by K. Z. Snow
Before Jackson could respond, her hand slipped beneath his robe and curled around his cock.
He jerked backward. “Hey!” he cried out, half in shock and half in warning. “What are you—?”
With remarkable agility, Christy climbed onto Jackson’s lap and faced him. Her boots bracketed his bare legs. The fingers of her free hand flattened against his lips.
“Shh. Just relax and enjoy.” Her long fingernails raked through his mustache from upper lip to jaw line then skimmed over his short beard. “I didn’t realize how freaking hot you were. And you have really spellbinding eyes.” She dipped toward his ear. “Why don’t you think of this as an interview with me?” she said in a growly whisper. “Just tell mama what you want. I’ll do anything for you…now and during the ceremony. I’ll suck you dry. I’ll let you fuck me in the ass. If you like kink, I’m a dominatrix, too.” She punctuated her promises by darting her tongue into his ear.
Stunned, Jackson felt his cock swell within her grasp. There was no controlling it. Her fingers moved slowly and firmly up and down the length of his shaft. Occasionally, her nails circled and squeezed the ripening head.
“You’d better tell me what you want,” she said more harshly, “before I decide for you.” Her hips had begun to shift back and forth on his thighs.
Jackson realized she wore no pantyhose, no panties, not even a thong. And she was preparing to mount him. He had no desire to hold her or kiss her or nuzzle those studiously elevated breasts, obviously slathered with suffocating perfume. He had no condoms handy and sure as hell didn’t want to thrust his flesh into this STD bait bucket without one. What he should have done was throw her out of his apartment.
But his cock dictated otherwise. It dictated he needed a release. He’d obviously needed one for a while, or he wouldn’t have responded so quickly to the brazen caresses of a stranger he didn’t even find attractive. Now, rigid, he was past the point of no return.
And he was thinking of his Significant Lover, whom he hadn’t seen in two months—how much he missed that sumptuous mouth, those adroit ministrations.
“All right, suck me,” he said in a coarsened voice, suddenly wanting it. “Kneel on the floor and suck me.”
Christy obliged. Sliding to the rug, she positioned herself between his spread legs. “Shit, you’re really hung,” she breathed. “Long and thick. Damn.”
Her wonderment made his cock stiffen further. It stood up like a pole now, the head plump and taut, the engorged veins straining against their sheath of fine skin. Women—and men too, for that matter—had always been impressed by his anatomy. Jackson vaguely wondered why their effusions never failed to arouse him.
Still gripping his rod, Christy slipped the head into her mouth. Her lips pulled at its soft rim. Her tongue laved and circled it. As her right hand continued to stroke him, her left burrowed beneath his balls and seemed to test their weight.
She began doing what he’d commanded. She began sucking.
Jackson closed his eyes and gave himself over to the persuasive, wet tugging. He loved how the feeling snaked up into the rest of his body, urging every nerve and muscle and blood vessel toward orgasm. He relished the growing fullness in his loins. Years of discipline had made him able to hold out longer than most men, and hold out he did. Christy didn’t take in much of him—a couple of inches, maybe—but it was enough. The pulling at his cock head, the pumping of his hard shaft, the diddling of his full balls all blended to intensify his arousal.
Recollections of other encounters surfaced in Jackson’s mind and made his excitement flare. Good head and wild fucks, supernatural or otherwise, most especially the recent ones with…
Jackson couldn’t bear up any longer. With a barbaric growl, he shoved his cock toward Christy’s throat and let the cum jet out of him in spasm after delectable spasm, the forceful contractions liquefying his limbs, his torso, until his entire frame seemed to be funneling through his rod and puddling on the back of Christy Kemmer’s tongue.
Eyes still closed, Jackson wilted into the sofa cushions. His groin continued to pulse and tingle. He heard Christy’s knees crack faintly as she got up. He heard her rustling around the recliner then heard a few delicate spitting sounds. Jackson smiled. It appeared “mama” didn’t swallow.
“You’re so freakin’ big you almost choked me,” she chided.
“Sorry, but you asked for it.” Jackson lazily opened his eyes. He hadn’t been able to watch her. The images in his mind had been far more compelling.
Christy had donned her coat once more and resumed her seat in the recliner. “Yeah, well, with a monster hard-on like that, you gotta be more careful. It’s a matter of consideration.”
Jackson closed his robe and sat up. Debating with himself whether or not to say what he wanted to say, he quickly opted for frankness. “Listen, lady, I didn’t invite you here. I sure as shit didn’t seduce you. You’re the one who pulled the tool from the belt and started using it.”
She looked pouty. “But still—”
“But still, nothing. If I wasn’t considerate, it’s probably because I don’t know you from Martha fucking Washington. You come here uninvited and want to give me head, fine. I doubt there’s a man alive who would refuse such an offer.” Jackson had to pause briefly to think about this. “Well, maybe Rush Limbaugh.” He tied the belt on his robe, making it clear the candy store was closed. “So, given the circumstances, you couldn’t really expect me to get all courtly with you.”
“You could’ve just fucked me, y’know,” Christy said petulantly. “I was right there on your lap.”
God, what planet did she come from? “No, I couldn’t have ‘just fucked’ you. I don’t just fuck just anybody who just appears at my door.” Jackson was rapidly losing patience.
“Whatever,” Christy said dismissively. “But what about that favor I asked? Will you do it?”
“If I do, it will be on my terms.” Jackson rose from the couch. “I’ll get back to you.”
Christy looked confused at first. “Oh. Okay.”
She fished around in her large, multicolored handbag and pulled out a business card. Her contact information was printed in some mock-medieval typeface on a sparkly silver stock. Christy Kemmer it read; beneath that, Lady Alessandra, which was obviously her witch name. Readings and Spell Castings was printed at the bottom between her home phone number and cell phone number. Jackson wondered if she had a separate business card for her dominatrix gig. He guessed she did…and a web site, too.
“Call me anytime,” she said in a throaty voice, lapsing once more into her seductive mode. “I’d love to strip you naked and bind you up and punish you.”
Jackson chuckled quietly and shook his head. “I guess you haven’t figured this out yet, but I don’t do submission.”
“Well maybe we can—”
He didn’t want to hear it. “Come on, I think it’s time you left.” Walking to the door, Jackson rested his hand on the knob. “I have things to do.” Like figure out how to make myself more inconspicuous.
* * * *
“How’d it go?” The mage peered at his accomplice.
Christy sashayed into Ivan’s apartment and tossed her purse on a chair. She peeled off her coat and tossed it on top of the purse. “He’s thinking about it.” She dropped onto the sofa and crossed her legs, bobbing the upper one. “He’ll get back to me.”
“How soon?”
“I don’t know.”
Ivan joined her. “So, what are your impressions?”
She gave him a questioning look. “Of Jackson Spey?”
Ivan rolled his head back. “No, of Hoover Dam. Of course Jackson Spey! Jesus…” Suspiciously, he eyed her short-skirted hips. “Are you wearing any underwear?”
Christy uncrossed her legs and spread them.
“Oh for the fuck’s sake,” Ivan said in disgust. He lumbered up from the couch, hurried over to his linen closet and grabbed a towel. Returning, he thrust the towel at his guest. “Here, sit
on this. That’s expensive leather under your ass. Your pussy’s probably leaking all over it.” He waited, standing, as the bimbo positioned the towel. “That gooey shit is great for what it’s meant to do, but it isn’t meant to be smeared on fine furniture.”
She gave him a heavy-lidded, almost dismissive glance. “You’re a cocksucker, Ivan.”
“Sometimes.”
“I thought you liked my honey,” Christy said, hitching up her eyebrows.
“Not there.” Ivan sat beside her once more. “Seems Wonder Boy really turned you on.”
“Half and half.”
“What do you mean?”
“He half turned me on and half pissed me off.” Christy looked over her shoulder toward the kitchen. “Got anything to drink?”
“In a minute. First tell me what happened.”
Christy sighed. “Well…I get there, and he answers the door in his bathrobe ‘cause he just got out of the shower, I guess, so he doesn’t give me a big welcome or anything—”
“Cut to the chase,” Ivan said, exasperated. “What did you think of him? How did he respond to you? Does it look like he’ll take the bait?”
Christy pursed her lips. Maybe she was thinking. It was hard to tell. “I gotta admit he is one gorgeous dude. Like steamy gorgeous. And those spooky eyes…” With a slight shiver she looked at Ivan. “Know what I mean?”
“No. I think he’s overrated,” Ivan muttered.
“You gotta be kidding!” Christy expelled a single incredulous laugh. “I so wanted to get my hands on that bod. And grab his hair. But that wasn’t the best.” She assumed a mysterious look, taunting Ivan.
He played along, although she certainly didn’t catch his drollery. “Gee, now what could ‘the best’ possibly be?” He tapped his lips. “Hm, let’s see. Could Mr. Spey be particularly well endowed?”
Another confused, slightly irked look. “I have no idea how much money he has.” Christy scratched at her head. “Not much,” she murmured, “considering where and how he lives.”
Doubling over, Ivan blurted out laughter. “Sorry,” he sputtered. “I should’ve known better.” Christy didn’t catch the drollery in that, either. “My next guess would’ve been that he’s hung like a horse.”
That she understood. “I wouldn’t say like a horse, but he does have a very impressive package. Very impressive. Nice looking, too.”
“Yeah, I suppose any big dick would look good to you.”
“You’re a big dick, and you don’t look good to me,” Christy snapped.
Ivan rounded his eyes. Coming from her, the rejoinder was as startling as an epiphany. She wasn’t known for her witticisms. “Nice one,” he said. “So I assume he wanted you to unwrap the package and play with the toy.”
Christy crossed her arms. Her leg began bobbing again. “I wouldn’t exactly say he wanted me to. I kind of went after it myself.”
“Oh shit, Christy!” Ivan threw up his arms. “The point of you going over there was to test his vulnerability, see if he’d start coming on to you.”
“I don’t think that woulda happened,” she mumbled. “He didn’t seem real pleased to have unexpected company. Dude isn’t very sociable.”
“Still,” Ivan said, “you ruined the whole setup by making a fast grab for the jewels!”
Christy got defensive. “Still, he didn’t exactly fight me off. That must prove something.”
Ivan grasped his head, wishing he knew some smart women. “Yeah, it proves that handling a man’s meat makes it hard, and once it’s hard he needs to get off, and to get off he’ll stick it into anything soft that’s available. A jar of mayonnaise, for chrissakes. A role of bubble wrap. A bedroom slipper. But that doesn’t prove his judgment is constantly overwhelmed by his sexual appetite! I’m looking for signs of a particular weakness here, one that leads to a lack of discrimination.”
Dramatically, Christy sighed. “I didn’t want to wait. Okay? I wanted to do him.” She skewered Ivan with a glare. “Hey, what do you expect when you send me to see some drop-dead hot man who answers the door in his short little half-open bathrobe? Huh? You expect me to whip out a deck of cards and play gin rummy with him? I don’t think so. I got wet as soon as I laid eyes on the guy. So, yeah, I reached for his steak. Couldn’t help myself. It was right there. And once it stood up, which it did pretty damned quick, I really, really wanted to do him. Only he didn’t want to fuck, he wanted a beej. So I gave him a beej. And he nearly choked me and then shot like buckets of baby gravy in my mouth. Then he told me to leave.” Riled now, Christy poked a finger at her chest. “And what did I get out of it?” Nearly throwing herself against the couch’s backrest, she indignantly crossed her arms again. “Nothin’. Except disrespect.”
And I got slimed furniture. Ivan propped an elbow on the couch arm and dropped his forehead to his hand. He mentally re-ran Christy’s account of her meeting with Spey. Okay, so she’d been the aggressor. That shouldn’t have surprised him. It was part of Christy’s shtick. But…but…
Ivan jerked his head up. “But Spey didn’t push you away and say, ‘What the hell are you doing? Now get out before I throw you out.’ He didn’t resist.”
Still stewing, Christy swiveled her head in his direction. “Huh?”
“As soon as you grabbed the Gila monster. He didn’t shove you away and pitch you out the door. He let you keep messing with him.”
“I told you, he didn’t exactly fight me off. He got real hard real fast then let me take care of him.”
Ivan could finally smile. Maybe this was the confirmation he was looking for. Now that he thought about it, Spey’s behavior ran contrary to everything he claimed to stand for. Where was all that spiritual refinement that gave him so much willpower? Where were his standards, his scruples? Hell, he let some slutty stranger breeze into his inner sanctum and wrap her lips around his dick. Just…like…that.
Gleefully, Ivan rubbed his hands together. “Wowie zowie. Maybe we do have us a game. Did you toss out the ‘Passion Celebration’ lure?”
“Yes. I said what I was s’posed to.” Obviously sick of waiting for her host to deliver a drink, Christy pushed herself up from the couch and headed for the kitchen.
Still seated, Ivan turned in her direction. “Did it seem to pique his interest?”
Ice cubes clunked into a glass. “It didn’t seem to do nothin’.”
Ivan considered this. Spey’s lack of reaction didn’t necessarily mean anything. He always played it close to the vest. “What about the ladies in the coven? Are you getting their appetites whetted for this event?”
He had handpicked those witches—all were under forty and single—because he usually served as their high priest. It made for a nice little harem, although a few of the women weren’t as uninhibited as he would have liked. Still, most would be enthusiastic participants in a Passion Celebration.
Christy strolled back into the living room carrying a glass of orange liquid. A screwdriver, probably. How appropriate. She resumed her seat without bothering to rearrange the towel and took a long sip of her drink. “Most of the girls are pretty excited about it,” she said. “I told them a very sexy magician would be joining us.”
“But nothing else, right?”
“No. That was it. A very sexy sorcerer.” Christy frowned and tapped her lips. “Maybe it was magician.” She shrugged. “Can’t remember which word I used. Anyway, I didn’t give a name, description, place of residence, nothing.”
“And you haven’t breathed a word about my involvement? Discretion is of paramount importance, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. They think this was all my idea. Spey does, too.” Christy giggled and shook her head. “If I’d ever seen that man before today, it would’ve been my idea.” She glanced at Ivan. “Now it’s just a matter of getting him there.”
“Indeed.”
It wasn’t crucial that Spey show up. The wizard could possibly be consigned to the Prism regardless. But it sure would help if he took a shine t
o one of the coveners. Or to the whole horny flock of them, for that matter. Maybe he’d get hooked on this orgiastic setup. Then Ivan could use one witch or all of them to reel Spey in. Sure wouldn’t hurt, either, to bring Spey’s sexual hunger to the fore and fuel it to the point of uncontrollable combustion. Concupiscence could lead him down some dark paths.
Well, maybe. Ivan wasn’t entirely sure what the Prism was all about, but he did know there was some fuckola jamola associated with that meticulously carved crystal. Some Adepts had come out crazy. Some hadn’t come out at all.
Ivan smiled. Such delicious debasement. Or such a desirable disappearance. In either case, after his descent into the Prism of Nezrabi, Jackson Spey would never be the same.
Chapter Two
“Hello, dearheart. What’s going on?” A very tall, voluptuous, and impeccably dressed woman picked her way around the furniture and machinery and sawdust piles in Jackson’s woodshop. He looked up from his drafting table and smiled.
Angelina Funmaker had been his best female friend and confidante for years. He’d called her first thing this morning, before he’d left for work. Nearly every time Jackson saw her—and they saw each other often—he still marveled a bit over her transformation. When they’d first met, she was a shy, awkward, poverty-stricken Caribbean islander who was neither male nor female. Or was both. She’d been born a hermaphrodite, an intersexual person. Viewed as a freak, this now regal creature had grown up withdrawn, underfed and undereducated, and sexually abused. It had broken Jackson’s heart. So he’d brought her back to the States and helped put her life on the right track.
“I’m just admiring you,” he said reflectively.
She gave him a modest smile. “After all this time?”
“I’ll never stop admiring you.”
Angelina blushed. Even though her creamy brown skin bore light makeup, Jackson had come to recognize her signs of emotion. “We both know there wouldn’t be much to admire,” she murmured, “if you hadn’t—”
“Don’t even bring it up.” He held out his arms. “Thanks for stopping by.”