Head and Tail Sex
by Michael Phillips
(SB-284)


CHAPTER ONE 

"Come on, baby, we're almost home," I said to the little blue coupe and 
opened her up as the Nevada border sign flashed past. 

Wonder how fast I'm going to get to Vegas? What the hell am I doing it for, 
anyway? Why did McGraw pick me? 

Special Assignment: the words sloppily printed beneath the memo from the 
desk of managing editor Ross McGraw. 

Christ, why me? Why the fuck does McGraw figure I need a break? I'm really 
happy just doing the astrology columns for the Sunday supplement. 

A buzz came up from the dash. Oh no, I thought. Car, don't you go letting me 
down now. But it was only the speedometer cable as the pointer passed a 
hundred and ten and locked on the post at the end. 

Come on, baby, there's plenty in you yet, so don't go pooping out on me when 
I got a whole goddamn story up there to do. 

Up ahead in Vegas was the Big Man himself: Berle Bellows. At least he was 
supposed to be there-no one knew for sure. And McGraw had picked me, Philly 
Boy Carmichael, out of the weed patch of the ladies' pages and sent me after 
Big Man Bellows. 

There I was just getting along swell. Doing a long night once a week to meet 
the deadline and every Monday morning showing up for payday. When the eagle 
shits on the first day of the week, baby, the week looks mighty long ahead, 
so you can bet your sweet ass I wasn't going to miss a payday. After a year 
of that I just had enough together to pop for this little buggy and I was 
looking forward to another carefree year of tooling around the town without 
an awful lot to do. But then that fuckhead McGraw had to go and louse things 
up by sending me out after Bellows. 

"Philly Boy," he had said when I'd gone to his office to check out the 
mistake. "Philly Boy, it's time you took on something more than Mars and 
Venus. Don't you think so?" 

"But, Ross." I was gulping for an excuse but still unable to overcome the 
tone of faith he managed to sandwich into his argument. 

"But nothing, Philly Boy." He grated his yellow teeth around the huge cigar 
clenched beneath his moustache. He must have started growling his words as a 
cub reporter in order to make the older hardheads listen to him. And then, I 
guess he just fucking forgot how to use his vocal cords in a normal tone. 
Strange old dude. 

"Get your ass out there to Vegas and tell me what the future of Berle 
Bellows looks like or get your ass onto the streets! Is that clear, Philly 
Boy?" He could, however, make those damn vocal cords roar when he got tired 
of growling. So, what could I do when he put it so subtly? I agreed and 
turned to go. 

"Listen! You dumb punk. Do this one right and there'll be five grand and a 
byline to boot. Fuck it up and you better forget being a newspaperman." 

Yeah? Fuck you. I started to say so out loud when that sweet bundle of money 
he'd mentioned broke through to my consciousness and stepped between my 
wrath and my new car. The car I couldn't swallow-so I put down my pride. 
"Don't worry, Mac. If I fluff it, something will become of me yet. I'm not 
so sure I want to be a reporter, anyway. But since you're laying down the 
law, you better have a loose pen when the story comes in, 'cause you see, I 
don't mind the astrology routine one fucking bit. It helps me get through 
the week." 

"Yeah," drawled McGraw, puffing furiously, "don't get too far out in space, 
kid. It'll be a long time 'fore you're gonna get to the moon." 

Fuck you, McGraw. I'm already on the moon and so is Berle Bellows. Before 
I'm going to become so involved in that man's life that I need him to 
survive-you can suck my cock. 

I was so involved in reliving that Grade B movie dialogue which I somehow 
always managed to fall into with that bugger McGraw that I nearly missed 
seeing the city limits sign as it introduced the Strip. 

Man, I wondered, what words could describe these electric titans using neon 
for blood? They battle like quick moving dinosaurs for the vegetation of 
money. It's a good thing money doesn't grow on trees, or the monsters would 
really eat themselves extinct again. 

Christ, Carmichael! I had to laugh at myself. Have the doom beasties finally 
jumped in and started rattling your frig gin' little-brain? You start to 
think about devouring giants so soon on this one and you ain't getting 
anywhere near Bellows. You've got to slip in on him nice and easy. That's 
why you chose the Ferris Wheel to stay at, remember? As well as the 
symbology of the name. Just got to own up to those little writer's 
indulgences every once in a while. 

Jesus. How am I gonna tell a story about a man when I don't really give a 
mother fucking goddamn what he does? It's enough that he simply is. 

All right, Philly Boy, knock off the Socratic bullshit and watch what's 
going on about you, I reprimanded myself as I was forced to wheel the 
Porsche speedster hard into the parking lot beneath the giant spinning neon 
of the big Ferris Wheel. 

"Put her somewhere where she won't get bumped 'cause she's a cream puff at 
the skirts," I said to the parking lot cat. 

He grinned like he knew just how it felt and said he would. 

All right! Things are starting good! 

I stuck the ticket into my wallet for safekeeping and slipped a fin to the 
dude. When I turned back, my bags were disappearing through the frosted 
glass doors. 

Christ, these guys don't miss a tip. But fuck it. I'm on expenses and McGraw 
can go jerk if he don't like the count ... Cool off, Philly Boy. After all, 
McGraw did say to stay on your toes. And Vegas ain't kid stuff. 

Okay. So what did he want to go and send a kid like me for? 

I was still mulling that one around when I got to the front desk. The clerk 
was talking to the bellboy, telling him what must have been my room number: 
"364." 

"Ah, Mr. Carmichael. Welcome to the Ferris Wheel." 

Now, how the hell did he know my name? The bag tags. I answered my own 
question just as my eye caught a blonde, angling her way over to the desk. 

"Uh, any messages for me?" I was looking the blonde over real good and what 
I saw was looking just fine. Man, I would have bet her ass could twitch up a 
mighty fine piece of tail. 

The clerk leafed through the message box while I took a long time studying 
her curves. 

Her hair was like honey where it fell about her shoulders in a cascade of 
shiny curls. Long tanned flanks with just a hint of cords along her thighs 
played out neatly sculptured calves from a hip-swinging walk that was all 
sex. Her tits were bobbing about like juicy, ripe cantaloupes beneath a face 
full of soft lips and big eyes with a ski jump nose taking off between. 

"Nothing, sir," the clerk finally answered me. 

"Wanna bet?" I wisecracked and watched his face brighten when he saw what 
I'd been eyeing. 

She reached the desk beside me and I timed my question to the clerk with a 
level gaze into her eyes: "What room am I in?" My mind implored her to fall 
under the number's spell. 

"364, sir." 

I thought I saw a flicker of understanding flutter through her eyes. 

Her cat's-eye green, steady gaze looked back at me with humor at my attempt 
to be suavely direct. 

"I've sent your bags ahead, sir. So if you'd like to leave the boy something 
you can safely leave it with me," the clerk said. He had a way of 
interrupting my train of thought. 

He slid the key across the black slate of the registry desk and I handed him 
a buck. The blonde didn't seem interested in how much, although she was 
still looking expectantly at me. 

"It looks as if you've got nothing to do but buy me a drink, Phil 
Carmichael," she said. I did a double-take. How the hell did she know my 
name? Her face looked like a Cheshire cat as she grinned back at me. 

"No. You buy and I tell your fortune from the cards." Of course, I didn't 
know what the fuck I was talking about, but Jesus, what in hell was I 
supposed to say the way she'd come on? 

"I'll buy, all right. But you can damn well tell your fortunes some other 
place." 

Christ, she sure prickles easily, I thought, wondering if Bellows had 
something to do with the way she felt. Oh no, you don't, boy. You're not 
here to write the ballad of the sad cafe. Although if this babe was a hooker 
she sure didn't wear a sign advertising the fact. 

She came on like a hot free animal when she was in motion. "Ross McGraw's my 
uncle-just for your information file, Mr. Reporter Man." Her eyes sparkled 
with the groan that must have passed across my puss. 

"That's too bad." 

"What's the matter, Phil? A little incest never hurt anyone." 

I had to admit she had a point. Besides, I never was one to play hard to 
get. "Let's get that drink." 

"Why not take them in your room," she suggested matter-of-factly. "Besides, 
that way you'll run into Bill, the bellboy, and you can tip him for carrying 
your bags. That buck you threw away'll never see him." 

Well, it seemed like she knew her way around a lot better than I did walking 
into such a sucker play. So with a snarl at the clerk's back for the trick, 
I let her take my arm and lead me off down the hall. 

We found Bill just coming back out of the elevator, and I spotted him a 
twenty for a fifth of Scotch and soda and told him to keep the change. 

He must have had a case stashed on each floor, because almost before the 
door closed behind us he knocked and handed me a bucket of ice and the two 
bottles, telling me the opener was on the back of the bathroom door. 

"What's your first name, Ross's niece?" I asked as I opened the Scotch and 
poured two fingers in a pair of glasses. "Here," I said, handing them over 
to her. "Put some ice in these." 

"Linda." She was obviously enjoying my wondering what the hell she was up 
to. I'm no Don Juan. But then, I'm not a pipsqueak, either. Some chicks go 
for my kind of plug-ugly looks. Iron gray sticks off my head like spikes, 
and below my rather low brow sit two ironic gray eyes. My nose is kind of 
gnarled, but otherwise my face is okay. Yeah, regular lady killer, ain't 
you? That what this chick's doing here? 

"Tell me, Linda. Are you another black sheep in the McGraw clan off here in 
Vegas on a holiday? Or what do you want, anyway?" 

"To help you get your story, of course." 

"Whose idea? Yours or McGraw's?" Slowly, I finished splashing soda into the 
glasses and twirling the ice with my finger. 

"His." 

"What if I said that the only kind of help I need from you is the kind you 
supply in bed?" 

"You get right to the point, don't you?" She set the glass aside. I started 
hoping like mad. 

She held my gaze with her eyes while her fingers began to play their way 
down the front of her green knit dress. While one hand opened the 
buttonholes, the other took a plaid scarf from her hair and shook it free. 
She was taunting me -but only slightly. 

"So do you, I see." And unable to help myself, I lowered my eyes to the 
curves she was revealing. A thin ivory line was the only flaw in the picture 
of her melon-shaped breasts when the knit swung back and those luscious firm 
globes were free. Christ. This was the oldest hustle in the world and I 
couldn't help but look. Her tits were like strawberry sundaes and right then 
I decided to be a greedy little boy. 

"As I said before, I'm supposed to help you get your story-and if that's 
where you want to start, well ..." She paused as if there was nothing more 
to say. 

I wasn't in any mood for talking, anyway. Not with her tits popping out 
before my eyes and the triangle of blonde muff that I could see bulging in 
her bikini panties. 

This little number knows all the tricks, I thought as I set my drink down 
and went over to be kissed. Her tits crushed against my chest and felt like 
balloons. Christ, but I mean she just fitted against me like she had been 
made for this moment and her lips devoured mine hungrily. She was taking 
slow, teasing little bites, rolling her hot wet tongue through my mouth and 
almost driving me wild. 

There were no more thoughts of her being there for any other reason than 
because she was a woman and I was a man. 

"I didn't come here to buck the odds, anyway," I whispered roughly in her 
ear after coming up for air. 

"I'm not part of the odds, Philly Boy." She was breathing deeply and her 
voice was already husky with sex. She started tonguing my ear. I didn't want 
to get into anything but her pants at that point, so I let the conversation 
die. 

It wasn't too difficult, either, with her luscious tits pressing into my 
chest and that beautiful little fur patch between her legs grinding against 
my prick. But she kept her tongue at my ear and started mewing low and slow, 
like she was a kitten licking a dish of cream. She purred in my ear until 
all I could hear was her tongue scraping the hollows of my eardrum. 

I squinted, trying for a minute to see out of something besides my 
hard-swelling cock. Since I didn't want to give the wrong impression to this 
babe, I said: "How long can you stay?" 

"As long as you want," she mewed real cute and low. 

"Mama, that's just what I wanted to hear you say!" 

"But let's not plan any further than right now, lover man." Her fingers were 
following the row of button down my shirt front, spinning them out one by 
one. Kittenish, her tongue licked out and caressed my chest. When her hands 
reached the waistband of my trousers, she yanked the tail of my shirt out 
and danced away. She stood with her legs spread wide and her hands on her 
hips. Running a slow tongue over her full ruby lips, she said, "Take it off, 
Philly Boy. I want to see just what I'm getting today." 

Now, I'm no prude, you dig? But this kitten's got me going some. She was 
saying exactly what I'd been wanting to hear all my life. And man, she was a 
mother fucking knockout to boot. With a quick kick like she was jumping 
through a hoop, she skimmed her pants off and lay back on the bed to enjoy 
the show. 

That bright blonde vee just kept staring up at me and it seemed to get wet 
and wild right before my aching eyes. I couldn't help but stare right back 
as I began unbuttoning my pants. 

The gray-brown borders of her light pink cunt seemed to flower a little when 
she got a peek at my rod. I could dig it. It's really great, at that, to 
look at that monument with the red-brown crown of hair at its base. Man, I 
couldn't wait for the face of that little man between my legs to kiss into 
the lips of her steaming box. 

Without thinking further about it I sandwiched the cuffs of my pants between 
my toes and took one leg off at a time. The tail of my shirt was still 
flapping about my hips and obstructing the lady's view, so without an awful 
lot of flexing I got rid of the shirt, too. 

If this chick could get down to it fast, you bet your ass so could I. I 
knelt down like a serf and licked her snatch. And it tasted sweet as a 
bitch, you know what I mean. 

Then I felt her legs come up around my ears, and they were silky, the way 
they grazed my ear lobes and then pressed gently. My head was encased by her 
legs, and it was like her pussy just shaped its way to my mouth in a perfect 
kiss. I was just scarfing away before I knew it, laying switches to her hips 
with my tongue. It was a blast furnace in there and it was all I could do to 
tongue the fire out, dig? 

Her legs were locking tighter about my head and I was eating up a heat in 
her hips. You can imagine what my ears heard with the bumping brigade her 
hips were grinding out. Thinking to settle her down a little for some 
serious cunnilingus, I reached up and around her thrashing hips and grabbed 
two handfuls of tit. My palms felt her nipples spring into life as my 
shoulders lifted her ass and caused her head to fall back on the bed, and I 
cranked them on. 

I could feel ripples of pleasure running down her body while her hips 
struggled, impaled on my kisser. It looked like it was going to be quite a 
struggle when our eyes locked together and there was that Cheshire cat 
again. She had me gagged. But, who wanted to talk? 

I let my tongue do all the talking for me as I told her this was my kingdom 
and I was here to stay. But whatever it was that was kittenish about her 
came out now like a raging cat and she wanted to struggle me down. 

Well, as soon as I saw that, I knew the only place for so much madness was 
the sweet cave of her mouth around my cock. Whatever bitch she had in her 
could work itself out right down there-since I was a Leo in any event. 

The thought must have transmitted itself as a very clear picture to Linda's 
head because I saw her eyes change. She lowered the lids slowly and made her 
mouth a pouting heart. Out of the hole in the middle crept her pink 
tongue-tip, testing its way like a snake. It was both bitchy and beautiful 
the way she did it. 

Suddenly I thought, who is this chick anyway? 

What I wanted for an answer was this cunt's tongue sucking my hose with 
those greedy lips. And here she was making the most sexy acceptance speech 
with her beautiful face. But then, just as if the words that passed between 
us on our thought waves had been the only thing happening, her drumming hips 
broke in on my thoughts and she came. 

And I couldn't scarf it up fast enough. It was like my tongue was 
body-surfing in pussy froth that tasted like a root beer float. I lapped it 
up glass-clean. The blow job could wait. 

When I finally surfaced, her legs had relaxed around my head and I could 
hear her purr with relish. I kissed my way up her belly to those strawberry 
sundae breasts where it seemed to be a good place to rest. 

I let my tongue lick idly out on a breast tip and wet the little bud, and 
then let my weight sink into her body below. She didn't like the crush and 
her hand said so with a push on my forehead. But when I looked into her eyes 
as I landed on my back, that same Cheshire smile played through them. Only 
this time, it looked more like my cock was going to be the mouse and she 
just loved to play before the kill. 

Well, that may have been what her mind's eye saw but what she actually saw 
when her face came near the length of my timber was a different story. You 
might have some notion of her surprise. Before this kitten was going to be 
eating any mice she had to suck a tree down to size. She smiled with 
surprised delight up at me, but I was cool. 

With my leg sneaking under her firm fleshy self, I urged her to wrap her 
body around it. She snuggled her crack down over the kneecap and I felt her 
breasts' rubbery crush as they tried to sandwich the hunk of my thigh. Her 
hand took my meat and led the head to her lips where she tickled a kiss up 
the slit with her tongue, all the while looking into my eyes. 

With everything in her she told me that she was meant to suck cock, and I 
believed her. She was. 

First, like blowing a woodwind musical instrument, she reefed her lips 
around the head of my dong and wet it with a lick. Her tongue tested the 
glands as a niche to take hold in; then she sucked the bulb into her mouth 
with a plop. 

Christ, what an inferno! It was electric with head. Her teeth just seemed to 
fit over the head of my mountainous prick as it slipped inside. Her mouth 
was open nearly as wide as it could be and the slick purple bulb nearly 
filled it up. But then she surprised me. She laid her tongue back up in a 
bunch at the base of her throat and tickled the glands: flick, flick, flick. 
Then like a lasso her tongue spun around the distended head and wet it slick 
as I started a stroke. 

Her teeth scraped my skin, so I paused while she widened her mouth and 
sucked the under-edges of her lips between her teeth and the shank of my 
cock. All the while that snake of a tongue in her mouth was licking the head 
of my joint and I was building up steam like a ram. I tested a stroke and 
found that her lips rolled like a rubber washer between the skin and her 
teeth. As I steamed I thought, My God! she's almost too good to be true! She 
was copping my joint like a suction cup while her tongue seemed to fuse my 
dynamite. 

I rammed the shaft into the writhing cavern of her mouth and her eyes 
literally bulged. Her hands came up around the shank of my cock and she hung 
on while pulling it back out of her mouth. It was as if there were elastic 
in her lips, because no matter how hard I rammed my pole into her face, it 
felt like it was poking a taut rubber band. And her tongue went on licking 
the tip with absolutely wicked pleasure. I felt like my hips were attached 
to a timpani with my umbilical cock and each stroke I took caused her tongue 
to beat out a series of drumming rolls. 

Time became only a matter of licks between the spokes of her liquidy eyes 
and the carouseling of her mouth on my thrusting cock. Like a beautiful 
child she looked wide-eyed at me from a bobbing merry-go-round horse. The 
blood pulsing in my cock was enormous and her face told me she could feel 
the throbs thicken. Her expression became pure lust. 

I watched her cat's eyes become stellar in their depth and the golden greed 
was just a star among many galaxies of treasures. I felt the deep-heated 
boilings urge up below my balls and I closed my eyes and rocked my hips like 
a snapping whip. I came just that quick. And with each lusty gob her tongue 
centered itself at the spout of my dick and splashed the semen around the 
roof of her mouth while her throat worked voraciously. 

I imagined I could see the white sauce fanned to a slick coating around the 
tunnel of her working throat and I steamed my cock straight ahead, wanting 
to hear her scream around my prick face. Still she wouldn't submit but 
rather swallowed the whole dick until the bulb throbbed deep in her throat. 
Somewhere deep within the waves of my mind-blowing orgasms I reflected on 
what appeals to me about girls wearing throat chains. The bobble of their 
Adam's apple has such a pussy look I'm ready to cream in my jeans on the 
spot. What was happening now in Linda's throat was something like that. 

I could always buy her a necklace, I thought. 

When finally I was spent, lying back breathing kind of long and slow, Linda 
asked, "Ever suck a cock, Philly Boy? You don't know what you're missing if 
you haven't, let me tell you." 

I groaned aloud with the absurdity of the thought. 

"What's the matter? Do these little nuts ache?" 

And a nutcracker to boot. I began thinking Linda wasn't smart enough to work 
for Bellows. If anything, were she a spy of some sort, she would avoid her 
aggressions in bed; her only course would be to ... to what? What the fuck 
kind of paranoid thought-dreams was I cooking up as an excuse not to fuck 
her? 

She was down there licking on my furry nut sack and it kind of tickled, but 
at the same time I could feel my pecker rising. This time I was going to 
handle her a little bit to see where she stood about a brute. Maybe I'd 
learn something about Bellows. And besides, Linda looked like she could take 
it and like it, too. 

"You haven't answered my question, Philly Boy." 

"What question, doll?" 

"Have you ever sucked a cock?" 

"What makes you ask?" I shot back rather than play it straight. I hadn't, of 
course, but that was none of this chick's business. 

" 'Cause that's what I'm here to tell you. It's what I'm for. And you've 
been wanting to know why me and you for some time now. I can see it in your 
face." 

I wasn't sure I was following what this chick was saying. "What are you 
trying to say, baby? It's all right-you can talk to me." 

She hesitated, then said: "If you want the Bellows' story you're going to 
have to suck it out of him. He's dead, but if there's any life left in the 
old boy it would be in his prick. I should know, because I've sucked it 
enough." 

She could see the anger well up in me like an oil geyser and the look that 
passed across her face told me she thought she was in for a bad time. Maybe 
she was, because even if she was joking I don't like tricksters, especially 
macabre ones. And I don't like being made a fool of. Absurdly I wondered if 
my cock were as big as Bellows' and decided not to give her the satisfaction 
of asking. 

She grinned that Cheshire smile as if she could see the question in my eyes 
anyway. 

"I don't like jokes, baby," I made my voice low and flat and saw her cut the 
smile off when she heard the tone of my words. 

"No joke, Philly Boy. He's dead. For over three days. No one is supposed to 
know." 

My heart began to stutter. The hell with the original idea of the story. 
What a scoop. I could see the dollar signs ringing for an exclusive! 

"But don't try to print it, Philly. His organization will deny it, and 
you'll have the kind of trouble nobody needs." 

"Yeah," I said and felt stupid. Then a little switch clicked a light on in 
my head. 

"Your uncle know about this?" I growled suspiciously. 

"Of course." 

"Then why'd the son-of-a-bitch send me up here, anyway?" I exploded with 
venom. 

"So that you could find a way to make the story stick. And besides, you're 
not a known reporter and he figures you'd have a better chance." 

"I get it. I'm the goat." 

"You're it, Phil. And you better be very wise to the ways of this town. 
That's where I come in. For instance, besides Bellows' organization, the 
syndicate doesn't want the story out. They figure they can grab control 
before it breaks and the commissioner steps in." 

"Sounds like everybody's in a hurry but me. But let's get back to before. 
Why the hell did you tell me about Bellows' death the way you did?" 

"I wanted to make you think the worst of me at the very beginning. That way 
there'll be no nasty surprises or suspicions later on." 

I let that one sink in. Linda was sounding less stupid by the moment. And 
this goddamn assignment was becoming more dangerous. In fact, I was no 
longer sure I needed the aggravation. And if what she said was true, who 
could blame me? Bucking a dead man and the syndicate was going against 
pretty big odds. 

"All right, look," I said, having no idea what I wanted to tell her. "I want 
to think about all this a while. So how about taking off and checking back 
later." 

She nodded, got dressed and was gone while I tried to sort out all the 
pieces. 

It had been rumored before that Bellows was dead, and always something had 
come up that disproved it. But somehow I had a feeling this was more than a 
rumor. And what was Linda trying to tell me when she chose the image of me 
sucking a dead man's cock right after sucking my rod? Curious. In fact, a 
little weird. 

And she'd said that she sucked Bellows plenty. What the hell was I supposed 
to think about that confession? That Bellows liked his cock sucked? I got a 
picture of McGraw trying to edit that little tidbit into an obituary. Or 
maybe she just liked cocksucking so much she couldn't resist spreading the 
news. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

I was out of the shower with a towel around my waist and unpacking my 
suitcase when there was a knock on the door. The phone rang at the same 
time. When those things happen, there is a choice to be made. Still, it is 
well to leave things to chance. I opened the door. 

There stood a black broad who could only be described as delicious. But I 
didn't have time to take her all in with one glance as Mother Bell was still 
making herself known. I waved a gesture to the black chick for her to enter 
and padded across the flat pile carpet to the phone. 

"Hello?" 

"Philly Boy, this is Linda-" 

"Just call me 'boy,'" I cut her off and then regretted the remark, since 
this chick that had just come in might take it to have some racial 
overtones. But I was getting tired of the way Linda slurred Philly Boy 
together. 

I turned around at the sound of the door closing, wondering if the black 
beauty had stayed or left. She'd stayed. 

"Very well, Phil ... I didn't know you were so sensitive," Linda's voice 
drawled in my ear. 

"What is it, Linda? I've got company," I said, and motioned with my eyes for 
my visitor to make herself comfortable. I was hoping like mad she'd choose 
the bed. When she did I was so busy not believing it that I almost didn't 
hear what Linda said next. 

"Philly, the syndicate knows you're here." 

"Oh, beautiful," I moaned, realizing that even though what my eyes were 
seeing and what my ears were hearing were two different things, the word 
beautiful applied to both. Only the feeling in my mind about what I was 
hearing was ugly when compared to what my eyes were taking in. God, but she 
was gorgeous-whoever she was. 

"Philly, did you hear what I said? The syndicate knows you're here and what 
you're after." Linda's voice cracked with impatience at my apparent 
unconcern. 

"I'm not sure what I'm after any more, Linda. Tell them I'm consulting the 
stars and I'll call back later." With that I hung up to give my full 
attention to the luscious piece half lying on my bed. 

Now, I have to admit that right at first I was a little shaken with how 
beautiful she was. Just to think about it made me want to squirm and dance 
like a cat. Besides, I feel like any white man about black flesh. Somehow 
black chicks make pussy look so beautiful that it's almost sinful. Now take 
it easy, boy, I counseled myself, and don't get carried away. 

The smile she carried on her full heavy lips told me she had some idea of 
what I was thinking about and that she didn't mind a bit. So I took my time 
as long as she dug it so much. 

Her toes held perfectly painted ruby toenails beyond her sandal straps like 
tiny shields. Manicured into a perfect contrast with her well-shaped brown 
toes, the bright red seemed like drops of blood on the end of her 
beautifully molded feet. Her skin in this light looked to be tinted with 
delicate pink. Fine ankles molded up impossible curves to sculpture mahogany 
calves and I wondered why there was so much red in her flesh. 

Her kneecaps seemed like sexy molds and served as perfect connectors for her 
lower and upper legs. Thighs tinged with gold ended after a very long way at 
the edge of the briefest hot pants I'd seen yet. Bare midriff-slim and lean 
beneath an organdy top that let the dark nubs of her nipples shine through 
like M and M's. The rest of her breasts were pert cones that seemed to 
vibrate with every breath. Her throat was slender, and somehow the delicate 
vee that rose and fell below a slow pulse in her throat reminded me of a 
high, tight ass. 

Her chin was small but square and just fit beneath full lips and a nose that 
flared at the nostrils like small brass bells, then ran straight between her 
full doe-shaped eyes. Her hair was in a natural and burst from her head like 
the crown of a burning bush. Needless to say, in the moment it took to look 
her over, I fell in love. 

"I don't know who you are-but if you're as good as you look, sweetheart, 
let's fall in love." 

"I'm Morgana," she laughed. "You sure don't waste any time." Her eyes danced 
as if they held twin sprites. 

"Dreams come and go so quickly," I replied glibly and loved the way she 
smiled self-consciously. But she was a dream; of that there could be no 
doubt. 

She glanced briefly at my midsection and suddenly realized I was only 
wearing a towel. But even that was too much if this dream were to come true 
and if she were to do what I was wishing she would. As if she were reading 
my mind she said slowly, "I'm not a dream. I'm real. Here-want to feel?" Her 
smile was patiently exotic. Or, if not that, it was downright sexy. I almost 
didn't have enough sense to smile back, much less have something to say. 

Her hand came away from where it was curled in her lap and lifted slowly 
toward me. Almost without thinking about it I took it to my lips and laid 
the most courtly kiss I've ever indulged myself in on the tiny knuckle 
mountain at the center of the range on the back of her hand. 

She was like that. I felt incredibly noble before her. Words of a romantic 
nature seemed to flit through my head and I felt too dumb to express them. I 
wanted to dance and shout. 

When her hand trailed away from my mouth, my head slowly raised until I met 
her eyes. I swear to God I felt as if I were being absorbed. Perhaps that 
explains what happened next. 

With a moan like a man coming ashore after thirty-five days alone on a raft, 
I threw myself at her like a blanket on a fire. Before I could think 
anything further her lips were kissing mine and I set out with excruciating 
care to show her my devotion to her cause. God, but she was lovely to touch. 

Her lips felt like moist pillow puffs against mine, but there was something 
sweet and cutting in them at the same time. I pressed my mouth deeply into 
hers, suddenly conscious of the stellar depths appearing behind my closed 
eyes. 

The sky was light gray and blue-black in its backdrop and it rushed away 
past lines of stars. The world grew to moon size yet remained a mottled 
green and brown and white and blue, and I wanted to sing of kissing her but 
my tongue was too occupied running along the rows of her even teeth. And she 
seemed to give in and start to burn at once as her mouth opened and took in 
my tongue-tip. 

Wanting nothing more than to meet her equally in loving her, I tangled my 
tongue with the flesh of hers. Something of bliss passed between us. With 
the gentlest possible teasings, my tongue tried to tell her I was hers. And 
she talked back in the same language with silken strokes. I saw the words 
write themselves in my mind, without knowing what they said but feeling as 
if I were sinking into a celestial moat. Gently I walked my nipping kiss 
along her upper lip rim and felt my way along her nose side until I kissed 
her eye closed, then gently at her temple and with a greedy plunge back to 
her mouth. 

Her body seemed to flower beneath me. I felt her go soft but sort of suck me 
in at the edges, and for an instant I felt trapped. Then her heat reached me 
and it was all right again. I kissed her deeply and the honey of her taste 
seemed endless. To my sudden distress I could already feel my prick 
beginning to swell to the edge of orgasm. Oh, no you don't, silently I 
pleaded with myself, not so fast! But her body encouraged it. In fact, by 
the way my cock was beginning to writhe and pulse beneath me I knew I'd 
certainly blast off unless I gained a respite. 

"I've got to get this towel from between us," I grunted in a husky manner, 
even though a little shaken by my enormous feelings for this girl. I think 
she recognized it in my tone because she sort of grinned as if she 
understood. Then she thought better of it and stretched herself like a tawny 
cat. 

Quickly I jerked the towel off and threw it across the room. While she was 
all stretched out I bent my head over and kissed her belly-button, running 
my tongue into the crater around it like it was a tiny moon. I was torn with 
which way to go from there. My eyes wanted to ravish her breasts while my 
mouth wanted a taste of her box. Her hands solved the problem for me by 
stroking across her own breast. 

Almost too hungrily to be able to function, I ran my hands beneath the 
elastic waistband of her shorts and tugged them off. She wore no underpants 
and immediately I could smell something of the jungle from her. 

Her mound was covered with tight steel-wool curls, and I was glad I would 
have to push them aside to get my tongue between her pussy's lips. The kinky 
hair was almost virginal in its expression of the box it surrounded. Trying 
not to hurt her but all the same in one hell of a rush, I buried my face in 
her musky cunt. 

The first taste of her bit my tongue like acid, but then the flower parted 
and I found the nectar within. Her pussy-lips pouted and my tongue plunged 
into her bud. It was sweet. So very, very sweet. 

Again I felt as if I were in the presence of royalty. And I let my 
imagination take the image to extremes. She was a queen bee and I her 
willing drone. Only in this hive she was the flower as well and my purpose 
was to give her pleasure endlessly. 

My mouth began to suck her labia gently while my tongue whirled deeply into 
the caverns of her cunt. In and out I drilled for the sweet juices of her 
cum and felt the walls thicken with its flow. 

Her hips began to work and rotate while her legs found my shoulders, then 
pressed the smooth marble flesh of her inner thighs against my ears. I was 
trapped in her leg lock about my head. But the feeling was glorious since my 
mouth belonged to her service completely. 

She began to buck up off the bed in controlled, impossibly rhythmic motions, 
so that her pussy ground against my mouth at the moment of my tongue's 
deepest penetration. I felt myself go a little mad. I was eating the 
sweetest pussy I'd ever tasted and she was responding more ardently than I 
had imagined possible for any human being. With a glad gargle, I attempted 
to eat her with all my strength. 

Before long I lost all track of time. The world was confined to my head by 
the clasp of her writhing legs, and I sought to touch her soul with each 
plunge of my tongue. Then I pulled back with all my might as if I were an 
oarsman propelling some galactic ship through the cosmos, while my mouth 
paused for a moment to suck on the nub of her growing rosebud. 

Distantly I could hear the sound of her voice but what my ears actually did 
was feel the depth of her moans. They rumbled through her until they seemed 
to vibrate in the torrent of juice my tongue was forcing to flow from her 
box. Her muscled thighs were grinding a fleshy counterpoint to the lip 
syncopation my mouth was kissing on her pussy-lips. And then she screamed. 

The cave of her cunt filled with the flood of one giant orgasm and I felt 
the surf drown me in the powerful waves her legs sent rolling through my 
eardrums. But, oh, she tasted so fine-and I sucked and sucked and sucked. 

Slowly, like an ocean quieting after a storm, she calmed and was still while 
my tongue slaved willingly to dry up her torrid pussy. I licked and toyed 
with the tiny knob of her clitoris until she began to shiver with desire. I 
looked up from past the level of her belly just in time to see her yank her 
top over her head, then look down at me. With beckoning hands, her eyes 
commanded me to come up for a fuck. For the first time I was aware of the 
powerful throb in my loins. 

My cock had swelled like a steaming battleship and now as I hovered over her 
and her hand surrounded the rod to guide the tip to her eager cunt, the meat 
of it felt immense. Absurdly I wondered if it were possible for the fleshy 
head to split. But before I could take the thought any further the moist 
soft lips of her pussy clasped the bulbous end of my organ with a soothing 
heat. With a groan of animal pleasure I plunged my meat in nearly to its 
full length. 

It was like taking a bath. But that feeling took only a moment to pass 
because she bucked with the energy of a horse. I was nearly thrown off but 
recovered with another stroke. From then on it was full steam ahead. 

I kissed her and our hips slapped against each other, then parted, and once 
again they met as my prick cut deeply into her wanton snatch. It was a 
simple one-two rhythm that we set together, but the sounds we were making 
were in perfect counterpoint and filled out the fuck until everything was 
making off in the same direction. 

We were like animals battering against each other in some primal rite. Like 
a seesaw I plunged in and she met me, then we both bowed back and pushed 
again. Now we were in three-quarter time and a waltz began. I had never 
loved anything quite as much as this moment, fucking this absolute bitch of 
a girl. 

My cock slid in and out of her glove-tight love-lips like it was greased 
with speed. Her pussy gobbled me up as if it had a will of its own. I put my 
hands beneath her and clutched the tight buns of her ass. They fit my palms 
like loaves of bread. I'm telling you, this chick had everything. Including 
me. Those buns just seemed like overstuffed eels in the way they moved 
around. They drove her hips like spoked wheels around and around while her 
pussy did impossible shivers on my cock head. It was as if the glands were 
being French-kissed. Yes, indeed, it was beautiful the way she did her 
woman-work. Exploringly I placed my index finger into the crack of her ass 
and found the way to her asshole with remarkable ease. I pressed the bud and 
felt her shudder, then set her in motion like a top onto my fingertip as she 
whirled a cone of motion around my turgid meat. I saw her eyes then, and 
they were raw with carnal lust. I engaged them while I began to press a 
pulsing fingertip into the rosette and felt as if I were thumping a bass on 
the end of my prick. Her body hummed the message I sent as if it were an 
organ sound in a cathedral, right back through me, using my cock for a 
speaker horn. I heard the sounds of harpsichord and castanets and for the 
first time wondered where this black girl came from. There was a tinge of 
Spanish lace in the rumba her hips were tattooing beneath me and now she 
yoked my hips with her legs and felt the oxen in me plunder a deeper furrow 
down the row. 

I want love. I want love, love, love, my mind sang. I'm going down the rows. 
I was no longer bound to my body and my spirit soared like a bird. In steep, 
slow swirls I sang to myself, I'm going, down, down, down, oh yeah! I was 
just a seagull gliding on a howling wind slowly out to sea. 

And there were her eyes again. Huge and white skied around brown jewels that 
I swear had red, white and blue spokes. It was earth all the way back to the 
Orient. For a moment she loved me with them with an infinite knowledge of 
the pain in love. But it's so goddamn good, her eyes screamed with such gut 
conviction that I felt tears sting my own eyes. I wanted to cry, she felt so 
good to fuck. I didn't care who she was! This moment, those big brown eyes 
were saying, she was absolutely mine. 

I felt the orgasm boil far below me like a glass-portholed washing machine 
going into suds. From the incredible heights my mind had flown to, I rushed 
to get back and catch the crest tip of the flood as it shot from my prick 
and exploded within her. And like a set of tidal waves I laid comber after 
comber of hot cum on the beaches of her tight-covered box. 

Boom, boom, I heard the surf pound in my head while she beached me flip for 
flop with an orgasm of her own. She was like a vortex as she sucked the 
swirling sperm down her glory hole. Sky rockets went off behind my eyes as I 
saw her lose control and melt with the flood. 

Coming off the waves of bliss singing through us was no short matter. No. 
No, indeed. It was a long fall, then a slow rising until finally we were 
spent with our sex. Yet a glow of warm feeling remained. 

We lay like that for a long time. Not speaking. Not doing anything but 
listening to each other's breath. All sorts of foolish crap was running 
through my head to say. But the thought of my voice interrupting the 
peaceful moment was too much to contemplate. So I kept my mouth shut and 
rolled to the side to take my weight off her. 

And she came right with me. Her pussy was locked so tightly around my 
shrinking cock that her weight followed mine, and we were lying side by side 
with my cock still in her. 

We stared into each other's eyes and said nothing with our mouths, except to 
kiss gently now and then. I was so content a lazy haze settled like serenity 
around my brow and before you know it I was asleep. 

* * * 

When I woke up she was gone. I guess I went to hug her in my sleep and when 
my arm felt empty space, then slapped against my chest, I knew she was gone. 
I jumped off the bed still groggy and my feet tangled in the towel as I took 
two steps away from the bed. Stumbling, I swore at myself for being such a 
fool as to let her get away. I didn't even know her full name. 

Morgana was all she had said and it had seemed like there was nothing more 
that needed to be spoken about. The memory of the incredible time I'd just 
spent flooded over me. Where had she gone? How could I find her again? Like 
a hound trying to pick up a cold trail, I sniffed about the room for a note 
or at least some clue to who she was. I even tried the bathroom with the 
romantic notion she might have lipsticked some note on the mirror face. But 
nothing was there. 

Morgana. What the hell had she wanted coming to my room in the first place? 
Suddenly I realized how easily she had taken me in. Without even trying she 
had waltzed in here a total stranger, told me nothing about herself but her 
first name, fucked me like I'd never been fucked before, then disappeared. I 
was getting a little weary already with the peculiar twists of this 
assignment. Not that I wasn't loving every minute, of course. But somehow I 
wasn't getting down to business as fast as I imagined the paper would like. 

The hell with the paper. I might not finish the damn assignment anyway! 

I decided the best thing to do was go down to the casino and look around. 
After all, with Vegas such a new place to me, a little background might not 
hurt a thing. 

I showered, pulled on a polo shirt and light slacks, slipped my wallet, key 
and change into my pockets and was off to test my fate. 

I'm sort of a numerologist as well as an astrologer, although I don't know 
very much formally about either one. What I do know is that sometimes fate 
plays a big part in everyday life. And I figured even in Vegas everyday life 
was still the same. 

What I did then was so easy it was childish. I watched the play. It didn't 
take long after that until I had located the craps table where I felt most 
comfortable, and for a long time I just watched the game progress as the 
dice moved around the table. 

Nearly half an hour had passed and I'd not seen boxcars come up. So, 
cautiously, I bet two bucks on twelve. It missed so I tried again. Missed 
again, and I put another two bucks down and it hit. 

Now I'm either awful slow or the dealer was awful fast. But before I could 
draw my winnings back the dice were rolled. At first I was horrified. But 
incredible as it may seem, twelve hit again. Suddenly, I was $900.00 ahead. 

Well, it takes a little more time to count nine hundred out, and this time I 
was waiting for him. When he finished pushing the last stack over I looked 
into his eyes and smiled. I pushed $300.00 on eleven, which was craps, of 
course. When it hit he nearly died. Or so it seemed from the pale that 
soaked his cheeks. 

Incredibly, I was $5,400.00 ahead after maybe three minutes of gambling. On 
a hunch I scooped up my chips and stood aside. I knew that my chances of 
continuing the streak were mighty slim. Besides, five grand is more bread 
than I'd ever had at one time. I wanted to see how it felt-for a little 
while at least. 

I didn't know what was going on, but I was sure having one hell of a lucky 
streak. First Linda picked me up and then Morgana, and now I'd won a small 
fortune. Perhaps it was just paranoia, but I was beginning to sense a 
pattern in all this. 

Surreptitiously I looked around to see if I could spot anyone watching me. 
Trying to seem as casual as if winning or losing five thousand dollars was 
an everyday matter with me, I gave a delightful young change girl a 
hundred-dollar chip for cashing me in and bringing the money to the bar. I 
wanted a little time to think things over and I could certainly stand a 
drink. 

I ordered a Scotch and rocks, not because I like it especially, but because 
it seemed to fit the image. You know what I mean? Well, sitting there, 
waiting for the ice to melt and take the edge off the whiskey, I began 
realizing there was more to all this than met the eye. You don't just walk 
up to a crap table and take five grand away unless you're blind lucky or 
you're a mark. My guess was that I wasn't all that lucky. The question was, 
whose mark was I? 

I wasn't going for Linda's story about Bellows' death! Oh, it wasn't that I 
thought she was lying, of course. It was more a matter of not taking 
anything at face value. Or something like that. But she had come off with 
that syndicate stuff. And letting me win five grand was the kind of subtle 
play the mob might try if what Linda said was true. So, how could I doubt 
it? A feeling maybe. Nothing more than that. 

Something stroked along my leg and interrupted my musings. I knew it was a 
hand before I looked down. Out of the side of my eye I caught a redheaded 
muff of curls surrounding a pixie face. I figured the hand must belong to 
her. 

"Lady, your hand's in my lap," I cracked as I turned towards her. 

"The other one's got your money in it," she said without a smile and kind of 
matter-of-factly. 

"Too bad only one's full," I returned and saw her flush. Bad puns do it 
every time, I thought and waited for her to answer me. 

Instead she deftly slid my zipper open and had my cock out in a thrice. 
After the way the day had begun, I was only mildly surprised. 

"Eager, aren't you?" I queried and did nothing more than arch an eyebrow. 
The cat was out of the bag and I was content to go along with the play. My 
only concern was: whose mouse was she? 

Her fingers had stretched my prick out as long as it would go and I felt her 
fingernails raking around the head. She was such a catty bitch that her face 
now held a perfect deadpan. Even her eyes wouldn't admit to mine that it was 
her hand down there jacking me off. 

"Why not take this and go home, Mr. Carmichael?" she said, and smiled quite 
innocently. We might have been any couple sitting there talking about papier 
mache. She was that smooth. And her hand knew what it was doing, too. Many 
more seconds of this and she was going to have a loaded palm. I thought it 
might serve the bitch right but then figured she'd wipe it on my pants. 

"Who sent you?" I asked, trying to hold my load. 

"The girl you gave your chips to go cash in," she replied innocently while 
her hand urged my prick to shoot. 

"I can play it as cute as you can, doll face." I tried to make my voice as 
nonchalant as possible. I wasn't going to be able to hold out very long at 
this rate. But what the hell, I wasn't made of iron. "Why don't we take this 
somewhere where I can slip into something comfort-able-like you, for 
instance," I said with a cool voice. A hell of a lot cooler than I felt. 

"Sorry, Mr. Carmichael, I'm a working girl. Just dropped by to see you off 
and give you this." Her other hand brought up the bundle of cash and dropped 
it right in front of me. Like I said, it was a lot of bread. 

The only place I wanted to go was to bed with this kewpie doll. And she 
wasn't making it easy to get off the subject. 

"You're a hardhead, aren't you?" she asked, and gazed at me for all the 
world like the only thing happening was sweetness and light. Suddenly I lost 
all interest in the discussion; I was about to cum. 

And I did cum. Just as soon as I'd started, the bitch dropped my prick like 
it was a hot potato and sauntered off. 

I just sat there with a dripping prick and felt like an idiot. Perhaps I was 
crazy, but all this was beginning to get to me. One thing was for certain, 
though. In any event, it was a sure bet I was getting in over my head. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

When my eyes fluttered open it was 4:45 A.M. I heard something and lay 
still, trying to locate where the sound was coming from. Somebody was in the 
room with me! God, I hope it isn't a thug, I thought as I snapped on the 
night-stand lamp and leaped out of bed. 

It was Linda McGraw. And she had her hand in my pants pocket, trying to 
steal my cash. I wondered how she was going to explain this one. 

She didn't try. She simply raised a silver-plated gun from her side and 
motioned for me to back off. 

My mouth fell open-I was literally stunned by the change that had come over 
Linda. I did as she asked, of course. My mama only raised one stupid child 
and I've always considered him as sort of a charity case. So I carefully 
counseled myself to take the wiser course. 

It was Linda's face that startled me. Something terrible had happened to 
her. Her face was all puffy and swollen. Her eyes were like razor slits in 
twin seas of black and blue. And that wasn't the end of it. There were 
finger bruises like a necklace around her throat and what looked like a 
burn. She was in such bad shape that the only way I really recognized her 
was because of the shape of her tits. 

"Linda, what happened?" I gasped as I sank down on the bed's edge in 
deference to the gun. She didn't answer but simply moved to the door, and 
with only a slight pause to order me not to follow her, she was gone. 

"Now, this is getting ridiculous," I exploded at the back of the door. "What 
the fuck is going on?" 

Beautiful women were popping in and out of my room and life like they were 
jump-up targets at a shooting gallery. And now Linda looked like she'd been 
popped one real good. 

I had been so startled by the gun and the shape her face was in that I 
hadn't noticed whether she'd taken the money or not. Quickly I checked my 
pants where they lay on the dresser and found she hadn't. Either she'd been 
after something else or hadn't had time. Probably the latter, because I 
couldn't imagine what else she could possibly want. 

Suddenly I thought of the black girl, Morgana. I knew it was foolish of me, 
but I felt as if those moments we'd spent together earlier were the most 
satisfying in my life. I was in love with a girl I'd only just met. But now 
with Linda having been beaten up, I wondered if something similar might not 
have happened to Morgana. What could I do? Where could I look for her? For 
the first time during this trip I began to feel a little frantic at the 
enormity of the odds against me. Well, my chances wouldn't improve any by 
going without sleep. 

Just as I was crawling back into bed, comforting myself that dawn was not 
far away and thence another day, I heard the light rap of knuckles on the 
door. I didn't know whether to answer it or not. But then, realizing that 
Linda had had little trouble getting in and figuring anyone with crime on 
his mind would probably find it just as easy, I decided to take a chance and 
let the fates have their way. 

I crossed the room and opened the door. There stood the little redhead I'd 
encountered earlier in the cocktail lounge. Only she'd changed clothes. Now 
she wore something that looked like it was made out of plastic wrap. Cut 
like a toga and clear as a bell, the dress left nothing unseen. Believe me, 
I wouldn't have had it any other way. 

"May I come in?" She arched an eyebrow and looked me over good. I was 
standing there naked as a jay, and the way she let her eyes linger over my 
crotch I felt as if I was being weighed for sale. It put me on my guard. 

"Not without telling me your name and who sent you." I wasn't satisfied with 
the tone my voice took. It was a little too edgy, and it let her know I was 
nervous. But that's the way it goes sometimes; no matter how hard you try to 
be cool, something gives away the play. 

"Rita LeRoi," she answered and pushed past me. "And I'm here on my own time. 
Call it unfinished business if you've got to have a reason." 

"All right, Rita, let's not play games, shall we?" I said as I closed the 
door. "What's on your mind this time?" 

"Simple," she said. "I want to finish what I started in the bar." 

"What? Another message telling me to leave town?" 

"No. No more messages. Though personally I think it's good advice. But do 
what you want. It's your life," she intoned. 

"All right, what is it, then?" I asked, ignoring the implied threat in her 
answer. 

"Like I said-simple." She began undoing the plastic belt that apparently 
held her dress together at the waist. 

She looked like a China doll, kewpie-faced and pert. Her breasts seemed to 
tilt upward away from her chest and the effect was not unlike a couple of 
pink-tipped, flesh-colored pears. 

And she was a real redhead. The flame-colored muff that split her legs was 
proof of that. Unless, of course, she dyed her snatch when she did her head. 
But I doubted it. 

Her eyes were kind of amber-colored and I guessed she was a Pisces. 
Something made me ask, "What sign are you?" 

"Pisces-but I don't see what difference it makes." 

Doubter, I crowed to myself silently. I'd guessed correctly but the 
knowledge told me nothing really. At least nothing I wanted to communicate 
to Rita, if that was her name. 

"What do you do around here, Rita?" I asked, attempting to get her talking 
about herself. 

"Entertain," she said, and threw her shoulders back to let the dress slip 
off. I could see how that could very well be. But still it told me 
nothing-except perhaps that she was a hooker. 

"You a pro?" 

"No. A dancer." she corrected me, without being in the slightest insulted by 
my mistake. "Here in the hotel?" 

"Yes." She was just standing there. Naked and delicious-looking as good as a 
raspberry sundae. She wasn't much of a talker, I decided right then. But I 
could also play that game. So we both just stood looking at each other, not 
saying anything for a long, long time. Finally she broke the ice. 

"Look, Mr. Carmichael, I was paid to tell you to get out of town, but I 
can't tell you who paid me. I can't tell you-that's all. You're just going 
to have to accept that. But right now, I'm here on my own. You might think 
of it as a way of saying I'm sorry for the jacking off I gave you in the 
bar. I really couldn't help myself, though. You are good-looking, you know." 

"You mean your instructions didn't include the hand job?" I asked 
suspiciously. 

"No, they didn't. That was my own idea. And later I thought about it and 
felt I owed you an apology. I'm here because of that and for nothing else." 

"And you expect me to believe you! When do you think I was born? Yesterday? 
Who sent you? The syndicate? Or maybe it's Bellows? Who?" I felt a little 
foolish standing there naked and getting more frustrated by the moment. And 
my staccato questions told her so. She said nothing. 

Instead she crossed the space between us with quick strides and knelt before 
me. 

"May I blow you?" she said and my mind did a topsy-turvy. Now what kind of 
question was that? May I blow you? What other answer was there besides yes? 

What pissed me off about her approach was that it was so disarming. It put 
an end to any other subject but sex. And from such a peculiarly gratifying 
angle. What man, when he's looking down on a pretty face begging to kiss his 
cock, has the right to refuse the privilege? That man certainly wasn't me, 
and maybe he didn't even exist. I said, "Yes." 

Her hand came palm-up between my legs and cupped my balls. Very, very 
gently. She laid her mouth beside my meat and rolled it against her cheek. 
The contrast was delightful. 

With tender cooing noises she began to tongue the fur on my nut sack aside 
and worm her spongy wet pink tip between the sack and the base of my gnarled 
prick. It rose at once. 

She licked her tongue tip quickly up and hooked it in the vee of, the glands 
beneath the bulbous head. I felt the end strain with rushing blood. Her hand 
pumped along my rod, up and down like a slow-moving piston while her lips 
sucked licks from the elliptical purple head. She sure knew her way around a 
blow-job. 

She began to roll her lips around the knob and lick it swiftly, all the 
while squeezing her hand around my prick so that the bulbous end felt about 
to burst with blood. And the sounds she was making got hungrier and more 
animal-like every second. 

Her other hand crept between my buns, and one finger gently began to massage 
my asshole. I knew right then I was in for a bitch, and I decided to take 
matters into my own hands. 

I clenched one fist in her mop of hair and pulled her face back off my 
prick. "Let's take this to bed where I can relax and enjoy it." 

She nodded mutely and rose. 

"You act like giving head is what you dig the most. Is it?" I asked even as 
I considered her square little butt for its saddle size. She's so small and 
tight I bet I would feel enormous, I thought as I watched the tight little 
package wiggle its way toward the bed. She stopped and turned her head at my 
question.. 

"Why? Do you think I'm good at it?" she questioned me instead of answering 
what I had asked her. 

"If you like it as much as you seem to, I'd say you're probably one of the 
best." 

"I am," she said without any pretense. 

"Who told you so?" I asked, still pumping for information despite my 
erection. 

That one stopped her for a moment. It looked like she started to answer, 
then thought better of it. My curiosity rose. 

"You just did with your question," she answered mysteriously. "And as long 
as I'm here and you're over there, there is no way for me to prove it." 

She had a point. And it was obvious she wasn't going to fall prey to one of 
my traps. She was much too foxy for that. So I gave up. Temporarily, of 
course. 

"Okay, baby. Who the hell am I to keep you waiting?" 

I sat down on the bed and scooted up until the headboard was against my 
back. Rita didn't waste any time, either. Like a hunting cat positioning 
itself for a charge, she crouched between my legs and lowered her face to my 
prick. With the same motion she clutched my rod with one hand and sucked the 
head into her mouth. Her lips felt like marshmallows around the ridge on my 
dick and she hummed. The sound was like that of a contented baby. 

She began to mother me with her mouth. That's the only way to describe it. 
It was as if my prick tip were an infant and she was intent upon nursing it 
all the way to maturity. Her hand began a rhythmic stroke and squeezing the 
length of my staff. 

Rita's hand and mouth were a perfect team. Delicate and wet, her mouth 
caressed my organ's head while her hand pumped blood to its end. And she 
hummed. Oh yes, she hummed. Her tongue was a conductor for the sound to 
orchestrate a symphony of feeling coursing through my distended member. 

It wriggled and writhed upon the slit end and I could feel her attempting to 
speak to me in a language all her own. It was like my prick was a saxophone 
and she was blowing the sexiest riffs I'd ever heard. Toot on, I thought. 
And play it mean and low. 

As if she'd heard, the thought her mouth left the knob of my gnarled staff 
and plunged to my balls. With both hands she raised my ball sack and pressed 
her mouth as deeply as she could toward my anus. 

She was grunting and urging my buns to open with her tongue. I opened them 
as wide as I could and raised my hips. Her tongue tickled the tiny wiry 
hairs that bristle around my rectum, then swirled around the gathered button 
of the sphincter. The effect was like an electric shock. My body literally 
pulsed. 

Then she drew her tongue slowly back toward my ball sack and pressed a 
fingertip on my asshole. Gently she began to suck on one of my balls while 
her loose-jointed finger wriggled in. She had left my asshole wet with her 
saliva, and with little trouble the finger penetrated to the first joint. 
She wiggled it. 

Expertly her mouth mauled my meat until her lips again found the end and she 
latched on like a suction cup. Meanwhile her finger began to pulse against 
my prostate gland. A red light in my mind turned on-and I howled, then set 
my hips into a steady rock. 

In and out of her mouth my cock drummed and I rode with a gallop, like 
rocking in a leather saddle. I saw myself as a raw boned cow-poke swaggering 
into the night. The universe was a bitchy broad and right now she was all 
mouth and fingering my gun. I would have let myself blow my wad right then 
and there, except for the pulse of her finger. It wasn't regular. 

While I tried everything to establish a rhythm between her mouth and finger, 
she kept me just out of syncopation by making her fingertip movement random. 
It was weird. Like I was always jerking between the red throb in my anus and 
into her soft lips, then her tongue parried my thrust and drove my tip out 
of her mouth with electric-feeling tickles. I was like a puppet writhing on 
her strings, and I began to groan. 

I rolled my head from side to side, then inched lower on the bed. She went 
right with me. Concentrating all my effort toward the tip of my prick, I 
lunged as hard as I could while my hands grabbed Rita's ears for a hold. 
When her lips reached the base of my prick I held her down and wriggled my 
ass more tightly around her finger. Now I was in control. 

Using her ears to hang onto her head I began to slowly stroke her face up 
and down on my cock. And she never protested. She loved it. Her mouth 
gobbled my distended prick up, then sucked when I pulled out like I was a 
sour candy. She was amazing-the way she loved to suck cock. 

Her finger started moving again, only this time moved in rhythm with my 
powerful motions. Hot little messages began to run down in my scrotum and I 
cranked her on. Somehow her mouth began a circle on its accent, then a 
counter motion on the plunge. God, did that feel good! 

I felt my hips reach a kind of groove as I let my mind get behind the idea I 
was getting sucked off by the very best. So this is how it feels, I thought. 
The way she digs it is no stranger than the way you do, I told myself. Where 
she appears to humble herself, you seem exalted. An even trade-a perfect 
match! 

Her mouth was a stroking, closely fit tunnel of wet heat. I thought about 
talking to her while she sucked. I listened for her breathing and thought it 
had increased, then wished to feel her pussy and see if she was getting hot. 
I wondered if her mind delighted in the symbolic significance of the act of 
fellatio and hoped it made her cum with perfect contentment. 

On each upward motion her lips paused for the instant it took to ring the 
ridge of my cock head with a quick tongue tip. The feeling was magnificent. 
Just the right mixture of tail went into it. As though her tongue were a 
whip that flicked a swish, then a pop on the end of my prick, she tortured 
the bulb very softly. Then as wide and deep as she could, she plunged her 
mouth to the base of my prick. God! But it was beautiful the way she did it. 

Up and down, up and down, pausing only to flutter her tongue on the end, all 
the while she sucked. Without a doubt she was an expert. It was with a 
feeling of reluctance that I felt the tickle urging me to orgasm. I didn't 
want these marvelous feelings ever to stop. Almost despite my will the cum 
began to spew upward, and my hips increased the tempo. 

With the first hot blast I gave myself up to a feeling of triumphant 
elation. In my mind I saw a rocket blast off and heard the volcanic roar of 
fire and brimstone. The feeling crept all the way to my asshole where her 
finger was jiggling in staccato. The world was tinged with the flame of 
amber light. 

Rita was sucking so hard that I felt as if my cum were being pulled up my 
dick. For a while I literally vibrated as time after time I shot my wad. 
Finally her tickling tongue began to chill me and her probing finger no 
longer felt good in my asshole. With my hands on her shoulders I urged her 
to stop. 

"Christ," I sighed, "I've never been sucked off that good." 

"I told you I was good," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her 
hand. 

"And you weren't exaggerating." 

I could only lie back and marvel at the easy way in which she snuggled her 
head in my groin and began to toy with my balls with her tongue. She was 
like a kitty cat toying with a mouse playing possum. Languidly I fell into a 
light sleep. 

* * * 

When I awoke it was nearly 9:30 and Rita was gone. Just as well, I thought, 
I've got to start working someday. Then I remembered the money I'd won the 
night before. Had Rita taken it? 

I checked and found it undisturbed and decided to get rid of it as fast as I 
could. Oh, not gamble it away, of course. I'm much too practical a cat for 
that. I decided to wire it to Los Angeles in my name. Then I forgot about it 
and took a quick shower. I got dressed, ignoring the stubble of beard on my 
face. After all, I thought, I am a working writer-or supposed to be-so, who 
the hell is there to care what I looked like. Such are the privileges of a 
journalist, was my conclusion. 

McGraw had set up an appointment with the town's mayor, Horace Conrad. It 
was set for 10:00 A.M. and I knew there was no way to be there on time. 

As I examined my face in the mirror while combing my hair, I had a few words 
with myself. "Philly Boy," I said sternly (I always try to be stern with 
myself in the morning. Otherwise I spend the rest of the day not giving a 
fuck about what happens). "Philly Boy," I drawled, watching the face in the 
mirror to see if any absurdity showed, "Phil, it's boiling down to a choice 
between women and your work. You know that, Phil?" 

I didn't answer. I was wondering what kind of a decision this bastard voice 
would make if he was me. The voice continued: "Now which is it going to be, 
my lad?" 

Well, to be honest with you, offhand, I'd say the broads. But that was until 
this black chick, Morgana, came along. 

"Now if you was offer in' a choice between one broad and many-and mind you 
now, I don't know this to be the case-" (Sometimes my monologues end at this 
point, or else they go nowhere. But this one was serious, I felt. So, I gave 
my full attention to the words and forgot the expression on my mirror face.) 

"Like I was saying, Phil, if it were a choice between Morgana and the others 
I've come across, well ... I might just give a while to finding out if I 
could stay with that girl." 

The voice in my mind broke in on my argument- 

That isn't the question, Philly lad. (Sometimes I almost detect a brogue in 
the way I address myself.) The question is whether or not you're going to 
get to work. So far all you've done is fuck around. 

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," I said, exasperated. "I think Morgana 
and I could make it and I might settle down." 

Better go meet the mayor, Phillius Carmichael, the voice counseled formally. 
You can look for the girl later. 

"I suppose you're right," I grunted, then terminated the issue by brushing 
my teeth. 

* * * 

"I'm very sorry, Mr. Carmichael, but after all, you were nearly an hour 
late," the nice gray-haired lady said kindly. 

"May I see him some time later in the day?" I asked, and made note what a 
perfect grandmother this woman seemed. Right down to the squint-framed 
glasses. Only trouble was she was beautiful to boot. It was awful what a 
contradiction she seemed to me. 

"No, I'm afraid Mayor Conrad has gone for an extended stay at the capitol. 
I'm very sorry." 

There she was. The picture of faith and trust, the personal secretary to the 
mayor of the town where more vice took place than anywhere else in America. 
Who was she shuckin'? 

And to top it all off she was as sexy as they come, looking like she's 
sixty. I mean what can I say? A grandmother I wanted to ball. I wondered if 
she had any kids. 

"Do you have any children, Mrs. O'Leary?" I asked. 

"Yes, three, Mr. Carmichael. And eight grandchildren I might add." One eye 
twinkled, but in the other she finally revealed herself with a squint that 
was rather blithe. 

"May God bless them all," I said and left. 

I hailed a taxi and headed back to the Ferris Wheel, thinking all the way. 

So Conrad was gone. I didn't know why McGraw had set up the appointment in 
the first place, so it really didn't matter. And as far as that was 
concerned, I sensed the hotel was by far the best place to get the story-if 
there was one. Besides I wanted to find Morgana more and more every minute. 

Back at the hotel I hung around the lobby for a while behind a newspaper 
until I began to feel like a grade B movie detective. I gave up casing the 
place. 

It was funny. I'd gotten off on the wrong foot or something coming into this 
town, and I didn't have the faintest idea of how to correct it. It was like 
there was no place I wanted to start looking. I just wandered aimlessly 
around the casino waiting for fate to make a play. Surprisingly, I didn't 
have long to wait. 

Across the room I caught a glimpse of a black chick. I only saw a little of 
her face in a space between a crowd of shoulders and necks, but it was just 
enough to make me think I'd seen Morgana. As I was about to start across the 
casino to catch her, something hard spiked me in the ribs. 

"It's a gun," said a voice by my side. I didn't even try to look; I froze 
like a rock. 

"Of course, this means someone wants to talk to you. Elsewhere. Come along." 
The guy pushing his coat pocket into my side and inviting me for a ride 
looked amazingly Ivy League for such a task. Perhaps that's a ray gun in his 
pocket, I thought. Oh marvelous, Philly Boy, a sense of humor coming to your 
rescue; I hope it's got a gun as well. 

"I thought you'd never ask," I said lightly. 

"Don't be cute," he growled out of the corner of his mouth. Ah ha! I 
thought, now he sounds more like a hood-probably has a knife in the other 
hand. Confident I knew my man, I turned as if to follow him. He fooled me by 
really having a knife. Without a change in his three-button expression or 
pin-striped business suit, he stuck a point three-eighths of an inch between 
my ribs and turned it just a quarter turn. Exactly enough. Pain and fear 
suddenly clouded my bantering attitude. 

"Another two inches and I pierce your heart," he said in a matter-of-fact 
manner with a voice as somber as a tomb. This cat was cold enough to make a 
mummy sweat. And all the while he looked just like he'd been punched out of 
a computer card. I preferred bad guys when they looked ugly and they 
smelled. This cat was absolutely evil. 

Fright had dried my mouth so that I couldn't answer him by talking. The best 
I could do was nod. 

He twisted the knife a little to remind me to be good. Then, shoving me with 
his gun hand, he fell into step behind me and we marched across the casino 
and out the lobby door. 

When I saw the black Caddy limousine, absurdly enough I began feeling better 
about things. At least, I thought, there's some of the old tradition left. 
This bastard behind me threatened to take all the romance out of life. The 
back door swung open just as we got there, of course, and I ducked into a 
smoke-filled back seat. 

There sat a hood as mean looking as an old cobra, smoking a dollar cigar. I 
thought, now I know where I am. The door slammed and I was alone with the 
man. 

He was small; that is, his body was. His head was large and so were his 
hands. 

"I ain't gonna beat around the bush with you, kid." His voice wheezed. "I 
want everything you got on the Bellows' caper." 

"What caper?" I asked brightly. 

He looked at me a long time after the question. He blinked his eyes once or 
twice, studied his nails, studied his cigar, cocked his head to the side, 
then pursed his lips and said slowly between puffing smoke rings at my face: 
"Kid, you're within one stupid answer of dying. Want to see if it's the next 
one or not?" 

"No," I said immediately. 

"Good," he said. "That's smart. Now don't say another word until I tell you 
to speak, and then you better say the right words. Understand?" 

I nodded. 

"I want everything you've gotten so far on the Bellows' story, and then I 
want you to go home. Understood?" 

Again I nodded. 

"Okay now. Tell me what you know." 

"Nothing," I said, then continued hurriedly when his hand started toward the 
inside of his jacket. "No, no. Really! I mean it. All I know is that there's 
a rumor around he's dead. That's all-honest! I don't know anything else." 

The words poured out of my mouth so quickly I wasn't sure if he understood 
me or not. But I was afraid to go on talking. 

"What about them three broads you been playing around with?" he snarled. 

"I thought you might know something about at least one of them," I said, 
then wished I'd kept my big mouth shut. 

"As a matter of fact I did send one of 'em," he snapped. "But she tells me 
she didn't get my message across." 

He must mean Rita, I thought. Still I sat without saying anything. 

"What about the other two?" he snarled. I decided to play dumb. 

"Which two?" I asked, attempting to put as much trepidation in my voice as I 
could. 

Again he studied me. Either my answers were the right ones or he found me 
particularly curious. I couldn't tell which from the viper-like expression 
that stayed on his face all the while. 

"You better be telling the truth, my friend," he said gruesomely. He then 
leaned across and opened the door on my side, motioning for me to get out as 
soon as I could. I didn't waste any time. 

For a while I just stood at the curb while the big black car glided silently 
off. Then, all at once, I felt the bottom drop out and I had to sit down. 

I had just been interviewed by Antonio Nofka, the underworld's most feared 
and most respected boss. This story was getting to be one hell of a lot 
bigger than I had thought. And I no longer wanted any part of it. 

I sat for a long time on the curb, just watching people stream in and out of 
the Ferris Wheel and wondering if some one of them knew what the hell was 
going on. That someone certainly wasn't me. That was for sure. If there had 
been some way to disappear without moving a muscle any farther, I would have 
taken it. One thing was for goddamn sure, I was thinking as I got up and 
went back to my room, I wanted nothing more to do with this whole fucking 
deal. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

I was down when I got back to my room. 'Way down. Something very tiny was 
telling me to go on. Be brave. Take your chances and go on with the story. 
But it was something tiny, indeed. I was feeling sick-the feeling was so 
small. 

Who was I kidding? I was no match for the syndicate. I didn't want to be, 
either. So, I decided to call McGraw. Hell, I'd even pay for my expenses on 
this trip. Let him send somebody else or forget the whole thing. I didn't 
care which. But I wasn't going to be a pigeon any longer. 

When I opened the door, there sat Morgana on the corner of the bed. Gloom 
vanished and the world was a slice of pie again. She was back. Her slow, 
knowing grin as I stood staring in the doorway nearly made me laugh. 

"Come on in, you foolish white child," she said and threw back her head to 
laugh as clear as spring water over pebbles. 

"And here I was trying not to mention the difference in our color. I was 
afraid of the racist thing, I guess." 

"Nothing to be afraid of. I'm black; you're white-that's all." Finally, as 
she said that, I managed to close the door. 

"Okay," I said. "To start with, where'd you go last night? And for that 
matter, where'd you come from?" 

"I went to work. But, as to where I came from, that's a bit harder to 
explain." 

"Do you have anything to do with Antonio Nofka?" I could see the name meant 
something to her by the way she started. My heart sank. 

"Yes, I do. But that's going to be even more difficult to explain." 

"I'd rather not even hear it, thank you. I just left Mr. Nofka. And you can 
tell him I'm taking his advice. Now get out." 

"I can see you don't understand already. I've got to explain ..." 

I cut her off. "I don't want to hear it, sister. Just split. I've had a very 
bad day so far and you're not improving it." 

"I'm a white witch and Nofka is black. That's what I have to do with him." 

"You're a what? Christ! Of all the ridiculous ... why, what do you think I 
am-crazy? Get out of here!" 

"I'm telling the truth. And if you're interested, I can prove it." 

"This better be good," I said with a disbelieving sneer. 

"Very well. Touch me." Her eyes widened and seemed to fill with a liquid 
expectancy. 

"What will that prove?" I asked with sullen suspicion. 

"Touch me and see," her voice lilted with a touch of rum to it. 

I did as I was told almost drunkenly and felt the swell of her breast 
beneath the softest silk. It felt hard and good. Before I knew it she kissed 
me and I was gone. Sucked up in an equatorial bliss. I dreamed I was a gull 
sailing on the Gulf Stream. Then she stopped kissing me and her words seemed 
to vibrate from the mound of her breast through my hand and up my arm until 
it almost tickled. 

"Now don't you feel good?" she inquired with the palest of amber fires in 
her eyes. 

"Yes ... mmm," I mumbled, completely lost in her spell. 

"And what about Nofka?" she snapped suddenly, breaking into my reverie. The 
sound of his name brought that viper's face to my mind. 

"You've felt my spell-and now you know he is a witch. Who is the black 
witch? Who is the white? Nofka or me?" 

I was baffled. Her question made so much sense in the mood she had put me 
in. But what if we were somewhere else? 

It was stupid. There wasn't such a thing as witchcraft. But did I really 
believe that? Wasn't it more likely I'd harbored a suspicion ever since 
childhood that there probably were spirits and such? Why not witches? 
Besides, the nipple of her tit was nearly burning a hole in my palm and if 
white stood for good, then that cherry-tipped black tit felt mighty good to 
me. 

"But remember, white boy, the only place color counts is in witches. And 
then it's only to tell sides." Her smile was gentle but her words rang with 
truth. 

"What if you are a witch? You could make it so I couldn't tell whether you 
were a black or white witch. How do I know for sure you're not a black witch 
in disguise?" 

"You don't. But look at it this way. What difference does it make if I am a 
black witch? Who do you feel good with-me or Nofka?" 

"That's not even a choice. You, of course." 

"Then whether I'm a white witch or a black witch makes no difference. Unless 
you like feeling bad. And then I would have to admit that you're on the 
wrong side. Nofka's the witch for you." 

She was right, of course. I really didn't care whether she was black or 
white. It was only a feeling I had that black was somehow deeper than white. 
Until I saw the free spirit in her eye. She was good. That's all. Even if I 
did have a blind spot about color I certainly knew good from bad. What felt 
right and what felt wrong. And she felt right to me. 

I knelt before her as if she were a queen, and I experienced the same 
feeling I'd had the night before. I was her servant. Drone to a queen bee. 
But when I looked into her eyes, there was nothing imperial. The expression 
was like a summer day. I wanted to show her my love, 

Pressing my face to her belly, I nudged her backward until I could inch her 
skirt up with my nose. She had red panties on and in the light of day her 
flesh took on a sultry glow. I couldn't believe how beautiful it was to 
touch her thighs with my lips. They were exquisite in their grace. 

I pulled the briefs down slowly while my eyes feasted on the long muscles 
that corded in her upper legs as she raised her beautiful ass to let her 
pants come off. My palm found her delicate buns and crushed against them, 
trying to let her feel the way I felt. 

My lips lowered and I let my tongue lead the way to her crotch. It was slit 
only slightly with the thin crack of her snatch, but when my tongue licked 
the lips parted and flowered for a kiss. It was damp there. And the sweetest 
taste I'd ever known. 

As if I were a worker bee, I dipped my tongue into the flower of her and 
whirled the lips more widely apart. My lips contacted the soft inner flesh 
of her labia and I felt her shiver with desire. 

Gently my tongue whirled like a drill deeper into her love box. I was an 
electric plug to her and like that I turned her love-light on. I could feel 
it start to burn. 

Her legs locked themselves around my head and the smooth, rock-hard flesh of 
her inner thighs flattened my ears. She began to rock and I felt my neck 
begin to pivot. 

I let the beginnings of her rhythm catch me up and attempted to lend my 
tongue to further increasing the tempo. I began to bob my head up and down 
as much as I could in order to give my tongue its deepest access to 
Morgana's juicy box. 

It was a honeypot. Each time my tongue dipped in, it scooped out laden with 
her bittersweet vaginal fluids. My taste buds began to swell. Little pops of 
her flavor covered my mouth and I ground my lips savagely against her labia, 
hungering for more. 

My hands worked themselves beneath the twin loaves of her compact ass and I 
clutched her whole lower body to my face with my lips sucking at the center 
of her cunt. And finally I felt her let herself go and rock. 

Her hips slammed her belly up at my nose and I rode with it, tonguing her 
slow. My nose flared for air, then I burrowed it at the top of her clitoris 
when she reached the peak of her buck. Going back down, I pushed my chin up 
farther between her buns and she bounced on the mattress and bucked, then up 
we started again. 

I felt as if my mouth were fastened to the softest possible volcano. I 
sucked and tongued her as deeply as I could while she roared and erupted 
like trembling earth. With every fiber of my kiss I tried to tickle her womb 
and even had the weird vision of kissing her pregnant. Then she started to 
cum. 

It wasn't like last night, though-not all jungle and sweat worn thin. It was 
creamy from the bottom to the top. Her pussy was so soft and full of froth 
it was like nothing so much as the head on a glass of sweet stout. It just 
seemed to rise slowly while I sipped to keep it just below the brim. Her cum 
was like froth and I drank it off. And then she came again. And again. And 
again. 

I went right on drinking. 

"Oh, Philly baby, that's enough!" she moaned. But I had no intention of 
stopping. I licked my tongue slowly up and down her slit and felt her 
quiver. 

"Baby, mama can't stand no more." 

But I went on licking. Making my tongue as flat as possible, I whisked 
deeply into her pussy and extracted every drop of her love juice. It was 
like no pussy I'd ever tasted. I wanted to go on licking it forever. And 
despite her protests, Morgana's hips began to writhe with new vigor. 

My tongue drove freshly into her pulsing walls. For a moment it was as if 
she were going to resist me, but then the tightened lips loosened and my 
tongue gained entrance to the silk-smooth cave between her legs. 

She closed her incredible thighs around my head and locked me in a torrid 
grip. Her moans of pleasure thickened until I could hear them distinctly 
despite the pressure of her legs upon my ears. The blood in my head swelled 
and began to pound as I drove my tongue deeply into her vagina. 

I made my lips as wide as I could and sucked her pussy lips into my mouth 
and then forced my tongue between them. When her labia were pinched between 
my lips and tongue I began to hum and whirl my tongue in mad gyrations. The 
effect was startling. 

Morgana's hips began to buck as if I'd plugged a live wire into her box. And 
I made every effort to convince her that I had done that very thing. I 
increased the volume of the noise I was making until it was nearly a scream. 
At the same time I began to suck on her clitoris. I smiled when I heard her 
scream of passion. 

The tip of my tongue was circling the erected love bud frantically. My mouth 
sucked, pulling the warm soft folds of her vaginal lips against my bared 
teeth and into the hot cavern of my mouth. Her back was arched like a bridge 
as she drove her mound into my face. Her heels dug into my back for support. 
"Oh! Argh! I'm cumming!" I heard her scream. 

Morgana threw her legs wide apart as the convulsions in her cunt spread 
throughout her body. The contracting muscles in her womb spewed out torrents 
of her love juice and my mouth worked hungrily to keep up with the honeyed 
flow. I sucked as hard as I could and she continued to cum. Finally she lay 
quiet and I could hear her groaning as if she were completely exhausted. 

"Okay," I said, raising my face from between her legs, "let's start over 
again." 

"Oh no," she groaned. 

"Oh yes," I said with a sneer. "Your name is Morgana. Or so you told me. 
What's your last name?" 

"Pulver," she said simply. 

"Morgana Pulver." I let the name trickle over my tongue. It sounded all 
right. "Now, what's all this stuff about witches?" 

"I told you. I'm a white witch-" 

"And Nofka is a black witch," I cut in on her. "Do you expect me to believe 
that nonsense?" 

"But I proved it to you," she replied petulantly, coming up on her elbows to 
look at me. Her eyes were so big and hurt at the tone of my voice I had to 
look away. 

"The only thing you proved is that I can't resist you. That's all." She said 
nothing. 

The silence grew as I waited for her to reply. I began to get angry. This 
chick's trying to make a fool out of me, I thought, and finally looked back 
at her. She was crying without making a sound. Immediately I melted. I knew 
she was telling the truth. There was a long silence and finally I broke it 
to ease the tension. 

"All right. I believe you. But I don't understand." 

"Are you sure?" she whimpered. 

"Yes, I believe you. Stop crying, goddamn it!" 

"I can't." 

"Yes, you can," I answered her, not knowing what else to say. I never could 
stand to see a woman cry. Especially one as beautiful as Morgana! 

"Did you really mean it about not being able to resist me?" she gulped as 
her tears began to ebb. 

"Yes, I meant it." My voice was gruff. 

"Oh, Philly, I'm so glad," she cried. 

"Yeah, well, there's probably lots of guys who feel that way about you." 

"But none I feel the same way about," she corrected me. And my heart skipped 
a beat. 

"Come on, be serious," was all I could say. "Can't you see I take you 
seriously?" 

"I do! Really I do," she exclaimed. "And I am being serious. Why won't you 
believe me?" 

"Because 'love at first sight' is just too corny to be believed." 

"Well, if it's so corny, how come you're telling me about it?" 

She had me there. I was contradicting myself all over the place, I knew 
that. 

"All right," I said, as I attempted to switch tacks and bail myself out of 
this sticky spot. "Suppose you tell me what it is that a white witch in a 
black body has to do with a big-time hood like Antonio Nofka?" 

She shook her head sadly from side to side as if I were a pitiful case. I 
thought she might be saying to herself that I was just another stupid white 
boy, but I kept my mouth shut. I'd had a mouthful of my own foot enough 
times for one day. 

"I'm not a white witch in a black body, Philly," she said patiently. "I'm 
black, my name is Morgana, and I'm a witch. Let's ignore the white thing, 
shall we? Let's just say I'm good and Nofka's bad. Okay?" 

I felt kind of foolish being talked to like a child with her pussy juice 
still dribbling down my chin. But on the other hand this witch thing was 
making about as much sense to me as the adult world made to a six-year-old. 
I just stared blankly. 

"Look, Philly. All I can tell you about it is this: Antonio Nofka is not 
only a hood. He's a warlock." She paused to see if the new word threw me. It 
didn't. I knew a warlock was a male witch. Hell, anybody knows that, I 
thought. She went on. 

"Okay. Whenever a black witch or warlock gets too far out of hand, as has 
happened in the case of Nofka, a white witch is sent to counteract him. Get 
it?" 

Oh, I was getting it. And getting it good. This chick had to be nuts. There 
was no other explanation. She saw the look in my eye. 

"I see you still don't believe me. Well, I guess I don't really blame you. 
Look at it this way for a minute or two, though. How do you suppose Nofka 
has been such a bad-ass for so many years and not gotten caught or killed by 
someone? How do you think he's gotten away with his life of crime for so 
long?" 

"I don't know," I mumbled. 

"Because he's a warlock. And a bad one to boot. And now he's about to take 
over the whole town unless somebody stops him. And that's what I'm here to 
do." She finished and waited for me to reply. But I didn't have anything to 
say. 

She'd managed to weave such a spell over me during the two times I'd been 
with her that she could have very easily been a witch. That is, if I let 
myself believe in such things. And Nofka was a bad guy in everybody's book. 
Even his own. My interview with him earlier had proven that to me beyond a 
shadow of a doubt. But this witch-warlock thing, well, it was too much to be 
believed. I couldn't buy it. 

"Look," I said, "does it really matter if I believe all this occult 
business? I mean ... what the hell difference does it make?" 

"Not a whole lot, I guess," she replied. 

"All right, then, why not get back to the business at hand?" I said and 
dipped my head back to her pussy for a lick. 

"Hold on," she said and put her hand on my head to stop me. "Let's even 
things up a bit, shall we?" She pushed away from me and I quickly saw her 
intent. 

With deft motions she shed her clothes and I followed suit. This was more 
like it. I didn't want to spend the day talking, anyway. In a moment we were 
both naked. 

"Get up here on your back, white man," she said, lowering her lashes and 
motioning me to crawl onto the bed beside her. "Mama wants to give you a 
little taste of your own medicine." Immediately I saw what she meant. 

With all the talking my prick had gotten rather soft. It didn't stay that 
way for long, however. Her mouth nuzzled my cock like she'd known it for a 
long, long time. She sucked the head in and I felt the blood rushing toward 
the end of it. The feeling was delicious. This was better than talking any 
day. 

Her mouth surrounded the elliptical end of my dick and licked it lavishly. 
The soft inner flesh of her lips caressed the swelling bulb and send shivers 
coursing through me. In no time at all my prick was swollen nearly to full 
size. Somehow her kiss made me feel bigger than life size. 

Gradually, as if there were no such thing as time, her lips choked down my 
meaty pole until at last the enormous purple head reached the back of her 
throat. And then she did an impossible thing. 

Arching her noble rear in the air she swayed her back to straighten her neck 
out and took another inch of my prick down her throat. And then another 
inch. Then she flexed the muscles in her throat and I heard her make a 
gobbling sound that reminded me of... a turkey! The top of my head nearly 
came off with the feeling. 

I looked down, trying to see if what I felt was real. And there were those 
soft brown eyes looking up at me and smiling. From that moment on I was a 
goner. 

Morgana raised her head back up my shaft to the end and for a moment I 
thought she was going to take her mouth off my organ. But no, she was only 
getting set for another stroke. 

Her tongue tickled my glands like a propeller blade. Rotating it as fast as 
she could, she spiraled her mouth down my distended member until the ellipse 
on the end again touched the back of her throat. But she'd found an inner 
rhythm and didn't pause a moment. Her butt stuck up in the air past the 
crown of her hair. Her back swayed and my cock plundered the depths of her 
throat. 

In my imagination I could see the pink flesh of her inner throat. I felt the 
esophagus working around my prick tip. It was glorious. I saw my giant cock 
filling the hole in an erupting volcano! It's so good it can't be real, I 
thought wildly. 

In and out the giant flesh pole of my prick plunged in her molten mouth, and 
I put every ounce of my concentration on the tip of the plug. When I looked 
down at the top of a stroke and saw the ridge of my dick appear at the edge 
of her lips, I knew that in only moments I would feel her throat gargle 
around my prick tip. The feeling of expectancy had my mind in chaos. 

As if time were a carousel on which her mouth moved softly, gently sucking 
tingles in every centimeter of my prick flesh, I felt as if we'd been like 
this forever. Up and down her mouth rode on the pole all the way until her 
lower lip smashed against my ball sack. She huffed and blew like a Whale, 
gargled and started another stroke. 

I felt my flesh quiver as she started up. My body was completely captivated. 
When she drew her inner lips up she sucked and I felt the energy level in me 
ebb. She reached the end and tickled her tongue. It was as if she were 
reviving me. And then down she plunged. 

As a storm at sea hurls waves of immense proportions at the shoreline, I 
felt the heat of her descent and power returned to me. And then she reached 
the end and gargled again and it was time for another stroke. 

It was all too much. I couldn't contain myself any longer. With a gigantic 
groan I set my hips into motion. The only way to fight this endless sea of 
feeling was with a fire of my own. So, like a bull, I began to hump. 

It went on like that for quite a while, Morgana taking every inch of my 
tremendous pecker while I mindlessly rammed her face onto my abdomen. I 
could hear the impact of it through a roaring in my ears. But I didn't care 
anymore. My prick was being eaten alive and the only defense was to blow a 
hole in the back of her head with an orgasm. I set myself on the track like 
a diesel engine. 

Boom, boom ... boom! I blasted the length of my meat at the back of her head 
like it was a runaway train. I could feel the cum in me boiling fire below, 
and I knew it was only moments before the boiler would explode. 

When it did, Morgana's whole body literally lifted off the bed and she shook 
like a rag doll. But I have to hand it to her-she didn't give up. Instead 
she let her body go and concentrated everything on gobbling, up every little 
drop. She was fighting a losing battle, however. What she had unleashed in 
me was a veritable flood. 

I looked down and this time found her eyes were tightly closed. My meat was 
buried in her mouth to the hilt, and I could just make out a white froth 
forming about the seal of her lips on my spasming organ. Her mouth was 
already overflowing and I let another wad explode. 

Desperately she lunged forward and sucked the bulb deeper into her throat. 
Her eyes rang open like numbers on a cash register. I didn't think she could 
do it. I waited for her to choke or explode. She didn't do either; instead 
she smiled with her eyes. Very, very slow. 

When the orgasm was finally over I felt drained as I never had before. Of 
all the blow-jobs in my life, nothing, nothing compared with this. I was 
captured. Through. Kaput. There was no doubt in my mind. Whatever Morgana 
wanted, I knew right then I would give her. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"Philly," Morgana said in my ear as she lay cradled in my arm hours later, 
"darling, please be careful. You don't know how dangerous all of this is." 

"I'm not interested in getting the story any more, Morgana. I told you 
that." 

"Yes, dear," she mollified me. "I know that, but the others don't. And if 
you just stop looking they'll suspect you've found something and are just 
lying low. Believe me, you're in a terrible spot." 

"Oh, it's not so bad," I kidded her and tweaked her nipple to make sure she 
knew I was talking about sex. 

"All right, have it your own way. But something is going to happen. Of that 
you can be sure." 

But she felt too good lying next to me for any thoughts other than those of 
the flesh-so I gave my full attention to them. Starting at the top of her 
forehead, I gently kissed all over the high plain until my lips found her 
temple. I lingered there, feeling the hot pulse of quick blood just beneath 
the skin. I nibbled along her eyebrow to her nose and then down the crest to 
her waiting lips. 

They were soft as silk and twice as sweet as honey. At first we kissed only 
lightly. They were tiny, tender pecks that gradually grew hotter and more 
feverish. Teasing ourselves, we tried to prolong the slight touchings, but 
our passion got the best of our lips. And bodies, for that matter. 

Soon my lips were crushed against hers and I felt her mouth open in 
response. I ground my lips against hers and ran my tongue over the even row 
of teeth beyond. Then I slid the tip of my tongue on the other side of her 
two front teeth and caressed the roof of her mouth with delicate flutters. 
She opened wider and began to suck. Our tongues entwined and the feeling was 
perfect bliss. As the two pieces of pink meat twisted and traded saliva, I 
felt my cock growing and Morgana's body pressing hungrily against me. Her 
cone-shaped, foam-feeling breasts pushed into my chest and I clutched her 
tightly against me. I felt the tight curls of her mound press into my groin 
and moaned with animal pleasure. 

We were like two sensual beasts grunting into each other's mouth while our 
bodies sought equal satisfaction. We braided together like copulating snakes 
and the contrast of our flesh was a moving diamond design. 

My mouth left hers to cherish its way across her cheek to her ear and to 
whisper sweet love nothings with my tongue in the shell. I felt the inner 
ridges and valleys swell and dip as my tongue wet her ear with love. I 
wanted my whisperings to mean something in code to her ancestors. Something 
basic to her being should know of my love. 

She responded with a chill and then a flood of heat as her body trembled 
against my chest. I felt like a king as I slid my tongue to the hollow of 
her throat and wished to offer my queen a cameo jewel. My lips trailed down 
to the top of one breasts' swell and I paused to hunger for the areola. Like 
a suckling pig still blind from birth, I sought after the nipple with hungry 
grunts. My lips were like a mussel on the shoal of her ebony flesh, and I 
sucked to hold every inch until my mouth reached its goal. 

When I felt the bud enter my mouth it was taut and soft at once. Greedily I 
sought to harden the delicate tip. My lips were a leech and I sucked for 
blood. Incredibly a warm sweet flood seemed to flow down the tunnel of my 
tongue. It was good. It was good. It was good. 

I glued my mouth on the nipple, and I felt Morgana moan before I heard the 
sound. Quickly I switched breasts and treated the other nipple differently. 
Remembering how her tongue had felt on my prick, I lashed her nipple like my 
tongue was a propeller. I kissed it gently. 

Back again to the other nipple I sucked, then bit just a very little and 
felt another moan from Morgana's tit. I began to tongue the whole of each 
breast as if I were sweeping up her scent to the crown of her nipple tip. 
And then delicately I sucked the nectar off. 

Morgana was panting and writhing beneath my caresses and I sent my hand to 
her crotch to give her a little calm. At once the hot moist lips of her 
pussy slit parted and my finger found the fleshy tongue. I caressed up its 
fold until my fingertip found the bud of her clit and gently I cranked her 
on. 

I tried to tell her with my mouth on her nipple what my finger was doing. I 
guess she got the message because she began to hum. It was a beautiful 
sound. I could feel her body vibrate with it and I made my fingerings as 
delicate as I could. Her body was an instrument on which to play a harmony. 

Gradually I felt her movements quicken and she began to rock. Her hips were 
like slow-motion wheels beginning to roll a heavy freight train on. Once, 
twice, three times they rolled over and began to slowly build a steady roll. 
Chug, chug, chug, I thought with childish glee. 

With my mouth suckling her tit like she was a hog on her side, I made my 
finger joint press harder. It rolled the nub of her clitoris while her pussy 
juice greased the meeting and I knew it got to her when I felt her hips 
stutter and the tiny bud vibrate. I rubbed deeper and the bud swelled until 
it was big and throbbing with her pulse. 

I pressed her love button like it was a telegraph key and I was sending a 
message of greeting to my mouth. The way she moaned and groaned so deeply, I 
felt the sounds on the tip of my writhing tongue. 

"Oh, Philly, fuck me!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. The sound 
reached me as if from a great distance; I looked up. 

"FUCK ME, lover, FUCK ME," she gritted between bared teeth. "FUCK! I WANNA 
FUCK!" 

Her eyes became savage in their lust. Naked glaring want that came from the 
darkest of nights-centuries old. It thrilled me to the bone. 

Her hand came down suddenly and took hold of my prick with a demanding hold. 
She stroked and tickled the base where it met my ball sack and I felt my 
core stir. My rod was immense in her tiny hand as I parted her legs with a 
powerful motion. 

In a moment I loomed above her, and I felt her other hand cup my beefy cock 
as well. Worshipfully she fingered my balls up tightly and led the 
elliptical end to her pussy's well. I felt the turgid purple head meet the 
heated slit and the pleasure was electric on the tip of my cock. 

With a mighty groan I slumped forward onto her pillowy chest and pushed my 
rod deeply into the fold. Her breasts were still wet from my kisses and now 
she squirmed beneath my weight and I felt my meat slide deep in her 
well-greased box. Around the end of my prick head her womb seemed to bloom 
and billow; hot and wet it sucked at the core of my meat. I let myself go. 

I was a bull buried deeply in a cow in heat. I snorted my glory and began to 
ram in and out of her cunt hole. The moist lips parted and sucked, parted 
and sucked, as if her cunt had the control of a mouth. With enormous fervor 
I clasped her ass in my hands and started to knead it like dough 

We began a rocking seesaw motion. I was pulling her sweet ass up to meet 
each of my thrusts and she was bucking. Between the two of us there wasn't 
even room for sweat. But now it made itself known and our bodies became 
slick with it. The heat of our union surrounded us and we both became 
mindless to anything but animal rutting. 

I was sending my flesh pole into the cave of her cunt as if maddened beyond 
control and she was responding with every ounce of her fervor. Her body was 
a seething, squirming, twisting beast beneath me and I strove to hold on and 
fuck. 

I could feel the torrid bulb of my prick head part the walls of her pussy 
and they slid slickly along my cock sides. There was so much energy in our 
meeting that the sound exploded from between us and for a moment we were 
stuck together with sweat. Then we parted with an audible pop, only to ram 
together again. And again. 

Her belly felt like a wall of marshmallows as it struck me. My meat was 
rammed as deeply into her snatch as my length would allow and desperately 
her body sought more. I strained to please her. 

My prick began to feel like a red-hot iron as I slammed into Morgana's 
pussy. Then, far below in my testicles, I felt the first urgings to cum. 
With enormous concentration I attempted to hold it off but her cunt was far 
too ferocious. 

I felt the hot white jism burn its way up my penile shaft. Finally I quit 
trying to control it. Instead I set my strength behind the blast, and 
bunching the muscles of my hips into rock-hard coiled springs, I let the 
cock cream steam into her twat. She was ready for it. 

When the first hot spray seared into her pussy mouth, she screamed in 
pleasure and began to cum on her own. I felt the heat of her vaginal flow 
surround my pecker and it was as if I were drowning in a sea of cum. My 
prick spasmed and let loose another wad. My only purpose was to claim her; 
to that end I sent billions of chromosomes swimming ecstatically up her. 

With each blast she bucked and came back at me like a snarling cat. Her 
pussy devoured my cock, cum and all. It was an inferno in her cunt and my 
cock began to feel as if it were welded to a geyser in full blow. Her pussy 
was like a living magnet. It took everything I had and sucked for more. Even 
as my orgasms began to ebb it sucked tighter. Finally, when we both had 
stopped cumming, we lay locked together as if we were one, shuddering and 
vibrating. 

I don't know how long we stayed like that. We both must have fallen asleep, 
I guess, but the next thing I knew the phone was ringing. As I picked it up 
I glanced at the clock. Nearly two hours had passed since we started to 
fuck! 

"Hello," I said sleepily into the phone. 

"Mr. Carmichael?" inquired an efficient woman's voice. 

"Yes?" 

"Hold on, please. Police Chief Milt Lucerne is calling." 

She clicked off the line and my mind came awake at once. "Wonder what the 
hell he wants?" I muttered. 

"Who is it?" Morgana asked, stretching tawnily beside me as I rolled off of 
her. I was surprised to see that I still had half a hard on. 

"The police chief," I said from the side of my mouth. I watched as an alert 
expression took place on her beautiful face. "God, but she is a truly 
beautiful woman," I swore beneath my breath just as I heard someone on the 
other end of the line. 

"Mr. Carmichael, this is Milt Lucerne, chief of police here in Las Vegas." 
His voice was folksy with a sort of western drawl. 

"What can I do for you, Chief?" I asked pleasantly. 

"Would you mind stopping down at my office this afternoon? I'd like a chance 
to chat with you about the story your paper wants." 

"Gosh, I'm sorry, Chief. But I'm not on that story anymore. You might say it 
just got to be too much. Besides, I am a little busy today. A personal 
matter. You understand." I winked broadly at Morgana. 

"I'm afraid I don't, Mr. Carmichael. I've taken the liberty of sending a 
radio car to your hotel. The officers should be arriving shortly." 

"Am I being arrested, Chief?" I asked, feeling much too good to give a damn 
whether or not I was. 

"Oh, let's not put it that way, Mr. Carmichael. I just would like to talk to 
you some ... and my office seemed convenient. Just a friendly little chat 
and nothing more. Won't you change your mind and come?" 

"Well, since you put it so graciously, Chief, I don't see how I could 
refuse. Do you?" I said, playing along. Besides I was getting curious to 
know what interest the police department had in me and the story. 

"Very good, Mr. Carmichael. The boys will be there shortly and I won't take 
too much of your time. I'll see you soon. Goodbye." 

" 'Bye, Chief." I hung up and turned back to Morgana. 

"The chief wants to see you, huh?" she asked with a tight grin. 

"Yes, he does. You don't happen to know anything about it, do you? My little 
witch?" I asked affectionately. She turned serious all at once. 

"Chief Lucerne is a good man, Philly. Don't cross him. He always does the 
thing that is best for this town and its people. So try to get along." 

"Christ, girl, you sound like my mother!" 

"Never mind the smart mouth, boy," she kidded me right back. "You mind what 
mama says and you'll get along in this world. You don't and you'll reap the 
consequences." 

"Yes, mama," I said and began to kiss her. A knock at the door interrupted 
us. 

It was the chiefs men. Two uniformed patrolmen waited in the hall while I 
dressed and kissed Morgana goodbye. I promised not to be gone too long. 

I walked out with them, trying not to look like I was under arrest, but I 
don't think I brought it off. We were nearly out the door when I spotted one 
of Nofka's troopers covering the door about as subtly as a truck. What made 
matters worse, the goon greeted the two cops I was with like they were 
chums. He nodded at them and leered wickedly at me. A disturbing event in 
anyone's book. 

Suddenly a cold thought crept into my mind. What if this was a setup? What 
if these two palookas walking just behind me weren't cops? Well, I shrugged 
to myself, it's too late now to do anything about it but to go along. I sure 
as hell wasn't going to pull any stunts in the face of the brace of 45's 
they wore. 

When we got to the squad car it looked official enough. Including the cage 
between the front and back seat. Well, maybe they were cops after all but in 
cahoots with Nofka, I reasoned. Lucerne and Nofka-now that's a combo that 
could own this town! 

"Sorry, Mr. Carmichael but I'm afraid you're going to have to ride back 
here," one of the cops said and opened the rear door. I nodded and got in, 
trying to act cool as a cucumber. But that wasn't how I felt. I tried to 
find some alternative to thinking the kind of paranoid thoughts that were 
bombarding my brain. My mind turned to Morgana and I remembered what she'd 
said about Lucerne being one of the good guys. 

Okay, I thought, I'll put my trust in you, babe, but I sure hope you're 
right. To keep my mind off of the cage I was in, I began thinking about her 
beautiful body. 

My thoughts started at her rib cage. I remembered the xylophone feel of her 
bones beneath her rich brown skin as my fingers played across her side and 
cupped her breasts. She was like silk to my touch. 

I saw her face gently bestow a cloudy kiss and the wink of water gems as 
they vibrated in the puddles of her eyes. The dark, fantastically long 
spokes around the infinitely black irises were magnificent to behold. I saw 
me and Morgana at a picnic in a field of clover. 

The yellow daisy tops were spikes of contrast to her sun drenched ebony body 
as she lay beckoning me in a field of green. Everything was so sweet; the 
air was filled with insect sounds as I stood above her. I watched those 
lovely lips of hers come up and kiss my waving meat as if it were the most 
sacred thing on earth. Her eyes looked up in awe at the touch of her 
flower-petal kiss on my phallus. Like a stallion I trumpeted my face to the 
sun and screamed my contentment. 

"Would you like a cigarette, Mr. Carmichael?" One of the cops was shaking a 
pack at the screen. I declined with a shake of my head, wanting to return to 
my thoughts of Morgana. But the cop wanted to talk. "Won't be long now," he 
said. 

"Oh, how much farther?" I asked. 

"Let's see, what is it? I'd say no more than one and seven-tenths of a mile. 
Wouldn't you say, Stan?" he asked his partner. 

" 'Bout that, give or take a block." 

I marveled at how they seemed conditioned by their job. They'd looked at 
their job in terms of district and patrol area for so long that they could 
gauge the town in tenths of a mile and blocks. I wondered if Las Vegas was 
laid out that perfectly and made a mental note to myself to check it out. 

"The chief didn't happen to say what he wanted with me, did he, boys?" I 
asked. 

"Nope," they unisoned, then fell silent. After a while the talkative one 
resumed. 

"You know why the chiefs office is where it is-exactly in the center of 
town?" 

"No. Why?" I asked, certain that I wasn't going to need the answer. 

"Well, the town's laid out in a-Hey! Stan, will you look at that!" he 
interrupted himself with a shout and pointed out the window. 

I glanced out to see the rosy cheeks of a nicely shaped being revealed to 
the world as the wind blew the skirt up a pair of pretty legs to the waist. 
The view was perfect and the girl didn't skip a step or even pause. She just 
went on her way until she felt the wind die, then smoothed the skirt back 
down over her bare buttocks. I grinned to myself. Sometimes the world is 
such a beautiful place. 

In the next block we pulled up before City Hall and my escorts were out of 
the car and leading me up the steps without any more conversation. The 
chiefs office was on the next to last floor. The mayor's office, in which I 
had spent some fruitless time that morning, was on the floor above. 

The boys bid me farewell at the door. I opened it and went in. 

Unlike the major, the chief had a rather dowdy-looking receptionist. She was 
the kind of woman who spent her life screwing her face up to a prune shape 
and thinking she was just looking efficient. 

"Mr. Carmichael?" A raised eyebrow accompanied the question. I nodded. 

"Very well, the chiefs expecting you. Please go right in." I saw her fingers 
leave a buzzer switch on the desk console. She not only looked efficient; 
she was. I opened the door to Police Chief Lucerne's office without knocking 
and found a man as neat as a pin within. 

Milt Lucerne was the perfect picture of the elegant cop. Suave, with temples 
of gray, he radiated an even, sophisticated manner and his handshake was 
warm and firm. 

"Good to see you, Mr. Carmichael. I hope this is not an inconvenience?" It 
was a rhetorical question, but I didn't mind. 

"What's on your mind, Chief?" I asked, putting on my best cub reporter 
smile. 

"Berle Bellows," he said directly. 

"I told you on the phone I'm no longer interested in the Bellow' story, 
Chief Lucerne. Nothing has changed my mind since then." 

"Oh, come now, Phil," he said familiarly. "You're here because of that 
story." 

"I was," I corrected him. "But frankly I don't give a damn whether he's dead 
or alive!" 

"How can I believe that?" 

"I don't care whether you do or not. What difference does it make to you, 
anyway?" I asked taking the offensive for the first time. 

"Everything and everyone in Las Vegas interests me, Philly." (He was being 
damn condescending and I didn't like it a bit.) "You come up here after a 
story and it is apparent to me you've heard the rumors of Mr. Bellows' 
death. Rumors are not facts. Consider my words a warning." 

"Look, Chief." My temper was growing short. "Why don't you knock off the 
song and dance and get to the point. What do you want from me?" 

"Just your promise to check out the facts before you write anything about 
the story you came to Las Vegas for." 

"All right, you've got it. I won't write a word. But on one condition." 

"Which is?" 

"That you give some special thought to Antonio Nofka. He doesn't seem to 
like me very much and wouldn't believe me when I told him the same thing I 
just told you. I'm not interested in Berle Bellows any longer. Dead or 
alive!" 

"You can rest assured that Mr. Nofka will be well looked after." He checked 
his watch. "As a matter of fact ... right about now Nofka and his boys are 
being picked up in what probably will be the biggest catch of big-time 
crooks and petty hoods in Las Vegas history." 

"Why? What for?" I asked in amazement. 

"Let's just say it's for the sake of law and order," he answered 
noncommitally. 

"Does it have anything to do with this conversation, Chief? Or with Berle 
Bellows?" 

"I thought you said you weren't interested, Mr. Carmichael." Lucerne's eyes 
were suddenly shrewd, appraising. 

"Look, Chief, why was I brought here? Let's knock off the bullshit, shall 
we?" 

"To get you out of the way, Mr. Carmichael," he answered with candor. 
"There's a raid going on in your hotel and it could get kind of rough, 
depending how much fuss Nofka's boys put up." 

"What connection does that have with me-or Bellows, for that matter?" 

"Mr. Carmichael, for a man who claims no interest in the matter, you've got 
a remarkable curiosity." 

"All right, Lucerne, I'm going to lay my cards on the table. Nofka 
threatened me this morning and I don't like to be threatened. What's more, 
I've met a girl who appears to be involved in this somehow. In fact I've met 
several girls, but there is one I'm particularly interested in. Now how 
about it? What the hell is going on?" 

"Very well," the chief said, "I'll level with you. There's a power struggle 
going on. In simple terms it's the syndicate against free enterprise. Free 
enterprise in the person of Mr. Berle Bellows. And quite naturally the city 
of Las Vegas has an interest in the situation." 

"What if Bellows is dead?" I asked. 

"That's why we're rounding up Nofka and his bunch. If the rumor is true, at 
least we'll keep some kind of takeover from happening." 

"Why haven't you thrown Nofka and his men out of town before this?" 

"Because they own nearly a third of it. And until Mr. Bellows bought into 
the hotels, they influenced the other two-thirds. It's complicated, but what 
it amounts to is that we couldn't get rid of them at the risk of shutting 
down an entire city's economy. Now that they don't control the economy, 
we've been forcing them out of ownership positions gradually. This Bellows 
thing is a complication we didn't expect and I'm simply trying to stop a 
reversal of trend. And I must insist that what I've told you not appear in 
some news story. Strictly off the record, do you understand?" 

"Sure, Chief. I won't report any of this. And I was telling you the truth 
about being off the story. You've renewed my interest, but only as an 
observer, not a reporter. In fact, if you'll let me place a call to my 
paper, I'll prove it to you." 

"That's not necessary," he said. 

"Oh, but it is, Chief. Your concern is economy and so is mine. If I don't 
use your phone, I'll have to pay for the call myself-since I'm quitting and 
there'll be no fee or expenses. See what I mean?" 

He laughed and said he thought the city could afford the call. 

I placed it, told McGraw goodbye, and left. The pair of officers that had 
brought me downtown were waiting at the curb as the chief had told me they 
would be. I got in the front seat before either of them could protest; the 
talky one had to ride in back. He remained silent all the way and I got a 
chance to think. 

I had no job but I had Morgana. Or so I hoped I had her. In a very short 
while we would see what we would see. And I still had the five grand I'd won 
at the tables earlier. That was a start. I didn't know toward where just 
yet, but at least there'd be no money worries for a while. 

When we got back to the hotel there was no evidence of anything unusual 
taking place. I bid the cops farewell and went in. 

I started to whistle as soon as I was through the lobby and on my way to my 
room. The world was my oyster. And if I was lucky, I'd have a beautiful girl 
beside me to enjoy it with. And she was black to boot. I wondered what my 
mother would say, then laughed at the thought. Perhaps I've got a corrupt 
sense of humor, but I was so happy I could have cried. I almost did when I 
opened the door to my room and an utter shambles met my eyes. 

"Morgana!" I shouted but got no answer. 

"Morgana!" I looked in the bathroom and in all the corners-what few that 
were left that weren't filled with the clutter of a room turned upside-down. 
She wasn't here, and suddenly I didn't feel so well. 

It was as if the fates were conspiring against me. I couldn't get away from 
this mess even when I tried. And now Morgana was gone, probably in trouble 
if the condition of the room was any indication. I just stood in the center 
of it, not knowing where to start. 

The phone rang and I looked at it as if it were some alien creature. It kept 
on ringing despite my stare, so finally I answered it. 

"Hello?" 

"Mr. Carmichael, this is Milt Lucerne. I've got two pieces of news for you: 
one good, one bad." 

"I've got news for you, Chief! My room's been burglarized and my girl's 
gone. What the hell is going on!!" 

"I'm afraid Antonio Nofka slipped through our fingers. I'm also afraid 
you're not as disinterested as you'd like to be. Apparently he feels you've 
got some information that he wants. The burglary of your room may be 
connected in some way." 

"Goddamn it!" My voice sizzled over the line. "What the fuck could the 
bastard want from me? I just want to be left alone and get my girl back. Do 
something, will you, Chief?" 

"That's the other part of the news that's good, Phil. Morgana's safe. In 
fact, she's sitting here next to me." 

"What the fuck is she doing there?" I growled. 

"Here. Why don't you talk to her yourself? She'll explain that." His voice 
left the line and Morgana's came on. The sound of her voice was so good it 
calmed me down at once. 

"Phil?" she said questioning. Something made me suspicious of her tone; it 
was too innocent. But I passed it off in the flood of relief I was feeling 
that she was safe. 

"Morgana sweetheart. Thank God you're safe!" 

"I'm fine, Phil." Her voice coarsened and I knew she meant to imply more 
than she was saying. 

"What are you doing downtown?" I inquired brightly. 

"I came down when they rounded everybody up. You know what I'm into with 
Nofka." 

"Yeah, well, I want to talk to you about that. Should I come and pick you 
up? I've got a car in the hotel lot." 

"No. Chief Lucerne will return me shortly, I'm sure. I'll be there as 
quickly as I can." 

"All right. Ask the chief when he brings you back if he wouldn't like to 
stay for a while and help me clean up this mess." 

Her voice left the phone to ask him, and I heard him laugh and say 
something. 

"He says to call a maid," Morgana said with a short laugh. 

"No. But I think I'll call Linda McGraw." 

"Who?" Morgana wanted to know after a small pause. 

"My editor's niece. The girl I told you about who was with me just after I 
got here. Then she later appeared with her face beaten up." 

"Oh. Well, ah, what makes you think she'll clean up your room?" Morgana was 
suddenly sounding a little jealous. 

"I don't know that she will, but I'd like to find out about her face. I'll 
tell you more about it later, baby. Okay?" 

"Okay. It'll probably be about an hour. Maybe a little longer." 

"How come?" I wanted to know. 

"I'll tell you later, too. Okay?" She laughed at the way she'd quickly 
turned my words around and used them on me in the same way I'd done to her. 

"Sure, sweetheart. See you." 

"See you." We hung up together. And I called Linda McGraw. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Only a few minutes had elapsed by the time Linda returned my call. Without 
any prefacing sweet talk I told her to get her ass over to my room as fast 
as she could. She didn't argue at all. And she showed up only moments later. 
I had just finished putting the drawers back into place when her knock 
sounded on the door. 

I opened it and she came in. Some of the swelling had gone down in her face, 
and she'd covered most of the bruises pretty well with makeup. But there was 
no doubt she'd been beaten up or hit in the face with a truck. "What the 
hell happened to your face?" I greeted her. "You didn't give me a chance to 
ask last night with that little gun trick." 

She acted like she didn't know what I was talking about. She just stood 
inside the door and looked woeful. I grew concerned. 

"What's wrong, Linda? Are you hurt or something?" 

"Oh, Phil!" She broke into tears and sobbed against my chest. 

"What is it, baby?" I asked, uncomfortably patting her head, trying to 
console her. She was certainly a weird one, all right. First we nearly eat 
each other alive. Then for thanks, she tried to steal my money and pulls a 
pistol when I protest. And now she's crying on my shoulder like I was a 
long-lost brother. 

"Don't cry, Linda, tell me what happened to you. And I'll take care of it if 
I can." I felt pretty small putting an 'if' on my consoling statement. But 
hell, who knew who hit her? I never claimed to be a hero. 

"It was awful," she sniffed. "I tried everything to keep him from beating 
me." 

"Who?" 

"I can't tell you. But I've never been so humiliated in all my life." 

"Try not to think about it," I counseled her. "How can I with my face like 
this?" she screamed irrationally. "Besides, you don't know what the 
motherfucker did to me." 

"He beat you up." I was thinking she might be going into some kind of 
delayed shock, the way she was suddenly pacing around the room. 

"And that's not all he did. Not by a long shot." She was nearly running in 
her walk back and forth before me, shaking her head and wringing her hands 
as if in grief. For some reason I didn't want to ask her what else he did 
but felt compelled to play the fool. 

"What else did he do, Linda?" 

"He wouldn't fuck me," she shouted, and I burst into laughter. There was no 
controlling it. 

"What's so funny?" she snapped. 

"It's nothing. I thought ... I thought it was something serious or really 
sick or something." 

"Sick? You call not fucking someone not sick? I'd like to know what you 
think healthy is, Phil Carmichael." 

"That's not exactly what I meant, Linda. I only-" 

She cut me off with a wave of her arms and screamed in my face: "I don't 
care what you meant. Look at my face! Look at it! That motherfucker let me 
try to seduce him and then laughed. All the time he just laughed." Suddenly 
she calmed. A clever, shrewd look crept into what I could see of her eyes. 

"Haven't I got a good body, Philly?" she whined, and undid the top button on 
her blouse. Then she undid another and spread the opening so I could see the 
cleavage between her breasts. She leaned against me and ground her pelvis 
into my genital area. I couldn't resist it; I had to look. 

Her breasts were like ivory slopes against the fabric of her blouse. It was 
black and contrasted sharply with her lovely white flesh. She buried her 
face in my neck and began running her tongue up towards my ear. 

"Not now. Linda. I'm not in the mood. Okay?" 

"What's the matter with me? Is my face too ugly to look at or something? 
Look at my body, Philly Boy. Look at my body." 

She stepped away from me, and before I could stop her she'd let her skirt 
fall to the floor in a puddle and was stripping her blouse off. I was 
looking. I couldn't help it. 

"Put your clothes on, Linda," I said, trying to sound gruff. But I was 
having trouble making it come off. She was getting to me and I didn't want 
that right now. 

She came back to me and put her arms around my neck, then leaned back and 
pushed her pussy onto my cock. Despite my effort at self-control I could 
feel my meat heating up. Her pussy felt alive against my prick. 

"Please, Philly. Don't you reject me, too. I don't think I could stand it if 
you did." 

What she was saying and doing seemed ludicrous to me, even though it was so 
goddamn real! She was like a kitten mewing for cream. And I was beginning to 
like the idea of giving it to her. My prick was nearly full-grown and her 
rubbing box was beginning to roll it around like a sausage. 

"Please, Philly?" Her eyes and voice literally begged me. 

"Look, Linda, I ..." 

"Don't say no. You can't. You just can't." She started to cry a little. I 
could feel the last of my reserve starting to slip away. 

"Please, Phil," she whined. With twin tears trickling down her swollen 
cheeks, she looked into my face with a waifs longings. "Please," she pleaded 
once more, and I was gone. "I want to suck your beautiful cock," she 
breathed between puffed lips when she saw the look of admission pass over my 
face. 

Maybe there was just something about how desperately she pleaded or looked 
or sounded. Or maybe I just love to get sucked off, but I nodded. In the 
wink of an eye she was kneeling before me and rapidly opening the zipper 
between my legs. 

Now this may sound weird, but there was something terribly erotic about all 
this. In my mind Linda was screwed up with either Nofka or Bellows, probably 
both. And since she'd been beaten up and rejected, I somehow felt nobly 
justified in giving up my organ to her uses. It was like she was going to 
work some devil out of her on my tool and I knew she would give it all she 
had. So my prick was in for a reckoning of sorts. These facts combined with 
the way Morgana had me thinking about witches who were black and white. 
Well, you can see how it got all tangled up and how I could get to feeling 
kind of low and mean for being used so much. 

All those thoughts and many more were ghosting across my mind as Linda drew 
my dick from the opening she'd created in my pants. She took it out like it 
was her friend and thought it was cute. She wanted to baby me. 

"Mama's little dude, is it? Yes, yes." 

I was towering above her straddle-legged, looking down my nose and hearing a 
child's voice as she played with dolls. My face sneered at first, hoping to 
give my prick a little maturity in her eyes. But apparently I failed because 
she went on with the gibberish. 

"Mama's little man just woke up there, is it? Mama's got a kiss for its 
little head." She kissed the head of my prick. "Baby's an all-day sucker 
Mama wants to lick." 

Her tongue came down and cradled the vee of my glands. As she brought my 
prick up from where it was hanging between my legs, her eyes came up to mine 
and I saw part of her face. 

In her eyes there was an innocence exactly like a kid with an all-day 
sucker. Starting with the first lick, she was ambitious. With slow contented 
movements she tongued my prick head until it was swollen and purple with 
blood. The wet licks slid slickly around the elliptical bulb, and I felt 
tiny hot sparks of pleasure tingle through me. 

Linda sucked my prick deeply into her mouth, then spit it out and sucked it 
in again. She was treating it as if it were made of rubber, and oddly enough 
the little devil liked to lick it rubber-hard. 

Linda placed both hands around the length of my meat and took the head into 
her mouth with a gentle pout. Her tongue was a tickler. Pink and fleshy, it 
parted the slit on my prick's face and widened it to a grin. It felt like I 
wanted to piss but wouldn't with the hard-on I had. I nearly blew my mind. 
She stopped it and eased the feeling of relief with a syrupy lick at the vee 
of my glands. I was suddenly on the tip of a watery arrowhead and feeling 
good. 

Getting into the passion of it, I looked down at Linda's bruised and 
battered face. Her eyes were slitted in a rage. All the colors there were 
earthen in their hues. I could not help pitying her for the beating she'd 
taken. I felt as if the stroke of my prick should soothe the hurt away. 

I began an easy rhythmic motion, almost lazily. My hands came down and got 
her ears in a hold and I had control of her head. Like I was chopping wood, 
I stroked. 

I watched my motion take effect on the way she shaped her lips around my 
pecker. Her tongue was a canal for my dick to sail through rubbery walls. 
Her pink hot mouth cave gobbled down my meat more easily now. We found a 
groove and held it for a while. 

I was out behind the house, sawing logs to the right length with a two-man 
saw. Linda's face was a mountain valley full of lakes and woods that invited 
me to gaze far off. I sent my prick like a log rolling down a rapid stream 
and felt as if the waterway was endlessly long. 

Wetly I felt the roll and pitch of her sucking mouth as its caverned walls 
stripped my trunk clean. She rolled her lips down my knobby timber length. 
Her under lips were electric currents on my cock skin. Her mouth was such a 
twisting, rollicking, molten passageway that my meat swelled immensely. I 
began fucking her face onto my shaft with increasing fervor. 

I felt the bulb of my prick end contact the back of her throat and push her 
face back for another stroke. As my prick started out she sucked like her 
mouth was a vacuum pump. I could see her screw her lips up and heard her 
suck wetly. In and out I rammed my member as I strove to give her mouth a 
workout. Her bruises would heal faster, the more blood I pumped to her face. 

My grip of her ears got rougher as I arched my back and socked her to me. 
Her mouth was a fleshy, flowering hole of writhing heat as it twisted around 
my distended prick. I abandoned myself to the glory of her honeyed 
sucklings. My hips thumped a tempest of rhythms for her to blow. I was a 
flute she played mad music on. She played and played. And finally in the 
depths of my balls I started to cum. 

Linda was like a swamp in a fog when she sensed the urgings in my organ. 
Relentlessly, she closed in and sucked. 

It came boiling up out of my prick in an endless stream. Her sucking didn't 
allow for the muscular contraction to ejaculate the sperm. For a moment I 
hung on the edge of a burning precipice and then I came in a steady, 
highspeed stream. The feeling was similar to pissing cum. It was sheer 
pleasure. 

Linda took a long time licking her tongue about my crotch and cleaning my 
genitals up. Once or twice her tongue touched my asshole and I widened my 
legs for her to get in deeper. 

"Thank you, Phil," she said and rose to her feet. Her face was flushed at 
the edges-from what. I could see of it behind the black and blue. Her hair 
was matted at the ears where I had clutched it and I fluffed it out while 
she leaned against me. I felt my prick stir. 

"Do you want to fuck?" I asked, leaving it up to how she felt. I still 
wanted to question her about everything from A to Z but I didn't have the 
heart. 

"No," she said slowly. "I just want to go sleep for a while. Do you mind?" 

"No, Linda. You probably need it. But I want to talk to you later, okay?" 

"Sure," she answered indolently. It was almost as if she were entering a 
trancelike state. Her motions were languid and slow as she dressed and 
nearly floated to the door. 

"Call me when you wake up," I instructed. But I doubted that she heard me. 
She drifted out the door and down the hall without looking back. I shook my 
head and closed the door. I'd never seen such a remarkably changing girl. 
You never knew how she was going to be from moment to moment. 

I had finished straightening the room out and even made the bed when Morgana 
got there. She was dressed in a lavender knit mini and white boots which 
contrasted delightfully with her mahogany complexion. I was just dozing off 
when she knocked, but with the joy of seeing her I was wide awake again. 

She came into the room and into my arms. In a moment we were kissing. I 
could feel the electric resiliency of her flesh beneath the knit cloth as it 
rolled between my chest and her crushing breasts. 

I was naked, not having bothered with clothes after being with Linda. I 
could feel Morgana against me perfectly. She was built like she was intended 
to fit there. The cloth of her outfit was an octopus pressed between us. 

Her full lips pressed to mine like a sucking cup; we twirled our tongue tips 
just meeting each other as rapidly as we could. I felt I knew her, though 
she was still a complete stranger to me. The feeling was as intoxicating as 
her kiss. I wished we could forever remain this way, but we broke to say 
hello. 

"Hi," we said shyly together. There was really nothing to say. I led her to 
the bed and pulled her dress over her head while she lay back down on the 
edge. I took her panties off then, being careful-as if she were an infant-to 
keep from tearing the leg holes on her high heeled white boots. 

My tongue found her coffeed flesh at the edge of the boots where her sweat 
had stained the leather. I licked beneath her knee at the boomerang curve 
behind her leg and gazed up at her dark-fleshed trunk. Her snatch was only a 
shadow. 

My tongue hungered up her silky flank and found the rougher flesh of her 
hairline. I began to nibble there, taking generous, wet bites. 

Morgana's hands came down to take possession of my ears and I let my tongue 
and face be her willing slave. She moved my head with gentle hands until my 
nose was lined up with the top of her slit. My tongue dove out of my mouth 
and parted her pussy lips deftly. 

I licked the honeyed lips until with an avid tongue tip I found her clit. I 
swirled the tiny love bud around as sharply as I could. Morgana's hips began 
to rock and she moaned way down low. 

I pushed my hands up her stomach and walked my fingers along her rib cage, 
for steps. They climbed the resilient slopes of both breasts and took the 
nipple of each between thumb and forefinger. Slowly I rolled the ruby tips 
until they were rubber-hard and turgid. 

My face was at the apex of an upside-down triangle as my palms twirled her 
aureoles and my mouth devoured her box. The cave of her cunt reshaped itself 
despite the way I pushed the triangle of my tongue hungrily into her pussy. 

She growled deep in her chest while her mound ground into my nostrils. Her 
scent was clean and wild. There was something in her taste that was as old 
as ashes. It came out of her like wind as her hips snarled her hair into my 
nose. 

My mouth found Morgana's clit. I pouted my lips as small as I could and 
sucked the love button gently in. My tongue stirred the tiny crease wider 
and the bud came out. It throbbed like the rising sun at dawn. I had a 
vision of a leopard rising and stretching tawnily on the limb of a tree. The 
sun was a red ball I sucked on as it rose, Morgana was the leopard in a 
tree. I know it sounds crazy, but I was seeing things like that all the time 
with her. I licked my tongue back down the inner flesh of her pussy's lips 
and heard her begin to moan. It sounded like a cat to me. 

Her hips began to jerk up into my face. It was a struggle to keep my tongue 
implanted in her wanton cunt. Her mound crushed my nose, but I held on with 
every ounce of my strength. My tongue fought deeply into her box and for a 
while my clinging seemed a matter of survival. 

Gradually we quit fighting each other and a rhythm was able to establish 
itself. Morgana's groans told me how much she was digging my cunnilingual 
method. And now her hips began rolling gently, like New England hills. I 
timed my tongue-dips until they just met the upward thrust of her luscious 
butt at the zenith of her hump. Cum! the pink serpent called. 

Morgana began to roll her hips counterclockwise as well as pumping off the 
bed. At once my tongue countered with lightning strokes. It felt as if my 
tongue were the swirling center pole of a merry-go-round. On the platform as 
it twirled around, the mares and stallions fucked. 

My tongue painted designs of every kind on the walls of her pussy, then 
wiped them away for others. I was licking her snatch like it was a cave of 
fire and felt her legs press the tune of my tongue against my ears. The 
muscled flesh of her dark meaty legs drummed with lust. Suddenly her hips 
began to bump and jump while Morgana began to grunt like a pig at chow. The 
way her legs were locked about my head it was as if she were a wishbone 
about to be broken. I wished she would cum a ton. That wasn't possible, but 
I felt her jiving as if it were. 

My hands came up and took the buns of her ass into my palms and I began to 
make her work like a sea bottom against my mouth. I was a sucker who had 
found a hole full of sweet sap, and my hands trembled to make the earth give 
it up to me. Cum. Cum. I drummed the words over and over in my brain. 

Perhaps she understood me. Anyway, her hips tempo seemed to pick up and we 
were off on a broom-ride. I could feel the length of my meat where it lay 
along my leg. When she jumped into high gear and took off I shifted with it 
and was at the command of her lightest touch. 

She took us sailing out among the cardboard stars and moon-slices. The 
witches grinned and leapt up, dancing within easy reach. We looped and 
turned and went whizzing incredibly past them-and on. There were crystal 
pieces all about us as she rode my broomstick dick, with her clit at the top 
of my tongue. 

With a tiny scream that turned into the roar of a boar turning back on the 
hunter, Morgana began to cum. Between her pussy and my face, things became 
organic. Once more I tasted the sweet scent of ashes. She came and I sucked 
her clean. It was good. It was good. It was good. 

All the things that she was and ever had been came welling out for my tongue 
to taste and I was only quick enough to see a few of them. Even as I scarfed 
her pussy's juice into my mouth, I saw it as if we were two ships passing. 
Angrily I stirred my tongue into the cummy sea. Morgana humped a little 
extra and moaned as if I'd whipped her. 

I saw that just as if I'd been her mind. Like a kittenish leopard she 
squeezed the paws of her legs around my head at her cunt, pressing out of 
herself and onto my tongue that sweet vaginal fluid I couldn't get enough 
of. 

It was all so tangled there for a while that I couldn't seem to imagine 
anything ordinary. I mean her orgasm was a cunt full of picket fences on 
their sides or floating in the air. My tongue was a flame that licked them 
up. I drank the amber of her pussy water until it was over. A holocaust. At 
the end, her pussy was nearly dry, while my mouth was so sticky with her 
juices I couldn't talk. I simply rested my head at the top of her legs in 
the hollow, a weary serf; we were both exhausted. Or so I thought. 

Morgana stirred above me. She threw one leg over my head and rolled to her 
side. Then she slid down my face so that my lips grazed loosely along her 
abdomen, then between her beautiful tits. Her skin was delicious. Then her 
mouth reached mine and we kissed. Or I should say Morgana thanked me with a 
kiss that turned me on again. She was sweet as brook water in my mouth as 
her tongue thinned her pussy's juices. Her mouth made promises I was anxious 
for her lips to keep and she left me to go below and carry them out. Her 
lips kissed down my neck to my ear lobe. Then her tongue tickled wetly into 
my ear and told me of things to come. 

She was a river witch leaving patches of foggy dew on my flesh as she 
lowered her mouth to my neck once more. She sucked down my chest until she'd 
found one nipple on my breast. She mouthed it and I felt a thrill of 
pleasure. She lingered for a while. 

My hands came up as I rolled onto my back and found her tits. But I couldn't 
hold them for long. She pulled them away from me as her mouth found its way 
lower on my torso. Her hands slid along my sides until they found my 
hipbones and paused there to support her while she adjusted herself on her 
knees between my legs. 

Her hands began to stroke up my ball sack and caress the base of my prick as 
if it were a slender vine. It grew, of course, Her thumbs reached the base 
of my glands and rubbed the growing knob expertly. It was as if she were 
milking a glandular flower bud for its dew. Stretching the head tautly, she 
lowered her mouth to it and tickled with a pink-tipped tongue. I heard her 
sigh with contentment. 

My cock was getting larger and more blood-filled with every moment. Her 
hands began to pump and squeeze while her lips kissed the elliptical tip. 
They parted wetly and sucked the slick-fleshed prick tip in while she 
writhed her tongue. 

The ridge of the head of my pecker passed her lips and she fastened the soft 
inner flesh of her mouth all the way around it and sucked. Her teeth were 
closed so I could feel the spittle seethe between them on the slit of my 
prick. Meanwhile, she milked the tender head with her sensual lips. My hips 
began to churn. 

Gradually, Morgana took more and more of my meat into her mouth. Widening 
her teeth so that they just scraped my shaft, she swallowed several inches 
in one motion. Her tongue was a wanton avenger as it wriggled over my slick 
purple glands: I could feel every centimeter of my meat's head being covered 
slickly. It was wild! 

My hips began to ram more steadily now. Her mouth worked up and down on my 
flesh pole as I felt it touch the back of her throat, then out to the rim of 
her lips. She started humming, and I started punctuating the sound with a 
deep, hip-grinding hump. 

Morgana flattened her inner lips onto my prick like a leech as she sucked. 
Up and down she pumped her head, while at my very center her tongue tried to 
drill its way into my urethra. It felt like my soul was on fire, and she was 
trying to suck it out with her mouth. Wetly. Like a swamp sump. 

My cock felt like a root in her mouth. She was tonguing my glands so wildly, 
I lost control. It was beautiful. My muscles floated in free space while she 
lashed me about on a roller coaster. I held my stomach tight while we went 
over the brink of a steep drop; up went my rod, and we were off downhill. 
There was the steep slope when the pit of my stomach dropped out from 
beneath me; I hung weakly in the sucking cavern of her mouth. When my weight 
pulled my hose back, the elastic flesh along the outside of it stayed in 
Morgana's mouth for a while. Like a rubber band. 

I snapped back up off the bed as quickly as I could, but not before she 
started her mouth down to meet me. I had the eerie feeling my meat was part 
of her mouth. It was a feeling like being glued within a molten cave with 
liquid plastic. 

Her lips began to throb around my prick like inner tubes. She had begun to 
hum with a high-pitched screech that I drove back down her throat with each 
of my powerful humps. Deep in my testicles I felt the cum start up in a 
stream, and I drummed my hips up faster and faster. 

"Here it cums, baby," I growled 'way down in my throat. She grunted and 
gulped as the first wad spat from my prick tip and greased her tongue. Slam! 
My ass pounded off the bed and my hips slammed another wad deep into her 
throat. And again. And again. I came and she gobbled rapidly. She kept on 
sucking until every drop was gone. Then she sucked a little more for good 
measure. 

We lay a long while together before either of us moved. Finally, Morgana let 
my cock loll out of her mouth and spoke. 

"You like that, Philly?" 

"I liked that, baby." What else could I say? I had. It was beautiful. 

"You tired, Philly?" she asked like an old friend. I looked down and saw her 
lazy eyes regarding me with humor. 

"No. Just consumed," I quipped. "I don't want to talk," I yawned. "Come up 
here, kitten. Let's get some sleep." 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

I awoke Morgana with my mouth. She was so angelic sleeping next to me that I 
couldn't resist bending my head and planting a gentle kiss on her nipple. It 
hardened immediately, and I felt her stir beneath me. 

I gazed at her while my mouth began devouring the tender flesh of her 
breast, and I saw her eyes open slowly. Her smile was like daybreak as I 
urged the nipple on her other breast into awareness. She put her 
long-fingered hands at the back of my head and pressed my face into her 
resilient breast. 

I let my head fall into the deep, soft valley and gradually licked my tongue 
up each slope: one at a time, planting a tender kiss on the end. The buds 
were hard and full of blood so that I lingered, letting my teeth nibble 
slightly. My hand wound down her stomach and found her snatch. 

My index finger worked its way between the folds of her pussy lips and found 
the vee of flesh surrounding her clitoris. I wiggled it. Morgana's hips 
stirred into motion. I pressed a little harder and the tiny love button grew 
as large as her nipple felt in my mouth. 

Trying to coordinate my wriggling finger's motions with what my mouth was 
doing to her tit, I began to lavishly cherish the dark-fleshed woman moaning 
beneath me. With every ounce of love I had to give, I offered Morgana to my 
lips and hands like a sacrifice. And she responded hungrily. 

She drew my head up with her hands to her face and our lips met in a deeply 
felt kiss. She pouted at first. But then when my tongue tip caressed her 
lips, she opened her mouth just enough to suck my tongue in. Gradually, she 
started sucking with the rhythm of the sea. 

She rolled her lips on the sensitive flesh of my mouth's organ and sent it 
in and out between her lips like she was sucking a prick. I strained the 
muscles of my tongue as hard as I could in order to give her more length to 
suck on. 

Morgana's hands went down between us and brought my hard on up to rub and be 
crushed by the flesh of our squirming bellies. I could feel the vee on the 
underside of my glands ripple against the knot of her belly button. The 
feeling was so perfectly sensual I tried to describe it to myself. 

The button's nub gnarled with the crack of ages, presses my phallus sail; 
the wind comes on strong. I rub the sky with sea breeze and clouds in 
marshmallows and stacks of sea serpent clowns. I am a child at a circus, and 
the elephant hoses me with a water spray. I retort with glee. 

Like they were meant to, Morgana's hips rode longer and wider until my 
fiercely swollen rod grazed the hair on her Venus mound and slid slickly 
between the lips of her pussy. A delicious feeling chattered through me with 
the way her cunt cave took me in. 

Like a tongue, the bottom of her pussy found the slit of my dick and led it 
like a razor-sharp rail to her womb. One plunge and wetly she took me in. 
When I tried to pull back, she was so tight I couldn't seem to get out. 

She opened up a little and my dick slid out in chatters of electric heat. 
Her box was like a meat-eating orchid digesting my prick. It quivered like a 
child's mouth and gobbled at the same time. I had the incredible feeling of 
being in slow motion. I pounded forward and my meat seemed to take forever 
descending the inner walls of her cunt. As it pulled back out of the void, a 
volcano of squirming muscle tissue contracted her cunt around my cock. The 
feeling was magnificent. 

I began imagining myself to be riding a rocking horse as Morgana's legs came 
up around my hips. Pliantly she rolled her ass in a semicircular motion 
while her hips socked her wanton pussy up and down the length of my flesh 
pole. My hands took hold of the cones of her breasts like controls, and I 
arched my back and rode for all I was worth. 

I looked at Morgana's face as I was fucking her. At first I was drawn to her 
lips. Large and fleshy, they were like a blood filled velvet bow beneath her 
wide-nostriled nose. Now those nostrils were pumping air to her heart, which 
was knocking out a thousand rhythms in her cunt. She was like a vibrator. My 
hands massaged the nipples of her tits as I turned her on and off, fast or 
slow. 

Morgana's eyes were wide, then closed. Wide, then closed. In what seemed 
like slow-motion blinks, she lowered the lids and rolled her pupils up, 
digging my prick at the bottom of her molten box. Then open as I came 
out-whee!-they looked full of warm surprise and awe. 

Her body was a practitioner of every erotic motion she could imagine: a 
perfect contrast to the sweet pond of her beautiful face. It was so 
magnificent to look at and to touch and so perfect to respond with her soul 
that I had to kiss her while we fucked. 

I collapsed onto Morgana, and her luscious flesh vibrated the length of my 
torso. Our lips met, and maybe because our mouths were closer to our minds 
than our fucking was, she began sending carnal messages to my soul with her 
lips and tongue. 

She told me her tongue was my cock and describes the feeling perfectly of 
her pussy in my mouth. I felt the hot pink prick of her tongue tip 
struggling with mine. I told her she was mine and always would be. She 
teased back that forever was a long, long time. Why be hasty when we've got 
right now? As beastly gentle as I could, I gave myself up to her counsel. 

I drove my dick deeply into the pulsing inferno of her rocking hips and 
cunt. It was as if a rain forest in a jungle canyon had gorged itself on my 
prick flesh and now was trying to gain control. Her pussy was wet with a 
delicious heat. I pumped like an oil well. And I got a gusher. 

My cock swelled enormously as the first burst of jism sprang out from the 
distended elliptical head. At the same time Morgana screamed an orgasm of 
her own, and I shuddered with triumph. 

"Oh God, Philly, cum to me!" Morgana moaned low between the high, tight 
wracks of her orgasm. 

"Here, baby, here!" I panted and shot wad after wad from my timber-stiff 
pecker. It was amazing. There had been no buildup to the orgasm. We'd just 
started fucking like a train, and now we'd cum together at the same time. 
And my prick wasn't getting soft. There was a heavy, joyous weight in my 
testicles. I just kept fucking on and on. 

Morgana was impaled upon an electric circuit. Her body jumped as if in an 
epileptic fit. My erected member pumped in and out of her until the friction 
made her pussy gooey with our intermingled cum. The syrupy feeling got 
thicker and thicker; our bodies began to sweat. Sensuously our bodies 
writhed together. We were slick, sweaty beasts engaged in a carnal rite. 

Both Morgana and I were trembling at the magnitude of the feelings sweeping 
through us. Lovers in a carnal dance, we changed positions. Morgana slid 
down my body and to the side, while I rolled over and got to my hands and 
knees. She arched her ass and turned in a semicircle on the bed until her 
lush buns faced me. I reared up on my hind legs and placed myself between 
the arch of her wishbone legs. Her heart-shaped ass was a perfect fit 
against me. 

Her gentle hand came between her legs and took my member with her fingers 
far down the base. The head of my prick snuggled into her cupped palm like 
it was made to fit there, as with exquisite grace she nestled my cock into 
her pussy. Gradually, I wormed my stiff meat into her slick snatch until I'd 
impaled her to my base. Then I reared back and rocked her tome. 

My stomach began to slap against the buns of her sweat-glistened ass. While 
the delicate, slick mounds of her butt rubbed against my abdomen, my stiff 
prick was purging the walls of her torrid cunt dog-style. Morgana had her 
head thrown back and her back arched nearly to breaking as she made her ass 
into a runaway horse. 

She galloped down the straight with my heavy tool giving her a boost every 
other movement as I shot my enormous pecker pole into her rear. Every once 
in a while, she grunted and made a sound that was something like a pleasured 
scream. My hands came forward and took her tits into the palms. I began to 
knead and pull her back farther in a taut, vibrating arch. 

The effect on my prick was divine. Her pussy was pulled tighter and more 
narrow so that the underside of my glands rippled along her clitoris. I 
could feel every centimeter of her glowing box on my cock. I let my mind 
freewheel in ecstasy. It was just at the moment when I felt the hot tingle 
of orgasm in my ballsack that the door opened. Antonio Nofka walked in with 
a gun in his hand. 

Morgana and I saw Nofka at the same instant; everything froze. He just stood 
inside the door with an ugly grin on his face and stared at us. Then he 
began waving the gun from side to side, almost casually. 

"Don't let me interrupt you two. Just go right on with what you were doing. 
I've got plenty of time." 

We started to pull apart. Both of us had some idea of covering up. 

"No!" he said commandingly. "I want to watch you fuck." He motioned the gun 
toward us and held it steadier, with a satanic gleam taking place in his 
eye. All I could see in the universe was that dime-sized black dot at the 
end of the gun barrel's .38-caliber snout. 

Never was the devil more clear in his devices. I was caught in mid-motion, 
half in and half pulling out of Morgana's cunt. My mind was so flooded with 
the feelings of fucking I didn't want to believe any of this was real- 

"You cannot harm us if we speak and act in truths." 

"You know of the shield?" Nofka was suddenly incredulous. 

"Only from within." Morgana's voice was tranquilly imperative. 

What the fuck were they talking about? Then a dim light struck my memory, a 
pale yellow seed on gray felt. Like a kernel of corn. Very dry. They were a 
couple of witches dueling. 

"I don't have anything you want." I joined the conversation despite the 
absurd feeling of being an actor in a surreal drama. 

Nofka's eyes were transfixed by Morgana's, or so I thought as I looked into 
them like a child. Nofka looked just like a vampire confronted with a cross. 
In each pupil there was a coil of coupling rattlesnakes; I could almost hear 
the throes of their rattles mating with each other. Morgana's breath 
remained as slow and sure as a lazy river rolling wide and low. 

"Is Bellows dead or not?" Nofka snarled, fulfilling my expectation of the 
part he played. 

"I don't know," I answered truthfully. My cock snuggled a little deeper 
inside the protection of Morgana's pussy. I was a little afraid of this man, 
despite the hold Morgana obviously had on him. She must have sensed it, for 
she spoke to both Nofka and me at once. 

"The truth has you paralyzed, Antonio. You cannot move against me or anyone 
in my protection." She quivered her cunt good-naturedly to let me in on the 
double-entendre. 

"Do you love this witch?" he snarled. I was caught red-handed. I couldn't 
lie in this situation because that would release the evil Nofka from 
Morgana's spell. And with the emphasis he gave the word "love," well, to say 
yes at such a moment was an admission of unconditional surrender into her 
service. At least a lifetime long. You might say I was caught between the 
devil and the deep-blue sea. I took my chances of the ocean. 

"Yes. But I still don't care where or in what condition Bellows is. Do you 
understand?" 

"I getcha," he croaked. "So she's got you on a desert island, has she? You 
don't care what happens to the world as long as she takes care of your 
meat?" 

"Not the parts you're in, I don't." 

Morgana was silent throughout our exchange, but her hips had begun moving 
like a slow-motion mixmaster. I wished she'd cut it out because I couldn't 
concentrate. I wished Nofka would just disappear so I could just grab her 
hips and fuck! 

"Stop it, Morgana. Let's not give him the satisfaction." 

"I'm not trying to give him satisfaction, baby. I'm just satisfying myself. 
Besides, he can't see anything but my eyes because of the spell I've got him 
in. And I want my eyes full of how good I feel!" 

Nofka's eyes had blinked once when I had asked Morgana to stop. But as soon 
as she spoke they became transfixed again. So what she said must be the 
truth, I figured. Well, if that was the case I'd let myself enjoy the 
situation to its fullest extent. 

"Yeah, I love her, Nofka. But I'm sure you don't know what that means." 
Nofka's eyes blinked as my cock took a stroke. 

"Don't be cruel, Phil," Morgana counseled even as her ass twirled around my 
flesh pole. 

"How the hell do we get rid of this guy, then?" 

"He'll go when there's no longer any reason for him to be here." 

"When will that be?" I grunted, trying to keep my mind on the conversation 
despite the distraction of my prick plundering her glory hole. 

"He's waiting for me to answer you. Whether I love you or not. He's waiting 
to hear the truth of my answer." 

"Well, do you?" I wanted to know. 

"Yes," she said simply. Nofka immediately turned and went out the door. I 
came as soon as we were alone. 

* * * 

"Listen, baby." I was stalking up and down the room, naked as a jay, waving 
my arms like a windmill and talking at the top of my lungs excitedly. 

"Nofka came in here with a gun and with one look you transfixed him, or 
whatever the hell it was you did." 

I waved her to cool it when she started to interrupt. I wanted what I was 
thinking out loud where she could hear. Hell, the world was getting so 
confusing, I needed some explaining. 

"There he's standing looking like he's about to say 'I want to suck your 
blood,' only he doesn't-no, uh uh. You start staring at him and rapping 
about truth, and all the while your butt was tangoing around my prick. Where 
the hell do I fit in this scheme, if you two are witches or warlocks? There! 
That's a place to start. Go ahead-answer that one!" 

"Why, you fit perfectly into the scheme of things, Phil," she said with mock 
candor and one eyebrow raised. "You were fucking me." 

"That's not what I meant exactly. I mean, was I or wasn't I in your spell?" 

"You were in my pussy. Whatever spell that is to you." Morgana was playing 
it cool. 

"What kind of a spell did you have Antonio Nofka in, Morgana?" I was 
becoming exasperated with her evasions. 

"I didn't have him in a spell, Phil. It was a truth spell, if you must know. 
I was only the binder between the truth and Nofka. Something he is quite 
unused to looking at." 

"I don't follow you." 

"Simple. Look, if Nofka had not so immediately seen the truth he would have 
gone on toward violence. I just concentrated all my-I should say our 
energies-onto making him see only the truth." 

"Then he could see us fucking, couldn't he? And you said he couldn't." 
Somehow these words felt strange coming out of my mouth, but I said them 
anyway. 

"Oh, it doesn't matter, Philly. We were fucking, and he came in without 
asking. What responsibilities do we have to ourselves in that situation?" 

I hadn't thought of that, of course. "To stay healthy, I guess." 

"Yes." Morgana used the answer to launch a new phase of her explanation. "To 
deny our bodies the gratification they were seeking to achieve would have 
been a negative thing, don't you agree?" 

I nodded my head, trying to follow her clearly. 

"Well, to deny our bodies would have been untruthful, without truth, a lie. 
And truth's spell wouldn't have held Nofka at bay for us." 

"I see," I said as a light clicked on in my mind. She was right, of course. 

"And I love you for being so good as to agree with me at a time so desperate 
for both of us," Morgana said, and beckoned for me to join her on the bed. 
One look at her smile and I didn't want to talk any more, anyway. 

I lay down by her side and her flesh felt very soft against mine. Beneath 
all that pillowy heat, however, beat a primitive, muscular heart that 
swarmed of natives dancing around a firelight with her sex. I kissed her and 
she took me there. To a mating of black and white gods. Being white myself I 
necessarily placed my own color behind hers in the experience, since she'd 
shown me the way to be good. Her kiss was that sensational. 

I kissed her back with all the flood of feelings I could muster. I called on 
my God for strength to show her things. I saw us somewhere off on a sea 
coast, but her lips were too demanding for further meanderings. 

I couldn't think about me anymore; I could only think about Morgana and how 
to please her. I started with my mouth. 

Speaking in tongues, I didn't know I understood before, I told her of 
centuries ago-of Arabian knights and other strange and mysterious things. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

For a long time Morgana and I never left the bed. Not until the sheets were 
in tangled scatterings and the room was a general mess. We sent the maid 
away several times and had food sent in. We acted like honey mooners should. 

For she had agreed to marry me as soon as we cleaned up our business. I told 
her there was nothing to clean up for me, and then got the shock of my life. 
She had to stay until Nofka was undone! 

There was nothing that could be done about it. Facts were facts. The white 
witch-black witch thing again. The honeymoon ended when I got pissed. 

Morgana had gone to do some shopping and thinking, I guess, and I started 
kicking about the hotel, trying to fill my time. I swam for a while, then 
threw a couple bucks away on the slot machines. Paying dues, I guess. I 
don't know. I was listless. 

I'd cut myself off from the paper, and the money waiting in the mail at home 
would only last so long. What the hell was I kidding myself about-getting 
married when I'd just quit my job? I was a hundred kinds of stupid fool. 

Maybe I wasn't the hotshot I thought I was. Where the hell was I going to 
go? How would I take care of Morgana? Where would we go? 

All right, Philly, maybe you're not a reporter after all. I weighed the 
incriminating evidence of the past few days. I hadn't done the job, it was 
true. But hell, how could I have done it with all the fucking I'd been 
doing? To say nothing about falling in love. 

And then that bullshit Nofka, Bellows and this whole goddamn town was 
hip-deep in. Who the hell but an idiot wanted to snoop around a place where 
men played with real guns as if they were children's toys? I didn't want to 
know any more than I already knew. So what if I wasn't a reporter? Hell, I'd 
told McGraw enough times that I wanted to stay in the supplement, writing 
astrology columns. Simple work. Just enough to get by. But no, the 
motherfucker had to send me up here, and now look at the mess, I ranted to 
myself. 

I tried to see what mess I was talking to myself about. But as soon as I 
did, Morgana's face showed up in my mind and the much faded away. All I 
could see was her beauty. So, like a homing pigeon, I went back to the room 
we'd been together in for so many hours and tried to decide what to do. 

I knew I was a writer of some sort. Knew it in my bones. So, following a 
whim, I took my pen and paper out and started doodling. 

I wanted to write. But about what? I knew what I didn't want to do more than 
what I did. That's no place to begin, I thought. Why not give McGraw 
something to remember you by? Send him a story about how many broads you've 
fucked since you've been here. I told myself ironically. 

I could see the bastard's face screwed around his cigar, trying to figure 
out whether I was putting him on or not. Besides, Phillius, I counseled 
myself in my best schoolmaster's tone-besides, what could the paper do with 
something with so much sex in it? I began thinking about the problems the 
editors would have and had to laugh to myself. 

But despite that, the idea of writing about my experiences intrigued me. I 
began to write. After throwing half a dozen paper balls into the waste 
basket, I still wasn't satisfied. What good would it do to write it down? 
Who would read it? Then I remembered the current trend in fiction. 

"Hey!" I said to myself. "You could write a novel." Not that the idea hadn't 
struck me before this. It had, of course, many times. It was just that I'd 
never had any experience to equal the past few days, and it seemed worth 
writing about. But I didn't really know where to begin. That was the 
problem. Then I had another idea. Why write about facts and try to make them 
appear like fiction? Why not just write something totally out of my 
imagination? I began once again: 

The slave girl Cleo ran softly down the cold marble steps, hurrying to keep 
up with the gnarled and silver-headed eunuch. She was bewildered and excited 
by the richly colored beauty surrounding her. So much had happened to her 
since leaving her native land that she ceased to know fear; in order to 
survive, her mind had submerged itself below her spinning emotions. Now, as 
the breeze caused the chiffon of her dress to fondle her round, dark-skinned 
breasts and to tease into swollen hardness her cherry-red nipples, she felt 
the same tingling on her skin that she had felt earlier as the Arabian women 
bathed her. 

Then, they had massaged her with perfumed oils, tracing patterns of 
excitement on her skin with their long and graceful fingers. She had not 
asked them "Why?" or "Where?" just as she would not ask the old eunuch who 
was leading her now. It was no use to ask questions, she had learned in the 
sumptuous quarters where she had waited out the last month, surrounded by 
beautiful, young girls just as bewildered as she. Very few of them could 
speak English with her, none of them her native African tongue. So, she had 
languished silently on silk cushions, sometimes venturing into the small, 
hot garden by the quarters to eat the strange fruit growing, there. 

"Here we are, my dear," said the eunuch, as he pulled aside the heavy 
curtains for her to enter. "His Most Exalted Wonderment, the Sultan of 
Gandia!" 

"Ah, Akiem," exclaimed the Sultan, upon glimpsing the charms of the lovely 
nubian girl. "You have chosen wisely tonight. Now, leave us, please." The 
old eunuch sidled back out through the curtains. The Sultan turned slowly 
toward the girl, his piercing black eyes lingering over every curve of her 
supple body which shone through the transparent chiffon. 

The first thing he noticed was the excited state of her nipples. A sharp 
tingle shot to the tip of his cock. He imagined those nipples to be clear 
ripe cherry fruits to be sucked into his mouth. He looked up to her full 
pouting face with her slender lips parted in a shy smile. He pictured them 
parted and puffed around his enormous flesh pole. 

Searching her face for flaws, he could find none. She gazed back at him with 
shiny eyes and he thought of a mountain brook. He was enraptured-drawn in. 
He stepped forward and cupped his hands beneath the round, full ebony moons 
of her perfect breasts. He felt their heat in his palms. 

Who is this woman for whom I feel so much on our first meeting? the Sultan 
asked himself. Hold; not so fast, said a voice in his mind. His fingers left 
off toying with her breasts and took her hands. 

"Cleo. What a lovely name." She blushed and the dark tinge of blood could 
barely be seen on her beautiful black flesh. Her hands felt cool and sure 
within his and the Sultan knew a press would bring heat. He knew somehow 
that he was especially going to enjoy the seduction of this beautiful slave 
girl. 

"Come, my dear. We shall eat. Have you been away from your homeland for a 
long, long time?" His lips sought the back of her hand and kissed the tiny 
knuckle mountains without waiting for an answer. As his tongue licked the 
tiny crotch between the legs of her fingers he sensed a shiver run through 
her. He took her arm and led her to the velvet cushions of every rich color. 
Directly in front of the cushions were trays of figs and pears and oranges 
and melons, another tray of rice and steaming lamb, and a vessel of thick 
wine. 

As he handed her a small brass cup and poured it full of the wine, she 
answered his question. "I have been in your palace for one month. Since the 
full moon before this one. But I have not seen my homeland for nearly four 
years. When I was taken by slave traders." 

"Why, my dear, where ever did you learn to speak such perfect English?" the 
Sultan asked, his eye taking in the radiant curve of her calf and the long 
plane of her thigh above the knee. 

"At the mission, where I was brought by the men who captured me." She 
wondered if this smiling, sultry man had hair on his chest like those 
traders, or if he were smooth and sinewy like the young warriors of her 
tribe. The hot thoughts of pleasures at the hands of such men burned up her 
thighs, touching her waist and breasts and causing her to drop her head 
back. Her breasts arched forward. 

The Sultan's meat grew along his leg with the thought of laying its lumber 
between those peaks. With his forefingers and thumbs, he shaped a 
wise-looking triangle around his nose. Posed, he let his voice out: 

"Maid, you must know these conditions about your being in this palace. 
First, that after tonight you will no longer be travelling away from your 
home. I have had you brought to me that I may hear a story from your lips. 
If the telling pleases me, you will be freed. If not, Gandia will be your 
home as my slave." 

"Your Most Exalted Wonderment-" 

"Oh, come, come, my dear. Highness will do." 

"Highness, am I to understand that pleasing you will be my salvation and 
that what you hear will seal my fate?" Cleo asked with growing elation. 

"Yes," replied the Sultan in a pleased, god-fatherly voice. She has a clear 
mind as well, he thought. And for the first time that night thought of 
himself as Sultan Tym Ali Ekhbarah. 

Pensively, Cleo sucked an orange slice in between sips of the strange wine. 
She felt the hot burgundy sparkle trickle down the length of her finely 
muscled throat. "More wine, my dear?" invited the Sultan as he reached for 
the golden flask. 

Cleo wondered if she dared-the engravings on the flask already looked to her 
like fornicating peacocks. And, as she asked herself where would this all 
end, the Sultan sensed her hesitation. 

"Go ahead, my dear," Tym said and laid warm and delicately haired fingers 
snuggling along the plane of her thigh. "Begin." 

The dark-skinned girl traced her tongue over her wine-stained lips as she 
thought. There, plumping the pillows up around her thighs as she sat 
tailor-fashion, she said, "Long ago the drums of my tribe were high like the 
sun at noontime." 

"At night the young men twirled dancings around huge camp fires of war. At a 
feast by this firelight, a young female is called off into the forest by a 
full, chill moon. She thinks she hears voices of peace in the distant purple 
shadows and runs quickly and softly through the low-hanging branches of 
night time." 

"As she runs, the warring branches fight jealously over her, grabbing her 
hair and pulling ferociously at her clothes. Soon the skin of her leopard 
dress is ragged, and the impassioned thorny vines are mauling her soft skin. 
There is a thin trickle of ruby blood on the ebony skin of her left breast. 
Jagged scratches encircle the full flesh above her delicate waist. She runs 
harder and faster through these abusive lovers until she is hot and panting 
and glistening with pearly lines of sweat." 

Cleo was demonstrating the state of her story's heroine, as if she too were 
panting softly with the heat of the jungle she spun her tale in. Her firm, 
lovely, fleshy globes rose and fell beneath the clinging pale green chiffon. 
She relaxed sultrily from her crossed-legged position, spreading her legs 
and lying back slowly on the pile of yielding pillows. As she started to 
untie the silver ribbons which bound the front of her dress, the Sultan 
asked if she were hot. 

"Oh yes," she breathed lustily, "I am on fire with this heat." 

"I, too, am burning. I shall remedy the situation." He stood up to pull a 
long bell cord twice, evidently calling a slave from the distant recesses of 
the palace. Then he undid his flowing silk shirt, revealing a smooth, 
muscular chest, rippled all the way down to the tops of his low-cut pants. A 
few silky black hairs could be seen curling above the light silk, which 
barely concealed the throbbing of his great cock. Sensing that Cleo's hot 
and flashing eyes were transfixed by the outline of his member, he untied 
the sash at his hips, allowing the pants to fall abruptly around his feet. 
Cleo's eyes became glassy and melting at the sight of his magnificent rod 
bowing before her and the springing up like a proud hard spear. 

She untied the last ribbon and revealed herself stretched out and bursting 
with passion. Like a ripe fruit she lay beneath Sultan Tym Ali Ekhbarah 
ready to pluck. At that moment, a slave girl entered, bearing a large bowl 
made of rubies cut like window glass bound together with strips of gold. A 
clear liquid could be seen shining through the precious stones, and strange, 
exotic flowers floated on top. The girl bent down and placed the bowl beside 
Cleo. 

With a knowing smile, the slave picked a flower from the bowl and started to 
trace the wet petals over Cleo's hot body. The liquid was iced perfume, and 
as the trails of alcohol dried Cleo felt cool thrills take over her body and 
her head felt light. The slave then went to her master and dribbled the icy 
liquid around his neck and down his back. As it reached his hard and limber 
ass, she helped its effect with her long fingernails. The Sultan leered with 
pleasure as the tingle in his ass spread around to the swollen tip of his 
cock. His gaze fell down to Cleo's dark, musky cunt, still pulsing with 
heat. He watched as she reached over to the bowl, daintily picked up a 
flower, and started to play the perfume leisurely up the inside of her 
thighs. Still staring at Cleo, the Sultan began absent-mindedly to fondle 
the slave girl's heavy, pendulous breast. He molded it languidly in his hand 
until she brushed the cold wet flower on his throbbing meat. Then he closed 
his eyes as his fingers pinched and rubbed her alert and pouting nipple, the 
vision of Cleo writhing before him. 

Suddenly he reminded himself of the delights to come. "Thank you, girl, 
please leave us now," he said to the slave and pinched her nipple gently one 
last time before she left. 

Settling himself down on his back opposite Cleo so that his legs were 
between hers and he could rub her sculptured calves with the soles of his 
feet, he commanded her to continue her story. 

Cleo considered for a while. What would most appeal to this man whose loins 
she now beheld? The long, slowly swelling organ rose up as if from a 
tangled, moist forest at the base of a cliff made of bone and muscle. She 
imagined her hot tongue running over those smooth bone ridges and hollows, 
and her small teeth taking even smaller bites of that muscled flesh. And 
then the thought of his cock between her impassioned thighs caused her to 
take a small ecstatic gasp and wet her lips. Surprisingly, the perfume that 
had dripped on her lips tasted delicious and left her tongue tingling with 
the rest of her body. Considering the tingling feeling, Cleo renewed her 
story with fresh fervor. 

"Though now the jungle lashes her body terribly, the maid runs on. Light 
pink veins of blood begin to show in fingers running toward the nipples of 
her tender breasts; while her thighs, muscular and strong though they are, 
become weighed down with the chains of underbrush. As her journey lengthens, 
the cords of her muscles slowly give out. Finally she knows she must rest or 
fall. She slows then, and as if returning from a dream takes stock of her 
surroundings. 

"She has come to the shores of a small mountain lake. The moon shivers 
yellow on the water in the star-twinkling blue-black night light. 
Immediately she longs to disturb this water mirror with her nipple tips." 

Although the Sultan's face did not betray him, questions persisted in 
darting through and tantalizing his mind. Cleo's imagination was nearly 
beyond the scope of his understanding. He had never heard such a story as 
this: the way the nimble words danced the picture of the Indian maid's 
erotic flights upward in his mind. Ah, it would almost be a shame, he felt, 
for this fine woman to please him physically as much as she was tantalizing 
him mentally. If only there were some small flaw in her performance, he 
could, in all fairness, keep her chained to his passions in Gandia forever. 
But he would not spoil this evening with premature regret. 

Fondly, the Sultan rubbed his feet over her ankles and calves, enjoying 
their smooth hardness and savoring the coming moment when he would allow his 
hands to touch them and his tongue to taste the tinglings he knew the 
perfume had left there. For now, he contented himself with tickling the 
insides of her knees with his toes, knowing by the pleading barely concealed 
in her proud eyes that she wished he would continue his titillations upward. 
He hefted the lance of his rod in his hand, daring and yet commanding her to 
continue her tale. 

Breathing heavily, Cleo traced her fingers under the enticing folds of her 
aching breasts and brushed the fiery tips of her nipples-small relief from 
the Sultan's trials which she was enduring. 

"The girl welcomes this clear place on a hot and twisting night. Without 
hesitation, she removes the garments of skin from her body. Her fingers run 
over the painful places and find no permanent damage done to the marble 
smoothness. Delicately she places her hand between her legs and runs a 
fingertip along the lips of her honeyed mound. The moist, pink mouth at once 
surrounds the intruder and rolls in the whole finger. Exploring the burning 
dampness of herself, her eyes loll upward with pleasure and suck at the 
bright yellow disc the moon is. Like clear light an idea comes to the girl. 
She will swim and the waters will soothe her. 

"Her bronzed body shines in the moonlight. Like a sleek beast, this child of 
the jungle approaches the water's edge. But unlike a lioness she does not 
turn along the shoreline and prowl. Instead, she slips into the water's 
knifelike surface, and it cuts only a brief chill across her flesh. Then, 
like a glaze of loving, the waters heal her. From the cool balm of the 
depths, her body partakes of its goodness. She swims as her beautiful body 
drinks and drinks. Timelessly, her long graceful arms stroke the night 
water. Like a star-ladder, her glistening wake cuts a swath between the lily 
patches. Her clear-featured face becomes the reason for the night. She is 
encased like a very rare jewel. 

"Her round, overripe breasts glow as they float on the lake's surface, 
mirroring the full moon like twins as it hovers over her. 'Why have you 
brought me here?' she asks the moon petulantly. 'Where is my satisfaction?" 

" 'Be still, woman,' a voice comes to her from the night. Pouting from the 
reprimand and from the effort of trying to decode the moon's intent, she 
makes her way to shore and lies half in and half out of the water, its edge 
lapping hungrily at her source. 

"Soon, cleaned by the healing wealth of lambent liquid, she emerges 
refreshed but unsatisfied. There, by the lakeside, she finds a lush, green 
cloth of moss. She writhes onto the sponge floor slowly, letting its soft 
teeth nibble the water from the flesh of her breasts. Then, rolling over 
onto her back, she grinds the muscled mounds of her ass wider on the grass. 
She coos with ecstasy as she feels the moss's dry, green tongues licking her 
petulant young skin. Wishing fervently that a man would find her in the 
clearing and cover her body with savagely throbbing hardness, she falls 
asleep dreaming of a warrior with strong, demanding, limber flanks, his 
balls round and firm like luscious fruit. She makes her lips round and 
puckered as if to kiss them, and moans with ecstasy in her sleep. 

"Now, it so happens that not far off stalks a young and truly noble giant. A 
warrior of a neighboring but enemy tribe. As he treads a game path toward 
the lake there is nothing he does not notice and command. 

"The jungle, always a fickle lover, is treating the warrior very differently 
from the girl. The tangled vines caress his massive shoulders. Each tendril 
strokes whispered secrets to his ears. His mind records the silent trail of 
his passage in every detail because his senses are alert for war. 

"It is the custom of this warrior's tribe to raid the neighboring tribes for 
women. He is the vanguard's point, a place of honor for which he will get to 
choose the first of the captured women. At dawn he will select a bride. 

"The jungle takes a passionate notice of the young man's silent passage 
along the trail. He moves between the overhanging brambles as if he were 
made of silk. At each turn, the low branches embrace his sensuous skin. A 
teasing jungle rose tugs at his loincloth, wishing to strip his war paint 
away and caress his skin, touches the flesh pole languidly, then brushes his 
loins. The young tree stiffens a little as it feels the plant's prickle kiss 
and etch a trail along his thigh to his balls. He feels it tangle briefly in 
the protective, heavy fur surrounding his sex and pauses to brush away the 
tender head of the flower. But, as his hand touches the flower bud, his eyes 
travel to the mossed clearing in which the naked maiden sleeps. 

"The clear moonlight paints yellow shadows across her slender form. The 
warrior can see the slow, even rise and fall of her sumptuous breasts. Full, 
flaring hips depart suddenly from her lance-thin waist and flow like a river 
straight into her sculptured loins. As she sleeps, her delicate hand steals 
down, playing and tangling itself amidst the lush growth of the womanhood 
between her marvelous thighs. 

"The entranced warrior steps away from the rose's entanglement, and as he 
does so, the petals of the flower face kiss the length of his shaft, leaving 
sweet wet traces. 

"In the clear night, the sleeping face of Cleo appears full of blush to the 
approaching warrior. Her face glows with the moonlight. The warrior sees her 
awakening eyes open on him like twin orbs of daylight. 

"Since the maid has been dreaming of being ravished, finding this tall, 
proud man upon her comes without surprise. Her eyes first greet the massive 
head of his arising cock, and she is truly awed. She imagines the velvet 
head of its tip piercing the softness of her lips, and a hot thrill runs 
down her spine to her hips. 

"The man sees her growing awareness begin to pulsate as her hips undulate an 
invitation against the light green carpet of grass. Silently, he drops 
beside her and lays his warm palm along her thigh. Without words their 
lovemaking begins." 

"Cleo, my dear," the Sultan broke in on the story. "Look at this." His eyes 
insisted she behold his huge erection. "This is what your story has brought 
me." 

The Sultan was overcome with pleasure at the beautiful girl's engaging 
manner. He had begun to scheme on how to keep this girl forever as his 
slave. She told stories so very well! 

"Why, Highness, I thought we both knew the purpose of the story," Cleo said, 
rolling the words out sensuously on her tongue. Still looking at him through 
half-closed eyes, she bent and placed her mouth beside his prick. 

She licked slowly along the length of his lumber, leaving a hot, wet, 
sparkling trail of saliva and tasting once again the delicious sweetness of 
the perfume. A mingled pool formed at the base of her tongue as she sucked 
the bulb of the Sultan's turgid tool into her mouth and rolled its soft 
silken head with her tongue's tip. 

Tym felt her worship pulse through him and lay back to enjoy the tribute. 
Mischievously then, Cleo nippled her way down the underside to the base of 
his rod and sucked one of his balls into her mouth. Her supple hand 
surrounded his staff and began to stroke it with her still warm saliva. 

"Highness," Cleo said questioningly, raising her head and gazing past the 
tower of his erection. "Do you not wish me to finish my story?" Her hand 
continued to slowly stroke Tym Ali Ekhbarah's bulging cock. 

"Yes," replied the Sultan, taking Cleo's ebony head between his hands and 
pulling her up to taste the flower of her full mouth. Her lips were cherry 
sweet and soft as spring clouds. He stroked his hands over the bronze curves 
of her magnificently shaped breasts. Rolling the hard tips of her nipples 
between his fingers, he longed to kiss them wet. 

"Tell me the story while I cherish your breasts," the Sultan commanded and 
trailed his tongue down the long, sleek curve of her throat and between the 
scented valley of her breasts. 

"He lies down on her and she welcomes him with an open soul," continued Cleo 
while Tym kissed and licked her silken flesh. The lush mounds began to 
tingle; and as he sucked her hot, red nipples and rolled them gently between 
his teeth, they became rubber-hard and burning, leaving Cleo with barely 
enough breath to continue. 

"The dry, gentle night now embraces the lovers. The warrior has taken his 
mouth to her charms. Slowly, his insisting lips stalk their way around the 
hillocks of her breasts. His tongue traces warm rivers coursing across the 
downy slope of her belly and leaves her body aching with desire. 

"Like a warm, dry wind his breath washes between the hairs of her mound and 
tickles her pussy to part a bit. His tongue follows quickly to lick the 
flower open, then his mouth settles for its first sweet kiss. The honey 
walls of her pussy shape themselves around his lips, and he tastes her 
pungent sweetness. Like a bee suckling a spring flower, the warrior dives 
his tongue and lashes her clitoris with its tip. Cleo's orgasm begins. 

"The warrior's tongue now abuses her clit gloriously. With quick, flame-like 
darts, he twirls the little bud around and around her pink flesh. Her hands 
find their way to her breasts and she rolls her palms across her own 
rubber-hard nipples. She moans aloud, throws her legs upon the warrior's 
shoulders. Their figures churn together, mad with lust. 

"It is not his tongue that she is after, though; but rather the full timbre 
of his cock pulsing between her aching loins. With her hand, she beseeches 
him to take her, and he rises above her like a mountain top. 

"The full wave of the coming sea in her womb surfs at his first thrust. His 
big cock crashes into her cunt like a diving spear. She greets him with a 
tremendous buck of her hips. They rock, and with each thrust their ecstasy 
reaches a higher pitch." 

"Well, my dear," Tym interrupted with an attempt at humor that didn't quite 
come off. "I can imagine they finally cum! But no longer do I wish to hear 
the story. It had more than pleased me. I wish not only to kiss your flesh 
and hear your moans of pleasure." The Sultan moved now toward the goal the 
story had excited in him. 

Starting at the slim curves of Cleo's perfect ankles, he traced with his 
tongue a slowly widening path upward. He licked the sweet flesh of her calf 
and marveled at the pure, hard curves of her knee. His tongue swept the 
ticklish skin softly in the hollow behind the joint and moved on up the 
bronze goodness of her thigh. His lips nibbled the golden flesh and left 
hot, dark tingles quaking in her knees. 

The sweet, musky scent of her sex rose heavily to his nose from the lush 
cave of her loins. Her pussy quivered for his lips to kiss the honeyed 
walls, and she moaned with increasing excitement. 

She circled his head with her legs and locked his probing tongue deep into 
the passage of her cunt. It writhed there, twisting ecstasy up her spine. 
Her hands began to trace trails from the top of Tym's head up the trunk of 
her body to her breasts. The Sultan licked his tongue up from her cunt's 
opening to the tiny fold above her electric love bud, brushing gently 
insistent circles around the small, erect jewel. She gasped her passion one 
stage greater each time the loving tongue pushed harder against her clit. 
And then she sighed with pleasure as the electricity was soothed with slow 
lickings the length of her cunt, only to whimper uncontrolled when her clit 
was again softly attacked. She could not believe the passionate skill of 
this man driving her mad with ecstasy. Savagely unmindful of the world 
around her, she sculpted symphonic motions across her belly with her nails. 
Her hands pushed her breasts hard into mountains, and her fingers twirled 
the ruby nipples into dark red points. 

Suddenly, with a deep, throaty groan, Cleo came, and the Sultan was engulfed 
with her nectar. He sucked the fruit taste up the funnel of his tongue. She 
was delicious. 

Cleo was wild with pleasure. Her hips plunged and sent shock waves of carnal 
delight coursing through her blood. Her eyes rolled up in her head, when 
suddenly Tym surfaced from the sea of cum. 

He rose and kissed her lips while her hungry mouth devoured him. Like a 
ravenous beast, Cleo's hot mouth ate its way quickly down the Sultan's 
chest. Almost frantically, she sucked the knob of his huge, distended cock 
into her pouted mouth. Her passionate lips engulfed the throbbing purple 
head, while her darting tongue sent sparks of ecstasy through him. 

The Sultan's cock was bursting. She shaped her lips closely around it and 
began to suck rhythmically. He felt as if she were pulling on the very core 
of his being. She sucked and tickled the head with a quick, dry tongue. The 
Sultan gazed down at her beautiful face mounted around the head of his prick 
and found her misted eyes begging him to cum. 

Then, as if he were a stag trumpeting a challenge to the world, he let loose 
his reserve and felt the first chill-throb of the coming torrent. Clasped 
onto the head of erected flesh as if she were a slowly, wing-waving 
butterfly, Cleo sucked the Sultan dry. 

With each giant spasm of his tremendous member, she greedily pulled his 
throbbing stud farther down her throat. The taste of his cum sent 
earthquakes of pleasure shattering through her slender frame. The warm, 
white liquid cascaded down the open caverns of her perfect throat. At last, 
after she had consumed the full load of this man's essence, she was 
satisfied. She licked every tiny drop dry from about the head of his 
still-erect organ. 

But the Sultan was by no means through. Once again he took Cleo's full, ripe 
curves into his hands. With easy sureness he stroked her breasts alive and 
sent new tingles coursing through her hard and willing nipples. Quickly Cleo 
began to moan anew. 

Her hands gently guided his massive member to her anxious pussy. With one 
long, deep thrust he drove it home. 

Cleo locked her limber legs about the Sultan's smooth, strong back and 
undulated to meet his powerful thrust. Their bodies welded into one and 
began to squirm against each other, breaking into a glistening sweat. With 
crescendo after crescendo, he drove his staff twirling deeply into her juicy 
cunt. She met each plunge with higher feeling and her moans turned to 
screams that prodded him to drive her on and on. Finally, as if they were 
both raging beasts intent upon tearing the most pleasure from each other, 
they came together in one ecstatic burst. 

For the Sultan, it was as if the night had become clear daylight-rising blue 
skies with a golden sunburst into brilliance above a stretching shore. He 
hung on the peak of the sun and watched the woman cum. 

She was the torrent of a river raging with its grace and ceaseless surf. But 
her spirit sang above the stormy drone like an owl hooting at the moon. In 
her eyes were everything that owls see and a promise to the night. Every 
shudder of her spirit welled up into her thrashing hips. Her body vibrated 
with owl-song. At the moment of her climax, white hot stars shot from behind 
her eyes, flashing her eyelids with what turned into salty tears. The 
perfect satisfaction of the orgasm caused loneliness and longing for her 
homeland to well up in her and the tears to roll down her cheeks. 

The Sultan saw the tears and sensed their cause. The notion that the very 
conditions of telling him a story could grant her relief from loneliness 
burned like a candle flame in the depths of her mind. She had pleased him 
immensely-so much so that now the temptation to say she had not and thus 
keep her a slave warred with whatever was good and benevolent in his soul. 

Cleo saw the disturbance in the Sultan's face and feared she hadn't 
satisfied him. Perhaps the story of her native land had been too simple; 
although it had been true, her mother had told it to her. Perhaps the fuck 
which had given her so much pleasure had been mere routine for a Sultan; 
perhaps her tears had displeased him. Oh, she wished she hadn't displayed 
the well of her loneliness to him. Perhaps he wouldn't understand. But she 
must know her fate and she must arouse the Sultan from his thoughts ... 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Morgana had returned just as I was finishing up the first chapter. I was all 
excited with my new idea. Hardly taking time to kiss her hello, I sat her 
down in a chair and handed her the copy to read. 

I have to admit I was a little nervous. After all, sex was still a funny 
thing sometimes to certain people, and I was afraid Morgana might not see 
things my way. She was so beautiful that she couldn't help but understand. 
Still, there was that tiny spark of doubt. Besides, I really didn't know 
whether the work was any good or not and that worried me. 

Suppose it wasn't? Suppose it was just another one of my dumb ideas? I had 
to know. I could hardly wait for her to finish reading it. So much of our 
future depended on her understanding and acceptance of it. Nervously I paced 
back and forth, glancing at her every once in a while. But she didn't look 
up. Didn't speak. Just kept on reading and slowly turning pages. My God, she 
was taking her time about it! She should have finished long ago. She doesn't 
like it. I know she doesn't. Finally she was through. 

"I can solve some of the mystery for you, Philly," she said and smiled in a 
gentle, almost maternally angelic manner. 

What mystery? What was she talking about? I was so dumbfounded I couldn't 
speak. What she'd read hadn't been a mystery. Fantasy, perhaps. But mostly 
it was just good raw sex!" What the hell was she coming off with this 
mystery shit for? 

"What mystery, Morgana? That wasn't supposed to be a mystery." 

"Yes, I know. Well, there's no way of saying this but to come straight out 
with it. You may find this hard to understand, Phil, but it's the truth. I 
swear it. The story you wrote actually happened to my grandmother." 

I'm sure she didn't expect me to do anything but stare at her incredulously, 
and that's exactly what I did. Her grandmother yet! She was too much! She 
had to be joking, of course. But the expression on her face told me she 
wasn't joking at all. I said the first thing that came into my mind. 

"You're putting me on!" 

"Not in the least. And there's only one way of explaining it. You've become 
a psychic. And I'm your contact." 

"You're not starting that witch business again, are you? For Christ's sake, 
Morgana! This is important to me. Be serious!" 

"You mean you don't believe I'm a witch?" Morgana asked. 

"Of course I believe you. It's just that ... well, hell! Here I thought I 
was creating something fresh and new, and you come off about your 
grandmother. Don't tell me she was a witch, too!" 

"No. I'm the first in the family. My grandmother was a very good storyteller 
though. That you can see by reading this." 

"You mean it's true? She really did those things? Oh, no," I groaned. 

"I don't see what you're so upset about, Phil," Morgana sniffed. "It's not 
as if she were bad or anything. Being my grandmother alone should put her 
above any moral aspersions. That is, if you do believe me that I'm a witch 
..." 

"What was the mystery you were talking about before we got sidetracked?" I 
asked, rather than answer her question. I waited for her answer, figuring it 
had to be a good one. 

"Well, grandmother felt that she'd been drugged all during the interview 
with the Sultan. She found out later that she was. It was the orange 
perfume." 

"How do you know all this?" I asked, having the strangest feeling this 
conversation had left reality completely and we were now being utterly 
fantastic. Hell, I wrote the damn story. I knew it was fiction. 

"She told me, of course." 

"When? After she got back home?" 

"I can't tell you that." 

"You can't tell me? What the hell do you mean? You're sitting there telling 
me a piece of writing that came out of my head is true. Why can't you tell 
me what happens in the end, then? What's the big secret?" 

"You guessed it. I'd just spoil the end for you." 

"Oh, brother! Thanks one hell of a lot, baby. You'd just spoil the end for 
me. That's beautiful! Really beautiful!" 

"I'm serious, Phil. Why did you have me read this to begin with? What did 
you want me to say?" 

"Christ, I don't know. I had some wacky idea that I could write a novel. 
That's all. I guess I wanted you to tell me it was good or something." 

"It is good, Philly. What makes you think I don't think that? All I said was 
that it was true." 

"But it's not supposed to be true, Morgana. It's fantasy. Fiction. Something 
made up out of thin air. It's not supposed to do anything but entertain. 
Don't you see? I started it because I don't want to be a reporter any more. 
And now you tell me that what I thought was pure fiction was really ... 
Christ! I don't know what it is, but I feel like some kind of spy or 
something." 

I knew I wasn't making myself very clear. But the whole conversation seemed 
demented to me. It was all so frustrating. So goddamn frustrating that I 
wanted to scream. But how could I when I really didn't truly understand what 
there was to be mad about? 

"Oh Phil, don't you see. If I told you the ending it would be like 
reporting. But if I don't, well, the only way you'll know what happened is 
if you write it out." 

A cute, vixen smile came into her eyes then as she added: "Besides, if I 
know my grandmother, the story she tells you might not all be real by any 
means." 

"Oh, come on, Morgana. How can I believe all this? First you're a witch and 
Nofka's a warlock. All right. So I went along, and you proved it. Or at 
least I think you proved it. Now you tell me that I'm a psychic and your 
grandmother's telling stories about herself and using me to do it. And just 
because I know you, I'm forced to believe you!" 

"Are you sorry you know me, Philly?" she asked, and her eyes were ready to 
be hurt with the wrong answer. Jesus. My heart melted every time I looked at 
her. How could I doubt her? How could I not believe her? But the whole thing 
was so ridiculous. And besides, I didn't much like the idea of being taken 
over by witchcraft. If that was what was going on here, I needed to find 
out. There was no way but to do it directly. 

"Morgana," I asked melodramatically, "am I slipping under your spell?" 

"As a woman only, Phil." And I yearned to believe her. But this goddamn 
writing thing was too much; it had me fairly reeling. There must be an 
answer that would satisfy me. I didn't know what it was, but that couldn't 
keep me from looking for it anyway. Then suddenly it occurred to me that 
she'd said something about orange perfume. And a mystery. 

"Are you sure your grandmother might tell a lie or two when she's using me 
to tell these stories?" Before she could answer, I had another thought and 
waved her to hold on as I spoke. "Like, what if I wanted to write something 
your grandmother doesn't know about? Like something for TV or a Western or 
something? Could she influence me in that case?" 

"I don't know, Philly. That's something you'll have to answer for yourself. 
Why do you ask?" 

"Oh, nothing. It's just that if I could write a lot of books for her, then a 
few for myself, I just might get along with the old gal!" My chuckle told 
Morgana that everything was going to be all right. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

"Philly?" Morgana's voice had a question in it as we lay in bed together, 
our flesh barely touching each other and every pore alive with desire. Our 
toes were mingling together at the bottom of the sheets, but other than that 
we weren't really moving, even though we were feeling each other with our 
skin. 

"Philly?" 

"Mmm?" 

"You're not going to write about us, are you? You're not going to report 
what we do in bed?" 

"Of course I am," I answered, teasing. 

"You're not!" She pretended to be shocked. 

"Sure I am. Here, let me describe it to you," I said, then leaned across and 
kissed her gently on the lips. It was like kissing deep piles of velvet. 
Only they moved: alive. "Your lips are like velvet flesh," I murmured 
against them, then kissed across her cheek until I found her ear. I made 
mumbling sounds into the shell of it and found I was too busy loving her to 
talk. Morgana must have sensed this because as I kissed my way down her neck 
she started whispering a commentary and giving directions at the same time. 

"Yeah, baby, yeah. Kiss my breasts. Yes, that's it. Kiss the nipples. Oh, 
yes! That's the way. Run your tongue around it. Yeah, baby, yeah!" 

I started to nibble just a little and could tell she liked it by the way her 
breathing quickened and her whispers thickened. 

"Baby, your mouth feels so good. Do the other one for mama, baby. Suck on 
the other tit." Her hips began to undulate slowly and then her whole body 
got the message. It became serpentine in its motion while she talked to me. 

"Baby, love me. Love me. Lick me all over with your tongue. That's it. Oh, 
it feels like you're taking tiny chunks out of my skin. Love me, Philly, 
love me! Your mouth, oh, that god-damn beautiful mouth of yours. Come up 
here. I want to kiss you." 

I was torn. Just as she said that, I'd started down, hungering to taste her 
pussy. What it tasted like was on the tip of my tongue, and I wanted to 
savor a little of the juice. But then I decided there was time-plenty of 
time. So I went back up to her face for a kiss from her lips. 

I wanted to take my time thinking about what they felt like to me. I mean, 
after all, ahead of us were a lot of years and there'd be plenty of time for 
regrets later. We were thinking about being together as long as we could 
make each other happy. I put myself to the task with all my heart and soul. 

Her lips opened slowly to let my tongue enter her mouth, and all the while 
she made tiny, murmuring sounds like a fresh water brook. I took the time to 
run my tongue tip around the inner flesh of her lips and then to feel each 
of her even teeth as if my tongue were a finger reading Braille. The effect 
was startling. My whole face glowed, and my eyes popped open just as 
Morgana's did. Four orbs examined each other with volatile exposure and 
laughing tongues while our genitals savored the feeling. 

I rolled to the side until we lay as twins. Figures shaped out of clay of 
opposite colors. But not black and white. There was only the color of flesh 
to us as we wiggled together. My cock and balls lay like a symbol on her 
thigh, pointing at the cleft between her legs. It was not a mountainous 
valley or a rock-strewn canyon even, but a hair-covered cunt. 

Each of my thoughts climbed the spokes of her eyes like a ladder to the 
stars. We were both out in space looking at each other across a void while 
our flesh kept our bodies on Earth with the sexual contact. Like galaxies 
expanding together-or a slinky toy-we met and passed between each other's 
expression, then felt the other up with our minds. 

Morgana's hands crawled up the back of my neck while her fingers traced a 
million canyons in through the hairline. I felt as if my head were my cock 
tip and she was giving me a hand job. Her lips came forward while her tongue 
dove into my mouth. I almost pissed, it felt so good. 

I remembered what those lips felt like on my cockhead, and I ground my mouth 
onto hers as if to kiss her pussy. I hoped that she was having an experience 
equal to mine in love, and I tried to tell her so with my tongue. She 
fondled me back with languid pairings. It was as good as it should be and 
more, she said with love. 

I felt the cones of her breasts flatten against my chest. But as she moved 
her head against my kiss, her torso undulated and her nipples squirmed 
indentations into my flesh. As they stiffened I tried to match them up with 
my own nipples, but Morgana was too full of wiggles to hold still for that. 

Deliberately, we moved against each other slowly so that every possible inch 
of our flesh was touching and moving at the same time. There was a 
timelessness to our lovemaking we both felt; we explored it. We were 
underwater beings coupling our every erogenous zone. 

I felt her hair-covered mound mingle with mine. The base of my prick fit 
naturally into the slit at the tip of her fleshy pussy lips. My meat was 
pressed along the moist crease, and she responded to every rub. I felt the 
blood vessel at the bottom of my shaft thicken while the bulb on the end of 
my dick distended with blood. 

Gradually I lengthened my motions until I felt the ridge at the base of the 
elliptical tip catch in the fleshy folds of her cunt. I felt the button of 
her clit graze the tip, and my prick slid into her box. 

Her heat engulfed my meat, and my legs writhed with pleasure. Her body 
shivered from the contact of my enormously hard prick against her hot inner 
walls. They felt glove-tight and followed every contour of my flesh pole as 
I drove deeply into snatch. 

Bump, she pumped up, her pussy contracting. She was hot and plastic as her 
box tickled my dick its entire length. I slammed against her pelvis and 
immediately we were together in a savagely syncopated rhythm. Every time I 
stroked, Morgana met me midway down with such force our bodies slapped 
together, The sound was a perfect counterpoint to the animal noises of 
pleasure both of us were making. 

Once again we entered a timeless place. We were one with both our minds and 
bodies. It was give and take from both points of view. I was at once selfish 
and generous. So was Morgana. We went at each other like animals mating. Our 
bodies began to sweat and become slippery. Everything served to heighten the 
experience we were having. It seemed to last forever. We fucked and fucked 
and fucked. Nothing was between us but animal pleasure as we both sought to 
reach a climax. 

When it happened, it was as if we'd broken some kind of barrier. Like coming 
up from under water. We simply broke the surface and were overwhelmed with 
orgasm simultaneously. Hump, I shot a load of jism and she caught it, 
engulfed it and went ahead in an incredible burst of feeling. Her body 
seemed to chatter and celebrate at every nerve ending. She was glorious to 
fuck! She writhed around my dick as if her pussy had a mind of its own. And 
all the white-hot, sensual fluids mingled in her box and made the mating 
complete. For an eternal moment, between the hip-crunching, nerve-shattering 
climaxes, we were one, complete and alone. 

* * * 

"Morgana." We were lying side by side, barely touching but enjoying the 
tingle of trying to communicate with our bodies, when I spoke: "Morgana, 
what are we going to do about Nofka? And Linda McGraw?" 

"That's all taken care of, Philly. Just don't think about it anymore." 

"How can I not think about them? Christ! Linda was beaten black and blue by 
somebody and Nofka was here with a gun. Frankly, I think Nofka did it. And 
what's to say he won't come back to haunt us later on?" 

"You are," she answered my question. "Simply by not thinking about Nofka you 
don't include him in your life. The only other way he can go on being is if 
you let yourself go where you can expect to find him. See what I mean?" 

"You mean if I don't want him in my life, all I have to do is ignore him?" I 
asked incredulously. 

"Well, not exactly," she said. "It's more like you have to not only quit 
giving him any mental consideration, but have to allow yourself not to think 
of what Nofka does as a sin. But I don't think we've been together long 
enough for me to communicate completely what I mean. Just take my word for 
it: Nofka won't appear anymore." 

"For how long is anymore?" I asked with a grin. 

"We'll have to get old together to find out." 

"Hey, that reminds me," I said exuberantly. "I've got an idea about your 
grandmother's stories. I mean, what do you think of a sextet! Pun intended. 
Think she'll be able to come through with that many tales?" 

"If I know grandfather, he'll give her plenty of tales to tell. All you've 
got to do is write them down." 

"How did you know that?" I asked in awe. 

"You told me, Phil, when I knew you long ago." 

"But how could I have? I don't remember saying it or even thinking it before 
this moment. You've lost me again, Morgana. Is this always going to happen? 
Are you always going to be somewhere I don't know about?" 

"Always somewhere, good. Come on, Philly, let yourself free. The world is 
only what you believe in. Put down your doubts. That's what I'm here for, 
baby. Don't you know that? I'm here for you to love." 


The End
