I might need a little more to go on in this case."
"Let me finish this smoke and I'll tell you."
"Salud," he said.
She turned away as he hoisted his glass and drank down the amber fluid.
They were both silent, looking out the French doors, past the penthouse garden, witnessing the sun's decline through the forest of prick-like spires of the oceanfront skyline. Buckminster lit both their new cigarettes, then began to cough as he engulfed smoke on top a mouthful of crisp alcoholic fumes.
"Careful," she said.
Mercedes lifted her arm. Brought a lightly clenched fist down on the back of his jacket. His jangling drink sent sprays of liquid down his shirt, across his crotch.
"I'm okay," he heaved.
Mercedes hit him repeatedly on the back and shoulders as he cleared his lungs of the smoke and stopped gagging. She glanced at the front of his pants. Cock filled with the blood of erection.
Mercedes could tell he was circumcised by reading the impression of his prick against the wet material of his pants. Her own mouth went dry in anticipation of black cocksuck.
"Get these wet clothes off you," she mumbled.
"If you can't come up with a problem," he said, "Let's brainstorm now."
She stood behind him. Seized his suitjacket by the lapels and brought it off down his arms.
"You have no evidence I take it?" he yakked. Mercedes unbuttoned the front of his shirt, moving her hands through his armpits. "Oh, but I do," she blew.
She yanked the shirttails out and whipped the fabric from him. It snagged, and she wrenched the collar through the loosened noose of his tie.
"Strictly speaking," he jawed, "no evidence to speak of is what you've got."
Mercedes slid down his legs to the floor. She ran her fingers along the insides of his thighs as she sank to a heap.
"So that is why you have got to define what the problem is," Buckminster gargled, emptying his glass.
She brought her lips to the sides of his moccasins and sniffed.
Mercedes smooched. Then she gave a tiny lap to the leather and slid the shoes from his sockless feet and bit one of his toes.
"We can't go in looking," he slurped ice, "for nothing in particular-that means we have to look for everything, and that would be impossible."
Mercedes reached upward through his slightly spread legs. She unbuckled his belt, pressing her forearms into the growing cockmeat beneath.
"We're much better off with a focus," he belched. "Hit me with one."
"I never see him," she said as if reading it.
"That's a start."
"He sleeps days, I think."
"Okay. He's in the nightclub business, has a string of casinos among his many other high-profile enterprises."
She unbuttoned the waist of his trousers. Then stripped them down his legs.
"Let me see," he mused. "Did he move out on you? If so, there may be a case for abandonment."
"We never lived together. I don't remember if we even spent an entire night together-ever."
Mercedes slid her fingernails into the top of his bikini underpants. She began to peel the material away from his skin.
"Hey, Mercedes. Have mercy on me."
"Don't you want me to take your underpants down?"
"Why?"
"To take out your cock."
"Pants down. Cock."
Mercedes heaved her breasts. The nipples were hard against her bodice.
His mahogany prick stuck out, slightly bent within the confines of his underpants. The ruddy tip of the cockhead peeked over the waistband.
"You do have a hard-on," she said.
"So I do," he said.
"You want me? Or were you fantasizing about someone else?"
"Just a physical reaction."
"If you want someone else, Buckminster-I can be whoever she is. I am an actress, after all."
"It's not that, Mercedes. This kind of jazz can really throw a wrench into our operation." He fingered the loosened necktie that hung down the center of his bare chest.
"As you well know. Since you've obviously done it many times in the past," she said.
"Maybe so. As you like it."
"I like it bare. Hard. Full of the good stuff. Hot and juicy."
"No shame."
"Shameless."
"Got it."
"So take your pants off," she sighed. "Show me your cock. I want to suck it."
"Who's closest to him?"
She wrapped her arms about his legs. Pressed her full black hair into his ass-cheeks. "Hmm?"
"Who's closest to L.L. Jebal."
"Who is what?"
She nestled his fanny with her head. Rubbed her long hair against the backs of his thighs.
"Your husband," he said tightly. "L.L. Jebal Hood. Ever heard of him?"
"Seems like maybe not," Mercedes said.
Buckminster felt the sneer in her voice. It cut into him like a jagged razor, even though it was no he who was the object of her disgust.
He twitched his coffee-colored sphincter. His mahogany ass-cheeks tightened and his darkly hued dickmeat jumped.
"What about the bleach-blonde bombshell you think he's shacking with now?" he said.
"That whore?" Mercedes said.
She slipped her fingers into his underpants again, this time from the bottom. Before he could flinch, she whisked them to his knees.
"Anne Marie may well seem a doxie to you, Miss Mercedes-"
"But she's one of the most honored opera singers in the world-is that what you were going to tell me, Buck? And I'm just a third-rate cult sex object on a cable horror series."
She slid away from him over the cool stone flooring. With a toss of the head, she focused her eyes on his dark hard-on.
The purple-black pecker pumped in his loins.
Head looking straight out at her. Red-purple black-brown carapace like a helmet.
Cat-like grin from the panther-like prowler when sighted head-on.
The curved stalk of dusky penis bounced up and down as his pulse pumped blood.
"That's the reason he wants her," Mercedes said, "and not me. She's so respectable. But Anne Marie doesn't know that she'll become just another one of his toys. A plaything for the renowned Maestro of the Night L.L. Jebal Hood."
"So why break it up?"
"I'm more practical than that." She licked her lips. It was a mixture of the predator's lust for live meat and the cocksuckstress's hunger. "I want to have him by his huge black-and-blue balls, I want him fucked up his firm jigaboo ass before I file for divorce."
"No ethnic overtones, of course."
"Let's just say his niggerish attitude doesn't turn this white bitch on no more. You want to know the score? L.L. Jebal's homeboy buddy-that gangster former cop from New Orleans who poses as every kind of piss-elegant posh Majestic Nigritude he can come up with-"
"You don't mean Antoine Chevalier--? "
"He marries him. I mean-Antoine as a chieftain, gris-gris man, not to mention reverend-oversees L.L. Jebal's marriages and divorces-just a lot of mumbo-jumbo jigaboo gibberish-"
"Legal? Any of it?"
"So long as you're under Antoine's jurisdiction. We've all been punked-huh?"
"I would sorely hate to crack wise at a time like this."
"Ha ha. Hee hee. Ho ho ho. Tee hee hee. Please don't let me bust my guts in an uproar of laughter.
Can we get this done now, Buckminster?"
Mercedes placed her palms on the floor. She hunched her shoulders and slinked into a cat-like stance. Her boobs oozed from her bodice.
Buckminster saw the hardened nipples-thick as thumbsedge from her neckline.
He pulsed his hips.
The great wad of darkling dick swung to and fro, leading her on.
Mercedes sashayed her fanny as though wagging a tail. She pawed forward till her mouth was within inches of the dark hanging prong.
She separated her lips. A tongue snaked out from between her teeth.
"Oh?" he said. "I have to make a phone call."
Buckminster lunged away from her and sloped onto the dais. He scooped up a telephone receiver padded in red Persian leather. Buckminster pulsed out a telephone number and gabbed a few seconds while Mercedes refreshed the drinks.
When he had hung up, Buckminster rolled off the dais and grabbed Mercedes about the waist.
"Listen, dudesse," he whispered, "there's something I haven't told you."
He brought his face close into hers.
She licked out her tongue. Stroked his cheek with the tip.
"Shoot," she slurped.
"One kiss first."
She dug into his mouth with her tongue. Scooped his cheeks with her teeth. Brought her hands down his ribs past his hips.
Her hand crept between his legs as they kissed. He snorkled down her throat. Wiped the insides of her mouth with his roving tongue.
His cock stabbed into her hand.
She gripped it right in back of the head.
"This is the way I like it," Mercedes said wetly. "My men totally naked, oiled, and black-and me entirely clothed."
"If you call no underwear entirely clothed," he said softly into her ear.
"I wear only one or the other-outerwear or underwear-who has use for both at the same time? Strippers. Perverts. Weirdos."
Mercedes dropped her head. Slackened her jaw. Lolled her tongue forth.
"There's the one other thing we need to get straight between us," he said.
Her tongue tip etched into the eyelet of his cock. He winced, tightened his ass.
The prick jerked in her hand.
"I don't know if I'm jaded or what," he said. "You might say I am overused to rich white cunts inviting me up to their pads and pouncing on me. But I must tell you, my dear Mercedes, that I cannot seem to get off unless I have two chicks strip each other down forcibly, slap and fucksuck each other to orgasm, and then blow me."
Mercedes picked up her head.
"You want that?" Her eyes were steady. "I'll fistruck her as soon as she gets here."
"You rang?" the feminine voice spoke behind the kneeling Mercedes.
"Who--? " Mercedes said eerily as she jerked her head half around.
"One of my colleagues," Buckminster said.
Mercedes's hand was still on his cock.
"Mercedes, you know Morrigana. You'll agree she's superb at breaking and entering, among her many other talents."
"Charmed," Mercedes said icily. "This one you want me to fuck?"
"Another rich bitch lesbo-bimbo," Morrigana said coolly. "Just what we need, Buck."
"I'm surprised at this one's yip, Buckminster," Mercedes said. "We had better put her mouth to work before she gets into trouble."
Mercedes chucked Morrigana underneath the chin.
Morrigana caught her wrist. Twisted her arm down and around. Brought the fingers into contact with the crotch of her jumpsuit.
"Shit," Mercedes said.
The pain seared through Mercedes's wrenched elbow. It speared into her fingers. Sent flames into her brain.
Morrigana rubbed Mercedes's grubbing fingers in between her twatlips. Pressed Mercedes's fist at the center of her pudendum.
"Mercedes," Buckminster said, "you'll find Morrigana is the strong, unsilent type. When you're as strong as she is, you got no fucking need in the world to remain silent."
Morrigana kicked one of Mercedes's ankles out from under her.
Mercedes hobbled to the floor.
"She's sneaky enough," Mercedes said. "Mean enough. Let's see if she's got the hardbod we'll need to snare L.L. Jebal."
She reached up and grabbed the front of Mor-rigana's jumpsuit. She kneaded the two hardened tits through the material.
Morrigana shook her off. She reached down the front of Mercedes's dress and took hold of bare ivory titflesh.
Meeting no resistance, she turned Mercedes's thick nips like knobs.
Mercedes's jaw went slack.
"Omigawd," Mercedes simpered, "she's good."
"So fuck her," Buckminster said.
Morrigana bent over Mercedes. Her tiny boobs pressed into Mercedes's eyesockets.
Morrigana's pussy hovered near Mercedes's own blimp-like breasts.
Both women's faces remained frozen, emotionless.
"We all need a drink," Buckminster said to no one in particular.
"Uh, fucking bitch," Mercedes said, spraying saliva from the center of her mouth.
"I'll make you cream all over the floor," Mercedes said. "You'll beg for me to fuck you and you'll take it everywhere."
Buckminster saw Morrigana back off. Saw Mercedes make her move, cat-like, without warning, toward Morrigana. Saw the way she went after her.
Mercedes licked the high heels of Morrigana's pumps. Then tossed them back over her shoulders into Buckminster's lap.
He stuck his dick into one of Morrigana's shoes and ran it in and out.
The two white women were tugging each other's hair in slow motion. Their heads waved like meadow flowers in the breeze.
Their tongues moved like shellless snails. Licking the wet strands of hair.
Braiding the tresses between their fingers as they chewed languorously.
Playing kissy-face.
Fingering each other's bodies.
"Let's see you suck on the soft spots," Buckminster said.
He fucked the high-heeled shoe. Brought himself to a near ejaculation and then paused to observe the two women.
Morrigana dropped to the floor. She twisted out of her clothing as Mercedes stood over her, pushing her pelvis in and out near her neck.
"Hey, I want some action, girls," Buckminster said. "You remember, Mercedes? Force. Force Morrigana to be your pussy-she's your servant."
"I'm the one who's hiring," Mercedes clipped out of her lips. "We play it my way."
Mercedes hiked the hem of her gown up her leg. A cheek of her hiney peered out.
A muff of dyed black cuntfur with metallic red highlights spread across a pelvis so white and shining it looked carved from alabaster. If he were ever to become excited by mere biscuitbuns feminine nudity again, Buckminster thought, this Mercedes gash would be the one.
"About those drinks," Buckminster said.
"Suck me, honey," Mercedes growled.
Morrigana shot her yip into Mercedes's snatch.
Her teeth tugged at the crinkly thatch.
Tufts of cunt-hair pulled out from Mercedes's twat and stuck between Morrigana's teeth.
"Drink my honey," Mercedes seethed.
Her knees wobbled.
She eased into a squat.
Her pussylips parted wider.
Morrigana slickered between the lips. Gnawed with lips and teeth at the rubbery meat. Cuntoils gushed into her gullet. Morrigana ate cunt ravenously. "Make it gooey."
Mercedes screwed her thumb into her clitoris. She tapped it gently. A shower of sparks went off throughout her body.
"Don't forget the fistrucking," Buckminster said. "Can you make that in the ass as well as cunt? Just for my sake."
Morrigana pressed her gaping maw forward. She ate up mouthfuls of drenched quim.
Mercedes buckled forward over her. Grabbed Morrigana's fanny and nibbled her clit through her legs from behind and underneath.
Morrigana's ass-hole opened and closed like the mouth of a fish.
Mercedes stabbed two fingers in.
Corkscrewed them up her ass.
She shot her other paw into Morrigana's snatch. The thatch parted and Mercedes forced her fist in to the wrist.
"Eaugh," Morrigana said. "Buckminster! What is this thing doing to me?"
Buckminster looked at them out of the corner of his eye. Stifled a yawn.
"Looks like she's giving you what you want."
With sleek hardwood hard-on bobbing, he marched from behind the bar and into the fuckfray.
"You like?" Mercedes said.
She turned her body and showed Buckminster both her forearms. One channeled between Mercedes's cunt lips and was buttered with ladycome up to her elbow.
The other was pumped inside Morrigana's ass-cheeks. The two of them together looked like liquid pretzels.
"It's okay," Buckminster said.
Morrigana's arms flailed. Her hiney shook. Her teeth were bared.
She rolled on the floor as Buckminster poured chilled vodka on her steamy flesh.
Morrigana contorted in orgasmic oblivion.
"You think she can last against L.L. Jebal?" Buckminster asked Mercedes.
Mercedes opened her mouth-to answer, Buckminster supposed. He jerked his hips forward, drilled dark dick into her parted teeth.
Mercedes hawked his hard-on down her throat even as she fistrucked the roiling Morrigana.
Buckminster shucked his pecker from Mercedes's yammering jaw. Pointed it at Morrigana.
The vodka slathered over his chest and navel. He poured more into his groin.
Morrigana's mouth bit into one side of his big black prick.
Mercedes gnawed at the other.
The vodka they lapped from his dong flared their nostrils. They chewed up crinkly alcoholic pudhairs around the base of his prod.
Morrigana took the top of the pullulating penis inside her mouth.
Mercedes sucked one ruddy gonad.
Morrigana swooped down the entire length of his hardwood dong.
Captured the hard-on within her craw.
They covered his chocolate-colored body with wet kisses. Jacked him off with their four hands. Blew him and sucked his dusky ass with their two mouths.
As the sun sank behind a bank of highrises jutting out into the bay, tops of the Gulf Beach skyline lit up like pricktips, and Buckminster let out a long strand of liquid jizzom.
White-chocolate come snapped in the air like melted latex.
Hung in stirrups from Mercedes's lips. The syrup coated Morrigana's eyebrows.
Dried to rubbery hardness on their flesh.
"Looks like we found ourselves a problem," Buckminster said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mahogany cock strutted in the crotch of Buckminster's jet-black streetpunk moonwalker android pegged pants. He swore as he inadvertently smeared the still-wet transfer tattoo on his bicep. Didn't show up too well given his complexion anyhow.
Morrigana snickered as she saw him bend into the mirror and fasten a clasp about his earlobe. "Why don't you just get your ear pierced, Buck?"
Morrigana said. "That way you wouldn't have to wear those funky clip-ons."
"I like them."
"Bullshit. Just like I loved eating that rich cunt's lemony snatch."
"Goes with the territory."
"And you had her fistruck me, you black prick."
"She's your client originally."
"If I ever get close to Miss Mercedes Mania again, I'm going to eat her alive."
"Well, Morrigana, you just might get that opportunity if we play our cards right tonight. If you make the right impression."
"Like you?"
"I simply have to blend into the crowd. Tonight I'm just another anonymous smartass jig art groupie among the smart set. Nobody should look twice. Not at these hair spikes. Not at these Mohawk dreadlocks."
"And me?"
"You're the honey."
"For L.L. Jebal's fly."
"Looking sharp, Morrigana."
"You call this clothing?"
Morrigana stuck a long, muscled leg forward. Raised it up in an arc.
The folds of lace draped just right. Showing some skin, concealing some more.
Morrigana dropped her hands from her bosom.
Her ivory tits were stylish within a stiff, stitched bustier cut nearly to her pink nipples.
"I call it underwear," Buckminster said.
"Lingerie, please," Morrigana said.
"Mercedes says it's fashion," he said. "You want to know how much that get-up costs?"
"Spare me."
"Well, don't spare L.L. Jebal."
"I know. Goes with the territory. I feel like I should have a map."
"You fresh on the strategy? Tactics."
"I think not."
"You get Hood all hot and diverted. Meanwhile I make time with his newest fiancee."
"You got a gander at her."
"I think I know her. The type."
"Big fat white dyke?"
"A bit voluptuous in a pleasing way-if you're not totally addicted to hardbody highs. And she doubtless goes both ways. Fashionable for whitechicks these days."
"You know your strategy, Buck. How about an update on the tactics?"
"Tactile ones?"
"They're the most fun."
Buckminster lifted Morrigana's lingerie. Bit into white thighs.
Sucked along the rise of her Venus Mount. Pussylips pouted.
Darkling dingdong sprouted.
* * *
Monrigana looked at the crowd of peopledressed to the teeth, dressed to kill or be killedwaiting in the heavy post-midnight rain hoping for admission to the celestial pleasure dome known as Club Disque au Go-Go.
A mick mobster in a monkey suit yanked open the door to Morrigana's long white coach. A second dago doorman-bouncer packing a big piece in the armpit of his custom-tailored tux extended a thick forearm and escorted her inside through the private doorway around the corner in side alley.
He had seen her stretch limo, of course. Therefore, he saw no need to inspect her invitation, one that Mercedes had supplied to allow Morrigana inside L.L. Jebal Hood's current after-dark hotspot.
The interior was done up in a fruitcake designer's impression of decadent decor-fixtures done in an autoerotic assemblage of pop art, op art, art deco, art nouveau, grafitti art-and 1950s kitsch-all mingled together as if in expression of a single aesthetic.
Guys dressed up as hombo dudes, commandos, white rockers like Beatles, Stones, Elvis. So did some of the girls.
Although some of them might have been guys.
Morrigana looked across the dancefloor at the gyrating bodies. One couple stood out, wearing gaucho and gauchita costumes grinding groins in the same two tango steps over and over.
An old biscuitboy greaseball jitterbugged with a sprightly young black bimbette. In her eyes was all the distance in the universe.
Morrigana figured the airhead California jigstresse gash got blasted on drugs to forget about gamy pecker eating up the inside of her haunch day in and day out. Iced down her consciousness to minimal senselessness to fucksuckrut constantly with a minimum of pain.
It was good to be here, after all, Morrigana thought. Sometimes she forgot about what hell other people's lives were.
Being a female private dick wasn't so bad after all. At least you only had to pretend you were slime all the time.
Wasn't that it? she asked herself.
She hoped she was still pretending.
A spic queer in a red brassiere sneered as he passed by Morrigana. A tall dude with his hair cut into a chichi cameo asked to buy Morrigana a drink. She looked right through him and walked toward the center of the dancefloor.
"First I'm gonna stick my tongue down your throat," she heard a voice say out of the corner of her ear. "Then I'm gonna twirl it around up your ass-hole." Morrigana still couldn't tell if it was a male or female voice, or whether it addressed a male or female. "Then I'll strangle you with my scarf until you gag up my come."
Morrigana smelled the sex in the air. It crackled like burnt electrical wires.
The dance music pulsed through the floorboards. Sweat flew like squalls of hot tropical drizzle. The dance number segued into something else, a new song Morrigana did not recognize.
She scanned the upper deck, looking for the disk jockey's control booth.
"See 'em?" Buckminster's voice wandered through the cacophony. "Those two. Up there."
Morrigana clenched her teeth as she spoke. "I don't think it's a good idea for us to be seen talking, Buck."
"When they see us," he said, "they don't see Buckminster Black-and that's a fact." She turned her head over her shoulder. "Shee-it," she said.
"Another wig," he grinned. "Like me as a blonde? The jacket's reversible. How do I look in scarlet leather? Wanna dance?"
"Why not?"
Buckminster began a mambo step on the shaking floor to the synthesizer rap-bop bleating from immense speakers.
"Spied L.L. Jebal Hood?" Morrigana said.
"Look up there."
"Where?"
"The deejay booth."
"Jason Motherfuck Fuckingchrist."
"You know what she's wearing."
"Looks like a birdcage."
"Viking helmet. Kind Valkyries wore when they rode over the battlefields-"
"In those operas-omigawd, Buck. You think that's her? Anne Marie?"
"What do you think they're doing?"
"That chick does look kind of fat."
"She's just got some good meat on her. See? She's got her miniskirt hiked up so that it looks like a cummerbund."
"Yeah, I dig it. What's she doing now? Oh! Her tube top's rolled down."
"Tits by Goodyear."
"I'll say."
"Has she got four hands or what?"
"Ha ha. There's a dude dressed all in black, of course, wearing a leather helmet or hood, it looks like-right behind her feeling her up."
"Twist them titties and shout."
"He's got her pressed up against the railing."
"Oh, slime me down. The hot white bitch is drooling onto the dancefloor."
"And it looks like he's humping her hiney."
"Maybe fucking her cunt from behind."
"Want to go up and ask them which it is?"
"Probably both-sooner or later."
"What kind of place is this?"
"Your ordinary postmodern nightlife. Highbrows getting their lowbrow kinks. Same old story-you can read all about it in the Bible."
"Jesus Fuck Christ."
"Huh?"
"Her pudgy cunt's dripping juice over the railing. Maybe it's that guy's sperm. Or they spilled their drinks."
"I think that guy's pissing her down."
"You would think that. Maybe I should throw a drink in your face for trying to pick me up like that. I'm no floozy."
"Save it for the bigshots upstairs."
Buckminster turned, walked like an android toward the bar. He put his arm out and snagged a slumming deb-type dudesse about the waist. She squirmed away, eyes bugged out, as her two preppy trollop girlfriends giggled.
Morrigana shot her eyes up to the railing. The plump bitch was bent over, her dugs hanging, swinging pendulously.
Her voluptuous flesh had reddened to a sleek gloss. Her nipples were tight and, it would seem, painful in the grip of the hooded one's black leather gloves.
She was fucked and fucking for sure.
Gored and more.
Her eyes werepinched into tiny knots. Her mouth hung open.
She chewed her own tongue and lips to the movement of prick about her innards.
Her boobs bounced, bobbled and shook. Her pussy was pressed again and again between the metal bars of the railing overlooking the dance area.
In the darkness, Morrigana couldn't see it clearly. But she imagined the long purple-black dong slipping and sliding deep inside.
Sensed the jungle sperm boiling up.
Almost felt the balls begin to roll.
Snippets of the white woman's quimjuice spat from her pussylips. Droplets of cuntoils caught up darts of laser beams from the light show and refracted them about the swirling dancefloor.
The guy in black was taking a whack at her cool white fanny with his pecker.
He held it out straight-Morrigana saw it was shiny and black-the man aimed the dark dick at the woman's crack.
Squirted off scum in spasmic spurts.
Drips of semen drifted over the balcony and out into the haze of light and smoke.
* * *
Morrigana made her way up the gilt-embossed escalator to the VIP gallery. A couple security hoods attempted to size her up without looking at her boobs through her lace titsling.
She made the proper impression and they let her pass through their barricade without a word.
"The gallery, huh?" she said.
"Some show," the male voice said.
Morrigana turned her head. A man dressed in black with a leather hood over his head showed his teeth through the mouth opening.
"Don't believe we've been introduced," she said.
"Call me Hood."
"Call me later," she said.
"That's good."
"This is an art show? Where's the art."
"All around you. The world may well be a stage, but I say you are what you art."
"Real intellectual."
Hood pointed a black-gloved finger toward the ceiling. He waved it around in a circle.
"Look-the dome is a map of the northern skies. Lit up with constellations and shooting stars."
"El cheapo planetarium."
"You're a tough one. If you look ciosely, in and among the dancers are sculptures dressed in robes by one of your favorite female designers."
"I'm supposed to know her?"
"You're wearing one of her dresses."
"Oh. Let's take a look at those statues, Hood."
"The people are art. Don't snot your nose like that. Your outfit is plenty self-conscious. If you didn't intend to compete with the art, why didn't you just wear a jogging outfit or jeans?"
"They wouldn't have let me in."
"You're part of the scene, babes. You even make up part of the scene. You're as responsible for the hypocrisy you decry as much as anyone else here. You suck up to it. You want it."
"Awfully presumptuous, aren't you?"
"So are you, if you came here thinking everyone was going to look at you. There's some stiff competition here, from Hollywood and the music world, as well as the sports arena."
"You're the one who was fucking that white blimp up over the railing out there, aren't you."
"That was no white blimp. That was my wife."
"Where is she now?"
"Out filing for divorce, for all I care."
Morrigana caught a glimpse of Buckminster in his punk disguise. His mouth was working as if he were chewing tit or clit.
His face closed in on that of an ultra-white lightly tanned woman with a soulful, world-weary expression that belied her youth but fit in well with her olive-drab cotton military blouse and long camouflage stole slung over one shoulder in the manner of an ancient noblewoman.
"Now, there's my real wife," Hood said.
"I lied."
"I might have guessed."
"I lie a lot."
"Tell me some more, then."
"Take my arm and stroll along with me."
They sauntered arm in arm toward Buckminster and the other woman.
"Cassandra," Hood drooled out. "Who's your new boyfriend? Aren't you going to introduce your new black buck to your old hombo husband?"
CHAPTER EIGHT
Warped white babes jazzed their heads around to catch sight of what they overheard spouting from L.L. Jebal Hood's mushroom mouth.
Cassandra drew back aghast. "My, Hood. You work like a flash of black lightning."
"Who is this dude you got with you? Or maybe I should ask what is it?"
"You haven't introduced me to your frail yet. Another white one. Are we that much fun?"
"I was afraid you'd take her away from me."
"Not tonight. I'm too bored already."
"Meet my wife Cassandra."
"What passes for wit these days," Cassandra blew out in drifting syllables. "He lies. Former wife. Never lover." She patted the black beachboy pun-koid by her side. "So, blondie, what's your namejust for my husband's sake?"
"My mother call me ass-hole," Buckminster said through his flanged nostrils. "Da other chickies an' dudesses I fuck-sides my momma-they all call me da Rudeboy Reggae Rap Warrior."
Buckminster smiled and tweaked his earlobe. A metal skull earring dangling from a miniature set of handcuffs flashed its fake ruby eyes.
"Now there's real wit," Morrigana said.
"I don't know nothin' about wit," Buckminster said in his intergalactic inner city accent. "Where's li'l hombo's room? Gotta wizz."
Hood said without meaning or intent: "Dude, why don't you simply grab up a handful of white bitchmeat and piss down her throat?"
"Believe I will do just that, Guv'nor."
A barmaid in an elf outfit passed by with a circular platinum tray full of highballs.
"Hiya, Belladonna," Buckminster winked at her, gaping at the nametag pinned at the tip of one enormous boob. "Come over here."
She passed by without a word.
"Fuckin' white bitch whore," Buckminster muttered. "Fuckin' dyke."
He walked like an Egyptian behind Belladonna as she bent over a low table totting out drinks.
Her ass stuck up pert and neat.
The crack between the cheeks was clearly visible beneath her sheer leggings.
Belladonna's tits bulged out nearly in the mouth of a withered white coot who got the first erection he had detected in years.
Buckminster slung his hips right and left. Unsnapped the chain from his waist. Flung it like a lariat about Belladonna's neck.
"You got yourself a live one, Cassandra," Hood said. "Looks like a foursome?"
"With Belladonna in on it, maybe five," Cassandra murmured like a mummy.
"Count this girl out of it," Morrigana said.
She turned on her heel. "Can't say it was a pleasure meeting you or anything."
Morrigana started to walk off. Before she completed her first step, Hood had grabbed her shoulder, Constance had her hips.
Morrigana's eyes were arrested by Buckminster's display.
He had jerked his chain belt tight about Belladonna's neck. Her head snapped back, her white tits popped out of her elf-style halter.
The tray and the drinks went flying. All heads turned to look.
"The fuck--? " Belladonna gagged.
Buckminster strung her in like a fish. Pulled her head to his crotch.
"I'm lookin' for da pizzoir, toots," he said. "Thought mayhe you could help me."
"Bugger off, hutchboy," she blew into his purple-black-and-blue balls.
"Hey. I t'ink I found her."
Belladonna forced her face from his loins. She looked pleadingly over at the man in the hood.
She watched his eyes and mouth for a sign through the slits in his leather face. His eyes flickered, his tongue snaked out.
"Oh, shit, L.L. Jebal. Do I have to?"
But before she had choked the words out, her hands had Buckminster's zipper down and his mahogany pricktip out and in her mouth.
He pressed his dank dick into her fidgeting yip as she squeezed his darkling balls.
"Do we have to witness this, dear?" an ancient Jewlady said to her youthful brown-skinned gigolo with handsome eyes.
Belladonna's mouth chewed on the ruddy-dark pecker buried in her craw.
Buckminster swung his hips fore and aft.
His dusky bull shit dangled about her chin.
"She's blowing that punk pickaninny," a high effeminate voice squealed out through the din.
"Hombo's fucking her face," a half-buried voice chortled from the crowd. "Fuck her hawgjowl yip."
"Nail her ninnies with naked blackness."
"Drag dark dick on up that pink cunt."
"Fuck her white butt."
Buckminster massaged Belladonna's mousse-sculpted hairdo into a brittle haystack. Her mouth moved from his lunging liquid pecker and nuzzled at the back of his blue-black sac.
Buckminster gripped her hair and pulled her head back up, her jaws slack.
Her lips closed about the red-mahogany head of his hardwood penis.
She sucked black dick.
Blew outward.
Tickled the tip with her tongue. And waited.
Slowly, her cheeks bellowed out like inflated balloons.
Her lips split. Then spumes of sparkling waters shot out the sides.
Buckminstet's urine sloshed over her face as he pulled out. He drenched her hair with his piss. Sprayed her smile with dazzling tinkle.
Belladonna made a gargling sound and she gagged just a touch as a train of palmy liquid lurched down her gullet.
He drizzled the piss over the front of her elf jerkin.
Standing over her prostrate body, he dangled his dark dingdong over her wincing white tummy and shook out the last of what seemed like gallons of urine.
Instantly, Buckminster's black pecker saluted in erection. Thick prick curved like a hungry crocodile intent on feed.
Morrigana felt Cassandra press into her. The Hood's ebony hands drifted from about her shoulders down her back. They crept through her armpits and rested on her bosom.
"I'm leaving," Morrigana said in affected snit. "Kindly remove your jiganig mitts from my lilywhite tits-or I'll tell your white wife on you. Your real white wife."
"Which one the fuck is that?" L.L. Jebal stammered, positively baffled.
Morrigana flexed her triceps. Her strength threatened to crush the Hood's forearms. His fists sprang open. Her tits were released, springing free of his fondling fingers.
Hood stared at his hands. Made fists. Opened his grip. Made a painful grimace through his mask.
Morrigana drifted off without a word.
"I'll have her tailed," Hood said. "Then we can drop in on her unexpectedly sometime. Force her open for a little frolic."
"L.L. Jebal," Cassandra whispered. "Come down off your Hood act. Better leave that one alone."
"If she were forcefucked into madness," he rasped. "Ravished to oblivion. If she were willingly strangled, decapitated by a dozen big black dicks crammed down and dangling from the neck of her severed head, no one could touch me. No one would dare."
"You're drunk."
"Haven't touched a drop."
"What have you gotten into tonight? Some of Sheik Asani Saba's sex powder?"
"I don't need it."
"Then ease off."
"Hey, Hood," Buckminster said. "Can we rope off someplace or other so's I can hogtie dis harlot and give her a fuck, Guv'nor?"
"Allow me to assist you," L.L. Jebal said from beneath his hooded head.
Hood bent and lifted one of Belladonna's legs by the ankle. With Buckminster pulling her by her hair and the chain around her neck and with Cassandra dragging her by the boobs, the three of them slid Belladonna's drenched form across the floor.
One by one the assembled gawkers turned back into their drinks and conversation. For them, the diversion was over.
For Belladonna the night had only begun.
* * *
L.L. Jebal Hood lay asleep in the long black leather divan. His black leather hood was pushed back up on his forehead and a nearly smoked joss-stick lay dead between his lips. He snored in abrupt, snorting rhythms, apparently oblivious to the revelry in the shadowy room about him.
Buckminster was stripped down to his blonde wig. Anne Marie the opera singer was on her knees before him, sweating like a ripe sow in rut, hogging homeboy whanger in her jaws.
She ran her hands along his rutsleek biceps, smearing the ink of his fake tattoos. Her head hopped in time to L.L. Jebal's snores.
Belladonna, in her still-wet elf costume, felt up Anne Marie between Buckminster's legs as she sucked the dusky cheeks of his ass.
Buckminster stared through the two-way mirror of L.L. Jebal's private suite overlooking the dan-cefloor of Club Disque au Go Go. It was well past midnight and a lot of the dancers were dancing with a lot of their clothes off.
A lot of them weren't dancing.
He felt Belladonna's tongue circle his ass-hole counterclockwise.
Then she bit into his buttocks muscle and sucked long and hard.
Numbing his ass.
Anne Marie inched up his flat belly. The tip of his prick pipped from her yip.
She rubbed her pinguid body along his slick hardwood trunk as he pressed into her.
He felt the immensity of her lobes of titmeat and fanny through her clothing.
Belladonna finished suckering Buckminster's ass-hole and twirled her fingers around the raised perimeter of his coffee-colored anus with mischievous glee.
She stuck a paw in her maw.
Moistened the claws maliciously, deliciously. Aimed one at his pucker.
Drilled fingernail into wrinkle.
"Ani-ni."
Buckminster's hips jolted forward. His dick drove into Anne Marie, almost tearing through the material she wore.
Anne Marie brought her legs up around Buckminster's waist and hung like an overripe plum from his mahogany shoulders.
He brought his arms up and rolled down her quilted black tubetop breastplate. Anne Marie's tits glimmered in rutsweat.
Her winged Valkyrie helmet fell with a shrug from her head to the floor. Black miniskirt roared up over glowing white ass-cheeks.
Belladonna jabbed another fine white digit into Buckminster's, tight ass.
His darkling prick snapped out and up.
Sliced into Anne Marie's drooling quim like a warm, wet knife through a wedding cake.
"Unh," Anne Marie said.
Belladonna slid her fingers from Buckminster's fanny. She rolled on the floor as he and Anne Marie fucked upright. Belladonna pawed her pubis through her leggings and found her clitoris.
She frictioned her clit, with her eyes alternately opening and closing.
Buckminster tilted forward. Anne Marie's head swung back, her hair dragging the floor as she scampered off into a circus of orgasm.
Anne Marie's eyes grew huge. She looked back up into her skull. Her jaws hung open, dripping with drool and pouring off sweat.
"I'm addicted, you know," Anne Marie said. "I can't live without an injection. Lovejuice from a darkling erection. So robust and romantic. You must fuck me more."
"Sure," Buckminster said.
"Fuck me harder."
"Okay."
"Fuck your jungle come inside me now."
"Uh uh."
"Now!"
"I can't."
"I want come!"
"Look, Anne Marie. Dis might seem kinda strange, but you gotta fuck dis Belladonna chick in fronna me. Den you both gonna blow me. Den I can get off. I promise I'll give it to yuh in da mouth, ass, or pussy-whatever yuh like. Even all three."
"First, ass-hole-ditch that phony accent."
"So now you'll remember me," Buckminster said with a whiplash of his liquid chocolate lips. "We met once before."
Anne Marie jerked her eyes closed. Sucked her tongue tartly.
"Hardly," she said. "One red-cocked junglebunny fucks a lot like the rest."
"Confess."
"Hotel Lido in Dudesville downtown Gulf Beach. You were the house dick."
"The black one."
Suddenly the room quaked as L.L. Jebal awakened, snoring a snort through his black leather hood. "Slept good, Needed it I guess. Come to me, Anne Marie. Today we shall be wed."
"The fuck?" Buckminster said.
"He's delirious," Anne Marie said, giving head to Buckminster's dark dingalingdong.
A tall set of metal and glass doors flew wide and Antoine Chevalier strode in wearing an all-black skullcap rimmed with polished obsidian and black feathers. His naked buckskin slinked within a panther dude cape-like leather duster hanging to the floor.
"I do pronounce thee wed," Antoine said. "And I am furthermore pleased to announce the arrival of our esteemed guests. Party!"
"Wha--? " L.L. Jebal said bleary-eyed as a blindingly whiteclad Morrigana whipped the crotch of her lace undies into place on his face.
"We're married?" he muttered into her muff.
"You heard what the blood said," she said, holding his shiny head to her haunch. "Everyone here is. Some type of fertility rite of his."
L.L. Jebal's eggplant-colored shaven head looked like a large pricktip as he nibbled with smackfatclacking niggerlips inside Morrigana's snow-white frothing tuna pie and sighed.
Cassandra walked in and handed an enema bag to a blackboy by her side and took bold hold of Antoine's hiney. Mercedes shoved her pussy onto Sheik Asani Saba's sheer as he and his retinue of Nubian nymphos in leopardskin clothes sashayed lewdly through the room.
Roxanne and Danielle grabbed up Belladonna by the pinks of her titties. They chickfucked her with clitoris in all orifices and apertures till her flesh turned a pale peach-pink.
"So what do you make of this?" Anne Marie insisted upon hissing to Buckminster in the midst of a caulking of white-chocolate jungle come.
"It's my job. To go around and pound white women with a hankering for darkling prong."
"Things could be worse."
Buckminster smiled wistfully as he saw Morrigana chow down L.L. Jebal's twanger.
Homeboy honker. Hombo hawgbone.
He groaned as another shot of jizz loamed shot out and away.
