Nick Shaw could feel Kelly Milligan's tits mashed against his chest and he admitted to himself for the hundredth time or so that she really had a magnificent figure-better than any of his other girl friends, past or present.
He reached around her, cupping half of her ass in each hand. It wasn't that she had bigger tits than the other chicks he warmed his bed with, he thought, or a more spectacular ass. But from head to toe, she was perfectly proportioned.
Shaw bent his head toward the blonde-haired, tawny-skinned girl until their lips touched. In a flash, that first contact deepened and intensified, as both of them pressed their mouths hard against each other's, edging their bodies closer at the same time. Then, Shaw found a tongue tip at his lips, demanding entrance. He opened his mouth and the tongue darted in, running lightly around the roof of his mouth, rimming the supersensitive area near the front and finally entangling itself with his own tongue.
Kelly, Nick thought, you're not only the best-looking girl I know, but also the most responsive. It was sort of conceited even to think this, but Shaw knew they made a striking couple-her delicate blondeness, his rough- hewn masculinity.
Shaw felt his prick rising to the occasion. It hadn't failed him once since he was fifteen. And Kelly felt it too. She rubbed herself against him sensuously.
"Hey, Kelly baby," he said, "let's head for more comfortable quarters."
The blue eyes flickered open and she smiled a room-lighting smile. "Mmm-hmmn."
Nick bent down, put an arm around her long, tapering legs and, with a single graceful movement, swept her off her feet and up into his arms.
They kissed passionately as he walked the few, short steps between the futuristic living room and the dark, inviting bedroom. Someday, he thought, he'd make a choice between all the women in his life-God knows, there were enough of them-and that choice would probably be Kelly. She was more than just another beautiful body. She was graceful and intelligent, spontaneous and adventurous and instantly responsive to an intimate touch. She was a damn good match for him, he admitted. Yet there was a certain doubt in his mind, an unsureness that kept him from making a commitment, a feeling that bothered him, even in the midst of growing passions.
Shaw deposited his girl directly in the middle of his water bed and stood watching her for a moment.
After a while, her eyes opened and she gazed at him. She reached a hand down between her legs and began caressing herself through the crotch of her slacks. Then, with the other hand, she began fondling her breasts. Almost instantly, Shaw could see her nipples begin to harden. The blouse was thin, almost transparent, and Kelly didn't even own a bra.
"Well, lover," she finally said, "are you going to be a spectator or a participant tonight?"
Nick Shaw's doubts, whatever they were, were washed away in the flood tide of growing passion. He knew everything there was to know about cunt, and about the burning hot flesh of those marvelous breasts. And what he knew made him hurry out of his clothes.
"Fucking is no spectator sport with me, Kelly babe," he said. "Did you really have to ask?"
She shook her head no, smiling, then closed her eyes and continued to caress herself. The sight nearly drove him crazy. In a few moments, he was lying naked beside her, fumbling with the buttons on her blouse. She was whimpering with need by now.
Nick unbuttoned the last of the buttons on the blouse and pulled it away from Kelly's shoulders. He glanced over at her tits. Even with Kelly lying on her back, they stood out, erect and proud. And her nipples, he noted, were stiff and hard, like little pegs.
Slowly he ran his hands across Kelly's tits, his fingers flipping over her nipples. She moaned slightly. Then, he let his hand travel downward, over her smooth rib cage and belly, down to her cunt.
Kelly squirmed beneath his touch, as if to hurry him toward his ultimate goal. Shaw felt his own urgency increasing. By now, his prick was rock hard and fully erect, an instrument ready to express his passion and desire, a tool to satisfy his deepest cravings.
Now, he was working on her slacks, soft knit things that molded themselves to her shapely thighs as she walked. He rolled them down from her waist, exposing the slight, sensuous mound of her belly. Ah, he noted, no panties. There wasn't going to be any teasing tonight, he thought.
Suddenly, he felt her fingers curl around his cock. The touch doubled his level of desire in an instant. She began to move her hand up and down, her warm fingers rubbing against his cock. Just as he was about to warn her off, she gave his prick a single, quick squeeze and let her hand move down to his balls, which she began fondling.
Somehow, Shaw managed to continue rolling down Kelly's knit slacks. Finally, with a single pull, he jerked them off entirely and they lay totally naked, side by side. Kelly continued to caress Nick's balls and, as his desire for her grew, he reached for her cunt.
The room lights were dim, but he could easily see her blonde hairs glistening with moisture. Gently, he ran his fingers over them, knowing how his light touch turned her on. Then, he sank his index finger through the hairs, until it touched Kelly's cunt lips. Ever so slowly, he moved it upward, until the tip of his finger was pressing on her clitoris.
At the touch, she stiffened and pushed herself against his finger. For a moment, he rubbed, then he moved his finger downward, toward the moist opening where the two of them had so many times joined their lust. Finding the entrance he slid his finger into her, into the warm, wet passage. Kelly scootched down on the bed, doing her part to be sure the finger entered as deeply as possible. Nick felt the swollen tissues holding and squeezing his finger, which was inundated by her juices. Then, he began a slow, in-and-out movement.
Kelly's hand went back to his cock, her fingers surrounding it gently. Then, she began to move-up and down, up and down. It was only after a few moments of this that Nick realized he was shoving his cock into her hand, to increase the intensity of the friction.
Suddenly, Nick and Kelly removed their hands, as if on a prearranged signal. Nick rolled over and clambered up on top of her. Finally, he lowered himself on to her,.
Taking care not to insert his cock into her, not yet. stead, he nestled it in the upper part of her pubic hair.
They stayed like this for several minutes, Kelly rubbing her boobs against Nick's broad, hairy chest; Nick rubbing his swollen cock against Kelly's cunt hairs.
Then, Kelly started to make her. needs known. She moved up on the bed, trying to make him enter her with his cock. But he avoided her. He had other ideas.
He lifted himself off her and quickly turned around on the bed, his ass now facing her head, his head looking directly at her cunt. Then he straddled her, so that his cock hung down over her mouth. His mouth was within striking distance of her luscious pussy.
Slowly, he lowered his face into her cunt, basking in the musky odor that rose from her, luxuriating in the heat of her flesh. Restraining himself as much as possible, he gradually extended his tongue until it was entangled with her cunt hair. Then, he pushed through the hairs with his tongue, toward the burning clit that moments ago had lit up at his touch.
As his tongue touched the small, throbbing knob, he felt an excruciating pleasure at the other end of his body. Kelly's lips were now surrounding the bulbous head of his cock, squeezing gently. Her tongue was titillating the very tip of his prick, very subtly. Even so, the effect on him was electric.
Nick shoved his face even deeper into Kelly's cunt. His lips were on her clit now and he started to suck at her, pulling the little knob into his mouth and releasing, sucking it in, letting it go.
At his own crotch, Kelly was whimpering and moaning and the vibrations of the sound nearly drove Nick crazy, since he could feel them coursing up and down his cock.
He let go of Kelly's clit and pushed his tongue toward the depths of her vagina. Then, finding the hole, he first rimmed the opening, licking every drop of juice he could find.
For her part, Kelly was swirling her tongue around Nick's cock. Nick could feel the blood pounding in his prick and knew he was approaching his peak.
Then, he pushed his tongue into Kelly's depths, down just as far as he could reach into her. The sensual odors were almost overwhelming and the heat and wetness of her body had him gasping with excitement.
Now Kelly was moving her head up and down on Shaw's cock, and licking it frantically at the same time. After a bit, she reached up a hand and started gently squeezing his balls, even running a finger into his asshole.
Lying on the huge water bed, which was swaying with their movements, they seemed locked in combat, Nick's arms clasping Kelly around the legs, Kelly doing the same, both of them rocking back and forth, groaning and moaning, breathing laboriously.
Kelly was rapidly losing control as Nick ate her furiously. Her ass was bouncing up and down in his face and he was doing his best to maintain contact. For his part, Nick was beginning to stroke into Kelly's mouth and he felt those little twitchings in his balls that meant cuming wasn't far off.
Suddenly, Kelly's pelvis jerked and quivered against Shaw's mouth and her whole body began to shake. He could hear her muffled groan and knew this was the moment. He shoved violently into her mouth and his cock began to spurt out its thick gobs of white juice. She sucked as he spurted, swallowing all the cum. For one frightening moment, he thought he would never stop cuming.
But then the spasms gradually came to an end. Her body, too, was quiet. Nick rolled over and looked at Kelly. She gazed at him lovingly. "That was the end," she said, "the absolute end. You are the best there is."
"Thanks, babe," he replied. "You're not bad yourself."
He touched her cheek for a moment affectionately, then got up and headed for the bathroom.
In the bathroom, Shaw splashed cold water on his face, examined a small dimple in his prominent chin, and ran a comb through his thick mop of black hair.
It had been a pretty good time, he thought. Kelly sure seemed pleased. But it hadn't been quite right. It bothered him. On the surface, everything was fine. Desire was there, passion was there, completion was there. But not real satisfaction. The old thrill was gone, somehow.
If it had just been that way for one night, Shaw wouldn't have worried. After all, it was impossible for anyone to feel the ultimate thrill at all times. But this was the third night in a row, and with three different girls. Something was definitely amiss.
He thought of the beautiful girl lying in his bed, ready to stay the night. Well, this time he'd have to take her home. He needed to think, to figure out what was wrong with him. He slipped on a white robe and walked back into the bedroom. Kelly was bundled up in the blanket, lying in the middle of the bed, as if she intended to stay for the rest of her life.
"Hey, old girl," he started.
"What do you mean, old girl?" she asked with a laugh. "Aren't I lively enough for you?"
"Sure you are, babe, and you know it. But I'm afraid I'm going to have to kick you out tonight. I have to be up at six tomorrow to pack the camera gear. I've been assigned to the Cape for the moon shot Friday, you know."
She looked hurt. "But why do I have to go home? I won't be in the way."
Shaw smiled what he'd been told was an irresistible smile. "Temptation, babe. With you here, I'd never get the sleep I need."
It was exactly the right explanation.
"Well," Kelly said, "okay. I understand." She reluctantly dragged herself out of bed and started to dress.
A half hour later, Nick Shaw and Kelly Milligan drove up to her apartment on New York's upper East Side in his Porsche. Nick gave her a long kiss, mustering what passion he could, and watched her go inside the building. Then he drove off.
Whatever was happening inside his head was disturbing him plenty. Usually, he was a man without internal conflicts. When he wanted something, he wanted it with his whole self. When he didn't want something, none of him disagreed. He wasn't comfortable with the doubts he felt and he intended to do something about them. For a starter, he stopped at the Blue Shamrock, his favorite bar.
The evening crowd had pretty well thinned out and, when Shaw took his usual spot at the bar, Mike, the bartender, had no one else to serve.
"The usual, Mr. Shaw?"
"Make it a double this time, Mike."
"Sure thing, Mr. Shaw." He looked at Nick's expression quizzically. "Got trouble?"
"Yeah, Mike. The worst kind. Women trouble."
Mike seemed a bit surprised. "Tell you the truth, Mr.
Shaw, you never seemed the type to have women trouble. I always imagined you had things under pretty good control."
"Oh, I don't have any problems with the chicks, Mike. It's with myself. I'm just not enjoying it like I used to."
Mike nodded wisely.
"I never thought I'd hear myself say it," Shaw went on, "but the whole idea of sex just isn't very exciting to me."
"I know what you heed, Mr. Shaw," said Mike brightly. "A new broad."
Shaw took a sip of the drink Mike had set in front of him. "No, Mike, I don't think that would do it. After all, you've seen some of the chicks I go out with. There's plenty of variety on the surface."
"But underneath they're all more or less the same?"
"No. Well, yes. In a way that's true. They're just not exotic enough, I guess. They're all fine girls, Kelly especially, but
Mike nodded sympathetically.
"I don't know what I'm looking for, but I guess these girls just don't provide it. I want some real excitement, some real adventure. Or a real challenge."
There was another nod from the bartender. He knew his job was to listen and Shaw was making it easy for him.
"Sometimes, I think I was born at the wrong time.. Man, I'd have loved to have a crack at Helen of Troy. Or Cleopatra. No man could have gotten bored with women like that."
"I imagine you're right, Mr. Shaw. But that's just a fantasy, after all."
"Yeah, but what a fantasy! Or how about being the Sultan with a fifteen girl harem? Or getting yourself serviced by the greatest Geisha of all time. Now that would really wake up my sex life."
"I'll bet it would, Mr. Shaw. Too bad it's impossible."
Shaw gazed into his drink, took a quick sip, then put it down. "You're right, Mike," he said, finally. "No man ever gets to live his fantasies
There was a long pause in the conversation and Shaw finished off his drink. Then he seemed to remember something. He looked at the bartender oddly. Then he seemed to get an idea.
"Now wait a minute," he said, speaking very slowly. "Maybe it is possible. Someone, somewhere, is getting serviced by the best Geisha in the world right now. And there are Sultans with harems. Maybe there's even a girl in Greece right now who's a dead ringer for Helen of Troy. Now why can't I bring my fantasies to life?"
"Gee, Mr. Shaw," Mike said, "nobody ever asks himself that question. I wish you the best of luck. The whole thing is past my range. But who knows-maybe you can manage it. After all, you have contacts all over the world. You've been most places as a photographer/correspondent for See Magazine. And if it's a question of charming the ladies, well, Mr. Shaw, I don't have another customer who can hold a candle to you."
Nick Shaw seemed to be listening to the bartender with just half an ear. His mind was buzzing with ideas and half-formed plans. Deep inside, he felt the thrill of adventures about to happen.
"You know, Mike, I think we've solved the problem."
"Really, Mr. Shaw? Are you going to do it, really?"
"Well," Shaw said, smiling that smile. "I'm sure as hell going to try."
The bartender broke into a grin of pleasure and surprise. He picked up Nick's empty glass. "How about another-on the house, for luck."
Shaw glanced at his watch, a chronometer with several hands and dials. "Sorry, Mike. No time. I want to get started as soon as possible. See you in-well, it might be a few months."
He turned and left, the bartender staring after him with undisguised admiration.
That night, Nick Shaw stuffed his brown leather suitcase with all the clothes he might need in several climates. Then he got out a pair of Nikon F's, a Leica, a Rolleflex, a tiny, black Minox, along with some extra lenses and a collapsible tripod, and plenty of film.
Then he tumbled into bed. The only thing he had left to do was to convince Mitch Daniels, his editor, to let him go on the trip he had in mind. That might be a bit sticky, but he was sure he could handle it.
He fell asleep thinking about his fantasies. Cleopatra. The African warrior-queen he'd once heard rumors about. The most beautiful, but unapproachable, Hollywood actresses. Irmegard, the most beautiful model in the world. They went on forever as consciousness slipped away ....
The next morning, Nick, his cameras and suitcase were in the See Magazine offices by nine-thirty. Shaw went directly to the office of the managing editor, Mitch Daniels. He entered, as usual, without knocking.
"Well," Daniels said, looking up from a manuscript he was editing, "how's my number one photographer this morning? All packed to go down to the Cape and get some shots that will knock our readers' eyes out?"
"That's what I wanted to discuss with you, Mitch. I really would like to skip the moon shot this time. Couldn't you send Krause?"
Daniels pursed his lips and patted back a stray lock of his silver-grey hair. "Sure, I could send Krause. I could send Manolson too, if I wanted to. But I want to send you. I don't want to sound bloodthirsty, Nick, but there's a disaster due there, you know. It's bound to happen sooner or later. And when it does, I want my best guy on the scene."
Shaw looked at his boss steadily for a few seconds, sizing him up. He decided to press the point. "Mitch, I'm bored silly with the Cape. Krause is drooling to go. Why not give him a chance?"
"Tell me what you really have in mind, Shaw. I have a feeling you want some other assignment instead." This time, there was an inquisitive eyebrow raised. It wasn't the first time Shaw had declined an assignment, Daniels knew. And every time, Nick had brought back something far better than Daniels had expected.
"Mitch," Shaw started, in his most sincere tone of voice, "let me give it to you straight and simple. I'm in a horrible rub. I just have to get out of the country . . . ."
"Look, if you want a vacation Shaw, that's no problem . . . ."
"No, not a vacation. I want to take some pictures for you. But I want to do it all over the world. Take three or four months doing it. I guarantee I'll bring back stuff that will get Pulitzer nominations."
"I see. And I suppose you already have your schedule worked out. Do you want to let me in on it?"
"That's just it, Mitch. I don't have any schedule. I know it's asking a lot, but I want you to trust me. I've never let you down, you know."
"Yeah, I know. But there's always a first time."
Nick found himself getting angry. "Look, Daniels," he said, "if you can't use what I bring back, you can have my resignation."
"It's that important to you, Shaw?"
"Yes."
Daniels nodded. "Okay then. Go ahead."
"Okay?"
"Yeah. Okay. What do you want, written permission?"
Shaw laughed weakly. "Guess I thought you'd be harder to convince."
"Nick, you're the best in the business. You spot stories our correspondents miss. You have more buddies all over the world than anyone else I know. Besides, I trust you."
"Why, boss, thanks."
Mitch picked up the phone and spoke through interoffice to his secretary. "Get me Krause." Then he looked at Nick. "Now, get the hell out of here so I can get some work done. And don't forget to come back when you're finished."
"Okay, Mitch. See you in a few months."
Nick Shaw walked out of his boss's office certain he'd made the right decision-and glowing from the unexpected praise. Daniels was a hard-nosed guy and when he said something good, it meant something.
He walked into his own office. His secretary, Patsy Fielding,- was bending over some files. He gave her an affectionate slap on the ass.
"Oh! Oh, it's you, Nick. Leaving for the Cape soon?"
"Nope. Krause is going."
"Krause?"
"Yeah. Honey, listen, book me a ticket on Pan Am Number One. For today, if possible."
"Pan Am Number One. Isn't that the round the world flight?"
"That's right."
"Well, sounds like you'll be doing some traveling."
"Right again, Sherlock."
"Assignment from Mr. Daniels?"
"Sort of."
"Tell me."
"When I get back, Sweetie. Right now there's nothing to tell."
"Where you going first?"
"First?" Shaw tilted his head, thinking about it. "Greece, he finally said. "Athens."
Greece
Over the Atlantic, as the giant 747 lumbered toward Athens, Shaw began to think the whole idea was silly.
He was headed toward Greece to find Helen of Troy-not only to find her, but to seduce her. Yet Helen of Troy had been dead for almost thirty-five hundred years. The Trojan War, touched off by her spectacular beauty, was now a matter for archeological speculation.
Yet somehow, Shaw knew that Helen of Troy was alive today, as tempestuous and beautiful as ever, somewhere on Greek soil. She'd be called some other name, no doubt. Arid it was certain she'd be no princess or queen. But she would exist, Shaw was sure of that.
He peered out of the window beside his spacious first-class seat. The sun glinted off the ocean. It seemed as though a god was winking at him.
Shaw didn't believe in reincarnation. At least not in the mystical sense. He expected to find a 20th century version of Helen because the genes of the Greeks, which had once produced her, could conceivably produce her again-at least that's what he told himself. But not far beneath the surface of his thoughts was a strange conviction, a series of hunches, an intuition, a kind of faith in his quest.
The long flight, complete with tourists and squalling kids, was exhausting. But Shaw resisted taking a nap. He wanted to catch that first stirring glimpse of Athens again.
It had been nearly ten years since he'd last seen the city, when he'd come to cover the crisis in Cyprus. That first sight of Athens was still vivid in his mind.
What he saw this time did not disappoint him. The shining white stucco buildings were still there. So were the unbelievably blue waters of the Mediterranean. Even the air, so clear and clean the last time he'd seen it, was still untainted by pollution.
Shaw's plane landed at the Ellinikon Airport a few miles from Athens. It was an eight drachma ride to the Athens Hilton, where he was staying. He'd chosen it for its location: almost exactly across from the Acropolis, the rocky hill overlooking the city that was topped by the most beautiful of all ancient ruins, the Parthenon.
The sun was setting as Shaw's taxi pulled into the Hilton driveway and within a half hour, he was sacked out in one of the hotel's best rooms. Tomorrow would be time enough to begin his search.
The next morning, Shaw was up at eight-thirty. He dressed quickly, stuffed his pockets with Kodachrome II, slipped a Nikon F over his neck, put a wide-angle lens on it and started walking toward Syntagmatos, or Constitution Square, the heart of modern Athens.
He'd already decided on the photo story he'd send back to Mitch Daniels. He was going to show how Athens, the city of Pericles and Demosthenes, had become a contemporary metropolis-while the Greek countryside had hardly changed since the days of Homer.
As he walked away from the Athens Hilton, he crouched for a moment to get a good angle of a view that included both the ultra-modern hotel and the age-old Parthenon. This would be, he calculated, the opening shot of the "modern Athens" section. As he strolled toward Constitution Square, he quickly snapped off a dozen more shots with the same theme.
But Shaw's mind wasn't on photography at all. It was on Helen. Now, seeing the hustle and bustle of modern Athens, he began to think the whole venture was a foolish, adolescent dream. Even if he was right, even if there was a Helen somewhere in Greece, how could he find her? And even if he found her, how would he recognize her? Or seduce her?
For a moment, he felt his confidence fading. Sure, he'd find some girl in Greece, probably a good-looking chick at that. And he'd screw her-was there ever any doubt? And he'd end up with the clap or some such.
Then, for another moment, the sheer arrogance of looking for Helen of Troy almost overwhelmed him. He was no Achilles, no Paris, no Menelaus, King of Sparta. He was just Nick Shaw, photographer extraordinaire, and no mean lover at that.
Well, why not him? There was a Helen here, somewhere, he was sure of that. And someone was going to lay her. Why not me, he thought.
By lunchtime, he'd shot eight rolls of film and he had most of what he needed for the modern half of his photo story. That was a good part of the reason for his success, in a way. He started an assignment knowing exactly what he wanted and took more shots of it, faster, than any other photographer.
Now, work done for a while, it was time to concentrate on his real objective. He picked an outdoor cafe on Constitution Square, ordered a moussaka and a bottle of Sarhos. Then, he sat back to watch the passing parade.
He didn't move from his seat for the better part of the day. He just kept sipping Samos and watching for blonde Creek girls. Just what he'd do when he found one, he didn't know, but he'd think of something. But no Helen crossed his line of vision this day.
The next day, Shaw wandered around the city, seeing the sights-and keeping a sharp eye out. He saw the Theater of Dionysus, the Odeon of Herodes Atticus, the Temple of Nike, the Temple of Zeus, and the Agora, the ancient marketplace. But he didn't see any Helen.
That night, he did the nightclubs. He went to the Plaka quarter, where the native Athenians congregate and he listened to the twanging of the bouzoukia at the Palia Athina, the Erotokritos, and the Mostrou. And he visited the popular bars-the Dolce Vita, the Kou-Kou, the Ennea Mousses. Still no Helen.
This went on for four days, during which time Shaw saw many a tempting face and figure, even occasionally a pretty blonde. But he saw no face that might have "launched a thousand ships" into mortal combat.
It was not until the next night, at the Royal Theater on Aghiou Constantmou Street, that anything happened. They were playing Medea. Shaw arrived early, took his seat down front in the orchestra, and watched the theater gradually fill up.
Then he saw her. She was blonde, all right, and her hair was piled on top of her head like a crown. She was wearing a white gown and, across the rows of seats, she seemed to Shaw a true princess.
The first act of the play went with agonizing slowness as Shaw tried to figure out how to approach her. He went through all the old gambits of his past and rejected them. This Helen deserved better.
Suddenly, the first act was over and she was rising from her seat. Shaw hurried up the aisle, pushing past patrons and tourists.
In the lobby, he saw her headed for the powder room, he headed toward her, intent on intercepting her. It was very crowded, but, for a moment, there was an opening n the milling bodies and he shot through it, headed directly toward her. Then, the opening closed up and he vas shoved into her arms.
"Pardon me," he managed to say, looking directly into her grey-green eyes.
In a moment, her haughty look was replaced by a mile of delight. One front tooth in that radiant grin seemed slightly askew. "Oh," she said, in a squeaky little voice, "are you an American, too?" She stuck out a land. "I'm Cynthia Creenblat. Pleased to meetcha."
Shaw looked at her in horror as he automatically took her hand and shook it briefly. She was an American, a tourist. And, close up, she was nothing like Helen would have been. The blonde hair was dark at the roots. The flawless complexion owed a massive debt to Clearasil. The shoulders were bony and the figure was not born of woman but constructed by lingerie engineers.
"How nice to see you," he said coldly to the girl. He pushed on past her toward the doors. Somehow, he no longer cared about Medea, Jason and the crew of the Argonaut.
That night, Shaw packed his camera equipment and his carry-on case. He'd seen enough of modern Greece. Maybe the primitive countryside would offer a better chance to find Helen.
For the next two weeks, Nick Shaw toured Greece in a rented Renault Dauphine. He went to Corinth, where St. Paul had preached, and took shots of the Temple of Apollo and the fountain of Pirene, then he went on to
Epidaurus, the ancient health resort that was still in use, and to Sounion, where the Temple of Poseidon overlooked the turquoise Agean Sea; then to Olympia, a serene spot that captured much of the majesty of ancient Greece.
But, though he searched carefully at each spot, there was no Greek girl that bore the slightest resemblance to the legendary Helen. In fact, the girls he saw were too often heavy, hairy-legged types, with strong peasant faces and long, flat black hair.
The only compensation was that he was getting some fantastic pictures. Well, at least Mitch Daniels would be pleased. But Shaw was getting discouraged-and starting to feel that the whole idea was rather juvenile.
He had really only one spot to go before he'd pack up his bags and call it a day: Delphi. About a hundred miles northwest of Athens, the site of the famed ancient oracle was located on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, two thousand feet high.
Shaw pushed the tiny Renault over the country roads as fast as it could go. He was determined to go to Delphi-maybe he'd find some wisdom there-but he wanted to do it and get it over.
The roads were full of rocks and the going was tough. But he felt as though he was back in the ancient days, before the scourge of the atomic bomb, before pollution, in the time when democracy was invented.
Off in the distance, he could see Parnassus. For a moment, Shaw wondered what words the oracle might' have for him. He swung the steering wheel and guided the car around a bend in the rough dirt road-then stopped abruptly. A flock of sheep were crossing the road.
For a moment, Shaw held his temper. But the shepherd wasn't even in sight. Shaw gave a beep on the horn. Still no shepherd. The sheep straggled across the road. At this rate, it would be half an hour before he could go on. He laid a hand on the horn, peering down the hill in search of the shepherd.
Then he saw her. She was wearing a dark grey robe, but that didn't matter. It was her. By some fantastic stroke of luck, it was her.
Before he knew what was happening, he was out of the car and headed toward her, his Leica swinging loose from his neck. She watched him as he came toward her, as if this was a daily occurrence.
"I'm sorry sir," she said softly. "The sheep-they cannot be rushed."
"Oh, that's okay!" Shaw said. He was aware of smiling a silly grin, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was to look at the girl, a queen in sackcloth, her classic features a finer, more delicate version of Grace Kelly's.
She looked at his camera. "You are a tourist." It was more a statement than a question.
"Yes. I mean, no. I am a photographer, on assignment." Then an idea occurred to him. "Could I take your picture, perhaps with the sheep?"
She looked over her shoulder, as if to see if there was anyone else around. There wasn't. She smiled at Shaw, nearly hypnotizing him. "If you wish."
He'd found her, he knew. But could he handle her? Despite her appearance, this was no peasant girl. There was steel in her, character and depth. And, looking at her, Shaw knew he was seeing beauty, real beauty, for the very first time in his life.
He went back to the car, got some other lenses and more film and started taking pictures. They were together, under a gnarled, old, olive tree, Shaw snapping off shots as fast as he could, the girl just sitting there, changing her position now and then.
"What is your name?" Shaw asked.
"Elana. And how are you called?"
"Nick. Nicholas."
She raised her fine eyebrows slightly. "You are Greek?"
"No."
"Well, it is a good name, anyway."
She posed, now showing no self-consciousness at all.
"You are very beautiful, you know," Shaw finally said.
Her eyes flashed up at him, judging him. "I am pleased that you think so."
He moved closer to her, still snapping away. Then, to his own surprise, he reached out and touched her face. Her skin was softer than velvet and hot to his touch. She didn't flinch or move away.
"I would like to take photos of you nude," he said. He used the same approach before, many times. But this time, he could hardly force himself to say the words.
"Nude?" she asked, not understanding.
"Naked. Without clothing."
She looked at him for another long moment, transfixing him with her green eyes, seeing, he was sure, much more of him than he wanted to show. "If you wish."
"Ida"
She stood up, bent down, grasping the edges of her robe with both hands, and in one fluid motion pulled the robe up and over her head.
For a. moment, Shaw just stared. Elana looked more like a sculpture than a flesh and blood woman. Her body was totally without flaws: pale, almost alabaster skin, slender calves and firm thighs, soft, rounded hips and ass, an incredibly slender waist, a well-defined rib cage, full breasts that stood out, high on her torso. Her blonde hair hung loose. Shaw had never seen hair that color, except on a young child.
She smiled at him with just a touch of irony. "You still wish to take pictures of me?"
Shaw felt his pulse pounding in his forehead. He was getting excited, more excited than he had ever been in his life. "Yes," he said, fumbling with his camera for a moment. Then he put his camera down. "Later."
He reached out a hand and touched her breast. Like her face, the flesh was velvet smooth and hot to the touch. And, again, she did not move. His fingers touched her nipple, which instantly changed from pale pink to deep red, springing into firm erection. She put her hand over his and pressed it to her. That was all the encouragement he needed. He threw his arms around her, pulling her to him. Their mouths met explosively, and suddenly, the cool, contained queen was a lusty witch.
They tasted each other and then went deeper and deeper into each other's mouths. Intoxicated by desire, Shaw pulled the girl close to him, holding her against his stiffened cock. Soon, she shared his urgency.
For a moment, they separated. Again, Elana looked over her shoulder for a moment. She helped Shaw as he fumbled with his buttons and zipper.
Then, they Jay down, on top of her rough grey robe, the twisted branches of the old olive tree screening them from the sky above.
It was no time for technique, no time for subtlety. The urge Shaw felt in his loins was a purely animal drive, the urge to mate, the urge to deposit his seed in the female.
Elana seemed to feel the female counterpart-to receive, to join with the male of the species.
For a moment, Shaw managed to restrain himself. Somehow he knew there would never be another moment quite like this, never another woman in his life like this. She may have been Elana, the shepherdess in real life, but for this moment, for Nick Shaw, she was Helen of Troy-and he was, for the moment, a god of desire.
Slowly, as slowly as he could, he ran his hands up and down her body. It was the same all over, hot velvet. Now her eyes were shut and her breasts heaving with passion. He bent over and tasted her nipples. They, too, were hot-and, to his surprise, salty.
Then, where his hands had gone, he let his lips trail, up her legs, into her crotch. She spread her legs and he pushed his lips through the golden down and kissed her deeply and passionately on her clit. She groaned with the touch.
He continued trailing up her body, up her belly, her rib cage, her breasts, to her neck, where the skin was even finer, where he could feel her pulse beating.
Suddenly, he felt her touch on his prick. She fondled his cock, squeezed it gently, flicked her finger against its head, and then made a cylinder of her fist, with his cock in the middle, and began pumping in slow, sure movements.
In return, Shaw reached for Elana's cunt. He could almost feel the passion rising from it, in waves, like the heat waves that rise from asphalt highways on an August day. First he just brushed the glistening hairs. Then he let his finger sink down into her flesh, into the damp, almost burning cunt.
So this, he thought, was Helen of Troy. This was the woman over whom armies fought. He felt surrounded by her passion, almost enveloped by it. He would have been a soldier in one of those armies, he knew. He would have volunteered and fought for her with all of his heart. He began to move his finger in and out of her, and soon she was rising up off the grey robe to meet his strokes.
Both of them took their hands away and Shaw lay down on top of the girl. Her nipples pressing into his chest, her thighs and stomach against his gave him a feeling unlike any he'd ever known.
He did not consciously will it, but he found himself inserting his cock into her cunt. He did it as slowly as he could, feeling the tremendous thrill of first entry. For her part, Elana seemed to open up to allow him in, then close around him, caressing him with the moist tissues of her cunt. They joined, as if they were just two parts of one thing, parts that had been accidentally separated after they were made and now were together again.
Then the movement started.
Nick Shaw was drunk and he knew it. Not on liquor, but on his own passion, and on the classic beauty of Elana-and on the reality of what had been, until this moment, a silly dream.
He pumped into her and she rose in response, moaning slightly. He pumped again and she rose again, pushing against him, trying to force his cock into her deepest recesses.
Again he pumped and again she rose in reply. Every inch of his skin was aware of her skin against it. Never had he felt so vital, so passionately alive.
Once more, Shaw pumped his prick into her cunt, this time from a slightly different angle. And then again, from another angle altogether. She received him, straining to meet his motion.
He raised himself up on his arms, withdrawing from her almost completely, and for just an instant, glanced at the craggy hills, stunted bushes and trees that surrounded them. Not far away, he heard a bleating lamb.
Then he sank back into her, more slowly than the first time, touching each fold of her cunt with the tip of his cock, feeling as estranged from the glass-and-concrete skyscrapers of New York as a lion in the veldt. For once in his life, he was a man, nothing more. There was no cultural overlay, no college degree, no professional status, nothing other than he, himself, and, for the moment, his mate, this incredible woman.
Again he pumped into her, seeking her core, pushing his pelvic bone against her clit. The effect was electrifying. She rose from the gray robe, lifting almost her entire body up against him, crying out in passion.
He repeated the action, not thinking about it, not calculating, a visitor in his own body, directed by his desire, not his mind. Again she rose, crying out.
The rhythm of their movements began to accelerate, imperceptibly at first, then with increasing speed. Each time Shaw stroked into her, she screamed in passion. He felt as if a statue had turned into flesh and blood at his touch.
He raised himself up, let himself drop-and did it again and again. Her moist passage was now flooded with boiling juices. For a moment, Shaw felt they would stay this way, joined, from now on.
Then, as he stroked once more into her, he felt his cock grasped almost as if by a hand, squeezed, massaged, fondled.
He felt the sperm gather in his balls, in the core of his cock, and then, with an almost painful rush, explode from him, into her, into her cunt. Again and again he spurted, almost deaf to her cries of completion, to the massive shiver that started in her pelvis and seemed to radiate outward to all areas of her body.
He lay on her, the last spasms dying out. Finally, she spoke.
"Nicholas, I must go."
It was a moment before he realized who he was, who she was, and where both of them were. "But why? The sheep can wait."
"My husband will come looking for me."
"Ah." It was the best possible reason. Shaw reluctantly lifted himself off the girl, took one long look at her, so beautiful was she in her spent passion, and started to slip on his pants. "But when can I see you again?"
"You can't."
He reflected on this a moment. She was right. What had happened could never be repeated. "You are very beautiful," he said, intending it as a kind of farewell.
Her smile was interrupted by a distant shout.
"Elena. Elana!"
"You must go now. It is my husband. He would not be happy with you."
Shaw nodded and started buttoning his shirt more rapidly.
"Elana!" The voice was no more than a hundred yards away now. The man must have been running.
Another instant, Shaw knew, and he'd find himself with a fight on his hands. He grabbed his shoes and headed for the Renault.
He was too late. A tall, bearded man came running over the hill, took one glance at the scene and headed toward Shaw, with fire in his eyes.
Shaw stood his ground until the man was almost up with him-he'd had experience with these foolish blind rushes before-then shoved a fist deep into the Greek's stomach. The man went down like a box full of lead and Shaw turned toward his car. At that moment, another man came over the hill, even larger than the first.
Again, Shaw met him head on, his fist striking the man's neck, the fury of his rush adding to the power of the blow he received.
With both men down, Shaw headed toward Elana.
"No," she said, "I can care for myself. You must go."
Shaw smiled. This time, he got in his car, turned it around and headed back toward Athens. He got one flash of her in his rear view mirror, still naked, standing now, watching him go. The men were both struggling to their feet. She waved.
Berlin
It was a long, boring flight to Berlin and Shaw slept most of the way. So far, his adventures, had been marvelous. The sex had been fantastic. But Shaw found himself yearning for something different, something strange.
And Berlin would be the place to find it.
Just a few minutes before the huge jet set down at Tempelhof Airport, Shaw roused himself and looked out the window.
The first thing he saw was the Wall. It brought back a flood of memories. Mitch Daniels had sent him to Berlin when the construction had started, and one shot he'd taken, of a young boy standing beside a Communist construction worker who was lifting a concrete brick into place, had been nominated for the Pulitzer Prize.
That had been ten years and two Presidents ago. The world had changed a lot since then. But, unless he was badly mistaken, there were some parts of Berlin that hadn't changed at all-not since the days of the infamous Blue Angel, when Berlin was the undisputed perversion capital of the world.
Shaw, to his deep regret, had never known Berlin in those days. But he'd heard the details from correspondents who had. And, even now, the memories of what they'd said made his balls tingle.
He had a need, one he didn't want to think about too much, to experience some of life's forbidden pleasures-and pains. Only two problems needed solving: discovering where, in this Berlin of skyscrapers and broad boulevards,- that darker world could be found; and, after finding it, getting inside, into the action. He realized it wasn't going to be easy, even with his contacts and his guts.
Shaw grabbed a taxi at Tempelhof and told the driver to take him to the Gehrhus Hotel in the Grunewald district. The driver nodded without expression and, about a half-hour later, Shaw shoved a few Deutsch Marks into the driver's outstretched hand and checked in.
The Gehrhus was just as it had been nearly ten years ago. At first glance, it looked shabby. But it wasn't. It had been a private house in days past, and its halls were so huge and dark that Boris Karloff would have been the perfect night watchman. It was just the right place for his mood, Shaw thought.
He slept uneasily that night, dreaming childish dreams of vampires and ghosts.
The next morning was grey and overcast. Shaw pulled the belt of his trench coat tight, got into a cab outside the hotel, and headed to the Associated Press office. If anyone could tell him how to find the places he was looking for, it would be Sid Uris, an old Berlin hand and one of the best reporters in Europe.
Uris, a bone-thin man in his middle fifties, was sitting at his desk, working on a story, when Shaw walked in.
"Hello, Sid."
Uris turned. "Nick Shaw. I'll be damned!" He held out a hand. "What the hell are you doing in Berlin?"
"Well," Shaw said, "first of all, I have an assignment."
"Really? Brother, you must know something I don't. This town is dead as a doornail."
"It's for a mood piece, Sid. You know, we've done so much about how modern Berlin is now that I got the idea of shooting a photo story about the Berlin that hasn't changed in decades."
"You mean the beer halls and nightclubs?"
"Well, more or less. Really, I'm aiming for something seamier."
Uris looked at Shaw for a few seconds, then raised an eyebrow. "I thought See Magazine was a family rag."
"Well, I don't want to go too far, not with the photo story, anyhow."
"I see," Uris said. "But you said 'first of all.' What else did you have in mind?"
"I've heard about the Berlin nightclubs. Not the tourist traps or the legit spots. I mean places like the Blue Angel. Do they still exist?"
"I've heard that they do," Uris said, hesitant.
"Come on, Sid. Level with me."
"Sure, they exist, Nick. But most of the good ones are in the Eastern sector."
"Well, I want to visit one. The best one, if I can. And I can use all the help I can get."
Now, Shaw realized, Uris was looking at him in a new way.
"Nick, I guess I was wrong about you all these years. With your reputation with the girls, I thought you were a pretty straight sort."
Nick laughed. "Well, Sid, even a square like me wants to try something new now and then."
Uris shrugged. "It's your life, pal, do what you want with it."
"Sid, something tells me you don't approve."
"All I can tell you is that I tried it once and I wish I hadn't."
The two men looked at one another for a moment. "That doesn't change my mind, Sid," Shaw finally said. "Will you help me anyhow?"
Uris backed away from his desk a bit, pulled open the middle drawer and took out a business card. He scribbled a few words on the back.
"Go to the Ballhaus Resi tonight. See that Hilde Bayer gets this card. I'll call her and tell her to expect you."
Shaw stuck out his hand and Uris shook it without conviction. "Thanks Sid," Shaw said. "And don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."
"I doubt it," Uris replied. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
The Ballhaus Resi was perhaps the most famous nightclub in postwar Berlin. It had world-famous water shows and it had a huge main room with two hundred and fifty tables. Each was connected to the others by a telephone system and a complex network of pneumatic tubes.
Customers could write a note to any girl who attracted them, and if the chemistry was right, get a reply by telephone or pneumatic tube. The nightclub's clientele consisted of two main classes: tourists-mostly American-who came to see the place in action; and tall, beautiful German women or suave, sleek-looking German businessmen-both of whom were there to find each other, though sometimes it was the girls who found girls and the boys who found boys.
By the time Shaw arrived at the Resi, at about eight-thirty that night, the place was already hazy with cigarette smoke and most of the tables were occupied.
He sat down in a small corner spot and was immediately approached by the waiter. "Whiskey," he said.
The waiter shortly brought him an elf-sized glass. "Four DM," the waiter said.
Shaw put money on the table. The waiter scooped it up and started to go. "Wait," Shaw said.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm looking for a girl. A girl named Hilde Bayer. Is she here tonight? Do you know her?"
The waiter looked at Shaw with what seemed to be new respect. "Oh, yes, sir," he said. "She's at table number fifty-three."
"Fifty-three?"
"There." The waiter did not point with his hand, but simply turned and nodded his head. There was no mistaking the table he was indicating.
Shaw looked over at table fifty-three. The woman sitting there was stunning. She had long, reddish-brown hair, high, almost oriental cheekbones, and pencil thin eyebrows. She was wearing a low black gown that displayed a lot of very delicious-looking cleavage.
Strangely drawn to her, Shaw gazed for several seconds. There was something about the way she carried herself, the way she held her head that seemed to speak of infinite sophistication, of a sensual knowledge well beyond his own. And in her eyes, Shaw thought, there was just a hint of cruelty, of contempt. For a moment, Shaw tried to figure out how old she might be, but there was no way to know. She could have been anywhere from her late twenties to her early forties.
"You wish to contact her, sir?" the waiter asked.
"Yes," said Shaw. He pulled Sid's business card out of his pocket. "I want to send this to her."
The waiter put the card inside a small envelope. He wrote Shaw's table number, eighty-seven, on it and put it into a metal can sitting on the table. Then he dropped the can into the pneumatic tube. There was a wooshing sound and a series of clicks.
The waiter disappeared and Shaw watched Hilde Bayer across the room at table fifty-three. After a few moments, he saw her reach into the pneumatic tube receiving tray, open the metal can and read the card.
Then, slowly, she looked among the tables for number eighty-seven. She saw Shaw and looked at him for what seemed the longest thirty seconds of his life. Then she picked up the telephone on her table.
A few seconds later, Shaw's telephone rang. "I think you'll do," a voice purred. "Shall we go now?" There was just the faintest trace of a German accent.
"Yes," Shaw said, "Where should I meet you?"
"I will come to you."
Shaw watched as the woman rose from her table with feline grace. She slowly walked toward him, occasionally exchanging greetings with people at other tables. Finally, she was at his table. He stood to greet her.
"Mr. Shaw, I believe," she said, with a slight, ironic smile.
"Yes. And you are Hilde Bayer?"
"I am."
"Sid Uris told you about me?"
"Yes. He did. But you are more handsome than I had been led to believe. I think you will do very nicely."
"What do you mean?"
"We have need of a man like you at the moment."
"We?"
"At my club, the Nine Circles of Hell." "Oh," Shaw said, feeling distinctly nervous now, "yes, of course."
"Mr. Uris said you wanted to see my club. You do don't you," the woman said, sensing Shaw's doubts. "Yes, I do," Shaw said, now sure of himself again. "Gut. You have with you your passport?"
"My passport?"
"It is in the Eastern sector." Shaw checked his jacket pocket. "Yes, I have it."
"Fine. We shall go, then."
Half an hour later, Shaw and Hilde Bayer had passed through Checkpoint Charlie and into East Berlin. The guards at the Checkpoint had merely nodded as they passed through, not even bothering to look at passports.
They hailed a taxi, a small, beat-up Skoda-made in Czechoslovakia-and the driver followed Hilde's instructions through a maze of dark, narrow alleys. Finally, they came to a private house, of grey stone. Hilde paid the driver and they went in.
"You, my friend, will wait here," she said, indicating a red velvet couch. "I will be back soon, after I change into something more appropriate for the evening."
Shaw sat down on the couch and tried to get a feeling for the place. From somewhere upstairs, he heard a recording of Beethoven's Third Symphony. The sitting room, where he waited, was almost dark. There was a distinct odor of incense in the air. For a moment, Shaw thought he heard screaming in the distance. But it could have been the music, or the wind.
In all, Shaw thought, the house had an ominous atmosphere. It was filled with strange art objects, like the small fountain near the couch, a statue of a woman standing, her legs spread, apparently pissing on a swan.
It had all been much easier than he'd thought. Sid Uris was probably the only man in Berlin who could have arranged this so quickly. But exactly what awaited him, Shaw didn't know. For once, Shaw was nervous.
After a few minutes, Hilde Bayer reappeared. She was now wearing hip-length boots, a tightly laced leather bodice, cut so low her nipples were almost visible, black leather gloves that went almost up to her shoulders, and the high peaked dress uniform hat of the SS. She carried a long, wicked-looking whip in her right hand and, around her slender waist was a gun belt, with a bluish-black Luger in the holster.
She looked like an avenging angel, ready to punish the guilty, ready to fuck a man to death, if that was what he deserved. Shaw found her both a horrifying and a fascinating sight. For just an instant, he imagined her standing over him, whip in hand, about to punish him for his sins. He felt his cock growing rapidly.
Hilde smiled at him, the kind of smile reserved for a co-conspirator. "Come with me, Mr. Shaw. I have much to show you, much that you will find interesting."
She reached out and Shaw was obliged to take her hand. It was cold, almost lifeless, except for the surprising strength of the grip. They headed up the stairs, toward the music. For an instant, Shaw again thought he heard screams.
There were several doors opening onto the second floor hallway. Hilde opened the first one they came to.
Shaw looked into the doorway. His eyes widened.
In the middle of the large room was a cage big enough for a gorilla. But it contained not an animal, but a man, a stout man in his sixties, wearing the full-dress uniform of a General in the army of the Third Reich. His grey hair was cut in a tight brutal crew-cut and his pale, blue eyes bulged with emotion.
Outside the cage danced two girls with huge, meaty boobs, wearing ragged, concentration-camp type clothing that covered very little and prominent tattooed numbers on their forearms. Each of them carried a whip and was flicking it through the cage bars, lashing at the Nazi officer within. As Shaw watched, the whips rhythmically cracked out and the caged man stiffened with each blow. Once Shaw heard the man let out a sharp cry of pain. But, from the enormous bulge in his pants, Shaw knew the man was experiencing a lot more than simple pain.
After a bit, one of the girls, her sweaty tits heaving from her exertions, flopped down into a chair. She stuck the handle of her whip into her cunt and started humping on it.
The Nazi, still being whipped by the other girl, rushed to the front of the cage to watch the masturbating girl as closely as possible. He pressed his fat body against the cage and started to rub his prick against the bars, his eyes glazing as he stared at the masturbating girl.
On the chair, the black-haired beauty was now shoving the whip handle up her cunt, past a luxurious patch of black pussy hair. She returned the stare of the Nazi officer, but her passion was colored by an obvious expression of hatred and contempt.
The girl who kept whipping-a red-head with powerful arms and thighs-was now getting better shots at the Nazi, since he was at the front of the cage, not the back. But even when he was struck in the face, he made no sound. He was completely absorbed by the girl playing with her cunt.
And she was absorbed by the sight of the Nazi being whipped. Each thrust of the whip handle went five or six inches into her cunt now, and her pussy jerked in rhythm. She was slouched down on the chair, her legs tautly" outstretched, her eyes hooded with passion, but still gazing at the Nazi.
Shaw then looked back toward the cage. The Nazi fumbled with his fly and finally pulled out his monstrous prick, swollen to a deep purple. Gasping for breath, he clasped a fist around it and began pumping frantically. Several times, his fingers were lashed by the red-head's whip.
The girl was moaning now, and tossing her hips around in the chair. Each time she pulled the black leather handle out of her cunt it made a wet, sucking noise. Shaw saw that it glistened with cunt juice.
As he watched, she lurched upward, almost out of the chair, and started stuffing the whip into her cunt with both hands. "AH, AHG, AAHHHAARRRGG!!" She shouted.
Then there was a loud groan from the cage. Shaw turned in time to see the Nazi's purple cock squirt out great blobs of white sperm, through the bars, onto the floor of the room. Just as he was cuming, the red-head lashed him directly on his prick and he stumbled back to the middle of the cage and fell on the floor.
Shaw felt himself being pulled away from the room. "Come, Mr. Shaw," Hilde was saying. "Let us continue our tour." '
They went down the hall toward the next room. Before Hilde opened the door, Shaw was sure he heard gears clanking. As she reached for the handle, Shaw heard a pure, piercing, feminine scream of terror from inside.
What Shaw saw, he almost didn't believe. In the middle of the room was a platform, and on the platform lay a pretty young girl, completely naked, spread-eagled on her back, her arms and legs bound by leather straps. She was a slender, well-shaped thing, with large, cone-shaped tits that stood up firmly, and red nipples as big as marbles.
Despite the leather straps, the girl was straining to get free of the table, and her head was rolling back and forth in terror, her blonde hair flying. She was even trying to shift her cunt, but a strap around her waist made it impossible.
At first, Shaw couldn't figure out why the girl was so frightened. Then, he looked up. Suspended above the platform, on the end of a giant pendulum, ticking back and forth, was a huge steel dick, rigged with a complicated set of gears and pulleys.
The cock was aimed directly for the blonde girl's twat, and, at the rate the pendulum was dropping, it would only be a few moments before contact was made.
In the corner, Shaw saw an old man sitting on a rickety kitchen chair his eyes gleaming with lust, his pants distended with a huge hard-on. With his right hand, he controlled a huge lever, which he was gradually pulling down. His left hand was poised over a set of electric switches.
For a moment, Shaw had an urge to run into the room and rescue the girl. But Hilde's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "I know what you're thinking, my friend. But don't. The lady would not be pleased. You see, she is the customer."
The gears clanked and the giant prick descended another few inches. This time, as it passed the girl, it grazed her golden cunt hairs. The girl screamed out, that cry of terror Shaw had heard earlier, and she seemed to strain every muscle to move out of the way of the diabolical instrument.
As Shaw watched, the old man lowered the lever one more notch and the giant cock swung back and began its next pass. This one, it was certain, would hit her twat.
There was sheer terror in the girl's eyes as the mechanism started forward. She seemed almost hypnotized with fear as it clanked toward her.
The steel cock, easily a foot long and as thick around as a frozen juice can, glided through the air toward the girl's hairy cunt.
It connected, stopping momentarily at the entrance, then driving on and into the young girl's large, distended pussy. She cried out in horror-but her body seemed to do otherwise. Instead of shying away from the metal monster, she pushed her gaping red twat upward, trying to take as much of it as she could.
Shaw watched in astonishment as the monstrous cock sank deeper and deeper into the girl. Now, she was no longer screaming in terror, but whimpering in passion. The tool pushed into her and she hunched down on it. Now, it was almost completely inside her.
Suddenly Shaw felt a hand on his rock-hard cock. It was Hilde. "Ah, my friend!"' she said. "I think you would like to be where that machine is." Shaw nodded. "Well," Hilde went on, "you will have your chance, very soon now."
There was a click from the corner of the room and Shaw noticed that the old man had thrown one of the switches. He glanced back at the girl. The metal cock was vibrating in her cunt and her body arched spasmodically to increase the pressure of the contact. Her toes were tightly curled now, and her eyes stared off into nothingness.
Then the old man threw another switch and the girl's entire body seemed to lift off the platform. A long, animal moan came from her throat and her pussy began jerking violently. Shaw could see the twat juice dribbling out of her bright red cunt. "I'M CUMING," she yelled, "I'M CUMING, CUMING, CUMING ..."
"My God," Shaw said to Hilde, "what happened to her?"
"The cock," Hilde said, "the old man turned on a mild electric charge. She'll continue cuming until he turns it off or until she loses consciousness."
"But why?"
"It is the only way she can achieve satisfaction," Hilde explained. "And it is our aim to satisfy every customer."
"Did she tell you what she wanted done to her?"
"No," Hilde said. "But, when I first talked to her, I soon understood her needs. Just as I understand yours."
Hilde's knowing smile chilled Shaw to the bone.
"Now, my friend, it is your turn. Come with me." She led him down the hall, toward a third door.
This time, there were no devices or whips, just darkness. And, but of the darkness stepped a young girl, no older than sixteen, with ash-blonde hair and astonishingly bright blue eyes, with eyebrows so pale they were almost invisible. She wore a pure white robe that did little to hide her stunning figure. Through the sheer fabric, Shaw could see a hint of reddish nipples.
At first glance, she seemed a completely innocent child. But there was something else in those eyes, Shaw thought-worldliness, power, lust.
"Mr. Shaw," Hilde Bayer said, "I would like you to meet my daughter, Inga. Inga, this is Mr. Nick Shaw."
She smiled at Shaw and there was no innocence at all in her smile.
Shaw's heart was beating rapidly, now. He knew something was about to happen to him Would he have mother and daughter? Was he to punish-or be punished? Was he to be given the beautiful daughter to do with as he liked?
"Oh, Mother," the girl said joyfully, "he's just perfect."
"I'm glad you like him, Inga. Now kiss the man and show him how you feel."
The young girl glided toward Shaw and threw her arms around him, pressing her firm, nubile tits against his chest. Their mouths kissed and Shaw felt Inga's tongue push into his mouth, wetly trailing over his own tongue, teasing it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Shaw saw Hilde watching them, a strange smile on her face. Then, he was aware of his own cock, hard again, pushing against his pants. He pressed his hard-on against the young girl-then leaped back in surprise and horror. Under that gown, he'd felt another erect cock pressing against his!
He tried to disentangle himself from the embrace of this girl, or boy, or whatever, but she held tight, now pushing her pelvis and her cock-or so it seemed-against him.
Finally, he pulled free. "What the hell are you?" he yelled in anger.
The girl smiled and lifted the white robe over her head, tossing it to her mother. She had high, hard tits, firm as only a young girl's can be, and a fine, slender waist. Strapped to her rounded, feminine hips was the most lifelike dildo Shaw had ever seen, a huge, erect prick, complete with big hairy balls.
"You asked what I am," Inga said in her soft, musical voice. "Well, you may think of me as a fifteen-year-old boy." She stepped toward him and rubbed her bared boobs against his chest. Shaw pushed her away.
"Oh, Mother," the girl said, "he is just what I need."
Mother and daughter reached out for one another and embraced. Their mouths met in a wet, open, lustful kiss and Shaw could see Hilde's tongue snake between Inga's lips. In return, the young girl pressed her fake cock against her mother's skimpily covered cunt.
"Mother," she said, burring her phony prick against the older woman, "I want to fuck. Is everything ready?"
"Soon, my darling daughter, soon." She handed the white robe back to Inga, who put it on again. "Now, Mr. Shaw, it is your turn. You will do everything Inga asks, won't you?"
There was something about this Shaw didn't like. But there was no turning back now. And, after all, this is why he'd come.
"You realize, Miss Bayer," he said, "that I cannot afford more than a token payment for your services."
Hilde laughed. "You've misunderstood our interest in you, my friend. It is we who will be using your services, not you, ours."
Shaw glanced at Inga, who was grinning like a conspirator.
"Everything should be ready now," Hilde said. "Come with me."
The three of them walked down the hallway to another room. Hilde pushed the door open. There, in the center of the room was a large bed. On it was a naked young girl-younger, perhaps, than Inga. Her arms and legs were tied to the bedposts with short lengths of clothesline.
Shaw saw her light brown twat hair first. There was barely enough to cover her slit. It looked like it had never been opened.
"This is where I leave you, darlings," Hilde said to Shaw and Inga. "Do enjoy yourselves."
"Please," said the girl on the bed, "please let me go."
Inga went over to her and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I wish I could," she said, touching the girl's face gently. But I'd never get away with it. Please understand."
The young girl, her eyes already wet with tears, just nodded.
"But I will make sure," Inga went on, "that no one harms you."
"Oh, thank you," the girl said. There was real gratitude in her eyes.
"All you have to do," Inga continued, "is be nice to me." She let her hand trail down the girl's neck, to her. small, pointed breasts. She lingered there, pinching the girl's nipples with her fingers until they stood tall.
"What are you doing to me?" the girl asked, again afraid.
"Just relax and enjoy it."
Shaw watched as Inga began to pay homage to the still-developing body of the young girl. After pinching the girl's tits erect, Inga bent over and started sucking on them. The girl squirmed free for a moment, and Shaw could see Inga's saliva glistening on the other girl's nipples.
The sight was almost too much for Shaw. His prick was so hard now it hurt and he felt a tingling in his balls. He'd have to shoot off pretty soon now, somehow.
Inga's hands continued to trail down the young girl's body, stirring it-for the first time, it seemed-to excited, erotic life. Now she wasn't protesting anymore, not trying to squirm away.
"You are such a lovely girl," Inga said, rubbing her hands along the inside of the girl's thighs. "How old are you?"
"Four-fourteen," the girl stuttered. Now Inga's hands brushed gently over the girl's nearly bare cunt. The girl shivered as she was touched. "Has anyone else ever touched you here?" Inga asked, now letting her fingers touch the delicate cunt hairs of her young companion.
"N-no."
"Good," Inga said, her tone changing from concern to desire, "excellent."
Now she started kissing the young girl, first shoving her tongue into her mouth and tickling the sensitive surfaces inside, then moving to the girl's small breasts, sucking on them noisily, and then to the girl's belly.
Shaw watched with growing excitement as Inga sucked the girl's belly button for a moment, then started down toward the girl's virgin twat, licking all the flesh along the way.
The young girl, at first resistant, then confused, now had her eyes closed and was breathing raggedly. She acted, Shaw thought, as if she'd never felt passion before, never even jerked off. The very thought of all this made Shaw's cock pulsate with need. He wanted to plunge it in to someone-anyone.
Now, Inga was crouched over the young girl's cunt, her eyes a scant inch from the puffy cunt lips. She slowly, carefully spread the lips to expose a tight, pink hole. She diddled the tiny, rosy clit for a moment. Then she swooped down, jamming her hot wet tongue into the teenager's hole, shoving it in and out wildly, slurping loudly, rubbing the tip of her fingers on the girls clit.
The teenager, experiencing thrills beyond her wildest dreams, was violently squirming on the bed now, not to escape Inga's attentions, but because she couldn't control herself.
"Yes," she said, as Inga's tongue dipped into her twat, "yes, do that, do that."
Inga kept it up for a few moments, until the young girl was practically vibrating with passion and need. Then, abruptly, she pulled away.
"Would you like to see me," she said to the girl. "Would you like to touch my body?"
For a moment, the girl just stared. "Oh, yes," she finally said. "Yes."
Inga pulled off her white robe and the young girl looked at Inga's more womanly figure with awe. Then, her eyes traveled toward Inga's cunt. And spotted the dildo.
"Oh, God, what's that?" the girl gasped. "It is my little prick," Inga said sweetly. "But aren't you a girl?" the teenager asked, incredulous.
"Oh, yes," Inga said. "But I have a little extra equipment. I'm sure it will give you pleasure."
"You mean you're going to stick that thing into me?"
"That's right. And you won't object, will you?" Inga said. Again, she bent down to the girl's cunt and started eating until the virgin's passions were again inflamed.
That done, Inga rose from the bed and turned toward Shaw. "Now, Mr. Shaw," she said, "it's your turn."
Forgetting his aversion to the dildo, Shaw reached for Inga in lustful need. He needed to jam his dick into her twat, as deep as possible, to rub it back and forth until he shot his cum right into her pussy.
"Please take your clothes off first," Inga said, evading his grasp.
Shaw stripped himself in a hurry, pulling his pants inside out and losing a collar button in the process. Then, naked, his cock standing out from his body, he again reached for Inga, pulling her toward him until his thick hot prick was rubbing the soft, smooth skin of her young belly. He felt the dildo against his own stomach, but, in his excitement, that didn't bother him in the least.
Shaw's cock was bigger and harder than he could remember. And he was desperate to shove it into a hot cunt dripping with pussy juices. He drove his prick toward where he thought Inga's twat hole might be, but he ran into the dildo. So he reached down to tear the damn thing off her.
"In good time, Mr. Shaw," she said, avoiding him. But she grabbed his dick and started to pump her hand up and down on it. Almost at once, Shaw felt his cum gather in his balls, ready to shoot out.
"Down," she commanded, "down on your hands and knees."
Inga pulled Shaw's prick hard to make him comply. "Now," she said, her voice harsh and merciless, "suck my cock."
"I'll be damned if I'm going to . . . ."
Shaw felt Inga's fingers release his cock and grab his balls. Then, she began to squeeze.
"I said suck it! You'll be glad you did." She shoved her dildo in front of his face and managed to squeeze his balls again. There was just a hint of pain, but it was enough to discourage him from resisting further.
So, he sucked on the thing. It was, he realized, about as long as his own cock, and a bit thicker. And it was connected to a set of balls even hairier and bigger than his own.
"Wet it good," Inga commanded. And, since she was in the driver's seat, he let his saliva soak the thing. Evidently, he thought, she planned to fuck the other girl with it.
"Okay," she said, "that's enough."
Shaw started to rise, but Inga stopped him. "If you so much as move a muscle," she threatened, "I'll call for my mother. And she'll use her whip in a way that will make you never want to fuck again."
Shaw hadn't any idea of what Inga was planning, but he was thankful when she released his balls and grasped his cock again. It was still hard and it didn't take more than a stroke or two to bring him to the point of pain.
Then, he was flabbergasted when Inga got up and moved around behind him. "Remember," she said, her voice cruel and hard, "Not a move."
He felt something at his asshole, something hard, wet, and warm. My God, he thought, it's the dildo. The little bitch is going to fuck me in the ass. Or at least she thinks she is. He started to straighten up.
"One more inch, Mr. Shaw, and you can forget about getting back into West Berlin, at least in the same condition you were when you left."
He was back on his hands and knees before she finished the sentence.
And he felt the thing begin to enter him. At the same time, he felt Inga's hands fondling and massaging his cock, making sure he stayed excited. And however much he hated the idea of being fucked in the ass, his heart was beating wildly and he knew he was very, very close to cuming.
It hurt. For the first inch or two, the damn thing hurt, and he thought his ass was going to burst open. But then, as the fake prick sank deeper into his asshole, the pain changed to a feeling of fullness, a strange, perverted feeling that, in spite of himself, he liked. As Inga pushed the prick into Shaw's asshole, he felt her boobs brush against his back. Now the dildo was all the way into his asshole.
Enough, Shaw thought, that's enough. But, to his horror, Inga started the classic in-and-out motion, lifting herself away from him, then jamming back down into his ass, just like he was some cunt. He knew that prick wasn't real, that it was just a hunk of plastic. But it felt real. It felt warm. In spite of himself, Shaw remembered what she'd said about thinking of her as a fifteen-year-old boy. At any moment now, he thought, she'd be cuming in him. The thought made his cock jerk in her hand.
He looked down toward his prick and saw that Inga was holding a small glass in the hand that was free. As she shook her hand up and down on his cock, she held the glass in front, ready to catch his cum.
He had only an instant to be puzzled by this, because Inga suddenly started pounding into his asshole at double speed. And her hand on his throbbing prick matched the pace, stroke for stroke.
Shaw exploded. He felt huge thick gobs of cum spurting out of his cock again and again. Inga's skillful fingers flicked the head of his dick, bringing it to new spasms, and more sperm spurted forth. On and on, until he was drained, exhausted.
To his great relief, he felt Inga pull her dildo out of his asshole. Even now, there was another twinge of pleasure and his prick twitched again.
Then Shaw just lay on the floor, watching Inga.
Somehow, she'd managed to catch his cum in the glass. It was about two tablespoonfuls, thick, white, and creamy. Inga's hands shook with excitement as she fiddled with her dildo, pouring the cum into a small valve in the balls.
Breasts heaving, eyes glazed with lust and desire, Inga leaped to her feet and headed toward the young virgin tied to the bed, who'd been watching everything.
"No," she screamed, as Inga, her cock loaded with Shaw's sperm, crawled onto the bed and headed for her.
"Take it easy, my love," Inga said, panting with passion, "lie back and let yourself be loved."
"But you'll make me pregnant!"
"If we're lucky," Inga said softly, her eyes gleaming. "I've always wanted to father a child."
The girl broke into heaving sobs as Inga mounted her. Then, as Shaw watched, fascinated, the dildo slowly sank into the teenager's pretty pink virgin twat, deeper and deeper, until the barrier had been reached.
Moving forward a bit, Inga suddenly gave a mighty shove, and the young girl under her cried out in pain. In a moment, Shaw saw a thin stream of blood start trickling through the girl's fine pussy hairs.
That done, Inga started fucking the young girl. Lifting her body high above the teenager, she dropped down without warning, plunging the full length of the dildo into the bloody gash. Again and again, she jammed the thick plastic cock into the girl's tight cunt.
And soon, the teenager was responding, her body meeting every stroke, shoving against Inga as Inga shoved her cock deep into her pussy. All the struggle had gone out of the youngster. She was no longer pulling at her bonds, but pushing up at her tormentor, trying mightily to get maximum pressure on her tiny, virginal clit.
"I'll stop now," Inga panted out, "if you want me to."
"No," the girl groaned, "no don't stop. God, don't stop now."
Shaw had seen the same motions and heard the same sucking sounds again and again-but never with two young girls, and never with such complete abandon.
Inga was wheezing now, and grunting with each stroke, her ass muscles tightening spasmodically as she pumped. Underneath her, the young girl was crying with need, confused by her own passions.
It was rape, Shaw realized. Brutal, bloody, rape. Sick and perverted rape. And he was in on it, he was a participant. It was his cum that in a moment would be flowing into this child-woman, destroying her innocence forever.
As he thought these thoughts, Inga raised up on her haunches and reached a hand back to her fake balls. Then she squeezed once, twice, three times, groaning and shouting out at the same time, I'm cuming, I'm cuming, I'm CUMING, I'M CUMING AARRGGHHHHH!"
Beneath her, the young girl trembled and shivered as she reached her own completion, her very first.
Then they lay there, the dildo still connecting them. Shaw saw a small trickle of white sperm leaking out of the teenager's sopping pussy.
An hour later, he was back in West Berlin, at his hotel, packing. Yes, he told himself, he had to do it. But Sid Uris was right. He almost wished he hadn't.
Africa
Shaw hovered between wakefulness and sleep as the DC-6 droned on. Every so often, the plane hit a patch of rough air and he'd be jolted awake enough to peer out of a window, at the jungle below.
This time, Shaw thought, he was headed toward sex and adventure-if he was lucky. Death-if he was not.
He closed his eyes and tried to think of Karneli, the mysterious Amazon warrior-queen Bob Edwards had told him about, when he was bumming around in Cairo, trying to figure out where to go next.
"I've never seen her, of course," Edwards had said. "In fact, I've never tried to go through that jungle. I just flew in and out of Elisabethville when Lumumba was assassinated. You know me, get-the-story-and-run Edwards. But one of the Belgian mercenaries-he called himself Major van Kloof-told me about her."
"Go on, go on," Shaw had told Edwards.
So Edwards continued. "He said she was Queen of this tribe near Kivu Lake. The Ignazi. It was some kind of warrior tribe and she was its war leader. But the kicker is this: She was the most beautiful black woman van Kloof had ever seen. Not one of those plate-lipped jobbies, oh, no. The way he tells it, she was tall, lithe, high-breasted, with a face like an angel. And, when he saw her, she wasn't more than sixteen or seventeen. By now she's in her middle twenties, I guess.
"Anyhow, van Kloof and one of his aides were captured by the Ignazi and brought back to their village. There was some kind of fantastic fertility rite and the two of them were forced into it. Turns out this Karneli was the chief priestess as well as the queen. She fucked a few of the men in the tribe, then challenged van Kloof's buddy to a fight. If he won, they'd fuck. If he lost, they'd cut him apart, starting with his dick.
"Well, the poor guy lost. And when the" dismemberment ritual was going full blast, van Kloof realized he'd probably be next. He was tremendously turned on by this Karneli. He wanted to fuck her more than any other woman he'd ever known. But he was scared to death. He was a strong guy, but he knew what would happen if he lost the wrestling match with her. So, he escaped, somehow. I say it's too bad. That Karneli sounds like some amazing chick."
It had only been a two-minute conversation, but Shaw couldn't forget a word of it. After he and Edwards went their separate ways, he tried to find out more about Karneli from some Cairo locals he knew.
They could add only one piece of information-the reason for the wrestling match: Karneli, they said, was looking for a man, a real man. When she found him, he could do as he pleased with her. But any guy who couldn't wrestle her to the ground was no man in her book. And, to the Ignazi, a no-man was an ideal subject to dismember and offer up to the gods.
It took Shaw more than a week of wandering around Cairo to get up the courage to head for the Congo. But the more he thought about Karneli, the more he wanted to fuck her. And the more he wanted to fuck her, the more he was sure he could win the fight with her. After all, he'd known women like that in the States. They wanted to be raped. They'd resist mightily-until their cunts got wet. Then, resistance collapsed. And Shaw was sure he had what it took to get Karneli's juices flowing.
It was only when he saw the jungle he'd have to travel through that he started to "worry. He started snapping pictures of it from the plane. After all, he was supposed to be a photographer on assignment. This time, he thought, he'd do a picture story showing that it was still tough to get to darkest Africa, even in this era of jets and moon landings.
But, even from the plane windows, Shaw saw there was more truth to the story than he'd bargained for. The jungle was so dense he barely could see the ground. Only an occasional river seemed to cut a path through the trees and bushes.
On the way from Cairo, the plane passed over Kivu Lake, a large, clear body of water about the size and shape of Lake Michigan. As they passed over it, the plane's loudspeaker crackled on.
"Below you, to the left," the captain said in a distinctly British accent, "is Kivu Lake. They called it Lake Edward, when the Belgians owned the Congo. This is where the headhunters once lived. And I understand there are still a few left. It's also the home of the Ignazi Amazons. All in all, it's a good spot to stay away from, unless you're eighteen thousand feet up, like we are."
Shaw peered at the lake region, looking for roads, fpr cities, even villages-any sign of civilization. He drew a blank.
He slumped back into his seat. Until now, his round-the-world quest had been an eccentric adventure. But now, he thought, the whole thing might be passing the edge of sanity.
Nearly four hours later, the big old DC-6 landed at the N'Djili Airport, and none too gently at that. Shaw hopped the free Pan Am bus for the fourteen-mile trip into Kinshasa (what used to be Leopoldville), capital city of the Independent Democratic Republic of the Congo.
To Shaw's surprise and delight, Kinshasa turned out to be a civilized place. Downtown, the city looked a lot like Rio or Caracas-wide streets, modern buildings, even an occasional skyscraper. If you could get used to the fact that ninety-nine out of a hundred faces were black, it wasn't too hard for a New Yorker to feel at home here.
The morning after his arrival in Kinshasa, Shaw set out to look for a guide who could lead him into the Kivu region, hopefully to the Ignazi.
His first stop was the Wagon-Lits travel agency in downtown Kinshasa. A handsome, heavily-tanned white man wearing a bush jacket and looking for all the world like Stewart Granger in King Solomon's Mines greeted him.
"What can we do for you sir?"
"Well," Shaw said, "I'm interested in a safari to the Kivu region. I'd like to go in a larger group, if possible, but I'm willing to hire a private guide for myself."
"The Kivu region," the great-white-hunter type repeated. "You are joking, of course."
"Not at all," Shaw answered. "Is it an unusual request?"
"Rather," the man replied. "I'm afraid you'll have no success finding a guide. That's Ignazi country. Frankly, I wouldn't try it without a regiment of Cornishers at my back."
"It's dangerous?"
"It's insane. The Ignazi believe in human sacrifice and they think their god prefers white meat. Why the hell are you interested in going?"
"Well," Shaw said, somewhat abashed, "I'm a photographer from See Magazine and I wanted to take pictures of this Amazon Queen I've heard about . . ."
"Karneli? You're crazier than I thought, my man. The only white man I've ever known to see her and come back alive was a Belgian mercenary named Van Kloof. And if Karneli hadn't been preoccupied with his dead buddy, he'd never have gotten away."
"Then the story is true," Shaw said softly.
"What story?"
Shaw explained what he'd heard in Cairo.
"Yes, it's true. All of it. Karneli is the most beautiful woman in Africa, it's said-but also the most dangerous. You don't really intend to see her, do you?"
Shaw grinned, as much to himself as the travel guide. "After all, I've come this far. Might as well shoot the works."
The agent shrugged his shoulders. "All right, then. There's one man who might take you. Archie Higgins. He knows some of the territory. And he'll do anything for money, I'm told."
Two hours later, Shaw had made a deal with Archie Higgins. Higgins was in his middle sixties, scrawny as hell, always chewing a wad of tobacco. Still, he seemed competent enough. He thought Shaw was a lunatic, but if Shaw would pay to go to Lake Kivu, Higgins would take him.
"How do we get there?" Shaw asked him. v
"Well," Higgins said, scratching the stubble on his jaw, "first we fly to Stanleyville. Place they call
Kisangani now. Then, we rent a Land Rover and drive to Wamba. The rest of it is on foot. About eighty miles of jungle called the Ituri Forest, not to mention a couple of rivers and a mountain or two. Still game?"
Shaw nodded. "How do we make contact with the Ignazi?"
"We don't," Higgins said. "They make contact with us."
"What happens then?"
"Damned if I know," Higgins said. "I speak a little Bantu and some Swahili. Don't know what lingo they talk, but they'll have someone who understands me. If we're lucky, you'll get your photos and we'll get out. If not . . ." Higgins shrugged. "I'm pushing sixty-four. Don't matter that much to me."
"Then why are you willing to help me get there?"
"I'm kinda curious about the Ignazi. And that queen they got, Karneli. From what I've heard, just seeing her will make the whole thing worthwhile."
Shaw smiled. "That's why I'm so interested."
"Now don't you start getting ideas about her, Mr. Shaw," the old man said. "If you are, tell me now, so's I can back out of the deal."
"Why, Mr. Higgins," Shaw said, as sincerely as he could, "I just want to take pictures. Nothing more."
"Okay then. But, from what I hear, she likes to wrestle with young men like you. She's tangled with a couple dozen so far and hasn't lost once. Never hear from those guys again . . . ." He let his words sink in.
But Shaw wasn't listening. He was thinking about Karneli. Sure, he thought, she's beaten lots of men and killed them afterwards. But they've all been caught by accident. They weren't ready to meet her on her own terms. I am. I'm going to fuck that black chick if it's the last thing I do. It may be.
The flight to Kisangani was nothing like the flight to Kinshasa. One was in a large passenger plane at eighteen thousand feet, where the dense jungles seemed like giant botanical gardens. The other was in a Beechcraft Bonanza that had seen better days, flying at about three thousand feet. The territory below seemed close enough for a hungry crocodile to leap up and chomp off a piece of landing gear.
But Kisangani was still civilization and it wasn't hard for Shaw and Higgins to rent and provision a Land Rover. Before long, they were off again, this time over bumpy dirt roads, past grazing elephants and giraffes, complete with an occasional glimpse of a lion.
Shaw felt pretty good about the adventure so far. The Land Rover was a sturdy no-nonsense machine that looked like nothing could stop it. And Higgins seemed to know exactly what he was doing. What's more, they'd packed enough clothes and provisions for the eighty-mile hike ahead of them, and Shaw found it hard to get very worried. Higgins' rifle and the small, nickel-plated revolver he'd picked up in Kinshasa also gave Shaw comfort. A spear or knife, he reasoned, was no match for a bullet.
Even the environment was being nice to them. There was no steaming heat, no hoards of insects, no uncrossable swamps, no trees blocking the road. And the old man was good company.
They pulled into Wamba only five days after leaving Kinshasa and Higgins seemed pleased. "Any luck and we'll be going through here in a week or so on the way back," he said.
Wamba was more a village than a city. Higgins hired a couple of natives to help them carry the provisions and they were off again.
Setting out into the jungle for the first time in his well-traveled life, Shaw remembered all the jungle movies he'd seen, and all the horrors they portrayed: cobras dropping. down from trees, quicksand, leeches, scorpions, errant wild boars, stampeding elephants, wounded lions and the like. Actually, it was nothing like that. It was more like walking through a thick woods-along a pretty good path. After all, this was 1971. The days of Stanley and Livingstone were gone forever.
Three days later, Shaw wasn't so sure.
One of the native porters had stepped in a hole and wrenched an ankle, so he'd been sent back. The underbrush was getting thicker with each step, and Shaw's bush jacket was full of little rips and tears. The night before, their big tent had been invaded by a squadron of mosquitoes that made the U.S. variety look like pygmies. The damn buzzing had kept him awake and now the bites were driving him batty.
Well, Shaw thought, who's the boss of this operation, anyway? We can go back at just a word from me. He shouted ahead to Higgins, who was hacking some bushes about fifteen yards up. "How much farther to go, Higgins?"
"Oh, twenty or thirty miles," the old man replied. "What's the matter, Mr. Shaw? Your ass dragging? Just think about all those beautiful photographs you're going to take of Karneli."
Shaw opened his mouth to say something, then noticed Higgins' bush jacket. It looked as if it had been pressed fifteen minutes earlier. He decided to obey instructions.
Every place the little safari had stopped, Shaw had asked about Karneli, and the reaction had been the same each time: smiles, laughs and sexual gestures when the
Amazon queen's name was mentioned, followed by looks of terror when Shaw said he was headed toward her. Back in Wamba, Shaw had found an Italian trader and questioned him closely.
"How do you know she is so attractive?" he'd asked. "Perhaps only the natives would find her so?"
The trader took a tiny little ebony doll from his pack. "This doll," he said, "she was given to me by an Ignazi who was exiled from his tribe. He says it is a carving of Karneli, that it looks just like her."
Shaw took the doll and examined it closely. It was so perfectly carved it seemed almost alive. It depicted a lithe, sinewy girl, whose hips were boyishly slender, but whose tits were full and womanly. From what Shaw could make out, the features seemed finely wrought, almost Caucasian and, where the eyes should have been, there were tiny pale green jewels.
"How much?" Shaw had said.
The Italian laughed. "No, sir, Mr. American, I don't sell. Besides, what you want it for? You're going to see the real thing."
The Italian's response had chilled Shaw then and now, remembering the episode, it scared the hell out of him. If it hadn't been for that old man-and his own stupid pride-he would have turned tail long ago.
But oni they went, for two more days. They went on.
The secret, Shaw told himself, was remembering why he wanted to see Karneli. He wanted to see her so he could fuck her, like she'd never been fucked before. He wanted to fuck her and come back to tell about it.
Hell, maybe he'd just take some quick photos and be off. Shit, maybe he'd just take off. Maybe he'd just forget the whole crazy thing and get out of this place right now. He called up to Higgins.
"What's the trouble, Mr. Shaw," the old man said with a smile.
"You know, I think I've got enough pictures for the story I have in mind . . . ."
"Too hot in this jungle for cold feet," Higgins said with a twinkle. "Besides it's too late. The Ignazi have been trailing us for the last four hours. We can't turn back."
Shaw nodded and forced himself to think about fucking again. If he could just get her excited, it would be all right. But the thought brought no bulge to his pants, just a lump to his throat.
A half hour later, Shaw, Higgins and the porter were being escorted through the village by spear-bearing natives. So it is just like the movies after all, Shaw thought wryly. Only the ending might not be happy.
Higgins had managed to talk a bit with their armed escort, enough to tell Shaw that they were being taken to Karneli. She, Higgins said, would decide what was to be done with them.
Shaw didn't like the sound of that. At this point, his fear was mastering his lust. He decided to come on like the photographer he was, take the minimum number of pictures, and head out of Ignazi land as fast as possible. He'd get his look at Karneli, even some photos of her, and that would have to do.
But when he saw her, in the flesh, Shaw realized at once that taking a few pictures wouldn't do at all.
With Hollywood in mind, Shaw had expected to be taken before a throne, where Karneli would sit majestically and pass judgment on them.
Instead, the guards brought them to a small clearing, where a primitive loom had been set up. At the head of it, a woman with her back to the party was weaving. The guard approached her and said a few words. She rose and turned to confront her visitors.
It was Karneli. Even though she was covered from neck to knees by a loose striped robe, Shaw knew at once it must be Karneli. There was authority in her bearing, and grace.
She walked up to the two white men and looked at them curiously. Shaw was powerless to do anything but stare. All the stories were right, he thought. She must be the most beautiful woman in Africa. Her skin was pitch black, not the barest hint of brown to it. It gleamed like polished wood. Her features were fine boned and delicate, but there was an unmistakable strength to the set of her mouth. Looking at her eyes, Shaw saw why they'd been represented by jewels in that little carving. They were not brown-like those of almost every other African-but a greenish-grey. Her hair was cropped short. In the States, it would have been considered a modest natural. Her lips were full, but her cheekbones high and her nose thin-almost as if she were a mixture of Negro and Caucasian. But, according to her skin color, that would have been impossible.
Her robe effectively covered her body. All Shaw could see were firm, slender calves and gracefully shaped feet. But from the bulges under that robe, he knew he wouldn't have been disappointed if he could have seen beneath it.
Staring at her so long, Shaw almost missed the expression on her face as she looked at him. It was curiosity, for one thing, but more than that. There was a kind of humorous challenge to her expression, and, in her eye, a smoldering questioning look. She seemed to be measuring him, estimating if he might be able to fulfill her desires.
Tearing his eyes away from her with great effort, Shaw noticed that two other women, nearly as beautiful as Karneli, now flanked her. Higgins was talking to one of them, jabbering away a mile a minute. Once or twice, he pointed to Shaw and to Shaw's camera bag.
"What are they saying, Higgins?"
"Nothing much so far. They don't understand this picture taking business, but they're not hostile. Not yet, anyhow.
Shaw got an idea. He unzipped his camera bag and pulled out the small Polaroid he always carried to check lighting, poses, etc. Before anyone had a chance to stop him, he put it to his eye and snapped a picture of Karneli.
The native guards jumped almost a foot at the click, but since no one seemed hurt, they took no action, to Shaw's relief. After the required fifteen seconds, he peeled off the picture and offered it to Karneli. One of the girl bodyguards took it, but Karneli motioned the girl to give it to her.
Shaw watched Karneli's face as she looked at the picture. First, there was an expression of surprise. Then, she seemed delighted. With one hand, she touched her face, to see how it matched the picture. She was clearly very pleased.
Karneli handed the picture back to Shaw, but he refused it, making motions that he was giving it to her. She smiled at him, a perfect smile, revealing even gleaming white teeth, and a kind of feminine softness Shaw hadn't seen before. But, as he looked, the smile again turned to measurement.
Then, to his astonishment, Karneli reached a slender hand between his legs, taking his prick in her hand. Ah, he thought, still measuring. She smiled briefly and walked away. He waited for her to look back over her shoulder. That prick of his was no child's toy. Even soft, it was difficult to conceal the lump it made in his pants. And sure enough, she did look back.
"Well," Shaw said, "what are they going to do with us?"
"Now don't get so dramatic, sonny," Higgins replied. "They're going to let us stay for a day or two, take our pictures, and go on back."
Really?" Shaw said. "It's that simple. No trouble?"
Higgins motioned around the village clearing. "Take a look, Mr. Shaw. Not a kettle in sight. Guess your hide will be safe for another time. That snapshot you took of Karneli did the trick. But, if I were you, I wouldn't be so bold in the future. Never know how they're going to react."
"I understand."
But Shaw knew how they'd react, he was sure. Or, at least he knew how Karneli would react. He was thinking about fucking again and it took no effort at all this time.
For the rest of the day, the Ignazi allowed Shaw to wander around their village with his camera, taking pictures as he wished. It wasn't really very interesting, photographically or otherwise. But at least there was no hostility. The Ignazi, Shaw began to believe, didn't deserve their fearsome reputation.
Finally, it began to get dark. Tribesmen lit giant .torches and a huge table was set with roast wild boar and lion moat. Shaw and Higgins had places of honor beside Karneli and her court.
"Well, Mr. Shaw," Higgins said, "so far so good. Have you gotten the pictures you want?"
"Most of them," Shaw said, tearing his eyes away from Karneli for a moment.
"That's good. I've set up the tent just outside the village. I suggest we retire early, then start back as soon as it's light."
"Retire early? Why?"
"Well, seems like they got some sorta ceremony planned for this evening and they don't want strangers around."
Shaw nodded. "Whatever you say, Mr. Higgins."
After the meal, Shaw took another Polaroid shot of Karneli and gave it to her. He was rewarded with another smile, a dazzling, even sexy smile. When Shaw and Higgins left the feast and headed toward the tent, Karneli seemed to be genuinely disappointed.
Shaw had no intention of missing the ceremony. He planned to feign sleep, until Higgins was snoring away, then sneak out of the tent. After that-well, he'd have to see ....
Almost as soon as they got to the tent, the drums started. Shaw peered out of the tent flap, but they were too far away. He saw only the glow of the fire.
"Calm down, sonny," Higgins said. "You get too interested in what's going on there and we'll never get out of here."
Shaw let the flap close. He knew if he let the old man in on his plans, Higgins would find some way to hold him back.
The drums beat oh, rhythmically. Shaw could hardly wait until Higgins dropped off. Fortunately, it didn't take too long.
Shaw crept out of the tent toward the beating drums. Even as he picked his way carefully through the bushes, the drum rhythm changed character. Faster and faster the drums went, until they reached some sort of climax, stopped, and began again, very slowly.
Then Shaw was close enough to see. He could hardly believe his eyes.
The clearing was crowded with gleaming black bodies, all of them dancing erotically, in three concentric circles. The outer circle consisted of girls. And this time, they weren't wearing flowing robes, but scant loincloths. The skin of their full breasts shimmered in the light of the fire and the way they wiggled their asses would have put a burlesque queen to shame.
The middle circle consisted of the men of the tribe. And they, Shaw could see, wore nothing at all. They danced vigorously, holding their huge, completely erect cocks with one hand, reaching out and grabbing passing tits with the other. But the girls always shook free and moved on around the circle.
The innermost circle consisted of just three people-Karneli and her two beautiful handmaidens. Holding hands, they danced around a ten-foot phallus, sculptured in precise detail out of ebony.
Karneli and her handmaidens were stark naked. And even in the flickering light of the flame, Shaw could see that Karneli's body was just as marvelous as he'd guessed. Her breasts were high set, and just as black as the rest of her. Her nipples and aureoles were the same color as the breasts, visible only because they were distended with passion.
As Shaw watched, the tempo of the drums suddenly increased. The outer circle of girls and inner circle of men began to advance toward each other. The girls were rotating their pelvises erotically and the men were playing with their cocks to get them stiffer.
Then, as the distance between the two rings closed, the native girls jerked their pussies toward the men. The men, in turn, shoved their cocks at the girls. Faster and faster went the drums and the two rings came closer and closer.
Contact. As Shaw watched, the circles stopped rotating and two dozen men, each with a thunderous erection, plunged their cocks into the bushy pussies of two dozen women.
Then, the fucking began. With each drumbeat, the men shoved their pricks into the women's pussies. They responded by pushing their cunts toward the men.
After a few strokes, the men bent backwards, pulling the girls off their feet on top of them. Then, with each drumbeat, the men gave a sort of hop, driving their cocks even deeper into the cunts.
Somehow Shaw, tore his eyes off the fucking natives and looked toward Karneli and her handmaidens.
Now, they were pressed closely against the giant prick, rubbing their cunts against it in unison and then leaning toward the shaft until their tits touched it. Shaw watched, suddenly aware that his own prick was hard and ready, as they first pressed one tit against the smooth, gleaming wood, then the other.
As the drums beat, the three girls began to pat and fondle each other's asses while they kept pushing their pussies against the huge ebony prick.
Karneli had one hand on each of her handmaiden's asses. She extended an index finger from each hand and plunged into both assholes simultaneously. At the same moment, each of the other girls inserted a finger into Karneli's asshole.
As they rubbed their pussies against the phallus in time with the rapid drumbeats, they jerked their fingers in and out of one another's assholes. The drums increased the frantic beat and the girls seemed to lose all control as they sought to impale their cunts on the erotic statue.
Suddenly they pulled their fingers out of each other's tight dark holes and turned around, to rub their asses against the huge cock. Fingers that had previously been immersed up to the second joint in asshole were now inserted through glistening cunt hairs into hot, wet cunts. Karneli had a finger in each of her handmaiden's pussies and they each had a finger in her twat. As the drums beat out their lustful rhythm, the fingers slid frantically in and out. The fire light was bright enough for Shaw to see the cunt juice that shined on each finger on the out stroke.
The whole scene was exciting Shaw as he'd never been excited. His hand was on his own cock now, massaging and fondling it. He had to be careful. The right touch and he'd shoot off into his pants.
But that never happened.
Instead, he felt strong hands grasping him and picking him up off the ground. It happened so fast he hardly had time to struggle.
He was being carried off by two muscular women he'd never seen before. Together, they had no trouble with him and even separately, he realized, either one of them could have beaten him to a pulp.
They carried him toward the three rings of dancers and through the rings, toward the giant cock. He just had time to glimpse the outer two circles. The men had laid the women on the ground and .were lifting themselves away, their cocks dripping with sperm and pussy juice.
Suddenly, he found himself confronting Karneli. Obviously, this interruption had occurred before she reached her climax. The look of wild lust was still in her eyes. She motioned Shaw released and he fell in a heap at her feet. Then, with an angry sweep of her hand, she ordered her handmaidens and the guards back, away from her and Shaw.
As she looked at him, he realized what was about to happen. The wrestling match would begin in just a moment. And, if he lost, it would be his life.
There was no hint of death in Karneli's gaze though. Instead, he saw the lust. This woman wanted him, his cock, his balls, his entire body. Nothing less than everything he had would satisfy her.
Shaw stumbled to his feet and faced Karneli. As soon as she saw he'd recovered himself, she motioned imperiously at his clothing. Shaw stripped faster than he'd ever done it before. Karneli looked at him as if she was dying to see his cock: When he slipped out of his moment, squeezing. Shaw was astonished to see it grow and harden, in spite of his fear, in spite of the danger-or maybe because of it.
As soon as he slipped off his last sock, Karneli grabbed him by the shoulders with a terrifying roar. With all her might, she pulled at him, trying to throw him off balance.
Caught by surprise, Shaw barely managed to stay on his feet. This is it, he thought. He realized that if he couldn't get to her quickly, he'd be thrown. Her strength was more than a match for his and she was clearly in better shape than he was. If he was thrown, it would probably mean his death.
Shaw could feel the sweat breaking out all over him as he grappled with Karneli. He saw her sinewy muscles contract, and despite himself, he glanced at her breasts. The nipples were hard as little stones.
And then it came back to him. He was going to fuck her. The hell with this wrestling. She was still turned on from that dance with the statue. All he had to do was to get her mind off the wrestling and onto that clit buried somewhere beneath that pad of tightly curled black cunt hair.
Then she pulled hard again and most lost it all.
He struggled back, regaining his balance. But he knew he couldn't last much longer. Those slender fingers had a vise-like grip on his shoulders. Another tug or two and he'd be down-forever.
Shaw reached out suddenly and grabbed Karneli's left tit. She moved back half a step in surprise. He rubbed his finger over her nipple violently and he thought he felt her shiver under his touch.
Then, he felt the grip on his shoulder again. She'd recovered from the first surprise. The grip tightened and Shaw knew he couldn't take much more.
His knees were starting to give way when he almost blindly reached out for Karneli's cunt. Bulls eye. It was dripping wet from the dance and Shaw's index finger slid smoothly into the juicy hole.
Again, Karneli's grip on him relaxed and this time Shaw took advantage of the moment to grasp her right breast with his free hand.
She moaned. He started to finger her hard nipple vigorously, at the same time driving the fingers of his other hand deep in to her warm cunt. He pushed her cunt lips open wide with his thumb and found her clit. It was at least an inch long. Shaw was fascinated. He'd never felt anything like it before. He flicked his thumb over it and it wobbled back and forth and seemed to puff up even bigger. Shaw's three fingers jiggled up inside her sopping twat.
Now Shaw had the upper hand and he knew it. The grip on his shoulder was no more than a hand-hold now; she was hanging on for support.
He pulled his eyes away from her tits and looked into her eyes. Whatever threat he'd seen there before was gone. Instead, Karneli's eyes were unfocused, glazed with need. As he watched, Karneli's neck seemed to loosen and her head began to swing free, in wide circles of passion.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Shaw heard the drums resume beating. Shaw pulled his hands away from Karneli's cunt and tits and grabbed her shoulders. The muscles in her thighs tightened to resist his grasp, but it was too late. With one movement, using all of his strength, Shaw pushed her to the ground.
But when she hit, she stopped struggling. She looked at him, her gaze a sexual invitation. She made no attempt to rise, but lay spread-eagled on the ground. Her full, black tits heaved with exertion and lust. Her cunt hairs were soaking with pussy juice, and her long swollen clit peeked out from her twat lips. It was flaming red-the only part of her, other than her teeth and eyes, that wasn't black.
Shaw crouched over her. It was clear he'd won, that the fight was over. Slowly he ran his fingers up her leg. The skin was like black silk and the muscles beneath it rippled sensuously in response to his touch. At the juncture of her legs he touched her pussy hair. It was like a close-cropped black lawn, damp with cunt juice, heavily scented with musk.
He stuck two fingers deep into that cunt, feeling the wet softness inside, the ridges and bumps. Then he squeezed her prominent clit with two fingers. Karneli gasped. Her eyes flew open and her back arched upwards, involuntarily.
Then, aware that her eyes were riveted to him, Shaw withdrew the fingers, and passed them under his nose. It was the smell of fucking and its strength nearly made him dizzy. Then he stuck the fingers into his mouth and sucked on them. It was his first taste of Karneli and it was delicious.
With both hands, he felt her body, moving up her waist and her rib cage on both sides, then cupping both of her tits in his hands. First he fondled them, touching them gently. Then he began to squeeze, harder and harder. Her nipples were so hard and erect he thought they might pop.
Shaw swooped down toward those tits, taking one enlarged nipple into his mouth and sucking with all his strength. She had a. taste to her. He could not identify it but the flavor seemed to shoot directly to his cock. It was stiff and thick and he could feel the blood throbbing in it.
Beneath his mouth, Karneli groaned and twisted, trying to push her tit farther between his lips. Shaw dragged the tip of his tongue over the nipple, scraping the sensitive flesh with his taste buds. Again, Karneli groaned.
Then Shaw lifted his head. Karneli looked at him, pleading. He let his face come close to hers, then pressed his mouth into her mouth. His tongue dipped into her warm, wet, salty-tasting mouth. It met with her tongue, as lithe and muscular as the rest of her. They tickled each other, and teased.
Shaw was stretched out beside Karneli and, along the entire length of his body, he could feel her sweaty warmth. He could feel her breathing-almost gasping. He could hear her groaning as his tongue and his fingers broke through the last shreds of her self-control.
Karneli was an animal in heat, a black panther who knew only that she wanted to fuck and fuck and fuck herself out.
Shaw mounted her. His cock was swollen to enormous size now. He no longer thought of wrestling matches and life and death or of Higgins, or, in fact, of anything beside the deep, hot, sopping cunt of this black Amazon beneath him.
He lowered himself onto her-and suddenly, her hand was on his prick, squeezing it spasmodically, guiding it into her hole. The head of his cock stopped briefly at the entrance to Karneli's cunt, blocked for an instant by that incredibly dense mat of pussy hair. Then he was through and into her, sliding through the cunt juice, deep into the cunt hole.
Beneath him, Shaw felt Karneli's body rise. His massive, throbbing cock was sinking into her cunt, spurred by his weight and her forceful upward pressure. He felt his own pubic hairs crunch against her black, curly mat, and his balls pressed tight against her fleshy, puffed cunt lips.
He could feel her huge red clit brushing against his pubic hair as Karneli's hips began to twist and turn. She scrunched her clit up against him. With each movement, Shaw felt the friction of Karneli's cunt against the ultra-sensitive tip of his prick.
His own movements began, matching her twists, pushing down against her as if he was trying to stick his cock all the way through and up into her womb.
Up and down, up and down. He felt her legs wrap around his back, and her fingers dig into his shoulder blades as she strained every muscle of that superb body to make the contact between cunt and cock closer and more intense. At the same time, she twisted her ass violently, raised her hips and ground her clit into his groin, and, at the same instant, squeezed her pussy around his hot, big cock. Her cunt muscles were as well-developed and well-trained as the rest of her.
Then, as she moved, she began shouting, screaming, almost in pain, in some strange language Shaw had never heard before. He was grunting himself now, fighting to get enough air into his lungs. His cock, buried deep in the wet cunt, began to twitch, ready to explode at any instant.
Shaw felt himself lifted up and up as Karneli's body rose into the air. A piercing scream came from Karneli and her entire body began to shudder uncontrollably.
The shudders ran down the length of Karneli's glistening ebony body until they reached her cunt. Shaw felt his cock being grasped tightly, again and again.
Finally, the pressure was too much and his cock burst with cum, spurting into her over and over, filling her cunt with thick, creamy sperm.
Karneli fell back to the ground with a woosh and a groan and they lay there for a long while, exhausted. The drums, Shaw realized, had stopped.
Finally, Shaw pulled himself away from Karneli. Their bodies, stuck together with sweat, made a pop as they separated. He stood over her and burst out into a broad smile. She returned it.
Then, Shaw reached out a hand and pulled Karneli to her feet in one smooth motion. She did not let go of his hand.
Shaw was then aware of a commotion behind him. He turned to find the two husky females, who'd captured him, with Higgins in tow. He looked amazingly calm for a man who must have been brutally aroused.
"Sonny," he said, "didn't know you had it in you."
Shaw just grinned.
But Karneli made an angry motion to the guards. They released Higgins as if they'd been burned. Two weeks later, Shaw and Higgins pulled back into
Wamba-this time escorted by an honor guard of Ignazi Amazon warriors.
Almost the first person Shaw saw was the Italian trader.
"So," he said, "it all went well. You must tell me about it. All the details."
"No."
"No?"
"It's enough that I know what happened," Shaw said.
"Hah!" the Italian exclaimed. "You took some pictures and barely escaped with your balls. No, Mister, isn't that what happened? No?"
"No."
Cairo
Nick Shaw waited patiently at the baggage claim area in the Cairo airport until his battered luggage appeared. Then, he stepped outside, paid the bus driver twenty-five piastres, and sat back to look at the scenery during the fifteen-mile ride to the Nile Hilton.
He hadn't had any trouble thinking up a photo assignment for himself this time. The Arab-Israeli conflict had provided the perfect hook. He was going to photograph the pyramids, illustrating how the ageless monuments had endured and would endure-unaffected by war, wind or time. Perhaps he'd also be able to show how tourism had dropped off, but that wasn't really vital to his picture story.
As for his sexual goal, it was another one of those impossible dreams. He wanted to fuck Cleopatra-that is, her modern equivalent.
He picked up a guidebook to Egypt and looked through it. There were, he read, nearly thirty-two million Egyptians. That meant about sixteen million women. The whole idea was sounding silly again.
Shaw read further. About ninety-five per cent of the Egyptians lived on the banks of the Nile, which snaked through Egypt for about six hundred and sixty miles.
Great, Shaw thought. All he had to do was take a boat trip down the Nile and give sixteen million women the once-over. He went up to his hotel room to unpack and get some rest. It was going to be a pretty busy trip.
Shaw had been sleeping perhaps an hour when there was a banging on the door. He woke up slowly and didn't respond immediately. The banging grew louder and more intense.
"Open the door, Mr. Shaw," came a heavily accented voice. "We know you're in there."
"Yeah, yeah," Shaw replied, feeling very annoyed. "I'm coming. Who is it?"
"It's the military police," the voice replied. It was hard and cold, obviously not willing to accept delay.
Shaw opened the door. Two uniformed officers were standing there. They walked in without an invitation.
"You are Nicholas Shaw photographer for See Magazine?" asked the taller, swarthier one.
Shaw nodded.
"Papers, please."
Shaw produced his press card, his New York Police Department Working Press Card, and his American Express card.
"Your visa."
Shaw produced the document.
The officers checked his name on a list and one of them put the visa in his pocket. Then he pulled out another paper and read from it:
"Reporters or photographers who possess United States of America citizenship are limited in their movements to an area within twenty miles of the center of Cairo. Under no circumstances may said individuals travel to the Suez Canal region, down the Nile River, or to any military installations. The penalties for disobedience of these regulations is forty years in prison."
Shaw listened with growing fury. "You mean," he said, when the officer stopped reading, "that I can't travel where I wish?"
"That is the way I understand this regulation, sir," the Egyptian officer said with an unctuous smile.
"But I am an American citizen," Shaw protested.
"Sir," said the Egyptian, still grinning, "I cannot help you with that problem."
"I see," Shaw said curtly. "Does it matter if I leave my camera in a police station?"
"Not in the least."
Shaw nodded. "Well, then, officer, just how do you suggest I spend my stay in your lovely country?"
The officer smiled again and tilted his head for a moment, as if in thought. "I would suggest, sir," he finally said, "that you see the sights, as you call them. You may go to the pyramids and the sphinx, if you wish. Or to the Mosques or the Citadel. You may even visit Sakkara and see the Step Pyramid and the Aesculapion."
Shaw stared at the man for a moment in unguarded hostility.
"I used to be a tour guide for American Express," the officer said, explaining. He returned Shaw's identification papers, saluted rather smartly, and departed with his silent companion.
Shaw crawled back into bed, turned off the light on his night table, and lay back, eyes wide open.
Well, he thought, so much for Cleopatra. And, so much for Egypt. For a moment he considered packing his bags right then and checking out of the hotel and hopping a plane to somewhere else, anywhere else. But he could never explain the expense account to Mitch Daniels if he returned without pictures.
So he decided to stay and take that trip to the Pyramids. That would take care of his photo assignment, anyhow. And somehow, Shaw thought angrily, he'd fuck some Egyptian girl, some deserving young cunt. He'd be damned if he was going to leave this place without getting himself some pussy. Maybe he wouldn't find Cleopatra, or her equivalent, but there were some pretty good looking pieces in Cairo.
About a half hour out of the city, Shaw could see the Pyramids off in the distance. Egypt was a flat country and the homes were little more than huts. The Pyramids pointed toward the skies as if they were natural features of the Earth.
The closer he got, the more impressed Shaw was. There were three of them, monstrous sand-colored things. The largest of them, the Pyramid of King Cheops, Shaw knew, seemed to be wearing some kind of cap.
Shaw had seen hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures of the Pyramids. He was still unprepared for what he saw. Somehow, Shaw thought, he must capture the sheer size of the Pyramids, their majesty.
The bus pulled up to a parking lot, to keep company with fifteen similar busses. Shaw hopped out, peered at the setting for a while, and started walking briskly away from the three Pyramids, occasionally turning back to check his line of vision.
A couple of hundred yards away from the largest Pyramid, Shaw set up a small tripod, pulled out his Nikon, inserted a 28 mm lens and started snapping away.
Then he got some shots showing how the giant stone blocks rested on one another.
Finally, he headed toward the Great Pyramid itself. There were interior passages in Cheops tomb, burial places and halls of worship, rooms to store treasure, and a network of passageways. Some of these had been 86 found centuries ago, by Arab grave robbers. Some had been found by archeologists, using X-Ray equipment. And some, it was said, remained undiscovered. That was the only explanation for the fact that the Sarcophagus of King Cheops himself, his mummy case, had never been found.
Shaw entered the passageway system with a group of tourists. In a few seconds, he was out of the bright sunlight and into a dark, dank, dungeon-like world of stone walls. Shaw could see a string of small, dim light bulbs stretching down the passage for hundreds of yards ahead.
As the group walked into the bowels of the Pyramid, Shaw occasionally braced himself against the tunnel wall and snapped off a few quick shots-backward, toward the entrance to avoid the tourists. On the way back, he'd shoot in the other direction.
After about fifteen minutes into the passageway, the group went by another, smaller corridor. Shaw caught up with the tour guide.
"Where does that passageway lead?" he asked.
"Ah, sir," the guide said. "It leads to a small hallway, about twenty yards away."
"Anything of interest?"
"No, sir, not to the general tourist."
"To anyone else?"
"There are archeologists there, they are translating some hieroglyphic inscriptions."
"Is this common? Are there several such halls?"
"No, not really. This room was just discovered a few months ago."
"Can I visit the room?"
The guide shook his head negatively, then winked and shrugged elaborately. Shaw turned away from the group and headed toward the smaller passageway. In a few moments, he saw the room ahead, the entrance evidently newly chiseled. Unlike the other parts of the Pyramid, it was brightly lit. Two people were studying the multitude of inscriptions and paintings.
Shaw entered the room. Neither of the archeologists turned. He pulled out his camera, focused carefully, and snapped off a shot.
One of the archeologists whirled as if he'd fired a gun. It was a girl. A strikingly beautiful Egyptian girl, with limpid, brown eyes, flawless olive skin, long black hair, and a slender body with beautiful curves. She was furious.
"Get out of here," she said abruptly.
Shaw first stared at her, then glanced to the wall paintings behind her. There were four girls in the wall paintings, all with those limpid, tear-shaped eyes, olive skin and long black hair. They were wearing tight necklaces of beaten gold.
Then his eyes turned back toward the girl archeologist. She was wearing khaki work clothes, not the striped loincloth and scanty top that the girls in the wall frieze wore. But the face was the same, and so were the limbs, slender and tapering, and the eyes, skin color, and hair. Even the expression seemed identical: haughty, full of self-importance.
"I said," the girl repeated in only slightly accented English, "get out of here. This is not a place for tourists."
The other archeologist turned to stare at Shaw. He was an older man, an Egyptian with a graying beard and bifocals. He raised his eyebrows.
"Tourists? Here?" The distaste was evident in his voice.
Finally, Shaw's natural glibness returned. "I'm not a tourist," he said, addressing the girl. "I'm a photographer for an American magazine, a famous one."
"Yes?" she said, skeptical.
Shaw pulled out his press card and, while the girl examined it, he examined her, flicking his eyes back and forth between her and the wall paintings.
"Well," she said, cooling down a bit, "you seem to be what you say you are. Now, why are you here? Do you have some special reason to visit this room?"
Shaw smiled smoothly. I'm doing a photo series on the Pyramids. I assume you're still discovering things about them, through these inscriptions and paintings. If that's true, it would make a fine addition to my picture story."
The girl considered this, and Shaw considered her. She was certainly a striking creature. Her hips were shapely beneath those khaki trousers and her skirt clung to her so that Shaw could see the outline of her body-her tiny waist and her high, firm tits.
"Well, I suppose it's all right if you take a few photos," she said, her face softening. "If Dr. Kasiru approves."
"Whatever you say, Kali," the old man said. "I'm tired and I'm going to call it a day." He started packing his tools, tiny brushes and magnifying glasses, into a little satchel. "I'll leave you to explain the inscriptions."
The resemblance between Kali and the wall friezes was uncanny, Shaw thought. The girl on the end might have been a dead ringer for her-thousands of years ago. There was the same exotic beauty, the same strange face.
The old man left and Kali looked at Shaw. He smiled and so did she. "What is it you want me to explain to you?" she asked.
For a moment, Shaw just looked at her. "To tell you the truth," he said, "there is something I would like to know."
She nodded, encouraging his interest.
"That girl in the wall painting. The one on the end."
Kali turned, glanced at the girl, then turned back to Shaw. "Yes," she said, "what do you want to know?"
"You and she-you could have been twins," he said. "Your features, your eyes, your hair. It almost makes me wonder if this painting is really an ancient one."
The girl laughed. "Ah, Mr. Shaw," she said, apparently remembering his name from his press card, "such an imagination you have. Let me assure you that the frieze is approximately forty-two hundred years old. It was painted by Im-Res, the most famous painter of ancient Egypt."
As she talked, Shaw found he couldn't take his eyes away from her. It was not Cleopatra he was looking at, he knew, but the twentieth century incarnation of someone infinitely older-a daughter of the ancient kingdom. Ah, he thought, if only it were true. What knowledge she would have.
"Mr. Shaw? Are you all right?"
"Oh? Oh, yes, I was just thinking."
"Thinking what?"
"Well, you look so much like the girl in the painting. I was imagining what it might be like if you really were her-you know, what you would be able to tell me about your world, what secrets you might know that have since been lost." Shaw let his voice trail off.
The girl looked at him intently, as if trying to see into him somehow. "It is odd you should say that, Mr. Shaw, for in a peculiar way, it is true. No other woman has seen these inscriptions since they were written. And no one else in Egypt, outside of Dr. Kasiru and myself, can read what they say. So, in a way, I do know some of the secrets of ancient times, secrets that have been lost until now."
The idea was intriguing. Even more intriguing was the look in Kali's eye, a glint of irony, of a thought unspoken.
The feeling had been Shaw's the first moment he'd seen the girl, but now it was- so intense he could postpone it no longer. He wanted her. He wanted to fuck her. He wanted to possess her, if only for a short time. As he let his lustful feelings sweep over him, he felt his prick swelling up in his pants.
"Tell me about them, these secrets you've read," he said.
She shook her head. "You wouldn't understand. If you were an Egyptian, perhaps. But you are an American. The bisons owned your country when these words were written. You have no past."
"Lady," he smiled, "if you knew about my past, you might not be talking to me now."
She laughed. "I am not afraid of you," she said. But Shaw knew she really meant she was attracted to him. He felt his balls tingle. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all.
"If you cannot tell me what the inscriptions say, can't you at least tell me the subject matter?"
She seemed to be measuring him with her eyes. Evidently, he passed muster, for she answered his question. "Some deal with religious rites." she said. "Others tell of Cheop's treasure, or of the embalming methods used to preserve his mummy, or of his great accomplishments on earth. Still others are instructions to those he will meet in the afterlife, instructions on how to please him-what foods he likes, what songs and tales, the techniques of love-making he prefers."
"Really," Shaw said, "all that is in those inscriptions? Even the love-making techniques?"
Kali's eyes sparkled. "Oh, yes."
Shaw felt his excitement growing. He wondered if she had noticed he was breathing rapidly.
"Ah-anything unusual there?"
Kali looked at him for a long moment and he felt almost impaled by her gaze. She too, he saw, was breathing faster than usual. "Yes," she said, "very unusual."
There was an odd odor to the room, a kind of incense. Shaw took a deep whiff of it and moved toward her. "You are very beautiful, you know."
She stayed her ground. "Ah, Mr. Shaw. Thank you. But are you talking of me or of the girl in the painting? These were the girls chosen to provide King Cheops with sensual pleasures, according to the secret rituals of love. And the girl on the end, the one you think I look like, was to be his chief partner in the afterlife. Surely it is she you admire, not Kali el Kashim, the archeologist."
"But it is you who are beautiful, Kali. You are flesh and blood, not faded dye on a mud wall. And yet you know the secrets, too."
"It is true."
Shaw put his hands on the girl's shoulders and drew her to him. The scent in the room was almost overpowering now, thousands of years of accumulated odors seeping out of the stones of the Pyramid.
He closed his eyes as he felt her tits, small and hard, press against his chest. His prick was iron now and, without a thought of how she might react, he pressed it against her covered pussy. She returned the pressure. The strange scent grew even stronger. He sniffed loudly and deeply, trying to take in as much of it as possible.
"Do you like my perfume?" she asked.
"Yes. Yes, very much."
"It is as ancient as the love ritual. It comes from vials that accompany the inscriptions. The scent is intended to excite both man and woman."
"You are wearing that scent?"
"Of course," she said. "Why not. It's just harmless superstition. You agree, don't you?"
Shaw pressed himself even closer to the girl and he could feel the heat of her body against his. "Of course," he said, his heart pounding. "Just religious nonsense."
Kali rotated her torso and her tits rubbed back and forth against Shaw's chest. In the haze of growing desire, Shaw felt himself imitating her motions. He jammed his erect cock against her cunt, rubbing it on her, pushing it at her. She let out a low animal moan and pressed herself violently against him.
Shaw reached up and cupped her face in both hands, pressing his mouth hard against hers. Almost at once, her mouth opened. To Shaw's surprise, it was her tongue that darted out first-under, over and around his tongue, wetly circling and stimulating. She ran her tongue into the crevices between his teeth and his cheek, where the sensitivity caught him by surprise, and up across the roof of his mouth, scraping it sensuously.
At the same time, she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, pulling on it gently, then running her hot tongue against it until the sensation made his nerves shriek with pleasure.
Then, he penetrated her small mouth with his own tongue, shoving it through her lips like a penis, swirling it around and around, tasting her, probing deeply. He could feel her warm breath on it, shallow and ragged.
As they kissed, they ground their pelvises together, she, offering her cunt to him, he putting his cock to her, as if they could fuck with their clothes on.
He swung his arms around behind her and took one cheek of her ass in each hand and squeezed, first gently, then with increasing passion and pressure. He was rewarded by a duplicate movement on her part.
After a few moments of squeezing and fondling his ass, Kali reached back behind his legs and started playing with his balls, her fingers moving lightly but frantically over him. Even through his pants, the sensation was electrifying.
Shaw did the same. With one hand, he held on to her ass. With the other, he slipped down the crevice between the cheeks, toward Kali's pussy. Once there, he started to rub, as furiously as her fingers were fondling his balls. Through the khaki trousers, Shaw could feel the warm, spreading dampness of cunt juice.
Suddenly, Kali pushed him away from her. "Lie down," she hissed. "There." She pointed to a spread-out sleeping bag in the corner of the room.
Shaw did as he was told. Kali bent over him, her fingers working at top speed, practically ripping his shirt off. When he was naked to the waist, she started on him with her tiny, muscular tongue. Again, she kissed him deeply, her tongue darting in and out of his mouth, caressing his tongue and grazing the other sensitive areas of his mouth.
Then, she pulled her tongue out of his mouth and started licking his face, then his neck, then his chest. Shaw could feel his chest hairs getting wet from her saliva. After a bit, she got to his nipple. She ran her tongue across it a few times and Shaw was surprised to find how exciting it felt. Then, to his shock, she sucked on him for a few moments. He could feel his heart pounding against her warm, wet lips.
She continued licking him smoothly until she got to his belly button. Then, her tongue dipped toward the hole and rimmed it several times. Shaw felt his hard cock stiffen even more. Kali then jabbed her tongue deep into the wrinkled little hole. It was as if a small animal was gnawing at him. There was no pain, though, just the thrill of a tongue dripping with slippery moisture.
Reaching his belt, Kali sat up again, on her haunches. She fumbled with the buckle a minute, then undid it. Her long, slender fingers grasped the tab of his zipper.
Shifting her position quickly, Kali crouched at his feet. She unlaced his shoes and pulled them off, then his socks. After that, she grabbed his pants bottoms and pulled them off in one graceful movement.
He lay naked, except for his briefs. Looking down at himself, Shaw saw his cock sticking up ludicrously through his underclothes.
Kali stepped away from him for a moment and started disrobing. Her fingers almost flew over the buttons of her khaki shirt and she had it off in a moment, exposing olive-skinned shoulders and pointy tits encased in a white lace bra. Beneath the bra, Shaw could see the erect nipples poking out.
Then, Kali fumbled with her own belt and fly. In a moment, she stepped out of her khaki trousers. Her panties were white too, and sheer enough for Shaw to see the black bush at her crotch.
Shaw motioned Kali to him and she turned around so that he could easily unhook her bra. He did and it fell away, revealing small, shapely tits. Her nipples stood out like chocolate kisses, so swollen and dark they made the surrounding flesh look nearly white.
He reached up and put his hands on her tits. They were astonishingly warm to the touch, almost hot. She closed her eyes as he touched her, again moaning like an animal crazed with desire.
Then Shaw tugged at Kali's underpants. They came off easily, revealing a triangular pad of black cunt hair and red cunt lips. Shaw pulled the panties down over Kali's legs. He put the panties to his nose. Cunt juice. The smell affected him even more strongly than the ancient perfume.
Suddenly, Kali hissed out again, "Lie down, Shaw, lie down." Shaw did. Almost immediately, her fingers were at his cock, first squeezing and caressing it through his briefs. Then, she slowly slipped one hand beneath the elastic waistband and gradually moved it downward, through his thick, curly pubic hair. He strained upward, trying to push his cock into her hand. But she wouldn't hurry.
Shaw waited impatiently until she touched him, his prick shivering with unsatisfied need.
With the other hand, she began pulling at his underpants, tugging them down until they caught, for a moment, on his monstrously erect cock. With a finger, she flicked it down, out of the way. The touch made him spasm immediately and for a moment, he was sure he was going to cum. But she didn't touch his dick again and his excitement receded just a fraction.
Now, he lay on the sleeping bag totally naked. Kali, also naked, hovered above him as if she was about to pounce and attack.
"This," she said, her voice distant and contorted with passion, "is how Cheops' women were taught to please him."
Kali kneeled at the left of Shaw so that her knees were at right angles to his ass. She bent over and took his cock in the palm of her hand. Then, she lowered her head and ran her wet tongue around the glans of his cock until it was dripping with her saliva. Then, she wet her lips with her tongue.
That done, she stretched her mouth until her lips covered her teeth, top and bottom. Kali slowly took Shaw's cock and inserted it into her mouth. She moved her mouth down to the base of his prick, using her lips as a tight necklace to tease and stimulate the shaft. Again and again, she wet her lips with her tongue, until Shaw's cock was shimmering with moisture.
After moving her mouth up and down a few times, Shaw felt Kali's tongue searching for the corona, that super-sensitive ridge on his cock about two inches below the head. Then, she found it.
Again and again she lightly flicked the membrane, almost as if she were strumming a banjo. Then, she ran her tongue down to the base of his dick and back up again, once, twice, three times, flicking the corona on the upstroke.
For Shaw, all of this was excruciatingly pleasurable. Each time Kali's tongue touched the ridge, he felt a wave of ecstasy shoot through his whole cock and into his balls, and each time, the, wave was stronger, until it threatened to overwhelm him.
As she tongued his dick, Kali began to hum. There was no recognizable melody, just a low sound that vibrated in his flesh, sending him nearly out of his mind.
Then, her tongue began to circle his dick, continually, first clockwise, then counter clockwise, at the same time sliding up and down. Shaw felt his fists clenching and his toes curling.
At that moment, Kali let Shaw's cock slip out of her mouth, lowered her head slightly, and began licking his balls, all over. His prick was jerking slightly now and a little bit of pre-fuck moisture started to leak out of the hole.
After she licked for a while, her tongue lapping against his hairy balls like a kitten's tongue slurping up milk, she opened her mouth wide and very gently took Shaw's left ball between her lips. Slowly, gently, she slid it into her mouth. Again, she hummed. This time, it was guttural, deep, more animal than human.
A single touch on his cock, Shaw knew, and he'd spurt his spunk into the air. But there was no touch. Instead, she released his left ball and pushed her face even deeper between his legs. Now, she was licking behind his balls, flicking the rough, wet tip of her tongue against the tiny patch of skin between his balls and his asshole. In spite of himself, Shaw began to shiver all over. His lungs fought for breath and he felt his heart pounding dangerously.
Then, Kali raised her head up and away from his prick and balls.
She stared at him for a moment, her nostrils flaring, her eyes wild with passion. "Now, Mr. Shaw," she gasped, "show me what Cheops would do to a woman who treated him this way."
Shaw thought momentarily of all the exotic techniques he knew, of licking and fingering. But this was no time for foreplay. Not for either of them.
He rose. "Now, you get on the sleeping bag," he said.
She obeyed.
Shaw looked at the slender body. It was covered with a fine sweat, and her firm, pointy tits were heaving with exertion and excitement. She lay inert on the mat, her legs slightly spread.
Shaw bent down. Just once, he ran his hands up and down the entire length of her body. Just once, he trailed his tongue down her, tasting the salt of her sweat, and the pungent musk of her cunt.
Just once, he shoved his fingers into her hairy cunt, now flooded with pussy juice. She was ready, he knew, completely ready, to fuck, fuck, fuck.
Shaw mounted the Egyptian girl, lifting himself up over her, then plunging his cock into her swollen cunt. Slowly he let himself sink down, until he had penetrated to the deepest depths. He could feel her hard tits against his chest and her muscular thighs against his.
He lifted his ass and pulled his cock nearly out of her twat, then shoved forward again, plunging deep into her. This time, at the bottom of his stroke, he twitched his prick twice in her tight pussy.
The effect on Kali was tremendous. She gasped sharply, then started wiggling her pelvis violently against his pubic bone.
Again, Shaw pulled his cock out of her. Her hole was so wet that his motions made loud sucking sounds. He pushed the tip of his penis against her cunt lips teasingly and she arched her back to meet him, whimpering with excitement.
He rewarded her with another thrust, this time twitching it as he entered again and again.
Kali was flinging herself around in abandon so violently that Shaw almost lost contact. Her mouth was slack and her eyes stared hollowly. Each time he slid into her cunt, she moaned and sighed, shoving her ass upward so that Shaw's prick would plunge into her more deeply, more quickly.
Again, Shaw pulled out, leaving Kali's cunt empty and yearning. Then, he plunged in once more. But this time, he didn't push straight in. His cock slid into her firs sideways, then round and round, in a circular motion Kali struggled to match Shaw's movements, her breath rasping now, her moans blending into one continuous lowing sound.
Deep inside her, Shaw started twitching his prick again. He made short, sharp, jerky motions with hi; cock, each move producing a corresponding shiver in the girl under him.
Then, he held his muscles tense for a moment and he could feel the cum racing up the shaft of his cock, spurting out into the Egyptian girl, again and again.
Kali's shivers stopped at that instant and her body went totally rigid. The lowing sound rose in pitch and in volume until it was a screeching shriek.
Then, she shuddered twice and her body lost its tension.
Afterward, Shaw took pictures of her-first naked, the traces of passion still showing, then dressed, pointing out the inscriptions.
"Tell me," he finally said, "did you really follow those instructions in the hieroglyphics?"
"Yes," she said, "the first part of them."
"The first part? What was the second part?"
"Come back in a year, Mr. Shaw. Or perhaps six months. I will have them translated then."
Shaw just shook his head in amazement. If Cleopatra had access to these secrets, he understood why she was able to steal Marc Antony away from Rome.
He would be back. He had to return.
Baghdad
Rare is the man who has never dreamed, at least once in his life, of being master in a harem of beautiful, sensual Arabian women.
Nick Shaw was no exception to the rule. He'd considered the luxury of being able to choose from a bevy of lovely women to suit his mood for the night. He'd thought with relish of having his body brought to the heights of ecstasy by five or seven or even ten sexy girls.
There was, Shaw knew, just one place in the world where harems still flourished. It was the land of the Arabian nights, of veiled women, of marble palaces and sheiks and pashas: Iraq, the land of ancient Babylon and sensual Baghdad.
Shaw flew into Baghdad just after sunset. The sparkling lights of the city startled him. He thought of Baghdad as a city of minarets and towers, not street lights and skyscrapers. But times had changed since the time of the Arabian nights.
The cab ride to the Gilgamish Hotel was 1,000 fils-about $3. Shaw was too tired to do anything but unpack a little and fall into bed. Tomorrow morning would be early enough to begin his latest quest. The next morning was bright and sparkling. It was also the first morning Shaw had ever spent in the famous old city. He decided to spend at least a few hours sightseeing-and taking pictures. He'd already cooked up a photo story idea to please Mitch Daniels. He was going to take some shots of the most unusual of the sheiks' palaces.
But first, he wanted to do some wandering around. Shaw started out with the stunning new Iraq Museum of Mesopotamian Antiquities, with its striking, carved figures and beautiful jewelry of beaten gold. Then, he went to the Kadhimain Mosque, which had domes of pure gold, and the famous tomb of Sitt Zubaidah, thousands of years old.
Before the day was over, Shaw had also seen the Arch of Ctesiphon, one of the wonders of the ancient world, and the ruins of Babylon, some 60 miles from Baghdad, with Nebuchadnezzar's Procession Street, the famous Hanging Gardens, and the legendary throne room, where once, it is said, Nebuchadnezzar was nearly frightened out of his wits by the most famous graffiti of all time, the "handwriting on the wall."
All along his route, Shaw saw veiled Arabian women gliding down the street, in and out of homes and stores. There was no way, of course, to tell what was under all those veils. But Shaw knew: Black Arabian hair and eyes, sensual features, undulating tits and bellies, strong, muscular legs, and snapping tight cunts-all at the beck and call of their masters.
How marvelous it would be, Shaw thought, watching a covey of the girls walking by, to have them ministering to his body with their slender fingers, feeling his cock and massaging his balls.
But seeing them, Shaw could think of no way to arrange this paradise for himself. After all, he was a fairly sexy guy, but he was no sheik. He had no jewels, no necklaces of gold-and, above all, no palace.
The next day, Shaw did the tourist trick inside Baghdad itself. He walked up and down Mustansir and Rash id streets, looking for souvenirs of gold and silver and brass. He even looked at rugs. But finally, he gave it up. After all, he wasn't here to buy souvenirs, no matter how interesting.
A harem, that's what he wanted. Only for a day or so, maybe, but it had to be a harem. But how could he manage it? Were harems only something that existed in the movies? Were they just a Hollywood illusion?
Shaw stopped dead on the street when the idea came to him. Hollywood. How many movies, he wondered, had been made in this town? How many trunks full of sheiks' regalia were packed away somewhere in this city? And how many of these fantastic palaces were for rent, if only he could come up with the money?
After all, Baghdad was no hick town. It was a city of more than 2 million people, with every modern convenience.
Shaw hurried back to his hotel, went up to his room, and called down for an English speaking bellboy. In a few minutes, a slender young fellow wearing a red uniform with gold braids appeared at Shaw's door.
"Hassan El Kabar at your service, sir," the bellboy said. "What can I do for you?"
"You speak very good English," Shaw said.
"Thanks," Hassan replied. "University of Michigan, '69."
"You're a college graduate? And a bellboy?"
"My father owns the hotel, sir."
"Ah."
"As I was saying, sir, what can I do for you?"
"Well," Shaw said, "let's start with the telephone book yellow pages. I want to find myself with a theatrical supply house."
The boy never raised an eyebrow-or made a move toward the telephone books. " I know the biggest firm in town, sir. It's Shamir El Kissot, Ltd. They did 'Lawrence of Arabia'."
"Perfect," Shaw said. "Are they far from here?"
"No sir. About 10 minutes walk."
Shaw looked at the bellboy contemplatively. "Tell me, Hassan, would it be possible for me to rent your services for the next couple of days?"
"Not if I were an ordinary bellboy, sir," the boy answered. "But my father will let me do anything I want to do. And something tells me you have something interesting for me in mind."
"I do indeed," Shaw said. "How much a day do you charge?"
"That's up to you, sir. I hope to prove myself valuable."
Shaw pursed his lips and nodded appreciatively. This was one pretty sharp kid. He had balls. If Shaw was to get through the intricacies of the Arabic language, he would need help from someone exactly like this.
"Okay," Shaw said, "it's a deal. Now get out of that monkey suit and into some native garb. I want you to look like you never heard of Ann Arbor."
"I dig."
A half hour later, Hassan El Kabar and Nicholas Shaw visited the theatrical warehouses of Shamir El Kissot, Ltd. On the way, Shaw decided to tell Hassan exactly what he had in mind.
"A harem? Are you for real?"
"That's a good question, Hassan. But I want a harem, whether or not I'm for real. Not for life, just for a week, or even a day. It's always been a dream of mine and I'm a fellow who tries to make his dreams come true, if possible."
"So I see," Hassan said. "Its an interesting hobby."
"I know. And a foolish one. Nonetheless, that's what I have in mind. Will you help?"
"Mr. Shaw, I think you are just a little bit crazy. But that appeals to me. I'll help."
At the theatrical supply house, Hassan helped Shaw locate-and bargain for-all the trappings: The clothing, the jewels, the furniture, drapes and cushions.
"You know, of course, that this junk won't do you a bit of good without a palace."
Shaw nodded. "I was hoping to rent one."
Hassan first smiled, then burst into laughter. "Rent a palace? Mr. Shaw, you are crazy. Do you think a sheik's palace is like a motel room?"
"Well," Shaw said, angry, "what the hell do I do with all this stuff if I have no palace to put it in?"
"I have already thought of that. There is, on the outskirts of the city, a sheik's palace that was abandoned two months ago. The sheik has been dead a few years and the relatives couldn't pay the taxes."
"So they abandoned the palace?"
"It was either that or come up with $5 million a year."
"Sounds like the same problem the English Lords have."
"Exactly."
"But what good to us is an abandoned castle?"
"It's exactly what we need, if we have the key. And we do."
"We have the key?" Shaw asked, incredulous. "You forget, Mr. Shaw, that I'm in the hotel business. I have many keys I shouldn't have." Hassan arranged for the costumes and furniture to be sent to the palace and the two of them set off in search of the third necessary element if there was to be anything remotely like a harem in Shaw's life: Girls.
"Listen, Mr. Shaw, I have an idea. You're going to be the sheik, right?"
"Right."
"Then I'll be your agent."
Hassan had Shaw dress up accordingly and they wandered off, through the old quarter, looking for appropriate girls.
"Remember, Mr. Shaw. Not a word from you. I do all the talking."
Shaw nodded, adjusted his robe and wiggled his toes. The sandals hurt. "Just how do we get a girl to join the harem, Hassan?"
"Watch."
The unlikely pair approached one of the veiled creatures gliding down the street.
"A thousand pardons, your most beautiful highness," Hassan said to the girl.
She stopped and looked at the two of them coldly. "I'm sorry," she said, "I do not know you." The veil covered her entire face-from the nose down. Her eyes were luminous brown, flashing with spirit and passion.
"I am the agent for the Sheik Ali Kaffir," Hassan said, motioning to Shaw. "He has complained to me of late that his-ah-retinue is no longer pleasing to him. It is my command to find him a new retinue, to negotiate with your honorable father and to prepare for a wedding."
The girl seemed to listen intently to Hassan's words, but even from the little bit of her face that Shaw could see, something seemed to be wrong.
"Offspring of a cancerous pig," she yelled at him, "what kind of fool do you think I am? I am the daughter of Sheik Ismal El Makir. Take yourself and that moth-eaten abortion you call a sheik and go to the street of whores." She walked off in a huff.
"What happened?" Shaw whispered to Hassan.
"We picked the wrong chick," he said. "But don't sweat it."
Shaw nodded. "You know, Hassan, one thing worries me. What happens if we get our bunch of girls, then, when we take off their veils, half of them are dogs and the other half are old enough to be my mother?"
"Mr. Shaw," said Hassan, protesting, "you insult me. Remember, I have spent most of my life in this city. Every Arabian boy develops considerable skill at discerning the face and form of Arabian girls underneath the veils. And I, I must say in all modesty, I have not made a mistake since I was nine years old."
"Nine years old?" Shaw asked. "You were already, er, making mistakes then?"
"Yes," Hassan said, seriously, "but I learned quickly."
The next three women Hassan decided to approach were far more amenable to his overtures than the first one. They were startled at first, but when Hassan alluded to huge sums of cash, they quickly softened and gave him their names and addresses and the names of their fathers.
Elated by their success, Shaw started pointing out likely possibilities as they walked. One of the girls had such fantastic tits that they were visible right through the veils. Shaw took one look at her and started thinking of what it would be like to smother himself in those boobs. He wanted to stick his cock in the valley between her tits, rub it until he shot off all over her neck and chin.
"Hassan," he said, assuming a commanding tone, "that one."
"No, Mr. Shaw. You do not want that one."
"I certainly do."
"But I know what is underneath that veil."
"You've seen her?"
"No, but . . . ."
"Just a guess. Look at that body!"
Hassan shrugged and went into his spiel. The girl agreed readily.
In three days, Hassan had made agreement with 10 girls--and 10 fathers. The girls were to join Sheik Kaffir's retinue for a period of not less than six weeks. If they proved satisfactory, marriages were to be concluded, for which the "sheik" would pay $10,000 each. Each father was given an advance payment of $100, "to keep even if arrangements did not work out."
When Hassan wasn't working out the details with the girls' fathers, he and Shaw worked to make the palace look right. It took two days to clean the place up enough so that it could be used, and another whole day to place the furniture and rugs so that it would look occupied.
"Well, Hassan," Shaw said, looking at what they'd done to the palace, "all we need now is the girls."
"Correction, Mr. Shaw. We need some servants. Fortunately, I have been able to obtain the services of three chambermaids and three serving boys."
"You're a wonder, Hassan. You seem to care more about this venture than I do, even. Why?"
Hassan thought a moment. "You have a dream, Mr. Shaw. I understand that. I have dreams, too."
"Oh, I see. You want to share the goodies, eh, Hassan?"
"No, Mr. Shaw, as a matter of fact, that hadn't even occurred to me."
"What is your dream, then, Hassan?"
"You have heard of Conrad Hilton, Mr. Shaw?"
"Certainly."
"Well, he is my idol. I want someday to own a chain of hotels throughout the Middle East."
"What does that have to do with setting me up with a harem?"
"It is good practice for me. I wish to be able to satisfy every guest's desires, no matter how unusual." He winked at Shaw.
"Well, what do I owe you for all of this special service, Hassan?"
"Pay me when you check out, Mr. Shaw." He bowed sharply and left Shaw in sole possession of the palace.
Now there, thought Shaw, goes a hotel keeper of extraordinary promise.
The next morning at nine o'clock promptly, the chambermaids and serving boys arrived. Shaw was pleased but not surprised to find that one of each sex spoke English. And all apparently understood exactly what their duties were.
The girls began arriving at ten. They were immediately shown to their quarters by the chambermaids. One by one, they came, dropped off by their father's servants, still veiled.
Shaw watched them hungrily. He could not see their faces, of course, and even their bodies were difficult to discern under all those veils. But he trusted Hassan's taste.
"Tell me," he said to the English-speaking chambermaid, "when they are all settled."
By eleven-thirty, all ten girls had arrived. Shaw ordered the serving boys to serve the first of the two meals that the Sheik Kaffir would serve that day-or ever. The other, of course, would be dinner.
At 1:00, wearing his Arabian clothing, Shaw finally appeared in the harem quarters. The girls, still veiled, were eating the last of their lunches.
Shaw looked at them for a few minutes before they noticed him standing there, with his English speaking chambermaid beside him.
"Girls," the chambermaid said, "the sheik will now entertain you in his quarters. Music will be provided for a belly dance. After that, the girls the sheik chooses will join him in the heated pool in the lounging quarters. One thing: The sheik will not be able to speak to you. He has recently had an operation on his throat. All comments should be addressed to me. The sheik will communicate with you by sign language."
Shaw and the chambermaid left the harem quarters. So much for the language problem, Shaw thought.
When he returned to his huge room, he reclined on a velvet-covered chaise lounge and motioned to his English-speaking serving boy. "Start the record," he told the boy.
In an instant, the sounds of the oud filled the room Shaw gave the signal and the Arab girls filed into the room slowly and sensuously. As they entered, they began to undulate to the music.
In a few moments, Shaw found himself nearly face to face with ten dancing Arab girls, his to command, his to possess. Some were short, some on the tall side. Through the veils, though, it was hard to see which girls had decent figures and which were really outstanding. Then, Shaw spotted the girl he'd told Hassan to talk to. Her huge tits made the veils look like two little i tents in front. Suddenly, he realized he had a gigantic hard-on.
The music picked up tempo and the girls began to dance faster and faster. Shaw glanced over at the chambermaid and nodded his head twice. The chambermaid said a few words to the girls. Then the first of them put her hand to her shoulder and detached a veil. Shaw watched it float to the floor, fascinated.
The girls were now undulating in front of him to the music, now and then plucking a veil from their costumes. Now, here and there, he saw a flash of calf, then a thigh, then a bit of belly. He felt his breathing quicken.
In a few minutes, the girls were wearing just enough veils to cover their cunts, tits and faces, and Shaw could even see a tit now and then, as their motions became more and more frantic. He felt the beads of sweat form on his forehead. Now where was that girl, that special one he selected? Ah, he spotted her. What unbelievable breasts! What legs! For just an instant, Shaw glimpsed a hairy patch between her legs. His mouth started to water.
The first girl in the row reached her hands behind her back and unfastened a clasp behind her neck. The veils covering her tits slipped off and Shaw stared. The nipples were fully erect, as if she'd been thinking what he'd been thinking.
Then, the next girl in the line doffed her upper veils, and the next and the next. Soon, Shaw found himself gazing at ten bare breasted Arab girls. His prick was standing tall, throbbing a bit. He had his eye on that girl he'd selected. Her tits were shaped like huge pears and he knew they'd be succulent and juicy.
Finally, the first girl ripped off the veils covering her twat, in a burst of uncontrolled passion. Almost immediately, the other nine girls did the same.
Shaw was sitting up on his chaise lounge now, staring as the girls wiggled their asses and rotated their hips, their bellies quivering in time to the music, their tits bobbing.
In a moment, they were wearing nothing but the veils covering their faces. The chambermaid tiptoed up to Shaw and whispered to him.
"Your highness," she said, "it is an old tradition. The master of the harem must unmask the girls himself."
Shaw nodded and rose. There was nothing he wanted to do more. He restrained himself from going immediately to the girl with the huge tits and started at the head of the line.
Shaw stepped up to the first girl and pulled off her face veil in one quick motion. She was adorable. A slender, small-titted girl, she had a marvelously innocent face with huge eyes, sort of like an Arabian Audrey Hepburn.
The next girl was fuller breasted and had a big, juicy-looking ass. Her face was sultry and promised passion and little nibbling of the ears.
After that, there were girls with fine features and girls with broad, open features, girls with big round boobs and red nipples and small, girlish tits with brownish nipples, girls with big round asses and muscular thighs, girls with tight, little asses and sinewy legs.
Then, finally, he got to the girl he'd been waiting for. He could hardly control himself as he reached for her veil. He gave it a tug. It didn't come off. He pulled harder and finally the cord holding it on snapped. And then he gasped.
Her nose was almost a caricature of Jimmy Durante's. Her eyebrows were bushy and she had the beginnings of a moustache. Her chin receded into jaw. She was a beast.
Shaw recovered as best he could and motioned the girls to stand in front of him. He ran his hands over each girl's tits. Some girls he stroked gently on their hairy cunts. Another, he kissed and was pleased to find her wet tongue pushing past his lips and into his mouth. These chicks, he decided, were not only willing, but hot as hell.
For now, he thought, three girls would be more than enough for him. He chose carefully, in the interests of variety. First, he pointed to a short girl with tits like beach balls, a waist so slender he could put his hands around it, and the curliest thatch of cunt hair he'd ever seen.
He pointed at her and she stepped forward. " Kishka," she said, pointing at herself. Shaw nodded.
Then, he chose a taller girl, with sad eyes, high, pear-shaped boobs and nipples like marbles, fully erect. "Farfel," she said, indicating herself.
The third girl Shaw picked could easily have made it in Hollywood. She had fine, regular features, bright eyes, a broad smile, and an absolutely perfectly proportioned body, with firm, cone-shaped tits, inviting thighs and red cunt lips that protruded from her black cunt hair.
He pointed to her and she stepped forward. "Derma,"' she said. He nodded and reached for her boobs, weighing one in each hand. Her skin was surprisingly warm to the touch.
Shaw waved to the rest of the girls and they filed out of the room. "Tell them I'll get to them later," he instructed the chambermaid. The message was relayed and long, lustful looks were turned back toward him.
Then he turned toward Kishka, Farfel and Derma. He guided them over to the cushions spread out on the floor and motioned them to lie down. Then, Shaw crawled onto the cushion between Kishka and Farfel and sat down on his knees.
He opened his own robes, held out his prick and pointed to Kishka. She put her hand on it. Farfel and Derma watched as she massaged it gently. Their eyes opened wide as it began to expand enormously.
Shaw looked over at Derma and indicated that she come close. When he could reach her, he put her hands on his balls. She twittered her fine, slender fingers in and out of his hairs and his balls started to tingle with excitement.
Kishka was stroking his cock in long, even, smooth motions, pulling it bigger and bigger each time. She looked at it hungrily.
Then Shaw glanced over at Farfel, who was watching the scene with interest, her mouth slightly open. Her tits stuck out invitingly and Shaw reached a hand over and squeezed one hard nipple. She began rocking back and forth and Shaw noticed she was sitting on her foot, her heel jammed right up against her twat.
He motioned her closer to him, and she crept around behind and started rubbing his ass. Her fingers dipped into his crack and massaged his asshole lightly; the sensation nearly drove him up the wall. Then, her fingers crept down lower, between his thighs and around to his balls. Farfel's fingers met Derma's. Four hands were gently rubbing and fondling his balls now, and it was all he could do to keep from shooting off.
Shaw wiggled out of their grasp and removed Kishka's hands from his cock. Then, he lay down flat on his back, pulled Derma to him and began kissing her lips. He squeezed her huge, soft tits. They were surprisingly tender and succulent.
He shoved his tongue into her hot, wet mouth and found her tongue ready and willing to play. Just as their tongues began circling and whirling around one another, Shaw felt something incredibly soft on his prick.
He opened his eyes and looked down. Kishka was rubbing her boobs against his prick. Shaw raised up on his haunches and the girl took his cock between her great breasts. She held her tits together with both hands and moved sensuously up and down. Shaw lowered himself on the cushion again and tried to relax. Farfel was lying on one side of him and Derma had moved to the other. They were giggling.
Shaw knew how to stop the giggling. He stuck a hand on each girl's pussy patch and reached between each pair of cunt lips for their clits. He found them instantly and began to massage them. Derma's clit felt long and slender, while Farfel's was round and stubby. The giggling stopped and was replaced immediately by moaning and whimpering. Wow, Shaw thought, it doesn't take much to turn these chicks on.
Both of them reached out a hand and began to trail their fingers along Shaw's chest, teasing his nipples and making them painfully erect.
Meanwhile, Kishka's breasts were squeezing his cock tighter and tighter, grunting deeply with each motion. Her boobs felt mushy and wet with sweat and her hard pointed nipples jounced against his belly rhythmically.
Shaw was getting too excited. If he didn't stop Kishka soon, he was going to shoot off. He gave a grunt and tossed her off his cock. Then, he disentangled his fingers from the other girls' twats and moved toward Kishka. For the time being, he was going to devote all of his attention to her.
He stuck out a hand for her unbelievably large boobs. Even spread out, his fingers could encompass only a third of one. This job needed two hands. He lifted the huge tit with both hands and let it bounce back down. Kishka groaned a bit. Evidently, playing with her tits was what turned Kishka on.
He put a hand on each side of one big breast and lifted it up to his mouth. It was all he could do to get the whole nipple in, but he opened his mouth wide and sucked noisily. Kishka moved close to him and started rubbing her pussy passionately against his leg. Her curly patch felt coarse and wet. Each time she rubbed, she moaned. Even in Arabic, Shaw thought, the language of lust was the same.
His cheeks puffed around her tit and he sucked them in and out. This is how a girl with a small mouth must feel when she sucks a big cock, he thought. His breath was getting ragged now and he had to pause every once in a while to fill his lungs.
Farfel and Derma, clearly envious of the attention Shaw was giving to Kishka, decided to get in on the action again. Derma kneeled between Shaw's legs and began licking his balls and Farfel boldly stepped right up to Kishka and began to push the other girl's boob out of his mouth.
Kishka's nipple popped out, bigger and more distended than ever and she frowned and pouted.
At the same time, Farfel took her pear-shaped boobs in her hands and held them out to Shaw, who put a hand on each. What a contrast, he noted. Farfel's breasts fitted nicely in his palms.
Kishka decided it was her turn to suck. She went down on his cock. Then, swooping her tongue around and around quickly while she moved her lips up and down, she started to blow him.
With Derma licking his balls at the same time, Shaw almost came again, but he got free in time. He was not going to shoot his cum without fucking these broads first.
He motioned them down on the cushion, all three of them, Each was sweaty, panting and dripping cunt juice. Their eyes were wild with passion. They lay down on the cushion, each girl obviously hoping that she would be the one Shaw would bless with the first fuck.
Shaw went to each girl, turning her over flat on her back and spreading her legs apart. Then, he moved away, and looked at their cunts.
He forgot which girl was which as he examined their hairy pussies, trying to decide which one pleased him most. One girl had purplish lips than hung down beneath her hair, while another's were pink and fat. The last girl's cunt lips were swollen but closed, hiding her slit.
Three clits peeked out at him through varying thickness of hair, and he had an urge to taste each one. He went first to the middle girl and put his lips around her engorged clit. Then he reached out a hand to each side and fondled the pussies of the others. The girl beneath him began to wiggle.
Shaw took his hand away from the cunt on his right and put the hand of the girl he was eating in its place. He knew he had to be eating Kishka, because her curly cunt hair gave her away.
Kishka's hand eagerly groped for the cunt of her harem-mate. Shaw looked up from his business for a moment. On his right was Farfel. He put her hand on Kishka's twat and backed off, watching the girls fondle each other.
This they did with enthusiasm. In a few minutes, they were grunting and groaning and twisting their hips passionately. Shaw turned his attention to Derma. The other girls would keep each other happy for a while.
Shaw stuffed a few fingers into Derma's hot, wet, waiting cunt and heard her cunt juice squish. The inside of her twat felt as though she were on fire.
Then, he pulled his fingers out of her cunt and kneeled between her legs. He had to get some of that pussy juice on his tongue. She raised her ass off the floor and opened her pussy wide with her hands, wriggling toward his big, firm cock all the time. Without an instant's hesitation, Shaw jammed his prick into her twat and felt her hot tissues enclose him. Derma was as hot as he was. In a minute or two, she was grinding her clit into his pubic bone and writhing wildly. She was sighing and whimpering at the same time.
The noise distracted Kishka and Farfel from their lesbian activities. They sat up to watch. All right, Shaw decided, let them get into the act too. He took his hands off Derma's hips for a moment and motioned to the other girls.
In a moment, they were massaging Derma's tits with their hands. Shaw's cock was vibrating with need, but he didn't want to cum quite yet. He slowed down his rhythm, then pushed Kishka's and Farfel's head down toward Derma's boobs. Each took one of her pointy tits in their mouths and sucked wetly and sloppily.
Derma's whimpers were turning into moans, loud moans. Shaw put his hands around her ass and stuck a finger through her crack and into her asshole. He wiggled and wiggled his finger deeper and deeper into the little hole.
Derma was shoving her body furiously against him, squeezing her cunt around his dick, rubbing her clit frantically against his pubic hair. Her moans had turned into screams.
At last, Shaw felt Derma's cunt tighten spasmodically and her hands reached around his ass and held him still while she ground her crotch against him.
Her cries finally stopped and she lay quiet.
Then, Kishka and Farfel released Derma's tits from their mouths and looked hungrily at Shaw. He was pulling his hard prick, soaking with pussy juice, out of her pussy. He'd managed to hold on. Now for the next chick.
He motioned Farfel to lick his dick and she leaped to the job. Shaw took her hand and put it in her own pussy and she rubbed away, catching on immediately-sucking and licking his dick the whole time.
Then, Shaw turned to Kishka, the girl with the enormous tits. He showed her what he wanted in sign language arid soon she was playing with her own tits. Shaw watched, fascinated, as she bounced them up and down and flung them around wildly.
What Farfel was doing to him was excruciatingly pleasurable. Another few seconds, he knew, and he'd cum. For a moment, he teetered on the brink-what a marvelous relief it would have been to cum. But then, he'd be unable to fuck Kishka-and all the rest.
He pulled his prick out of Farfel's mouth and lay down on his back. She sat on top of him and maneuvered her hot pussy down on his big erection. Her little tits danced around as she wiggled her ass, and he shoved a finger against her clit and moved his cock around inside her.
Then he remembered Kishka. He reached over and grabbed her ankle with his free hand and pulled her toward them. When she was close enough, he put Farfel's hand in Kishka's cunt. To his surprise, Kishka kept playing with her own monstrous boobs.
Then Shaw thought of Derma. He motioned her over to play with Farfel's tits while they fucked. Farfel's cunt juice poured out onto his cock as she bounced up and down on it. She opened and closed her pussy, trying each time to get more and more of it around his prick.
Shaw took her clit between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed it, moving his fingers in a circle. Now Farfel began to make noises, a kind of rhythmic grunting, and her ass bounced in time with it.
Shaw squeezed her clit harder and started tensing his cock inside of her. She bounced more frantically and her grunts turned into grotesque groans.
Finally, hen entire body stiffened and he felt the muscles in her thighs sticking out against her hips. She came down hard on his dick, once, twice, three times, ramming herself against him with all her might. Then, she yanked her hand out of Kishka's cunt and pulled away from Shaw, suddenly twisting her body so that she could get to his cock. She started licking him so furiously he was again afraid he'd drop his load.
Kishka started to yell angrily at Farfel and together she and Shaw pulled the girl away from his prick. Shaw laughed to himself. So even harem girls weren't "beyond jealousy, he realized.
Farfel and Derma moved away a little, playing with each other half-heartedly. Kishka, on the other hand, was staring so hard at Shaw's cock that he felt embarrassed for a moment. She pointed to her pussy.
It was the hairiest one Shaw had ever seen. That and her tits made her super chick as far as Shaw was concerned. Looking at her, he got an idea.
He motioned her to get down on the cushion on all fours and she did. Her ass stuck high into the air. Below it, her cunt lips hung down invitingly. Shaw spread them apart and moved toward her almost immediately. Guiding his dick with his hand, he stuck it into her from behind.
Kishka's tits jounced up and down on the cushion as she wiggled her ass around. Shaw reached around under her belly and diddled her clit as he fucked her. Almost instantly, she exploded, heaving and gasping for breath.
Shaw felt the rounded cheeks of her ass against his belly and suddenly pulled his cock out of her. Already he'd been in three girls that night. Already, he'd brought each of them to shuddering completion.
Now, he thought, it was his turn. His eyes fastened on Kishka's tits as if he were hypnotized. Recovering from what had just happened to her, she glanced back at him.
Shaw motioned to her to lie on her back. Then, he lowered himself on to her, placing his prick between her massive boobs. He put his hands on her tits and squeezed them together around his prick. The tip of his glans rubbed against Kishka's chin.
He moved up a bit, and she took the hint and stuck out her tongue. Most of his cock was buried in her boobs, but the tip was just under her lower lip and she could just reach it with her tongue.
With each stroke, she circled around his cock with her wet tongue. That and her soft boobs encasing his prick made an incredible combination. His balls bounced around on those tits too. This was a girl he'd like to take home, he thought. Where would he ever find tits like these matched with such a juicy, hairy cunt again?
He kept sliding his cock back and forth in the valley between Kishka's tits, slowly and smoothly, without effort; his cum moved up in his balls, for the last time this night. Then he passed the point of no return. He came, again and again, in waves, in big long spurts of cream.
His white cum spurted onto Kishka's mouth and her tongue slurped it up almost as fast as it came out. He thought he would never stop cuming, never stop spurting.
At last, there was no more.
He glanced at Farfel and Derma. Obviously they were impressed. But, at least for an hour or so, he'd shot his Wad.
Late the next afternoon, back in his hotel, he picked up his telephone and asked for Hassan.
"Was everything satisfactory, Mr. Shaw?"
"You know it was."
"What about the girl you chose?"
"You were right about her too, dammit." Shaw reached into his pocket and handed Hassan a check for five hundred dollars.
"Thank you sir."
"It was worth it. It was worth more and if I had it, I'd give it to you."
"All I ask is that you come again."
"Someday, Hassan, I will. I promise."
"What did you tell the girls, Mr. Shaw?"
"Oh, they're still in the palace. Expect me back soon, I guess."
Hassan nodded. He grabbed Shaw's baggage and the two of them went downstairs to the cab stand. They shook hands and Shaw's cab drove off.
Hassan went back to his own quarters and changed out of his uniform. Then he headed toward the palace.
Tokyo
Shaw watched the blonde stewardess as she brought him his steak. She was, he decided, the corn-fed Iowa type-clear, peachy complexion, good, strong legs with muscular thighs, probably a nice fuzzy patch of blonde cunt hair and a pair of knockers that would leave your eyes bulging.
He'd seen dozens of stewardesses in the last weeks, a fair number of them better looking than this girl. But he looked at her intensely anyway, as if to burn the image of her into his mind.
Shaw checked his watch. In less than an hour, the 747 would be setting down at Tokyo's International Airport. This was the last decent Caucasian girl he was likely to see for some time. From now on, he'd be spending his time looking over slender Japanese girls. Their sexuality was usually cloaked in a kimono.
Out of the window to his left, Shaw could see Mount Fuji,the symmetrical, snow-capped former volcano that was sacred to the Japanese. As he looked at its perfectly shaped slopes, Shaw inevitably thought of tits-it didn't take much to bring such thoughts to mind.
In a short time, the plane was over Tokyo's suburbs. Somewhere down there, Shaw knew, was a geisha girl named Honoshu. And not just a geisha girl, but the geisha girl.
He'd first heard of Honoshu in New York, when, on assignment, he was taking pictures of Huntingford Hartten's house. Somehow the conversation had turned to women. That was not surprising, really. Hunt was known to be one of the world's outstanding fuckers.
They'd discussed movie stars and beauty queens, and Hunt passed his authoritative opinions on each.
"But none of them," he'd said, "knows how to please a man like Honoshu."
"Honoshu?" Shaw had never heard of her.
"She's a Japanese geisha."
Shaw had smiled at the time. "Somehow," he said, "Oriental girls have never appealed to me much. They're just not womanly enough, if you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean," Hartten said, "and you're a fool. The average Japanese woman knows more about sex and love-making than three American women put together. They may not have big tits, but they have all the other necessary equipment and you can be damned sure they know what to do with it."
Shaw had nodded, unconvinced.
"Just consider, for a moment, that those four little islands that comprise Japan have a population of a hundred million-half that of the United States. And I assume that I don't have to tell you about China's population. Whatever you may think of Oriental women, they certainly turn their men on-more than Occidental women, if population figures are any judge."
Shaw had shrugged. "Well, to each his own. Besides, what could this Honoshu do that any good, experienced whore in New York couldn't match?"
Hartten was suddenly angry. "Honoshu is not a whore."
"But you pay for her services, don't you?"
"Yes. But at ten thousand dollars a night, I don't think you could call her a common prostitute."
Shaw had whistled softly. "What could she possibly do that is worth ten grand?"
"My boy, nothing is worth ten grand. But Honoshu comes close. Just what she does simply cannot be described. It must be experienced."
Shaw had given a resigned shrug. "I guess I'll never know, not at that price."
Hartten had smiled sympathetically. "Rank does have its privileges, Mr. Shaw."
That conversation had taken place nearly two years ago. Since then, Shaw had heard more about Honoshu-from Harriman L. Gould and Victor Hagen-Daas.
Even then, the information was sketchy. Honoshu, he'd gathered, was an incredibly lovely woman of perhaps twenty-seven. Her customers had to be either rich or famous or both. And her reputation among the wealthiest men in the world was so widespread that almost every one of them had taken a trip to Tokyo just to see her.
She entertained these men (and some women too, if they qualified) on one condition: they were not allowed to touch her. She did all the touching. Should a guest attempt to touch her, the evening was abruptly ended, and none too pleasantly, Shaw gathered.
But just what Honoshu did with her clients, they were either too embarrassed to tell or simply unable to describe. Still, they went back again and again, paying their fee each time.
No one, it seemed, knew how Honoshu had started. No one knew how wealthy she had become. And no one, not a single one of the wealthy men Shaw met on his assignments, was willing to tell him where Honoshu might be found. That, it seemed, was their secret.
The big jetliner settled down in the bright sunlight of the International Airport and slowly rolled to a stop. In a few minutes, Shaw was in a cab, headed for the largest city in the world.
Shaw told the driver to take him to the Palace Hotel, a western-style luxury hotel overlooking the Imperial Palace. There, he paid the driver nine hundred yen, checked in, and unpacked his bags.
He'd had nearly a full night's sleep on the long flight and felt fairly fresh. So, he loaded up his cameras and set out to satisfy Mitch Daniels-and, incidentally, see if he could get a line on Honoshu.
Shaw had already figured out a photo story, a picture-essay on the narrow, teeming back streets of Tokyo. It would be easy to do, wouldn't take much time, and would give him a chance to ask about Honoshu in some likely places.
He headed first for the Tokyo Tower, nearly eleven hundred feet high, every tourist's first stop. From here, the sprawling city could be seen as a whole. It was a good place for a first impression.
Shaw looked out over the city, checking what he saw with a small map he'd picked up at the hotel. That patch of green to the left, he knew, was the garden of the Imperial Palace. Nearby was another patch of green, Hibiya Park, roughly comparable to New York's Central Park. Off to the right, he could see Ueno Park, with its museums and zoo. And, across town, in the distance, Meiji Park was also visible, and the National Stadium and gymnasium where, according to the guidebook, the 1964 Olympics had been held.
Almost directly below, and toward the center of his field of view, Shaw could see the bustling commercial district. Small men in what looked like white pajamas, pulled little hand trucks loaded with merchandise and ladies wearing kimonos scurried around busily. Racks of clothing and other goods clogged the narrow streets. It looked for all the world like a Japanese version of Orchard Street, that spot on New York's lower East Side where the immigrants had a street culture all their own.
This, Shaw decided, was the place he'd been looking for. He descended from the tower and snapped a 35mm lens on his Nikon. A couple of hours and he'd have every shot he needed.
A few minutes later, Shaw was wandering among the street stalls, clicking off shot after shot, examining the delicate woodblock prints, the lacquer-ware, the pearl necklaces, the silk and brocade clothing, the porcelain and pottery. Occasionally, the street stalls were interrupted by a glass-front store selling cameras and binoculars, or transistor radios and TV sets. It was a. strange combination of East and West.
Shaw also looked at the girls as he wandered about. Some wore Western clothes, miniskirts and pantsuits. Others wore the more traditional kimonos. Nearly every one of them had those perfect, doll-like Oriental features. But, except for an occasional overly made-up, play-for-pay type, he couldn't see a trace of sexuality in them. It had been a long time since his cock felt so shrunken and cold.
And yet, all of those wealthy men couldn't have been wrong. From what they'd said, Honoshu was the perfect girl to see, to add to his tour. If she could satisfy the fantasies of Huntingford Hartten and H. Mellen Vandergelt, she would certainly provide Nick Shaw with a memorable night.
That is, if he could find the girl. And somehow convince her to give out a free sample. It seemed nearly an impossible assignment, but Shaw was never at a loss for confidence when it came to women. Somehow, he'd find her. He had enough of a journalist's ingenuity for that. And one way or another, he'd convince her to render to him the services she had rendered to Hartten and his buddies. That was, after all, just a matter of fast talk. He hoped.
As he walked along the streets, he noticed the merchandise getting shoddier and shoddier. Young men started coming up to him on the sidewalk and offering him Seiko watches or Cannon cameras "very cheap, very cheap." Then, after a while, the play-for-pay crowd got a bit thicker and he could hardly walk a full block without being propositioned at least once.
Finally, one particularly bold girl blocked his way. She was wearing a black silk dress, slit up the side well past her thigh. Shaw thought he caught a glimpse of cunt hair. Her eyes had been westernized with false eyelashes and a little bit of surgery.
She stood in front of him, hands on hips, her obviously padded tits thrust out at him in a practiced gesture of provocation. "You like what you see?" she said, in almost perfect English. "Ten thousand yen, twenty-five dollar American, for the night, the whole night."
Shaw smiled sarcastically. "Sorry lady. I won't be happy with anyone less than Honoshu."
For a moment the girl stared at him in utter disbelief. Then, she burst out into laughter, the uncontrolled laughter of ridicule. After that, she walked away without even a second look at him.
The whole episode was very disturbing to Shaw. The whole implication was that he'd never even get to see
Honoshu, that no one like him had the least chance.
Shaw thought on it long and hard as he walked back to his hotel. There was only one way to find the girl, he decided. Somehow, he had to establish himself as a rich American, a very rich American.
By the time he'd arrived at his hotel, he'd figured out a method that had at least a chance of working. He picked up the telephone and called the Imperial Hotel, the most expensive in Tokyo, and ordered a suite of rooms in the name of R. Peter Petty, Jr., for arrival in three days. "He's the son of the oil millionaire, you know," Shaw told the reservations clerk. "He'll expect only the very best."
"Yes, sir," the clerk had answered obsequiously. "I understand, sir. It will be as you wish."
The suite was expensive, a hundred a night. But Shaw needed it for only one night to pull off his plan.
For the next three days, Nick Shaw acted the role of one of the richest men in the world. He'd met enough of them to know exactly how to do it. He went to the most expensive, exclusive shops in the city and bought the most expensive merchandise. For a few days, he knew, he was tying up all his expense money, but he'd get it back soon enough, when he returned all the goods. He had them sent to the Imperial Hotel, to R. Peter Petty, Jr.
In the evenings, he splurged on dinner. He tipped lavishly and made it a point of treating the maitre d' expansively, making himself known. He dined at the Akashak Misono, the Ashai, and the Steakhouse Ginsen. Afterwards, he went through the same charade at such nightclubs as the Golden Gessekai and the Queen Bee.
By the day he checked into his suite at the Imperial, Shaw was a well-known character in Tokyo, as far as was possible. But, of course, he was known as R. Peter Petty, Jr.
Shaw spent that morning on the telephone, calling all the maitre d's he'd met, and the shop owners and the wealthy Japanese he'd rubbed shoulders with. Each conversation went more or less the same:
"Mr. Kinshagi? Petty here. R. Peter Petty, Jr. Fine, thank you. Mr. Kinshagi, you of course have heard of Honoshu? Good. I would like to arrange to see her this evening. Mr. Hartten gave me her telephone number, but somehow my butler has managed to misplace it. Could you have her contact me at the hotel sometime today? I understand it is difficult but I am sure you will find a way. I will be so very grateful if you do."
Each person he talked to first protested he knew of no way to contact Honoshu, but that implied promise of reward usually got an "I'll do my very best, Mr. Petty." All in all, Shaw made fifteen such calls. Then, he sat back and waited. If this didn't work, he'd forget the whole thing. But these were the men who knew everything important that happened in Tokyo. They must know how to reach her.
He sat in his suite all day, watching Japanese horror movies on color TV and waiting for the phone to ring.
Finally, at about four-thirty, when he'd just about given up hope', it rang.
"Mr. Petty?" It was a male voice.
"Just a moment," Shaw said, distorting his own pitch. "Who shall I say is calling?"
"Honoshu."
"One moment, please."
Shaw held his hand over the receiver for a second and muttered a few unintelligible words, as if he was telling someone something. Then he uncovered the receiver and spoke again.
"Petty here."
"One moment, Mr. Petty," the male voice said.
"Mr. Petty," said a lilting female voice, "I am told you wish to see me. This is Honoshu."
"Honoshu? Good. Yes, I want to see you. Mr. Hartten recommended that I call you."
"Mr. Hartten. You have good references, Mr. Petty. Yes, I think we can meet. I will be free a week from tomorrow night."
"No, Honoshu. Tonight-or not at all. I'm flying to Hong Kong tomorrow."
"I would so like to accommodate you, Mr. Petty. But tonight is simply impossible."
"I would be prepared to triple your usual fee."
There was silence on the phone for a while. Then Honoshu spoke again. "Do vou wish me to come to your hotel?"
"Yes. At seven-thirty, please. I will have dinner sent up for the two of us. Do you prefer Western style, or Oriental?"
"Oriental," Honoshu said. "I'll see you this evening, then." There was a click and the connection was broken.
Suddenly, Shaw felt his heart pounding and he realized he was sweating profusely. He'd done it! The first step, anyway. Now, he had to convince her to do for him what she had done for all the world's richest men-and not at triple fee, but at no fee at all. He had just three hours to think of a way . . .
At seven-thirty on the nose, the suite's doorbell rang. Shaw went to the door and opened it.
The girl standing there was wearing a green and white striped kimono. Wrapped around her slender body, it effectively concealed her figure-if she had one. Her face, however, was exquisite. It was as if it had been chiseled from the finest ivory. Her long black hair was meticulously braided and piled on top of her head. Her eyes were unlike any Oriental eyes Shaw had ever seen. They were pale blue. The effect was stunning. Shaw felt that familiar tingle in his balls.
"I am Honoshu," she announced. "Please tell Mr. Petty I am here."
"I'm Petty," Shaw said. "Sent the butler out for the night."
Honoshu tilted her head and looked at him curiously. "But you are so young. I expected . . . ."
"I know. Many people expect my father. Are you disappointed?"
Honoshu looked Shaw up and down. She smiled a tight-lipped little smile. "Most of my clients are old men," she said. "Sometimes it is hard to rouse them. It will be a pleasure to serve such a person as you."
Shaw nodded and gestured that she enter.
A few minutes later, three waiters delivered dinner to the room. It consisted of teppanyaki steaks, which were grilled right on the table, along with bean sprouts and soy sauce. Green tea was served before the meal and black tea was brought later.
Soon, the waiters departed and left Honoshu and Shaw by themselves. Shaw got up and locked the door.
"I'm glad you were able to come tonight," he said, returning to the table.
"You offered me more than adequate compensation, Mr. Petty."
"Ah yes," he said, "so I did. It's a pity I cannot pay you."
Honoshu stared at Shaw, for a moment, stunned. Then she rose from the table.
"Please sit down for a few minutes," Shaw said. "Listen to what I have to say. Then you may go."
"This happened to me once before, Mr. Petty Honoshu began. "My name is Shaw."
"Mr. Shaw, then. The person who did this to me was never found. He simply vanished."
Shaw felt the sweat break out on his forehead. He remembered the male voice on the telephone and guessed what she meant. Until this point, it had been a sexual game. Now, he knew that his life might depend on what he said.
"I know of that incident," he lied smoothly. "I have heard a great deal about you from Mr. Hartten and Mr. Vandergelt. You cannot believe I have contacted you frivolously, even though I cannot pay."
Honoshu seemed intrigued. "Yes, Mr. Shaw, go on. Convince me if you can."
Shaw had decided that the only way he could convince her to perform her services for him was to tell her the truth-about his trip here, and about his other adventures in other lands, and the reason for them.
The whole story took him about an hour to tell, and he wasn't more than five minutes into it before he realized that she was getting a kick out of the whole idea. She soon was asking questions, laughing in her little tittering way at the appropriate funny moments, showing concern when he was in danger.
"So," Shaw said, bringing his story to an end, "I came to Japan to see you. I knew you'd never waste your time on anyone who wasn't rich and famous, so I did my best to establish that kind of identity for myself. I visited the expensive restaurants, took this hotel room, bought expensive clothes, etc."
"But how could you afford this, Mr. Shaw?"
"I couldn't-can't. I have to return everything tomorrow. And I only have this suite for tonight."
Honoshu began to laugh. It was a sound like the tinkling of little bells. After a while, she recovered herself and shook her head at him in amused wonder.
"Mr. Shaw, you are a very naughty boy. You have cost me a great deal of money, you know. But you touch me. After all you have gone through on your quest, how can I disappoint you?"
"You mean you'll do it?" Shaw could hardly believe his ears. He'd won it all!
"Yes, Mr. Shaw, I will do it. I have only one condition-no, two. First, you may never tell any of your rich friends that you met with me. Second, you may not touch me. If you make the slightest advance toward me, our meeting will be immediately terminated. My manservant is immediately outside the door, so don't think you can force me against my will. A call from me and he will be here. Do you agree?"
Shaw sighed. A bodyguard outside the door right now! He was really lucky his story had convinced her. "Of course I agree, Honoshu. And please call me by my first name-Nick."
"All right Nick," she said with a gentle smile. "I am sure you will be satisfied."
Shaw felt his heartbeat accelerate. "Should we go to the bedroom?"
"Of course."
She waited, like most Japanese women, until Shaw had started toward the other room, then followed after him, carrying a small satchel.
"You may get on the bed and disrobe, Nick."
"Disrobe? Just like that?"
"Yes. Just like that."
Shaw got onto the bed, pulled off his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, all the while watching the beautiful Japanese girl. She had opened her little satchel and was taking out what seemed to be candles. She placed these around the room, one on the dresser, one on the nightstand, one on the little bed table-and lit them. Soon, the scent of incense flooded the room.
Then, Honoshu started turning down the lights in the room, until only a single dim bulb was burning. There was a big club chair on one side of the room and Honoshu dragged it over to the foot of the bed, so that Shaw could see it perfectly.
Meanwhile, Shaw was undressing. He had his shirt and pants off now, and, as he pulled off his underpants, he expected Honoshu to take a look at him. But no, she was too busy.
She took a small package out of her satchel and unwrapped it. It was a red silk dressing gown, a beautiful, typically Japanese garment. Honoshu turned her back on Shaw without even a glance at him and deftly slipped out of her kimono and into the dressing gown. In the dim light, Shaw had trouble catching more than a glimpse of rounded ass and just a flash of boob. But even the glimpse led him to believe Honoshu was better endowed than most Oriental girls.
He felt his cock tingle in anticipation and expand. Whatever she had in mind, it wasn't going to take long now. The mystery of what she was planning excited him tremendously.
Shaw watched, wondering, as Honoshu took a small Japanese cassette tape recorder and popped a cassette into it. Immediately, the soft, strange twanging of Oriental music began to filter through the room. That, along with the incense, gave the whole scene a dreamlike quality.
. Finally, Honoshu glanced over at Shaw, who was now lying naked on the bed. "Good," she said, "we're all ready."
Then, she sat down in the club chair and closed her eyes.
For the first time, Shaw could see the outlines of her figure through the red silk bathrobe. Her tits were large, better than average. And, as the robe fell open slightly, Shaw could see her shapely calves and thighs. Again, he felt a twinge in his cock.
Slowly, while Shaw watched, Honoshu began to caress herself through her robe. With both hands, she cupped her tits, squeezing them gently and massaging them, until Shaw could see the nipples bulging under the silk. Slowly, her hands slid down her body, sensuously feeling the contours of her waist and belly, until they were at her twat.
Shaw stared as she started to massage the hairy mound with the fingers of both hands, simultaneously moving her hips around in the chair. Honoshu's breathing had deepened considerably and her tits were heaving with excitement.
Shaw's cock was standing tall by now. His breathing was fully matching hers. He put a hand on his prick and started jerking himself off a little-just to heighten the excitement until Honoshu got to him.
By this time, Honoshu's passion was obvious. She'd pulled her robe open and Shaw could now clearly see her beautiful body for the first time. The skin was incredibly smooth and her tits were almost perfect globes. The nipples were brownish-red and they were almost like flowers on the pale flesh of her boobs.
What Honoshu's hands had done when she'd been covered by her robe, they now did to her naked body.
First, her hands fondled and caressed her tits. She squeezed her hard, erect nipples between her thumbs and forefingers and they swelled even more. Shaw longed to have his lips on them, to suck them and rub his wet tongue against them. But that was not to be. Contact was out.
Her hands again slid down her body, gliding along her smooth, hairless skin and converging at her thighs, where there was a small, triangular patch of dense, glistening black hair.
She ran her hands over the hairy mound for a few minutes, sighing occasionally as the feelings of lust grew in her. Then, she spread her legs and the bathrobe fell open entirely.
Shaw could see the big red cunt lips sticking out of her slit. They were already shining wetly with cunt juice. As he stared at her twat, Honoshu put one finger into her mouth, wetting it, then shoved it into her cunt, wiggling her ass at the same time. With the other hand, she reached for her clit. She put a finger directly on top of the little button and started to rub-first slowly, then faster and faster until her hand was almost a blur.
Honoshu's head was tossing and turning on the chair back now and her tits were heaving as she fought for breath. One finger was ramming in and out of her juicy cunt, while the other flicked her swollen clit again and again.
Shaw was fascinated by the sight of the slender, beautiful young Japanese girl frantically masturbating herself before his eyes. He couldn't resist playing with himself as he watched, making a circle out of his fist and jerking it rapidly up and down his huge erect cock. He was so excited that a drop or two of pre-cum leaked out of his prick. His fingers picked it up and smeared it up and down his pounding prick.
Honoshu's mouth was open wide now and she seemed possessed by her own passion. Her whole body was twisting and turning in sensuous pleasure. The fingers that had been flicking at her hard, red clit slowly slid down her slit toward her cunt hole and suddenly, she had four fingers in her cunt. She was shoving them in and out in desperate passion, her breath rasping, and moist, sloppy sucking noises coming from her cunt with each motion.
Shaw could see that her cunt juice was almost pouring out of her hairy slit now, flowing over her fingers and down her thighs. He'd never seen a girl make so much cunt juice before.
She began muttering to herself in Japanese-a stream of Oriental curse words, Shaw guessed-and the sounds seemed to electrify her even more than her flying fingers.
Suddenly, she jammed her fingers into her cunt with all her strength. Shaw watched in astonishment as her fingers sank into the hairy hole past the last joint. Honoshu pulled one shining, wet hand out, but pushed the other even deeper into her cunt, past the beginning of the palm. Now, all five fingers were buried in the sopping tunnel, and still the girl pushed on.
Shaw grasped his prick tighter and tighter, his pulse racing. With the greatest effort, he managed not to jerk himself off too fast, not to cum too soon. He was sure this was only the beginning.
Shaw's eyes nearly popped as he saw Honoshu's hand sinking even deeper into her cunt. Her ass squirmed furiously and she twisted her wrist back and forth to make the contact just as deep as possible.
The insertion stopped at the wrist. All of Honoshu's hand was buried deep inside her cunt. Shaw knew the fingers were beating out a frantic rhythm in her inner depths, massaging erotic areas that no normal girl ever knew existed.
The other hand Honoshu had brought up to her face, putting it directly over her nose and breathing deeply, licking her fingers with her tongue. Then, she took her hand away from her face. Her eyes were bulging with passion.
There was a tremendous pop as Honoshu suddenly jerked her hand out of her cunt and covered her face with it, and she let out a piercing scream of lust that shook Shaw to the core.
Her hips jerked, and, for an instant, her entire body was rigid with passion. Slowly the sound of the scream died away and even more slowly, Honoshu's body relaxed. Her eyes opened and she looked at Shaw and smiled slightly.
Shaw, by now, was practically vibrating with need. His cock was curved into the shape it assumed only at the height of excitement.
Honoshu rose from her chair and glided toward the bed. Both hands were wet with cunt juice. Again she smiled. She reached toward Shaw with those glistening fingers and all at once Shaw was almost suffocated in the odor of cunt juice.
Now, both of her hands were on his cheeks. Then, she put a hand over his nose and, for a few seconds, Shaw could smell nothing but cunt juice. He felt his cock twitching violently and he knew he was very, very near to aiming.
Leaving one soaked hand on his face, Honoshu trailed the other one down Shaw's body, leaving a path of moisture as she went. She stopped at his cock, and lifted hjs hand away gently. Then, she replaced it with her own slippery paw, making a circle with her fingers.
The other hand Honoshu slowly moved toward Shaw's mouth. Then, she inserted a juice-covered finger into his mouth, then another and another, until his mouth was jammed full of her fingers and the taste of her flooded his senses.
At his cock, her hand began to move up and down the shaft, sliding and slipping as it went. Up and down she moved her hand, squeezing at the same time-first very fast, again and again. Then, she slowed the rhythm. Again she speeded up and Shaw, overwhelmed with her smells and tastes and the feel of her squeezing fingers knew there was no holding back any more.
Like a fountain, he felt the thick white cum spurt up and out, dropping hotly on his belly, first, then his thighs. He felt almost as if he were exploding with cum.
Then it was over.
Honoshu's fingers were no longer in his mouth, no longer playing with his dick. The smell, taste and feel of her began to fade slowly.
He turned his face to look at her, to see where she'd gone. To his shock, she was standing at her little satchel, putting away the incense sticks, the tape recorder and the red silk bathrobe. She was completely composed, as if the fantastic scene that had just occurred had, in reality, never even happened.
"Honoshu?"
"Yes?"
"You're going?"
"Yes. I have 15 minutes to get to my next client. A paying client, I might add."
"Honoshu, you were fantastic."
"I know."
"You were everything I imagined. Even more than I imagined."
"Yes. Americans always say that."
"My fantasy is genuinely satisfied, Honoshu. I thank you for that."
"You're welcome, Nick Shaw. I am glad I have pleased you. Someday, perhaps, when you are rich, or if you can get one of your rich friends to lend you the money, you will return to me."
"I'm sure I will. It's an experience I'd love to repeat."
"Repeat? I never repeat myself. Never."
She turned toward him, her satchel closed, smiling ironically, and walked out the front door.
Tahiti
Shaw was thoroughly exhausted, physically and mentally. Try as he might, he couldn't stir himself with thoughts of sex. After a day or two of this, he started to worry. What if he'd done too much? What if he'd burned himself out?
No, that wasn't it, he told himself. He just needed a rest-a real rest. But it had to be away from civilization, and temptation.
He took out his ticket, the coupon for Flight Number One that entitled him to pack up and go anywhere on the face of the earth within one year from date of issue.
Then it came to him. Tahiti. Tropical breezes and palm trees. Clear blue skies and warm blue waters. Pineapples and pomegranates. Mile after mile of white, sandy beaches.
Yes, that was the place for a rest. He'd find himself a little bungalow on the beach, or even make one out of bamboo and just sleep or lie on the beach for a couple of weeks. Then he'd be as good as new. He was sure of it. Even the thought of Tahiti made him feel better.
Maybe, if he felt good enough, he could take a closer look at one of the native girls. After all. ine Tahitians were supposed to be the most beautiful people on earth, and one of the most sensual. Ah, shit, he thought, that's what got me into this mess in the first place.
That afternoon, Shaw boarded the giant Pan Am jet. He asked the stewardess for a pillow, without even taking a second glance at her, and promptly fell asleep.
He didn't wake up once during the entire flight, except when lunch was served. The plane landed at the Faa Airport on the main island of Tahiti and Shaw drowsily paid the three hundred French Pacific francs to get him to his hotel, the Royal Papeete. It was on the waterfront of the small city of Papeete, capital of Tahiti, a nation of one hundred and ten islands, inhabited by fewer than two hundred thousand brown-skinned Polynesians. Shaw registered, went to his room, stripped and fell into bed as if he'd been drugged.
It was the bright sunlight streaming through his blinds that woke him up, nearly ten hours later. He called room service and found out that it was late morning. He shaved, slipped on red shorts, sandals and a loose weave shirt and went downstairs for breakfast. This time, he left his camera equipment in his room. Mitch Daniels, Shaw was sure, wouldn't begrudge him a vacation.
Outside the hotel, Shaw took a deep breath of the marvelous clear air. Those deserted beaches couldn't be far, he thought. He'd find out where to go, get someone to take him there in a jeep or a donkey cart, if necessary, and take it easy until he was his old self again.
But a half hour of looking around Papeete disturbed him deeply. Though the population was only twenty thousand or so, the place was as much of a tourist trap as Hawaii. Everywhere he looked, Shaw found another modern, fifteen story hotel, complete with expensive restaurants, boutiques, and shops.
Discouraged, he went back to his hotel for lunch. If Tahiti had turned into a South Pacific version of Miami
Beach, was there anywhere left on earth where a man could lie on the sand in solitude, away from the pressures and tensions of civilization?
During the next three days, Shaw toured the major Tahitian Islands in search of the paradise he was beginning to believe no longer existed. He saw miles of lovely beach, dotted with modern hotels. He saw the Gauguin museum, and wondered if the famous painter could have found peace in Tahiti today. He also saw Pointe Venus, where Captain Cook had landed in 1769, and wistfully wished he could have lived in that age.
Moores, the second largest island in the Tahiti chain, was much like Tahiti itself. Beautiful air, beautiful water, strings of modern hotels.
Bora Bora was more of the same. There, you could rent an outrigger canoe, or some flippers, snorkels and spear guns and cavort with other Americans.
It wasn't until his fifth day in Tahiti that Shaw began to think he might actually find what he was looking for. On that day, he took the hour's flight to Raiatea.
The sweeping sand beaches of Raiatea were not decorated by hotels and restaurants. They were empty. In fact, there was really only one hotel on the island, the Bali Hai, near the only town, Utorca. Shaw made his decision on the spot. This was where he'd find what he was looking for, if he was to find it at all. He checked into the Bali Hai and arranged to have his luggage delivered from the main island. Then, he rented a tiny motorbike, one of the three available on the island, and set off.
As he drove along the narrow dirt roads, roads that had never seen anything larger than horse-carts, Shaw finally began to feel he was really in Tahiti. He passed boys, muscular and lithe, climbing up coconut trees. He passed small streams, here women were washing their clothes on rocks. The motorbike attracted attention wherever he went. Evidently, not many people drove them out that way.
For the first time since he'd arrived, Shaw began to really look at the natives-the native girls, that is. He saw them carrying baskets on their heads, herding children through the villages, hacking away at sugar stalks, in the fields.
The Polynesians are a coffee-colored people, with shining black hair and large brown eyes. They walk with a brisk, yet unhurried step, and hold themselves erect. The women, from sixteen to sixty, it seemed to Shaw, were beautifully built. They had large, rounded tits and fully molded thighs, without an ounce of fat. Their faces were open, honest and happy, with gleaming white teeth and free-flowing black hair. They looked, Shaw thought, like women should look.
As Shaw rode his motorbike through the villages of Raiatea looking at the native girls, he began to get that old familiar tickle in his balls again. So he wasn't dead yet, he thought, amused.
Toward the western edge of the island, the villages grew fewer and the road rougher. Shaw was sure he'd find what he was looking for soon. The only sign of civilization was the clothing Shaw himself was wearing, and the motorbike he was riding.
He turned off the tiny motor and began to pedal. It seemed a crime to disturb this place with the putt-putt of a gasoline engine, however small. He felt new strength in his body as he stood up on the pedals and forced the bike up a small rise. Then, he felt exhilarated as he coasted downhill.
Up ahead of him, he heard children laughing. A teenage boy and a teenage girl, both wearing only loincloths, suddenly darted out into the road, the boy chasing, the girl. Shaw kept pedaling toward them as they ran across his path, a hundred yards or so ahead of him. Under the boy's flapping loincloth, Shaw could see a large, erect cock. The girl was a slender thing, still in the midst of puberty. Her small, pointed breasts were so firm they didn't even bounce as she ran.
By the time Shaw saw the pair, the chase was just about over. In a few steps, the boy caught the girl. They fell to the ground, laughing. Then, the boy turned the girl over on her back and mounted her. Shaw caught only the briefest glimpse of pussy hair before the boy pushed his dick into her cunt and started banging away.
Then, suddenly, Shaw felt a tremendous jolt. The front wheel of his bike had hit a partially concealed root. He fought for control, lost the fight, and crashed into a tree beside the dirt road. Everything went black.
When Shaw regained consciousness, he was lying on a straw mat on the beach. A woman was holding a wet cloth to his head. He pushed himself up on one elbow and saw that several people were around him, looking at him anxiously. He reached up and felt his head. There was a huge bump on one side, but, other than that, he seemed okay. He started to rise, but the woman holding the cloth said, "No, no," and gently pushed him back to the mat. She put the damp cloth to his head again.
Shaw felt very drowsy. He let himself relax and closed his eyes.
When he woke up, the woman was sitting beside him. She smiled as he sat up and tentatively reached for the damp cloth.
"It's all right," Shaw said. "I'm okay now, I think." She clearly didn't understand his words.
"Me," Shaw said, pointing to himself, "ah, okay." He pounded his chest a couple of times and nodded his head in approval. The woman smiled broadly. She understood.
"I have to go back to my hotel," he said, again meeting with a confused look. He made steering and pedaling motions.
The woman nodded gravely and led him to his bike a few yards away. The front wheel rim was bent grotesquely. Fixing it was out of the question. The only way to get back, Shaw knew, was by donkey.
He turned toward the woman, smiled, shrugged, and sat down on the beach. She reached down, took his hand, and tugged at him. "Come," she said.
Shaw followed the woman to a small bamboo hut a few hundred yards away. She was, he estimated, about thirty-five. Her face was not beautiful by Western standards, but she broke into a broad grin at the slightest provocation. She wore only a loincloth, and Shaw couldn't take his eyes off her tits, which were almost perfectly round, except for the dark brown aureole and nipple. The rest of her body was smooth and sinewy, except for her ass, which, like her boobs, was full and rounded. Shaw tried hard not to think about fucking her, but it was a futile effort.
Beside the bamboo hut, the young girl Shaw had seen earlier-the cause of his accident, in a way-was cooking a fish over a small fire. She was still wearing just the loincloth Shaw had seen her wearing earlier.
The mother motioned Shaw to sit down beside a large flat stone, and, in a few minutes, he was eating a delicious dinner. As he ate, his eyes stayed on mother and daughter. They were both incredibly sexy, without, apparently, making any attempt to appear so. As they ate, Shaw realized he had a tremendous hard-on. He wanted to fuck them both. But which one he wanted more, he didn't know.
After the meal, the three of them talked together as much, as they could, considering the. language difficulties. The woman, Manola, was a widow. Her husband had apparently been lost in a small fishing boat during a storm. The girl, Tiha, was indeed her daughter, her only child. Shaw, they indicated, was welcome to stay as long as he liked. Inside the bamboo hut, they showed him that a third mat had been laid out for him to sleep on.
By now, it was dark. Shaw stepped outside and looked at the stars through the clear night. There was no city light to invade the darkness, only the small orange night-fire of the village.
Shaw thanked mother and daughter for their hospitality and the three of them entered the bamboo hut and lay down on their grass mats.
At first, Shaw thought he was dreaming when he felt a warm, feminine body close beside him. But when he felt a hand reach for his cock and begin playing with it, he knew it was no dream. It was so dark, he couldn't see whether it was the woman or the daughter beside him.
There was one way to tell. Shaw reached over to touch the woman's tits. They were full and rounded. It was the mother. At his touch, she sighed and started moving her hand rapidly up and down Shaw's cock.
Shaw kept playing with Manola's tits and, in a few moments, her nipples were hard and erect and she shivered each time he rubbed his fingers across them.
The whole thing was more than Shaw had bargained for. He'd hoped for a rest in a tropical paradise, an escape from civilization. But he never thought it would be complete with a beautiful woman who evidently wanted to fuck him as much as he wanted to fuel her.
Shaw pulled the woman to him, squashing her breasts against his body. He could feel her delicate cunt hairs brushing against his leg and he pushed his thigh against them. Again, Manola sighed. Then, she rose up on her haunches and bent down over his erect cock. He felt her soft, full lips close over he glans, as her tongue shot up and out and started to titillate the tip of his cock. The thrill shot through the length of his prick and into his balls. Then, he almost ;d out as Manola took his entire cock in her mouth 1 started to suck noisily, swirling her wet tongue und the sensitive flesh.
"Shaw tugged at Manola's waist and finally, she got up, ; mouth still on his cock, and crouched over him, her it suspended directly above his face. He could smell female musk, so close to his nose. He strained his head upward, sticking his tongue as far out as he could, trying to reach her cunt.
Finally, she lowered her ass enough so that he could reach her twat. He pushed his tongue against her wispy cunt hairs. To his surprise, they were already moist. Then he realized that Manola must have been thinking about fucking him. Perhaps, on her grass mat, she had been playing with herself, thinking about this moment.
Shaw shoved his tongue into Manola's cunt as deeply as he could. The woman was dripping with cunt juice, and as his tongue entered her, she groaned, rotated her hips sensuously, and shoved her ass down into his face.
At the same time, Shaw felt her tongue slobbering his prick, sliding around and around. A few moments ago, he'd been lying quietly, asleep. Now, his pulse was beating wildly and he struggled to get enough air into ! !.s lungs. He wanted to cum. He had to cum, to shoot his cream down the throat of this voluptuous coffee-colored woman.
Shaw jabbed his tongue deeper into Manola's hot cunt, his spit mingling with her cunt juice. She made guttural noises in her throat-Shaw could feel the vibrations in his cock-and her hips began to thrash about. He struggled to keep his tongue in place.
With his hands, he reached around to grab Manola's swollen tits. He flicked her nipples with his fingers and she pushed her tits against his hands as hard as she could.
Then, Shaw felt Manola's fingers on his balls, caressing them with excruciating slowness. All the while, her tongue and lips never stopped moving on his cock.
The two of them were rocking back and forth now, first Shaw, forcing his dick deeper into Manola's mouth, then Manola shoving her twat against his straining tongue. Her juices were flowing so freely now Shaw could feel them trickling down his tongue and into his throat.
Shaw felt the sperm rising in his balls as Manola sucked and licked at him. He felt her shivering on top of him, her tongue flailing against his cock.
He shot off, again and again, hurling gobs of white cum into Manola's mouth. Shaw could feel her lick the juice off his throbbing cock, pull her cheeks together to extract the last little drops from his prick, and swallow everything he shot into her.
At almost the same time, Manola jerked her cunt around on his tongue, whimpering with excitement and need. Suddenly, Shaw pulled his tongue out of her cunt and started rubbing it against her clit. She gasped loudly, then stiffened and began quivering spasmodically.
Finally, she rolled away from him, spent.
Shaw let sleep overtake him.
That morning, when he woke up, Manola and Tiha were making breakfast and getting the fishing nets ready for use. Each of them had a broad smile for him, and a long, wet, open-mouth kiss that had more sensuality in it than simple friendship.
Shaw glanced over at Manola nervously after Tiha kissed him but Manola was smiling with approval. To his surprise, Tiha hugged him tightly to her, rubbing her little girl tits against his bare chest. It was an obvious sexual invitation. Again, Shaw looked at Manola. She was still smiling.
After breakfast, other villagers came to visit Manola's hut. Among them was the young boy Shaw had seen chasing, and fucking, Tiha yesterday. The two of them went into the hut. Soon, Shaw could hear laughter, then gasps and cries, then the unmistakable moans and whimpering of fucking.
It must have been audible to Manola and her friends, but no one seemed to take the slightest notice. Finally, Shaw could contain himself no longer.
"What do you think those two are doing in there?" he said, even though he was sure no one could understand him.
"Doing?" an elderly lady said in perfect English. "Why, they're making love, of course."
Shaw didn't know whether to be more surprised by the lady's English or by her frank, matter-of-fact attitude toward the fucking teenagers.
The old lady smiled at his shocked expression. "I learned my English from a missionary," she said.
"I see," Shaw said. "But what about your attitude toward sex? No missionary taught you that."
She laughed. "Here on Raiatea, we are very relaxed about sex. To tell you the truth, we love it. Even me, and I'm sixty-two. We think it is the greatest of all of life's pleasures and that it would be foolish to place any restrictions on it. So we don't."
"No restrictions at all?"
"None."
"You mean, if I wanted to, I could make love to any woman here?"
"Of course, even me. And I'd be delighted, I'm sure."
Shaw just stared. Then, he glanced around at the women clustered in front of Manola's hut. He got a broad smile from each.
"You see," the old lady went on, "we don't have any complicated dating or courtship here. And no one cares who's married to whom, or who isn't married at all. The girls begin having sexual intercourse at puberty and the boys begin, well, when they're able."
"What about children?" Shaw asked, still incredulous, "don't you have many illegitimate children?"
"We love our children," the old lady said. "All of them."
Shaw just shook his head, wonderingly. "Have you ever heard of our custom of motoro?" the old woman asked. "Why, no, I haven't."
"In English, it would be called sleep-crawling. The young man demonstrates his courage and ardor by slipping into the family sleeping room soundlessly and making love to the young girl he fancies."
"But don't her parents wake up sometimes?"
"Oh, no, sir. Perhaps they may hear the sound of laughter and know their daughter is happy with her new partner. But they never wake up, oh, no."
"How many men do girls-ah, know-before they marry?"
"Oh, who can count, sir? Many, many. They never marry until they know a man can please them many times each night."
"Many times?" Shaw said. "How many?"
"Oh, five or six, sir, at least."
Suddenly Shaw felt as if he'd been wasting his time all these years.
That afternoon, Shaw walked down the beach, totally alone, letting his feet sink into the sand and occasionally walking through the surf.
He sat down on a log and stared out into the ocean. The solitude surrounded him. For the first time in his life, he felt at peace with himself. Shaw knew what awaited him back at the village. It was going to be the best time of his life. But there was no driving urgency to make sure it would happen.
Shaw strolled back to the village and watched the healthy men and women haul in the fishing nets and put their catch in baskets. There was much laughter and much touching. After the fish were distributed, Shaw guessed, many of them would pair off and fuck for awhile, then eat supper, and fuck again.
Perhaps some people would say the Tahitians embodied man's animal nature, not his more civilized impulses. But, as far as Shaw was concerned, these people knew more about civilization than Paris, London and New York all put together.
Back at Manola's hut, Shaw could smell fresh fish cooking. Tiha was again at the fire. He looked at her-at her slender shapely body and her pointed tits, at her firm, sculptured thighs, at her nearly perfect features. She was just a kid, he knew, but here, children weren't exactly children.
It was an impulse and he obeyed it. He walked over to Tiha and turned her face toward him and kissed her on the lips. After a moment, he opened his mouth and let his tongue press against her lips. She opened her mouth immediately and her tiny, slippery tongue met his and did a little dance.
Then she turned back to the fish, holding them away from the fire so they wouldn't burn.
Shaw could hardly wait until dinner was over and the three of them were back in the little hut, on their straw mats. He was going to wait until Manola was asleep, then head for Tiha. He didn't know if he could match her native boyfriends, but, by God, he was going to try.
Darkness came far too slowly for Shaw. But, finally, the only light visible came from the stars and the village night fire. Manola stretched, yawned and headed for the hut. Shaw and Tiha followed her almost immediately, and from a look that passed between them, Shaw had an idea that Tiha knew what he had in mind.
He lay down on his mat, breathing quickly, his prick already hard and throbbing. He didn't know if he could wait. Somehow, Shaw managed to control himself. He listened closely to the breathing of both mother and daughter. Tiha, he reasoned, would not be asleep. But her mother would. She'd never attack him two nights in a row.
He couldn't hear any breathing, from either of them. The damned surf was too loud. Well, he thought, he'd just wait a half hour or so. That would be plenty. He tried to relax, but his prick stayed hard, and his pulse rate was still high.
Just before he'd planned to get up, Shaw felt a warm, feminine body beside him again. For an instant, he thought that Tiha had come to him. But it was Manola. Dammit.
She reached over and felt his swollen prick. Then, to
Shaw's surprise, Manola took him by his hand and tugged at him. He got to his feet. Stumbling in the dark, Shaw found himself being led across the small hut. Was the mother leading him to the daughter? Incredible.
Shaw felt a warm body against his feet-Tiha. Before he could lie down with her, Manola turned his head toward her and planted a deep kiss on his lips, her tongue darting into his mouth and tickling the most sensitive spots. Then, suddenly, she broke off the kiss, and was gone. Shaw was alone, at least in that part of the hut, with Tiha.
He groped around blindly for her, completely unable to see in the total darkness. Suddenly, he planted a hand directly in the young girl's face. She laughed and grabbed his hand, moving it down to her tits.
So Shaw felt her tits. It had been years since he'd touched breasts like hers-perhaps since his own high school days, when he'd had his first sex experiences. They were perfect, pointed cones, extending straight out from her chest, whether she was lying down or standing up. The aureoles were enlarged, another hillock on top of the tit. As he touched the nipples, Shaw realized they were not yet erect. That was his job.
Shaw knelt beside the young girl, conscious of his throbbing cock standing straight up. He cupped a tit in each hand and started to flick the nipples with his index fingers. Then, as they sprang up, he captured each nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezed. At first, he was gentle, rolling the ball of flesh between his fingers. Then, he applied pressure.
The harder he squeezed, the more the girl pressed her tits toward his hand, as if the increasing pressure was turning her on. In fact there was no doubt of it. Even as she moaned-apparently in pain-her breathing quickened.
Shaw released the girl's nipples and held her face between his hands. He stuck his tongue out and licked her lips. Then, he nuzzled her neck and the sides of her breasts. He took her hard little nipples between his teeth and nipped them sharply, causing Tiha to take a sharp gasp of breath.
After that, Shaw trailed his lips down her body, licking her soft, silky belly, sticking his tongue into her wrinkled little bellybutton, then sliding it down toward her pubic area. He soon came to the first cunt hairs, wispy and soft. He then pushed his tongue down farther, deep into the hairy thatch between the girl's legs. For just an instant, he stabbed his tongue at Tiha's clit. The effect was electrifying. Her cunt jerked up to meet his face.
But Shaw didn't want to linger. He had other ideas. For a moment, he dipped his glistening tongue deep into Tiha's hole. Already, it was flooded with cunt juice. The taste and smell of it set his heart beating even faster. He continued his trip downward, licking her silky thighs, dragging his tongue down her warm, smooth flesh, lapping at her calves.
For her part, Tiha was twisting and turning with lustful need. Finally, she reached for Shaw's cock, first grabbing it, then squeezing it rhythmically.
Shaw wanted to fuck Tiha, maybe more than he'd ever wanted to fuck anyone else in his life. If he didn't stick his cock into her pretty, little pussy soon, he'd shoot his cum all over her.
Where his lips and tongue had just finished going, Shaw now put his hands. They rubbed, squeezed, and fondled as they went up her calves, up her firm, young thighs. He sank two fingers into her dripping cunt, ramming deeply, jabbing them in and out. Tiha's hips jounced with each motion. She was completely ready, it seemed.
As he fingered her faster and faster, she spread her legs. It was an invitation Shaw could hardly refuse.
Shaw lowered himself on top of the young girl. Her hand guided his cock into her moist twat. Slowly, his prick sank into her. She was so incredibly tight, in spite of the flood of cunt juice dripping from her, that it took several seconds until his cock was entirely inside her pussy. But finally, he made it.
And then the young girl began to move. Shaw started to stroke in and out, but the girl's movements were far more exciting than his own. He decided just to respond to her churning, squeezing, jerking hips, rather than to dominate her with a rhythm all his own.
With each little movement Tiha made, her heaving tits sticking sharply into his chest, Shaw felt his excitement increase. The friction of her remarkably tight cunt walls on the head of his cock was almost more than he could stand. If she kept this up, he knew he would shoot off before he had a chance to give her any real pleasure.
But he was wrong. Underneath him, he felt the young girl stiffen and shiver, sighing deeply. Then she resumed her movements almost immediately. Whatever happened now, Shaw knew, he wouldn't be leaving her high and dry. Again the tempo increased and again Tiha stiffened in ecstasy, sighing deeply again. Shaw worried that the sigh might wake the mother, then realized how silly that was.
He did his best to hold himself back, trying hard to think non-sexual thoughts. But it was no good. Tiha's movements beneath him were so expert, so excruciatingly pleasurable that he'd been on the verge of cuming for a long time.
Again, Tiha shuddered spasmodically and broke her rhythm. This time, she let loose a guttural scream-and, to Shaw's wonder, resumed fucking.
Suddenly, Shaw felt another body against his back. It was Manola. She was rubbing her tits on his shoulder blades-at the same time, Tiha was pushing her nipples into his chest. Hands-Manola's, he was sure-sneaked down to his ass, fingering his asshole briefly, then fondling his balls.
Shaw's cock felt like it was twenty inches long and five inches thick. If this immense prick came, he thought, it would flood the insides of any woman's twat. Tiha's movements were like fire and ice against his glans. The pleasure was so intense he could hardly stand it.
Then, Tiha almost stopped moving entirely. She began the tiniest, almost imperceptible motions. His mind could barely detect them. But his cock was pulsating wildly.
Finally, she stopped altogether, and, with the insides of her cunt, gave one last squeeze. Shaw's prick spurted forth, pumping again and again, emptying its cum into her tight, little twat. The spasms continued for what seemed like minutes and minutes, then finally died down and faded away. Never, never had Shaw felt so completely spent, so completely satisfied.
It was like that for about two weeks. Shaw managed to fuck nearly every attractive girl in the village-fifteen or twenty of them. When he walked through the huts during the day, the women whistled at him and whispered and laughed.
Instead of this steady diet of sex exhausting him, Shaw felt he had gained strength each day. Several nights, he managed to take on two or even three girls. And, during the days, he got the rest-physical and mental-that he had come for.
But, even paradise palls after a while. The coffee-colored native girls were beautiful, and as sexy as any he'd ever known. Still, Shaw felt himself dreaming of variety. He even thought once in a while of Kelly Milligan, as he was fucking one of the young girls. How fantastic she would be when he taught her a few new tricks!
Finally, three weeks after he had arrived, Shaw realized it was time to move on. Tahiti had been good to him. Manola and Tiha were marvelous women. He would never forget them. But it was time to go.
After one last night of lust, Shaw got one of the native men to drive him (and the broken bike) back to town. Turned out they hadn't even missed him. He wasn't the first white man to disappear into a native village.
Not long after, he boarded the Pan Am jet. As it roared off the runway and circled the islands, Shaw peered out of the window for one last look. Tahiti had been paradise, Shaw thought, at least for a while ....
Hollywood
Every man has dreamed, at one time or another, of fucking the most beautiful girl in Hollywood. Over the years, American men have had wet dreams about Clara Bow, Jean Harlow, Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe, and Raquel Welch.
Nick Shaw had his fantasies too. He had always dreamed of shoving his cock into the hairy cunt of Deborah Vann, the statuesque beauty queen who was Miss North America of 1967 and Miss Movie Star of 1968,1969, 1970 and 1971.
Her vital statistics were known to practically everyone who'd ever read the newspapers: 5'6", 120 lbs, 37-25-35. Her skin was fine, pale and almost glowingly translucent. Her eyes were large and green, and her hair a delicate shade of auburn.
All over the country, teenage boys jerked off while staring at her centerfold spread in Bunnygirl Magazine. Married men compared their wives to Deborah Vann, and none too favorably.
But for Nick Shaw, fantasy wasn't enough. He'd fucked them all, all over the world, the willing and the possible, the unwilling and the impossible.
Now, hungry for an American girl, anxious to prove his prowess with the most desired girl in the world, he headed toward Hollywood.
By the time his plane arrived in Los Angeles International Airport, Shaw had figured out what seemed to be a perfect approach. Using his See Magazine credentials, he'd get backstage, into the closed set where Deborah Vann was scheduled to do her first nude movie scene. And he'd take pictures. Mitch Daniels would find some way to use them. After that-he didn't know how yet-he'd make her, fuck her, until she begged him to stop.
Shaw checked into the Beverly Hilton, his favorite spot in Los Angeles, picked up the phone, and called up an old friend, Milton Lewis, publicity director at International Studios.
"Milt," Shaw said, "I want to get into the set of 'A Rose Is Not For Dying' to take some stills."
"For See?"
"That's right. We want to do a spread on Deborah Vann's nudie."
"Sorry, Nick. No can do. I can get you on the set all right, but not for that scene. Debby has barred everyone, from the set during that scene except the director and cameraman. Everyone. You know me, Nick, I'd be happy to help out, in normal circumstances."
"Yeah, Milt. I know." Shaw paused and thought a moment. "Look, I want you to understand what I have in mind. See wants to run four or five full pages on this movie and Deborah Vann. This could mean a shot in the arm for the film, you know."
"I understand: Believe me, I understand. But I heard Debby say it herself. She was very firm about it. Incidentally, you're not the only photographer , who wanted in. Tomkins of Metroworld Press also wanted to get this scene. Debby turned him down flat."
"I get the message, Milt. You won't get sore if I go over your head, will you?"
"Not at all, Nick. Good luck. But if you want my advice, you'll forget it and take pictures of someone else. Like Belinda Barkley. Deborah discovered her and, for my money, she'll be even bigger than Debby some day."
Shaw hung up, discouraged, but hardly defeated. In the last two months, he'd faced obstacles much tougher than this one. He wasn't about to give up.
That night, he had dinner at one of his favorite West Coast restaurants, Lawry's Prime Rib. The spinning salad bowl and the prime ribs were just as good as ever. And, while he sat, eating, Shaw came up with several potential solutions to his problem.
The next morning, he visited Ben Spear, president of International Studios, another old friend.
"Frankly, Nick, Debby is a problem to us, too, these days. She doesn't want to have anything to do with the press. Says they've made her look like a fool. I don't think she'd see you off the set either."
"What about something informal-dinner or something, maybe with you along."
"I'll ask her, but I doubt it. You know, we have some pretty great studio shots in the files. We could give your magazine an exclusive on these and that would probably satisfy your boss."
"Maybe. But it wouldn't satisfy me."
Spear shrugged. "Best I can do, Shaw. Anyone else under International contract and there'd be no trouble at all. Sure you don't want someone else for the photo features?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
This time, Shaw was a bit more discouraged. But he had a few other avenues still open to him-the director of the movie and Deborah Vann's agent. Shaw called the director, Heinz Bolet, and was turned down flat, and rather rudely at that. He visited the elusive Miss Vann's agent, a well-shaven hustler who slobbered all over him and practically cried when he had to refuse Shaw's request.
And that closed out the last possibility. Shaw was starting to think that the only place he'd ever see Deborah Vann was on the screen-which didn't go far toward satisfying his sexual desires.
Since he'd managed to fulfill his desires in Athens, Baghdad, Tokyo, Cairo, Berlin, etc.-against apparently higher odds than this-the constant refusals and dead ends only made Shaw madder and more determined.
Dammit, he was going to get into that set. And into Deborah Vann's pussy. Somehow.
As he often did when particularly perplexed, Shaw went back to his hotel, unpacked his camera case and started fiddling with his filters and lenses. Husbands, or boy friends, that was his first thought. He checked it with Milt Lewis and drew a blank. Teachers or old friends-another blank.
And then Shaw thought of Belinda Barkley, the girl Deborah Vann "discovered." He put the cameras and lenses away and called Ben Spear.
"Ben," he said, "do you have a girl named Belinda Barkley under contract?"
"Yes, I do, Shaw. You want to take some pictures of her?"
"I think I do. Lewis tells me she's on her way up. Is he right?"
"He is, as a matter of fact. And a See Magazine story would be the perfect way to get her career moving. You tell Lewis I said to give you everything you want."
Before dinner that night, Shaw had made a date with one Miss Belinda Barkley for eleven the next morning, at the International Studio's luxurious private suite at the Beverly Hillcrest.
He got there at nine to set up lights and move the furniture around for the best posing possibilities. Later, he planned to take some shots of the girl out on the street, at the studio, on the sound stages.
During that time, he'd pump Belinda for clues on how to get through to Deborah Vann. If they knew each other well enough, who knows, he might have no problem at all.
Still, Shaw realized he had to give the photo session his full attention. He had to make the girl feel like a star, even though, despite what Lewis said, chances were she wasn't much.
At eleven sharp, Milt Lewis brought Belinda Barkley into the suite. Shaw took one look at her and practically forgot all about Deborah Vann.
Belinda was nineteen or twenty. She was short, about 5'3" at most, and on the slender side, maybe 110. She had short blonde hair, cut in a classic pageboy. She wasn't busty-not like Deborah Vann, anyhow-but her waist was slender and the tits she had seemed just right on her body.
The best thing about Belinda Barkley was her face. It was one of those gamin faces, playful and full of fun, complete with big blue eyes. She looked like she'd be a great roll in the hay, or a barrel of laughs in a swimming pool.
"Hey," she said, in greeting. "You must be Nick Shaw. I read your pictures all the time in See."
Shaw liked her immediately. "So, you're Belinda Barkley. You're even better looking than I've been told."
"Shit," she said modestly, and blushed. Now there, Nick thought to himself, is a girl after my own heart.
"Incidentally," he said, "is Belinda Barkley your real name?"
"Fuck, no. It's Linda Arkwarf. Belinda Barkley is something Milt Lewis and his crew dreamed up."
"Do I call you Belinda or Linda? Or Miss Barkley?"
"You can call me Linda if I can call you Nick." Her smile nearly bowled him over.
"It's a deal," Shaw said, returning the grin.
"God, look at all this equipment," Linda remarked. "Well, anything to make me look like a movie star, I guess."
"Well, I'll leave you two, now," Milt Lewis said. "That is, if it's okay with you, Linda."
She nodded. Nick closed the door after him.
"When we're finished with this shooting session," he said, "I hope we'll have enough material for a four or five page layout in See Magazine. Ben Spear tells me he'll use that in the opening gun of your publicity campaign."
"Wonderful," Linda said. "Now if only I was absolutely certain I wanted to be famous." She shrugged. "Where do we start?"
Shaw used up nearly a dozen rolls of film during the day, taking pictures of Linda in nearly every conceivable pose, in street clothes and bathing suits, in ball gowns and riding garb. Shaw snapped pictures as the girl walked down the street, got out of taxis, emoted on a sound stage, got made-up in the dressing room.
By the end of the day, he had nearly forgotten his original objective. He had a really superb set of pictures, he knew. And Linda was a terrific find. He liked her. And he wanted to shove his prick into her pussy, naturally. She gave him every reason to expect she wanted to screw him, too.
"Hey," she said, "why don't you take me to dinner?"
"That's a great idea. Glad I thought of it. Will you join me for dinner?"
"Well, let's see. I did have another engagement . . . ."
She got a playful sock on the nose for that remark. They ate and it seemed a natural thing for them to spend the rest of the evening together.
"What would you say," Shaw began, "if a man asked you to come to his hotel room?"
Linda pursed her lips and seemed to reflect a moment. "I'd say yes. Why? Are you asking?"
Shaw's suite at the Beverly Hilton consisted of a huge living room, complete with color TV, plus a bedroom with a king sized bed and a wall full of mirrors.
"You know," Linda said mischievously, "it took you a hell of a long time to get me into your room."
"It did?"
"Of course. I expected you to fuck me right away. Within the first half-hour or so. I thought you'd get me naked, then start playing with my nipples. You'd tell me they photograph better when they're hard."
Shaw couldn't help laughing. "You know, I have used that line."
"Yes. Well, why didn't you use it with me? Aren't I attractive enough?"
"You must be kidding."
Shaw reached for her and swept her into his arms, pressing her close, mashing her tits against his chest. Their lips met and then their tongues.
Shaw's fingers fumbled with Linda's blouse buttons.
"Here, silly," she said, "let me do it."
She swiftly and gracefully slipped off her blouse, then her skirt. She put her hands behind her and her bra was off in a flash. She had pear-shaped boobs and her nipples were bright pink. In a few moments, she'd stripped off her panties.
She stood naked in front of Shaw and did a graceful little twirl, her finger on top of her head. "Still like me?"
"Damn right."
He grabbed her. She was a small girl, but her body was beautiful, with golden skin and golden hair at her crotch. She rubbed her tits against his chest, with a twinkle in her eye and reached around behind him, goosing him.
"You know," she said, "we're going to have a shitty time if you don't get undressed."
"All right, all right," Shaw said, laughing in spite of himself. "I get the hint."
While Shaw was unbuttoning his shirt, Linda was unzipping his pants and she didn't confine her fingers to the zipper.
"Hey," she said, grasping his cock in one small hand, "you've got a longie. I love longies."
It was enough joking for Shaw. He was naked now, and thoroughly aroused. What Linda's fingers were doing to him had him hungry with desire.
He leaned back from her and took both of her tits in his hands. Then, he took her nipples between his fingers and squeezed until he knew he was hurting her.
Her expression changed from a broad grin to a look of wild arousal. She reached her hand behind his neck and pulled him to her, pushing her lips against his with all her strength, darting her lithe, little tongue into his mouth, their saliva mingling. Shaw could taste in her mouth the butterscotch Sundae she'd had for dessert.
He pulled his mouth away from hers for a moment. "Come," he said, "into the bedroom." He took her hand and pulled her with him. Her skin felt hot.
They tumbled onto the huge bed together, hands all over each other, kissing passionately, their mouths open, their tongues entangled.
Linda's fingers worked away at Shaw's cock, rubbing it up and down, massaging it until it was a huge, quivering shaft. Shaw scraped his hands over Linda's bush. She moaned and ground her cunt against his palm, instantly responsive.
There was no fooling around. Both of them urgently needed to fuck. She wanted the feeling of a big, thick cock inside her cunt. And he wanted to plant his prick into her as deep as he could.
Shaw rolled toward Linda, the only thought in his mind of fucking her and fucking her. But she pushed him down, on his back.
"You won't mind, dear," she said, "if I get on top? I like a maximum freedom of movement."
Shaw lay on his back, his enormous hard-on sticking up into the air. Linda was on her hands and knees now. She bent over and planted her moist lips on the tip of Shaw's cock, giving it a long, sucking kiss. Then, she positioned herself above him, making sure her hole was directly above his cock.
Then, she lowered herself down.
Shaw felt his prick sinking into her cunt, which was sopping with musky juices. When he'd entered her as deeply as possible, she lifted up her pelvis, until his cock and her fleshy cunt lips were barely in contact. Then, she plunged down again, this time scissoring her legs. Shaw felt his cock being squeezed by her cunt walls. For an instant, he thought he'd cum, but at just the right moment, she released the pressure and lifted herself away from him.
When he'd cooled off just a little, she let her weight go back down on him again, scissored her legs once more, nearly driving him to completion. It was almost as if she were reading his mind, as if she was the one with the cock.
Each time she drove his prick into her, he almost came. But each time, she stopped soon enough. And with each stroke, their heartbeats raced even faster and they groaned in passion.
Linda's pussy was actually dripping juices onto Shaw's belly. His pubic hair meshed with hers with each stroke and their bodies slid against one another on their own sweat. Shaw could feel Linda's tiny hard nipples scraping against the hairs of his chest and the sensation inflamed him even more.
Above him, Linda again lowered herself, impaling her cunt with his prick, groaning and squeezing her legs together once more, rubbing her clit wildly against his pubic bone.
This time, she didn't stop squeezing soon enough and Shaw felt his cock erupting into her, spurting out a steady stream of cum into the hot crevices of her cunt.
Feeling his prick jerk spasmodically within her, Linda ground her clit into him with all of her weight. "OoooOOOAHHH! I'M CUMING, I'M CUMING, I'M CUMING," she screamed. She wiggled her ass frantically, driving herself down against him, again arid again, until hex passion was spent.
Then, they lay there, sweating. After what seemed an hour or so, they separated and lay beside one another. Shaw put out an arm and enfolded her in it.
"You're quite a fuck, Linda," he said.
"I know," she couldn't help giggling.
"Actually," Shaw went on, as if she hadn't replied, "I'm a lucky man. You were really my second choice."
"Always a bridesmaid and never a bride," Linda said, still smiling. "Who was the first?"
"Deborah Vann."
Linda whistled softly. "Can't argue with your taste," she said. "You know her, don't you?"
"I sure do. Better than you think."
"What do you mean?"
"We're really very close. She discovered me, you know."
"So did I."
"Yes."
"I tried my damndest to get into that set. I wanted to get pictures of the nude scene . . . ."
"And fuck her for an encore."
"Well ..."
'Well' shit. You wanted to get your cock up her cunt."
Shaw just nodded.
"I can arrange it."
"You what?"
"I told you we're very close. When I tell her what a good time I had with you, she'll want some for herself. Always makes me share the good ones." She pouted.
"You'd introduce us?"
"I have a better idea than that, even."
"What's that?"
"How about the three of us, together. Think you could handle that, lover boy?" She poked him in the ribs, playfully.
Shaw smiled. "Try me."
Two days later, Linda brought Shaw to Deborah Vann's dressing room. He'd made it to the set. The nude scene was scheduled for less than an hour later. Shaw carried his camera bag, ready to get his pictures.
Linda knocked lightly on the door.
"Who is it?" came the voice from inside.
"It's Linda, you ninny."
There was a laugh, then the door opened. Deborah Vann stood there, wearing a nightgown that hid nothing at all. Underneath, she was all ready for the scene.
"You know," she said, "you shouldn't talk to a movie star that way."
Linda stepped toward her and kissed her lingeringly on the lips. "Fuck off, movie star," she said in mock anger.
Deborah Vann's eyes met Shaw's. "And this must be the man you told me about," she said, "Nick Shaw."
"Yes, I am," Shaw said. "I can't tell you how glad I am to meet you."
Deborah smiled-a slightly ironical smile, Shaw thought. "Come in, Nick. Somehow I don't think we have to be so formal with each other."
Shaw stepped into the dressing room.
"Just one favor, Nick," Deborah said. "Let me see those pictures before you show them to your editor. The shots they ran of me in Bunnygirl made me look like a cow."
"Whatever you say, Debby." He put his hand on her arm. Close up, she was even more beautiful than her pictures. And she was right about those Bunnygirl shots.
Yes, she had enormous tits. But she was a tall, striking girl and they were in perfect proportion.
Shaw looked at her and wondered if she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Then he decided it was a silly question. Beauty was an experience, a radiance, and there was no such thing as more or less beautiful. Either there was beauty or there wasn't. And every girl he'd met so far on his quest had been beautiful.
The movie" scene went very much as scheduled. Before the filming began, Debbie posed on the set for Shaw and he snapped all the shots he needed. Then, he and Linda stayed on to watch the actual filming.
Afterwards, Debbie came over to them, wearing her nightgown. "Well, kids," she said, "what did you think? Do I win the Academy Award?"
Shaw smiled and coughed nervously.
"What about it, Nick. What kind of actress am I?"
"The way you look, Debby, it wouldn't matter if you couldn't act your way out of a paper bag."
"And I can't."
"Well . . . ."
"I wasn't asking. I know I'm a lousy actress. And I couldn't care less."
"Good thing," Linda said. Debby smiled and swatted at her friend. "Did you get the pictures you wanted, Nick?"
"Everything. You were perfect."
"Well, then, let's celebrate."
Linda, Shaw, and Deborah Vann had dinner at Chasen's, and even in that celebrity haunt, the beautiful actress was a sensation. As they ate, Shaw wondered if Linda had talked to Debbie about the three of them. With that kookie chick, you never could be sure, Shaw thought. On the other hand, Linda gave the impression she could manage anything.
"I was hoping," Debbie said, as they sipped their after-dinner drinks, "that the two of you could come back to my place." She smiled at Shaw and exchanged significant looks with Linda. "I think we three could have a smashing time."
Fifteen minutes later, they were at Deborah's house, a magnificent modern mansion set high over the lights of Los Angeles.
Debbie lit a stick of incense in the huge, glass-walled living room and the scent began to waft through the air.
"Excuse me, everyone," she said. "I'll be back when I get into something more comfortable."
Shaw looked around the room, at the white leather lounges and the thick white rug and the glass and steel tables. Then, he glanced out at Los Angeles, below, through the windowed walls. It was like another world.
Linda came over to him as soon as Debbie left the room and started playing with his cock through his pants. "You're one lucky fellow, Nick Shaw," she said.
"I know, I know."
When Debbie reappeared, she was wearing the same nightgown she'd worn earlier on the set. This time, Shaw let his eyes linger on her magnificent tits and her finely carved thighs and calves. Even the patch of auburn hair at the juncture of her legs was visible through the gown.
She was carrying a small box, which she opened and put on the glass table in front of the largest couch. Shaw looked into it, curious. It contained a small, irregular, black block of some substance. He put it up to his nose and the pungent scent cut through the incense, stinging his nostrils.
"Hashish," Deborah said, explaining. "Lebanese black, the best. Two tokes and you're bombed."
Shaw glanced over at Linda, who had taken a small pipe from the box and a razor blade.
"Don't be shocked, Nick," Debby said. "Hollywood corrupts us all. If we're smart, we learn to enjoy it."
"You'll see, Nick," Linda said. "It will make the evening even more glorious than you would have thought."
She took the small block of hashish and chopped off two small chunks with the razor blade. These she put into the little pipe. She lit the pipe and took a deep drag, holding it in her lungs. Then, she passed it to Shaw, who also took a drag. Then Debby.
Shaw felt a bit weird, but it was a pleasant sensation. He took another drag from the pipe and passed it on, watching Linda and Debby take their puffs.
The weird feeling continued, and for a moment, Shaw thought he felt a tingling in his balls, a kind of excitement. Debby and Linda were sitting beside each other on the couch now and Shaw looked at them lazily, gazing for a moment at Debbie's lush body, then at Linda's perfect figure. Now he was sure of it, his cock was getting harder, fast.
Linda and Debbie were also feeling the effects of the drug. Debbie was idly fondling one of her magnificent breasts with one hand and casually rubbing her pussy with the other. Linda had unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse and had a hand stuck in. Shaw could see her nipples stiff with excitement. She wasn't Wearing a bra.
Shaw tugged at his underwear so that his mushrooming cock could keep expanding. There was no tension in the room now, only excitement and desire.
He started unbuttoning his shirt. There was going to be action here tonight, and he was going to be the star. Never had he felt so virile, so able to fuck.
He stripped off his shirt and turned toward the girls. But he was too late.
Linda was lifting Debbie's nightgown over her head, and at the same time, squeezing the beauty queen's huge tits. And Debbie was unbuttoning Linda's blouse.
Shaw sat back, stunned.
In a few moments, both girls were naked and embracing hotly. They held each other close, their tits pressing tight together. Then, they separated slightly and each girl rubbed her nipples against the other's. Their faces were radiant with sensual pleasure.
As Shaw watched, his cock poundingly erect, Linda bent over and took one of Debby's nipples in her mouth. She sucked noisily and passionately, her eyes closed in ecstasy. Debby lay back against the couch, receiving pleasure from her young friend's lips.
She switched tits and Shaw saw the abandoned nipple glistening with saliva. Now Debby reached for Linda, burrowing her hand between the young girl's legs, pushing her fingers into the soft, yielding cunt.
Feeling the thrill of contact, Linda's hand snaked its way toward Debbie's auburn cunt. Shaw could see her finger sliding past the moist cunt lips, into the depths of the hot hole.
Shaw was a spectator, and it was a spectacular scene he was witnessing. Linda was stretched out on the couch now, full length, and Debbie was kissing her up and down, leaving a trail of moisture wherever she went. Her finger was on Linda's clit, rubbing it vigorously. Linda's hips were churning, twisting back and forth and she was groaning, her mouth slack with passion.
Then, as Shaw watched in growing, astonishment, Debby lay down on Linda. Their tits were mashed together and their thighs were touching. Their cunt hairs seemed to mesh. And, to make their union complete, they kissed, their mouths open wide, their tongues tangling and intertwining frantically.
It was Linda who first began to drive her cunt upwards against Debbie's, but Debbie returned the pressure. Soon, they were pounding into one another, pressing their cunts and their clits against each other's with every ounce of passion and strength they possessed. The sweat was pouring off them, and Shaw was almost overwhelmed by the powerful scent of cunt juice.
There, in front of him, the most beautiful woman in Hollywood was making wild, passionate love to the girl he'd fucked two nights earlier. And that girl was responding with all the lust and desire she'd given to him.
Natural or unnatural, the sight nearly drove Shaw out of his mind. He wanted to bury his cock in one of those girls, either of them. It stood out in front of him, blood pulsing in it furiously. The pungent odor of hashish was still in the room and the whole scene seemed almost dream-like.
Shaw knew what he had to do, what his lust forced him to do. Without a word, he went to the pair of fucking girls, running his hands down Debby's ass, shoving his fingers between them, first into one dripping cunt then into the other.
Then, he got up on top of Debby, sandwiching her between himself and Linda. In the haze of his passion, he somehow managed to work his distended prick between Debbie's legs. He felt her curly cunt hairs at the tip of his cock.
Debbie felt him too. She spread her legs to allow him entry. Shaw pushed forward, his cock slowly sliding into Debbie's cunt, which was smashing rhythmically into Linda's pussy.
For a moment, he almost slipped out. Then, he let himself relax and be captured by their rhythm. Up and down Debbie went, grinding her inflamed cunt into Linda's, and up and down Shaw went, jamming his cock into Deborah Vann, trying somehow to fuck both of them at once, as they fucked each other.
Shaw lost track of time, almost of consciousness, as his prick slid in and out, now swollen to its limits. He could feel his cum gathering in his balls, ready at any moment to shoot out.
Below him, Linda groaned deeply and her whole body bucked again and again. Debbie began quivering uncontrollably, and she started to whimper.
Shaw felt the cum surge out of his cock, flooding Debby's cunt. Again and again, his prick jerked and the thick white fluid shot out of his dick and into Deborah Vann's pussy.
Finally, it was over.
They lay like that for a time, then separated.
"I don't know about the rest of you," Linda said brightly, "but I have this tremendous craving for a ham sandwich." She got up and headed out of the room.
"Make it two," Debby called after her."
"Three," Shaw said, "and bring some pickles."
New York II
The Statue of Liberty and the towers of Manhattan, as clich� has it, are a thrilling sight for an American returning from abroad.
Nick Shaw, for all his sophistication, for all of his bizarre adventures, felt a lot like a tourist going home. His 747 reached the Eastern coastline of the United States at about four-thirty in the afternoon.
For a change, the New York air was clear and the sun glinted off what seemed a million skyscraper windows. The plane swooped low over Brooklyn, circled out again over the Long Island beaches, then settled down at Kennedy International Airport with a shudder, a lurch, and ten minutes of taxiing up to the terminal.
By seven o'clock that evening, Shaw was back in his Manhattan apartment, unpacking his clothes and putting his camera away.
Oddly enough, on the flight home, Shaw's mind was filled not with thoughts of Karneli, or Honoshu, or Deborah Vann. Instead he thought of Kelly Milligan, his best girl, when he had left nearly four months ago.
Kelly had started the whole thing. Or at least the whole adventure had sprung from that last night he spent with Kelly. Had it really been so unsatisfying? It was hard to remember now. r
In fact, thinking back on it, Kelly seemed incredibly appealing-that long, blonde hair, those fabulous tits. But it was more than the body. God knows, he'd seen better. Sure, Kelly was a great lay. But a lot of girls were great lays. Hell, it seemed like every girl in Baghdad fit that description. What was it about Kelly anyway?
Not that it mattered. In four months, and with no letters, she was in someone else's clutches by now. She wasn't about to sit around pining away for him, Shaw knew. For one thing, she'd never let her pussy go untended for that long.
Still, it was worth a try.
Shaw reached over for his phone, blew the dust off the receiver and dialed Kelly's number. Still remember it, he thought, proud.
One ring. Two. Damn. Three. Wasn't even home. Oh, well. Four. Shit.
Shaw put the phone down. It was the wrong idea anyway, he decided. She'd never let him get past his last name before she hung upon him. The only thing to do was go over to her place and greet her in person.
Fifteen minutes later, he walked in to the lobby of Kelly's apartment on Eighty-Fifth Street. The doorman recognized him immediately.
"Mr. Shaw," he said, eyebrows raised. "Haven't seen you in a long time."
"I've been away," Shaw said. Conversations with doormen didn't interest him much. "Kelly in?"
"You're in luck, Mr. Shaw. She just came in about ten minutes ago. You going up?"
"Yes."
"I'll buzz her for you."
"No," Shaw said, "don't bother. I'd like to surprise her."
"It will be a surprise, I'm sure," the doorman said.
It wasn't until Shaw was in the elevator before he wondered if that meant Kelly wasn't alone. Well, he thought, I'll see soon enough.
He got off on the fifteenth floor and walked down the corridor until he came to 15B. The door had one of those one-way mirror peepholes. But, knowing Kelly, she'd never take the trouble to look through it. He pressed the buzzer and waited.
After about twenty seconds, the door swung open. Kelly stood there, dressed in a pale blue shirtwaist and furry bedroom slippers. Her hair had been cut into a pageboy and the shirtwaist nicely outlined her tits.
Kelly stared at Shaw for what seemed a full minute. Then she stepped back and shut the door in his face.
"Hey, Kelly. At least let me explain."
There was no response.
"Kelly, it's not important that I went away. It's just important that I came back." Still no response. "Kelly, it was a business trip." The door didn't budge.
"All right, I admit it. I was playing around. I took a trip around the world and I fucked fifteen girls in ten different countries. I'll tell you everything, if you must know."
The door swung open. "I'll give you fifteen minutes, lover boy." There was a mean look in her eye.
"Look, Kelly," Shaw said. "I'll tell you the whole truth-but I'm not sure you'll believe me. It really started the last night we saw each other."
"That was a reasonably good night, as I remember it," the beautiful girl said acidly.
"Well, yes. But, for some reason or other, I left here feeling I needed some sort of exotic thrill. You know, I wanted to live some fantasies."
"Goon."
"Well, I went to Mitch Daniels and sold him on a round-the-world trip. I had a photo story cooked up for each country I visited."
"Yes," Kelly said, "I've seen what you did on Athens nd Cairo. Not bad, I guess."
"Not bad? They were both fantastic. But the photo stories were just a cover. In every country, I found myself a girl."
"And you screwed her."
"That's about it," Shaw said. "Want to hear the details?"
For the first time, Kelly smiled. " Sure I do, every last one of them. Come on in and tell me."
Shaw did just that. He told her in detail about Elana, the statuesque Greek girl, and how he had balled her under the olive tree. He told her about Baghdad-and Kishka, Farfel and Derma. He told her about Honoshu and what it felt like to be jerked off by the most skilled geisha girl in all of Japan. He told her about Kali, whose ancient Egyptian perfume and tongue had turned him into a sex fiend. He told her of the perversions of Berlin, the quiet satisfactions of Tahiti, the strange, hidden life of Deborah Vann, and the risks he took to experience the pleasures of Karneli, the black goddess.
Shaw was only a few minutes into his story before he realized that the whole thing was turning her on. She was squirming in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her long, tanned legs.
Where they joined, Shaw knew, was a hot, hairy hole growing steadily more moist with each story, each detail. Why she liked to hear him talk about the other girls he fucked, Shaw didn't know. But he did know that it was overcoming her anger at being abandoned. He told the stories with all the color and detail he could muster.
Telling now of his fantastic adventures, here in the safe, comfortable surroundings of a luxury apartment in New York was exciting for Shaw, too. He crossed his legs to try to hide, for now, the growing bulge in his pants. Then, he went on with his stories. He was seducing the girl, practically fucking her with words.
She did her best to control herself. Shaw could see her visibly trying to keep her breathing regular. When she shifted position, he knew, it was because she wanted to relieve pressure on her clit. From the way she kept squirming, Shaw was certain her excitement was growing, not diminishing. That hairy cunt between her legs would be dripping with juice by now.
And he was in pretty bad shape too. There was nothing he could do any more to hide his huge erection. His pants looked like someone had stuffed a handful of cigars into them.
"After all that, Shaw," Kelly said, "why did you bother to come back? I would think you'd just pick out another set of countries and keep at it."
Shaw didn't know how to respond to her question. He shrugged. "I came home because I was sick of it. Because I was tired of living out of a suitcase. Because, no matter how exotic they were, they were just cunts in the end, all of them."
"And me? Am I a 'cunt' too?"
Shaw's cock was swollen and ready for action. He felt the sperm welling up in his balls. He wanted nothing more than to fuck this cunt right now, to stick his dick in her and fill her so full of cum she'd dribble it out for weeks. And yet, he felt something else for her. A kind of tenderness, a sort of protectiveness. This girl, he realized with a shock, was more than just another cunt to him. She was a person, with feelings and desires of her own, with kinky lusts-that yearned for satisfaction.
And now, he intended to satisfy them.
"You're a cunt-and then some, Kelly. All I know is that you're like no other girl I've ever fucked. Come on now, let's stop fooling around. I want to fuck and you want to fuck. Let's get to it."
It was a little blunt for Kelly, Shaw thought, and he wasn't sure how she'd take it. She took it just fine.
"I thought you'd never ask, lover boy. I want you to show me some of those tricks you picked up while I was sitting here waiting for you, with a bad case of rusty pussy."
"Rusty pussy? Why Kelly, you don't mean you were faithful to old Nick?"
"Shut up and fuck."
Damn, she was not only a cunt, but she had balls. Shaw reached for her with an eagerness he'd almost forgotten.
Shaw grabbed Kelly by the shoulders and was surprised at how soft and warm they felt. He pulled her to him rather roughly, squashing her tits against him. She felt damned good, Shaw decided. That cock in his pants felt big enough to satisfy ten girls. He was torn between the desire to prolong it, to get every last thrill out of it, or just jam it into her as fast as he could.
"Not so fast, lover boy," Kelly said, deciding the issue. "No cram course tonight. I want to sample the whole curriculum."
For a moment, Shaw got up from the long couch they'd been sitting on. He switched off all the lights except the soft lamp on the corner table. Then, he flipped on the FM stereo set.
He was back at Kelly almost before she missed him, fumbling with the tiny buttons on her dress, running his hands over her big, meaty tits.
Shaw knew that look in Kelly's eyes. It was pure, undiluted lust. He jammed his mouth against hers and their lips opened simultaneously. Shaw stuck his tongue out to reach hers and was hardly surprised to find she'd done the same. For a few moments, their tongues rubbed and licked each other, drooling wetness and warmth.
Then, Shaw disentangled his tongue from hers and explored the ridges and crevices of her mouth. He knew how it excited her-even before he felt her gasp and push her tits even tighter against him.
He liked it. He liked it even more when Kelly's tongue did the same thing to his mouth, darting across that sensitive spot behind his teeth, shoving her tongue so far down his throat it was almost like being fucked.
Shaw tugged at Kelly's dress and she gave a little shrug; it slipped smoothly down her tawny shoulders. She was wearing the black bra. The contrast with her golden skin was exciting to see. She stretched out her legs and he gave the dress a single jerk ... it fell to the floor. Black panties, too. It was almost as if she had known he was coming, Shaw thought.
He felt her hands on his cock. What a pleasure it was to be with a girl who knew what he liked! She gave a little squeeze, then reached down her other hand and started to tickle his balls. She knew just how hard to do it.
Shaw reached around and unhooked Kelly's bra. She gave a little shiver with those beautiful shoulders of hers and it fell off.
God, those tits! If the advertising agencies ever went searching for a tit model, she was sure to get the job.
They were full and soft, with a delicious curve to the underside. Her nipples were erect and gorged with blood and passion.
Shaw bent his head and nuzzled both tits for awhile. It was like coming home. He rubbed his face over them, feeling her tits flick against his nose and his eyelashes. She cooperated by rotating her body against his face. The flesh was so warm.
Then he started to suck. He took one distended nipple in his mouth and pulled on it with long, sucking motions. It grew. Underneath the nipple, he could feel the veins in Kelly's tits pounding. Shaw touched the tip of her nipple with the tip of his tongue. He would make her pussy pound even faster.
He flicked slowly back and forth, teasing the nipple. He could hear Kelly's breath beginning to rasp.
And it was working on him, too. His own breath was ragged and every time he moved, his prick rubbed against his underpants and unbearable thrills shot through him.
He could feel Kelly's fingers start to work on his belt, then his zipper. He lifted his hips up as she pulled his pants off. He blindly kicked off his shoes.
Then Kelly reached through the opening of Shaw's underwear and started fondling his cock- He gasped involuntarily as her hot, slim fingers touched him. And he gasped again as the hands drifted down to his balls and touched them with maddening delicacy.
Shaw finally released Kelly's nipple-it was more than an inch long now-and started on her panties. First, he slid his hand over the crotch. Nothing excited him like the feel of silk covering a hairy mound.
This silk, he found, was hot and wet. Shaw wasn't surprised. Kelly's cunt juices flowed easily; he knew those stories he told her had turned her on.
He raised his hand and slipped it under the elastic band of her parities. The skin on her belly was burning. He went lower and came across the first, sparse cunt hairs. They were crinkly and rough to the touch. He shoved his hand deeper and found a thicket of hairs, hot, damp hairs, already flooded with juice.
Kelly's clit, he remembered, was a big one. If she was really excited, he'd feel it in a moment. He did, at the apex of her cunt, like a child's thumb. He grabbed it between his forefinger and his thumb and squeezed-gently at first, then almost brutally.
Kelly stiffened and cried out.
Shaw let go of her clit and slipped his finger quickly into her soaking cunt. Then, he pulled out quickly, and shoved in two fingers. He twisted them back and forth, then pulled them out too. Kelly lifted her ass, pushing her cunt after the retreating fingers, desperate to keep the contact.
This time, Shaw plunged three fingers deep into the cunt. Once in, he spread his fingers, stretching the tunnel to its maximum. Kelly whimpered a bit and twisted her cunt on his fingers. Slowly, he pushed his hand into her, his fingers touching and teasing every crevice. Then, he withdrew it.
"Don't stop."
"I have a better idea."
Shaw rubbed his face against her tits again, then against her rib cage and her belly. He moved his cheek slowly, until it was against her bushy cunt. For nearly a minute, he just rubbed his cheek back and forth.
Then he suddenly turned his face and grabbed her puffed-up clit with his lips. He pulled at it, ran his tongue across it rhythmically, sucked it sloppily, until the damn thing was stiff and quivering.
He let go of it and Kelly moved her pelvis forward again, disappointed. Shaw stuck out his tongue just as far as he could and slid it along her slit, rimming her cunt hole when he got to it. How many times had he tasted cunt juice these last four months? He'd lost count.
Kelly tasted like all the rest of them. He had no time to think about it. The hairs bristled against his tongue as he circled the hole again and again. Then, he plunged it in, shoving his nose up against her inflamed cunt lips. He felt the grooves and ridges inside her with the tip of his tongue, and her cunt lips seemed to grasp his own lips. He stuck his tongue deeper into her. Kelly's juices welled up and rolled down his tongue, into his mouth, choking him for a moment. He was unprepared for the copious flow.
Almost reluctantly, he withdrew his tongue, swallowing her juices without a thought. He looked at her for a moment, sprawled out on the couch, her blonde hair limp with perspiration, her magnificent tits heaving with each gasping breath. Her cunt was wide open and dripping. Her long, graceful legs were twisting and turning. She sighed with need.
"No more. I can't wait. Do it now. Do it!" It was an order.
Shaw spread himself out and lay down on top of her. Kelly's body was slippery with sweat and her nipples scraped against his chest hairs.
Kelly's hand was on his cock, circling it, squeezing it a bit-but too much. It wasn't going to take much to set him off now. He'd gotten a glimpse of his cock before he mounted her. The head was swollen and purple. It was so stiff it didn't even wiggle when he lay down on her.
Shaw's legs were against Kelly's smooth thighs and calves. His belly was touching hers. And, with her hand, she guided his cock into her hairy hole. He felt it sink in, deeper and deeper, gathering a coating of cunt juice as it went, ripping past those grooves and crevices his fingers had explored a few moments ago.
Against his own pubic hair, just above his throbbing dick, he could feel Kelly's clit, mashed against him. He ground his pelvis against her, as if he were trying to crush it, push it back down to its normal size. Kelly's back arched and she cried out. He did it again, and she cried out again. He rotated his body against her and she started moaning and gasping.
By now, Shaw's cock was fully inside Kelly's cunt, so deep he could feel some fleshy barrier at the tip-her womb? For once, he didn't want to stroke in and out. One stroke and it would be all over.
Besides, he knew another way he could shoot off. With all his strength, he tensed the muscles between his ass and his balls, and he felt his cock stiffen. His prick jerked violently. Kelly whimpered and wiggled her ass. Then, she squeezed her own cunt muscles. There was nothing voluntary about her action, Shaw was sure.
Again, he tightened his cock muscle. He grunted as the waves of pleasure swept over him. He jerked his cock in Kelly again, grinding his pelvis against her clit. Vaguely, he was aware that Kelly was screaming. Her cunt muscles were quivering spasmodically against his erection.
He gave a final jerk and he felt the cum spurting out of him. Now his cock was jerking beyond his control, again and again, as he felt the hot creamy cum shoot up his prick, deep into the cunt of the lovely blonde who lay beneath him. , It was several moments before Shaw realized Kelly was no longer screaming. He could have dozed off, without moving, right on top of her. But there were things to be said. He picked himself up.
Kelly was just looking at him, her face apparently expressionless. Then she spoke. "I don't remember you like that," she said.
"Either you've forgotten or I've changed."
"You've changed. I remember what you were like before, believe me."
"I was a bad fuck?"
"No, not at all. But you were nothing special."
"And now I'm special?"
She just nodded. Shaw had never seen her look so vulnerable.
"Tell you the truth," he said, "I was thinking the same thing about you."
She smiled wickedly. "But I'm just a cunt, aren't I?"
"Oh, you're a cunt all right, but not just a cunt."
"Mr. Shaw! What a compliment!"
Shaw sighed. "All right. I surrender. Why don't we live together for a while. You know-see how it works out."
"Live together, huh? And if you get bored, you'll go off again, I suppose. Where to this time, the moon and the outer planets?"
"That's not fair, Kelly. It was something I had to get out of my system. Look, let's give it six months. If it's still as good as it was tonight, we'll get married."
She shot Shaw a wry smile. "What is that, a proposal or a prospectus?"
"Oh hell, Kelly. I love you. I guess I've known that for a long time, somewhere in the back of my mind."
"Now that's better. A little bit better."
"What do you mean 'that's better? How do you feel about me?"
"You lunk-head. I've been praying for you to propose to me for nearly a year now. I don't think I got one good night's sleep while you were away." She started crying and Shaw did what his instincts told him to do: He hugged her close and kissed her.
"What about it, sweetheart, when are you going to move into my place?"
Kelly sniffled once and smiled up at Shaw radiantly. "Now. Tomorrow. Just as soon as I can."
"Great," Shaw said, giving her a squeeze.
"Just one thing."
"Sure. You name it."
"If I get bored-it could happen, you know-I want my four months."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, I've always had these fantasies, you see. About Casanova and Romeo. And the Marquis de Sade. And Sappho."
There was only one way to stop it, Shaw thought. He took her face in both hands and started kissing her-on the lips, the cheeks, the nose, the eyes, the forehead. The two of them fell down on the floor, laughing together. Shaw's cock was getting hard again ....
