by Paul Blades
“Hiya, girls!” Max announced as the limo sped away from the concert hall. The limo had been copiously stocked with cocaine and liquor before the girls got in and Creeper made sure that they had easy access to it before he left them to fetch the band. Just in case, a stony visaged security guard had stood outside it and the handles had been removed from the inside. But, frankly, once they had done a line or two of coke and downed a few shots of freezing cold Stolichnaya, music blaring from the monster sound system, the girls had no idea to go anywhere.
The three rockers were sitting next to each other facing the driver and the girls sat opposite them, facing to the rear of the vehicle. Max was sitting in the middle, and Roxanne blessed her foresight in seeking the middle position. The girls all gave embarrassed giggles as their minds whirled at their proximity to their idols. Roxanne curved her back and spread her thighs slightly as she beamed her most sexy smile back at the bedraggled star. The small space was flooded with the sounds of the Dreams’ latest hit and it was necessary to raise her voice almost to a scream to reply. “Hi!” was all the girls could say.
“How about some of that vodka?” Deke called out. Miriam, who was sitting opposite him, eagerly handed him the bottle. Deke took the top off and poured a long flow of the firewater down his throat. He handed it to Max who took his turn and handed it off to Slaughter. When the six foot, three inch tall, broad shouldered drummer had let a few gulps pass down his throat he looked over at the pretty, wide eyed girl in front of him. “Let me see your tits!” he yelled to her over the loud music. Slaughter, as befitted his name, had been a knockabout biker before he joined the band. He had tried his hand at boxing a few times, but his brawn and meanness was more suited to the bar room brawls of his biker hangouts. He had few words and no graces. His hair was cut short into a buzz and he had a broad, flattened nose and a long scar on his right cheek.
Daphne looked back uncomfortably at the hard looking drummer. This was not exactly like she had imagined it would be. She cast a sidelong look at her friends who were looking at her expectantly. “Don’t blow this now!” was what she saw in their eyes. “What the fuck!” she thought. She smiled back at the coarse drummer and lifted her t-shirt until her rotund, heavy knockers were in full view. She had a head of snow and a belly full of vodka and her head swum as she felt her plump, braless breasts sway freely in the moving car. She looked at the broad, well muscled chest of her opposite and then down at the large bulge in his tight denim pants. She could feel her pussy tingle and her nipples stiffen. After all, this was what she came for. Why beat around the bush?
Miriam and Roxanne, not to be upstaged, quickly lifted their tops to reveal their own charms. Roxanne’s breasts were smaller than her buxom friends’, but they were firm and plump nonetheless. Miriam had rings in her nipples, and she showed them off proudly to Deke. Deke had regained the vodka bottle and smiled appreciatively. “Now let’s see your pussies!” he yelled after taking another long swig.
In for a nickel, in for a dime. The girls all promptly complied with Deke’s command. Daphne had rid herself of her thong earlier and she was able to display her trimmed, fur covered slit easily, spreading her legs widely to the view of the lustful eyes of the drummer. Miriam and Roxanne had not and they had to lift their pretty little bums in the air so they could draw their panties over their hips and then down their legs. When they bent over to pull them over their high heeled rocker’s shoes, their heads passed between the knees of the rock stars sitting opposite them in the tight space of the limo.
When the two girls had wrestled their panties from around their shoes, they looked up and saw the lustful gazes of the two men. Miriam lifted her red vinyl miniskirt first, proudly showing off her hairless, plump nether lips. There was a stud through her clit. Roxanne was next and she had some difficulty in drawing back the tight sides of her black leather mini, squirming her hips from side to side as she inched it up her thighs. When she had the leather skirt bunched at her waist, she spread her legs and arched her back so that Max could get a good eyeful of her prize. Her cunt was trimmed like Daphne’s (they had done each other’s the night before) and a thin line of rough black hair surrounded her already moistened slit. She could feel her heart beating as she displayed her womanhood to the man of her dreams.
“Wheeeeeeyoooo!” Max yelled as he took in the inviting, black trimmed cleft. Max was from Texas and he still had, despite his worldwide fame and mountains of riches, a bit of the yokel in him. He had an animal energy that conveyed itself well on stage. Without ceremony, he reached to his waist and pulled the shiny zipper of his pants down. Roxanne and the other girls watched with mesmerized anticipation at the unveiling of the bandleader’s legendary tool. Would it live up to its almost mythical reputation? Was that wadding in the rock star’s pants or meat?
They say everything is bigger in Texas and if Max’s cock was to be judged accordingly, it would more than pass the test. The grinning singer unleashed his thick, ten inch long dick in front of the goggle eyed girls. They had seen things like this in movies, but never in real life. Max’s dick was already hard and it jutted out like a huge fleshy spear from his loins. Max looked at the startled and somewhat anxious Roxanne whose gaze was locked on to the long, thick, rampant meat. How would she ever fit that thing in her mouth, she thought.
“What’s your name, honey?” Max yelled out to the lusting, if uncomfortable black haired girl.
She licked her lips apprehensively, taking her eyes from the distended tool to the face of the rocker. “R,Roxanne,” she murmured. She saw that he hadn’t heard her and she spoke out her name again, louder. “Roxanne!”
“Well, Roxanne, Bubba here needs a home! Come here and suck me off!”
The black haired nineteen year old had a momentary qualm about her situation. She wasn’t really a slut. Not like Miriam. She had fooled around her share, but she still had some standards. Next year she was going to college, she had promised herself. She wanted to be a nurse. She had fantasized about this moment many times, but now that it was really here, she hesitated. How many mouths and pussies had that dick been in, she wondered. How would she feel tomorrow after being treated like a whore? Worse than a whore since she wasn’t going to get paid. But this was a once in a lifetime thing. Something she would remember all her life, even later when, inevitably, she would settle down and live a life of relative normality. She would be able to say that she had sucked the cock of the great Max Jammer. And Daphne and Miriam would be her proof. She licked her lips once more and dropped to her knees.
Max spread his legs widely to let her come between his thighs. Roxanne slowly let herself slide from her seat to the floor. She felt like she was in a dream. The loud music around her faded into the background of her mind as Max’s petrified prick peered back at her. She hesitated for a moment and looked up at the almost grotesque face of the rock star. “Come on, honey,” Max urged her, placing a bony hand on her head. “Get to work!”
Roxanne took hold of the thick shaft with her right hand, opened her mouth and eased her widespread lips over the head of Max’s rampant cock. She shuddered with passion as the bulbous head filled her mouth and her lips slid over the tender underside. Almost swooning, she let her tongue wash along the tender strip of skin, absorbing the salty taste of the man’s meat as if it was nectar. She was doing it! She was doing it! She could hardly believe it.
Max leaned back in his seat, his eyes rolling backwards as he felt the mouth encompass his swollen sword. What was her name? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was the delightful sensations that flowed down the staff of his cock down to his balls and then through his body to his brain. “Ahhhhh, yeah, baby!” he shouted. “Yeah! Yeah!”
Daphne and Miriam looked on in wonderment as their rather more reserved friend serviced the manhood of the rock idol right there in front of them. They watched as her head bobbed up and down slowly on his meat, her hands pressed onto his thighs. Daphne felt Slaughter’s heavy boot nudge her leg and she turned to
him. His cock was already out and he was holding it in his huge right hand, stroking it slowly. “Come on, slut,” he yelled over the music. Slaughter’s cock was as thick as, if not as long as, his leader’s. For a moment, the young blond girl revolted at the coarse appellation Slaughter had given her. But what did it really matter? This was what she had come for. If she couldn’t get Max’s cock, well she would settle for Slaughter’s.
She slid down to her knees and took the tool in her hand, directing it to her mouth. The smell of the man’s loins was overwhelming to her. She took her free hand and nestled it between her own legs, stroking the already wet slit and covering her clit with her own juices. She felt the mighty hand of the drummer take hold of a skein of her long hair and force her head down until the steel hard cock struck the back of her throat. She tried to pull back, but the iron-like grip on her hair kept her head forced down between the callous drummer’s thighs. “Come on, suck it, whore!” Slaughter yelled at her as he pulled her head up and down. She pursed her lips around the hard meat and sucked gently on it. She knew how to suck a cock and she was determined that Slaughter should know it. As she pressed her head back down of her own volition, passing the thick helmet of flesh at the end of Slaughter’s cock past the entry to her throat, she heard him moan and she knew that she had proven her point.
Miriam looked across at the slender, more diminutive Deke. His cock was also in his hand. Miriam had secretly hoped that she would get Deke. She thought that he was sexier, darker, more complex than the merely flamboyant Max Jammer. She had often watched his somber face in the band’s videos and wondered what deep secrets he harbored in his troubled soul. She had often fantasized that she would someday get to meet him, that he would see the empathetic understanding that she had for his morose nature, the romantic nature of her soul, and that he would fall in love with her, taking her away from her sooty, run down East End flat, the world of factories and grubby, loutish boyfriends.
Before falling to her knees to join her mates, Miriam pulled her halter top once more above her beauteous breasts. Smiling into the face of the object of her romantic dreams, she gripped them from underneath, holding them up for his visual delight, proffering their pulchritude to him. She caressed them, pinching her fat nipples until they were stiff, licking her lips lasciviously. Here I come! Her hands still on her engorging breasts, Miriam took her place on the floor between the guitarist’s knees. She spread her lips over his hard cock and slid them over the round head, down the shaft, until the cock was buried deep in her mouth, her nose pressed into the man’s loins. Deke groaned with appreciation as he felt the girl’s knowledgeable tongue swirl around his pole and the lips, firmly pursed around his shaft, draw slowly upwards, sending a wave of warm pleasure flowing through him.
From the front seat, Creeper watched the tableau behind him on the closed circuit monitor in the dashboard. He could see the rockers, their heads laying back, their eyes closed, their hands on the bobbing heads in their laps. Three pleasant, miniskirted asses presented themselves to his view. He had made a good selection. He always did.
CHAPTER THREE
HARRY GOES ON AN ADVENTURE
Anthony was waiting for me at the open air restaurant when I arrived a minute or so after 8. I had dropped my girls off at the entrance to the underground slave facility. I could have merely attached tags to their collars and let them make their own way there. But I wanted to make sure that they were not waylaid by any of the guests or supervisors. Once underground, the girls would be subject to strict slave discipline, even, perhaps, use by one or more of the city block sized African guards who worked down there. But if picked up by a guest or supervisor, they might be taken back to their rooms and suffer a long day of abuse. In the slave facility, they would have the opportunity to eat, work out, sleep and take part in the various exercises meant to hone their sexual skills. It was better than having them locked up at the cottage all day. And many an evening when I came back to the cottage, they had demonstrated on me to my exquisite pleasure the techniques they had learned or worked on that day.
And so, after binding their arms behind their backs and securing their gags, I led them by a leash connected to their collars down the hill to the resort area. They had both donned the obligatory, bright red high heels and I could hear the clickity clack behind me as we walked. As the elevator opened, I gave my female pets both a loving caress of their hairless slits and then watched them as they stepped inside. Their apprehensive eyes were glued to mine as the door closed. It was a three minute walk to the dining area where I was to meet Anthony and so I quickly got on my way.
When I sat down next to the brown robed supervisor, he was finishing his coffee. I decided to eat light and ordered a grapefruit and coffee from the strawberry blonde waitress. Her name was Cathy. I had tried her out the day before and she gave me a coquettish little smile as she laid my fruit before me. Her melon sized breasts swayed invitingly as she leaned over to place the plate before me. I caressed one of her plump fruits and expressed my thanks.
“So what’s up?” I asked Anthony, as I ripped my knife through the grapefruit, freeing its luscious pulp.
“The boss wants you to go on a little trip for him,” Anthony replied. Klitzman’s name was never used. He was the presence who was never named.
“What kind of trip?” I inquired. I had not been off the island since my introduction to Kliztman’s paradise. I was beginning to yield to its seductive temptations. It was very hard to resist the lure of the cruelty that surrounded me. In any case, the prospect of going back to civilization where there were undoubtedly warrants out for me all over the place was not something I looked forward to.
“A little day trip into the jungle,” Anthony replied. “You’ll have some company.” Anthony nodded towards the entrance to the open air café. “Here he is now.”
I looked over and a tall, broad shouldered black man was walking towards our table. He stood well over six feet and had close cropped, black curly hair. His face was broad and pocked marked with a large, flattened nose. He wore the brown robe of a supervisor.
“Harry, meet Nick,” Anthony said.
I stood and proffered my hand to the tough looking giant. His grip was like a vice, his arm strong. I noticed a tattoo of a death’s head on his right forearm.
“Hiya, Nick,” I said as nonchalantly as I could. Nick just nodded and sat down opposite Anthony. When Cathy came over, he just waved her away.
“I’ve et,” he said. He had a heavy, working class accent, something strange sounding to someone used to listening to the twang of African American English. He was British.
“Nick’s from Liverpool, Harry, born and bred,” Anthony advised me.
“New Jersey,” I returned.
“So,” Nick replied.
“So, nothing,” I answered him. I didn’t like the way this was going. But if there was one thing I learned in the joint it was never to back down. Nick had probably also done some time as the tattoo on his arm, from its relatively inartistic quality, was definitely the product of a prison artist.
“Now, now, boys,” Anthony interceded. “Let’s play nice.”
“I told the man I don’t need nobody along with me on this,” Nick stated flatly.
“Well, Nick, that’s the way the man wants it so there’s really nothing to talk about. Besides, Harry is no slouch. He can take care of himself and there’s always the unexpected, isn’t there?”
“I got a good crew,” Nick protested. “I don’t want to ‘ave to baby-sit no white boy.”
“You won’t have to baby-sit Harry,” Anthony said, his voice carrying a hint of annoyance. “Besides, you work for the man, I work for the man, Harry works for the man. We all do what the man says. Okay?”
Nick just glared back. I kept my big mouth shut.
“You’ll be leaving in about an hour. Nick will brief you, Harry. You can get clothes and the hardware you’ll need down at the supply hut. A Glock good enough for you Harry?” he inquire
d.
I looked at him. “A Glock would do fine.”
Two hours later we were winging our way, if that’s the right expression, in a large U.S. Army surplus helicopter over the open waters of the South Atlantic. Klitzman’s Isle stood about twenty miles off shore and on a clear day you could just make out the coastline from my cottage window. I was dressed in army fatigues, camouflaged pants and shirt and a black baseball cap. In addition to the Glock, I had signed out a small Beretta. The Glock was strapped to my hip, like a real army guy, but I had slid the Beretta under my shirt behind my back. You never knew when you could use an extra piece.
Nick was similarly attired and we watched each other wordlessly as the helicopter quickly covered the distance to the coast. Not that talking there would have done any good. The noise of the engine was deafening and I could hardly hear myself think. I could see the distrust in the black Britisher’s eyes. I was nosing in on his job and he didn’t like it. I would have to watch my back carefully. I could see it now, “Geeze, Mr. Klitzman, sir, Harry had an awful accident. Sorry about that.”
About forty minutes after lift off, the bird settled down in a small treeless opening in the jungle, about fifteen miles inland. There were a couple of open topped Land Rovers waiting for us. Each was filled with three ornery looking black men dressed in jungle fatigues. Each had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. Nick signaled for one of the men in the lead vehicle to get in the second one and I joined Nick in the first. As soon as I was seated in the back next to Nick, the Rover roared to life and we were off.