by Zane
The intensity of our kiss was electrifying, mixed with the taste of each other’s body juices on our tongues. We bonded in a way we both knew was forever. We made love the rest of the night. Deon carried me to the bed and did it to me in every position we could manage without putting too much pressure on my ankle.
The next morning he filled up the old-fashioned bathtub and put it in the center of the cabin by the fire. He had replenished it with fresh wood. We both sat in the tub, washed each other, and made love—orgasm on top of orgasm.
He drove me back to my cabin, which I almost forgot even existed, in his Jeep. We spent the next two days there, both of us putting our businesses in the big city on hold. We fell in love in such a short span of time and wasted no time with fears and hesitations.
The very next weekend we took the plunge and got married. We had the local justice of the peace marry us in front of a select few of our friends on the riverbank. Deon and I were both barefoot. He looked debonair in black slacks and a white cotton shirt hanging loosely instead of being tucked in. I wore a white cotton dress with a wreath around my head made out of vines and red roses. Even Zeus, who is now my dog too, had a great time.
We had the reception at our larger cabin, the one that used to be just mine. We decided to keep both of them and go back and forth on our weekend excursions. I’m pregnant with our first child, and Deon seems like he has more morning sickness than I do.
Well, my knight in shining armor may not have come to me in the exact way I planned, but it was sure as hell close. This is forever, there is not a doubt in my mind. So you see, fairy tales do come true, and people do live happily ever after. From now until the end of time, Deon and I will bring each other orgasm on top of orgasm.
Valley of the Freaks
Welcome to the Valley! The Valley of the Freaks has been around for about a decade now, and I’ve been general manager for about three of them. My name is Grace, and I would just love to sit on your face.
The Valley is an underground galleria of interesting business establishments. Sexual hang-ups, moral issues, and other matters of such nature must be left at the gate. The customers here don’t need to be judged, ridiculed, or harassed by those who aren’t sexually free.
We get all types down here, from wealthy socialites to women who have to put their hair weaves on layaway, famous athletes to drug dealers, bikers and truckers, even priests. No one gives a shit who you are down here. As long as you have the cash, we have the ass.
We have regulars—some are here every dayum day—and then we have tourists and others who just want to take a brief walk on the wild side. We even have a special parking section for trucks, recreational vehicles, and buses. Most people don’t believe we even exist until they actually see it for themselves. It’s kind of like the person who’s quick to believe there are 500 million stars in the sky, but if you tell the same person that a bench has wet paint on it, they have to touch it to make sure. Very, very strange, but human nature itself is strange.
We have several different establishments in the Valley. It’s my personal responsibility to make sure they all run smoothly. We’re one of the biggest employers in this city. I have stacks and stacks of applications from people who are just dying to work here. I have plenty of fine mandingos to back my little ass up if there’s any trouble. They give a whole new meaning to the word bouncers, because I bounce their dicks all the time in my office. Hell, I can’t help but be horny around here. Once I explain what goes on down here, you’ll most surely see my point.
There’s a huge metal gate at the entrance, manned by employees who check your ID to make sure you’re legal. If you are, they’ll let you in so you can walk down the ramp to the underground area. There’s a huge neon sign stretching across the ceiling of the walkway: “Welcome to the Valley of the Freaks.” There’s also a list of rules posted on the wall informing you what type of behavior will and will not be tolerated as well as a warning that no flash photography is allowed. This is very important, since we have to protect our clients; many are famous entertainers and politicians.
Of course, we have the things you might expect like bars and strip joints but ours are a bit different. Off da hook, you might say. We have one club called Fetishes, where we cater to every fetish from a love of sucking toes to a love of eating ass, from a love of drinking breast milk to a love of swallowing sperm. We have a couple of strippers in there who are pregnant and squirt breast milk on the customers while they are dancing. They’ll also squeeze some in a shot glass for $20 a shot. Check this out, though, and I know this will shock you—men are not the only ones who pay for breast milk shots. On the other hand, women are not the only ones with sperm fetishes, since plenty of men pay to drink sperm. You follow?
Whatever the customers want, they get. We have a little cart that looks sort of like a snow-cone cart with bottles of different flavors on it so the customer can choose whichever one they fancy.
We have another strip club called the Pit where women strip down to nothing and then wrestle each other in a big pit filled with mud. Sometimes there are as many as ten women in the pit at a time. Customers are allowed to take the female mud wrestlers on if they like. The Pit is a favorite of the bikers and truckers. Something about crawling around in a grimy substance with naked women turns them on.
Truckers and bikers also love to prove how strong they are, so we have a nightly contest for them to strut their stuff. We took the regular arm-wrestling competition done at most truck stops and biker bars and put a twist on it. The bravest of the brave face off with each other in a Dick-Tug-O-War. The loser generally walks away with a very tender dick, and the winner gets a coupon for a free blow job.
Then there’s Temptation, our biggest strip club and the closest we come to getting normal. There are two separate performance rooms, one where we have female strippers and one where we have male dancers. Most of the housewives and businessmen hang out in Temptation, stuffing dollar bills in the bras, thongs, and bikinis of the dancers. They pay extra to get lap dances. If they really want to come out of pocket, they can get sexed up for real in a back room.
Hmmm, what should I tell you about next? Let’s move on to our sex shop, the Diamond in the Ruff, where you can find any kind of sex toy, lotion, lingerie, or S & M gadget made in the hemisphere today. We pride ourselves on having the largest collection available, and we clock a lot of dollars up in there. People get so horny in the Valley, they often stop by the sex shop on their way to the exit to purchase something freaky to use when they get home.
Next, we have our massage parlor and bathhouse, Different Strokes, where people can get regular massages, hand jobs, clit massages, enemas, douches, whatever floats their boat. They can also rent a room with a hot tub and get their freak on with their date or with one of the employees. We have a lot of police officers who love to get their groove on up in there. Don’t think it’s strange, because the police department makes up at least 10 percent of our overall client base.
We have a porn shop, Indecent Exposure, where we sell every porno movie, magazine and book on the market today. The sign over the counter says, “If You Can’t Find It Here, You Can’t Find It Anywhere!” We mean that shit literally, too. We have it all from books on how to really fuck to pornos featuring farm animals.
We also have booths in Indecent Exposure where you go in, pull the curtain behind you, put a crisp dollar bill in the machine, and get to see a brief trailer of a porno flick before you purchase it.
There are other booths as well where you slide a dead president through a hole in the wall, either a ten, twenty, or fifty, sometimes even a hundred, depending on what you want to see. After you insert the money, the curtain in front of you is raised, and a live naked man or woman appears behind the glass. You can talk to them and tell them what your pleasure is, such as watch them masturbate, watch them fuck themselves with a foreign object, or even have them call another person in the room so you can watch the two of them get it on. Two women, a
man and a woman, two men—whatever’s clever.
For those who want the ultimate memento to take home with them, we let them make a porn movie of their own, with themselves as the star. We have a costume room, makeup artist, the whole nine yards. This is one of the services normally sexually repressed people soak up like gravy. It is their opportunity to prove to themselves and the rest of the world that they can let go of all inhibitions and get downright nasty. Lots of married women make tapes with other women and give it to their husbands as anniversary gifts and stuff like that. Young studs, from college age to about thirty, love to make movies too. They take them home and pop them in the VCR after the football games on Sunday so their buddies can see what a man’s man they are.
We have the Body Bar, where customers are seated at a table and can see the food prepared in front of them. There are a couple of catches, though. All the food served in the Body Bar is room temperature, and instead of being prepared on a grill attached to the table, it’s prepared by a chef on a nude body. That’s right, chile! Customers select a man or woman, and the person disrobes and lies on the table. At that point, everything from sushi to grilled chicken salad is strategically placed on their body by the chef, and the customers use chopsticks to eat the food off of them.
There’s also another restaurant in the Valley, Freedom Café, where customers are required to check all their clothing at the door. It’s a plush restaurant, dimly lit with television screens all along the walls and in every booth as well as a gigantic movie screen in the middle of the dining area. All the screens show the same porno movie, whatever the night’s selection is, at the same time for the customer’s viewing pleasure.
Freedom Café serves everything from hamburgers seasoned with pussy to chef salads tossed with cum dressing. We also have special cakes for those celebrating their birthday with us. The wait staff, also nude, comes to their table to sing “Happy Birthday” to them and present them with a cake. We have cakes shaped like big black dicks and others shaped like black tits. To each his own.
We do have a normal dance club, where people just dance and socialize. It’s called the Freak Dome and it’s mad cool. It has a huge dance floor, and we have nude dancers on pedestals throughout the club. There’s only one requirement to be a dancer in the Freak Dome. You must be over three hundred pounds, or you must be a midget.
The disc jockey in the Dome is one of the best on the East Coast. He has his own morning radio show and works the Dome at night. He never complains because he’s paid very well and never has to go home alone. Women practically throw pussy at him. Hell, I even threw mine at him a time or two.
Well, that about covers it except for the Go-Between. The Go-Between is a little place we have by the exit for those people not fortunate enough to have a lover with them or waiting for them at home. It’s for clients only, and basically what we do is play matchmaker. Customers give the receptionist some quick information, which she types in the computer, telling what they are looking for sexually. She then asks them to have a seat in the waiting room.
After a while, usually within minutes as it nears closing time, a suitable match is located, the two are introduced, and they take it from there. I’ve had several customers write me thank-you notes and send me wedding invitations after meeting their soul mate in the Go-Between. Often the people who leave together are so incredibly horny that they end up having some hellified sex and fall in lust by the time the sun comes up.
The Valley of the Freaks can’t be located in the phone directory or by calling 411. We have no billboard ads on the highway, and we don’t pass out flyers. We don’t need any of those things, because we stay packed. If you really want to check us out, ask enough people, and you’ll be surprised who can give you directions. Your friend, your coworker, your boss, your brother, your sister, your lover. Hell, maybe even your own mother. Bottom line is, seek and you shall find!
Stakeout
His name is Detective Dwayne Stewart, and from the moment we first laid eyes on each other, there was a spontaneous combustion. There was one problem, though. The Police Department has a policy that basically means, when translated, “You can’t shit where you eat!”
I’m also a detective in Homicide, Detective Jessica Minor. I had been a homicide detective in the Fifth Precinct for three years when Dwayne transferred to my unit.
For months, it was easy for us to avoid the inevitable because we were always assigned to different cases. We only held brief, nonchalant conversations and smiled at each other across the room during the weekly meetings held by the captain.
One day everything changed and the lust for each other came crashing in like a Mack truck. I owe it all to one felon, a murderer even. His name was Aaron Redmond, and he was a straight-up son of a bitch.
I drew the case of a woman who had been murdered on her way home from a step aerobics class one night. She left the gym and never got home. About a week later, some boys playing hooky from school discovered her remains in a field behind the junior high school.
Everything about the case smelled like Aaron. He had killed before, was convicted, and served only seven years of a twenty-five-year sentence. They should have locked his ass up and thrown away the key, but due to prison overcrowding, they cut his sentence short so they could get rid of him.
Dwayne was the detective who originally busted his ass in the first case, back when he first became a detective in the Third Precinct. When the latest murder occurred, he was highly upset and frustrated. He and I both agreed it was fucked up they even let a person like Aaron out of jail. They should’ve known he would kill again. Once you’re determined to be a fucking loony bird, that never changes.
That’s how Dwayne and I ended up actually working a case together. I was assigned the task of tracking Aaron down and Dwayne was the person who could help me most in my efforts.
Dwayne and I discussed at length the best way to set a trap. I took his suggestion and agreed to set up a stakeout around the clock. We were going to stake out the home of Aaron’s brother, Kyle. We knew he would show up sooner or later, because his past record proved he loved his baby brother very much. In fact, he did nine months for beating a man almost to death who started an argument with his brother in a bar.
Kyle was a drug dealer, but we weren’t there to bust him for that, since we had bigger shit to worry about. However, once we got our man, bringing his shady ass down would be inevitable. In fact, we were killing two birds with one stone by having a stakeout on him. We would get our killer, and we would have mad surveillance tapes to turn over to DEA agents on his brother.
Dwayne and I got all the necessary paperwork together and approved, arranged to have two other detectives assigned to the case as well, since it would be an around-the-clock operation, and put our plan into action.
Since it was our case, we opted to take the night shift, from 7 P.M. to 7 A.M., and let the other two work days. We didn’t get permission to put live cameras in his place, because the equipment availability is limited and they didn’t consider it a big enough case. Dwayne got hold of a telephone company uniform and had the landlord let him in one day while Kyle wasn’t home to check his line. He placed several bugs throughout the place and in the two telephone receivers. He got out just in time. As soon as he got back to the van where I was waiting for him, Kyle pulled up in his Benz.
Our next task was to find a place to become our base of operations. A van parked outside his apartment building day and night would have stuck out like a sore thumb. After all, drug dealers are no dummies, or they would all get pinched with a quickness.
Kyle was not a big-time drug dealer, so he didn’t have bodyguards and lookouts like most do. He preferred to keep his business on the down-low, having his clients come to his place to buy drugs instead of selling them on a street corner.
We decided to set up the base in a shabby hotel across the street. We told the hotel manager what the deal was, and he gave us a room with a bird’s-eye view of Kyle’s apartm
ent on the third floor. From there we could take photos of some of the activities going on in the apartment. That turned out well during the day, when the other detectives were working. Kyle had a tendency to leave his shades open, and they were able to obtain quite a collection of pictures showing his clientele.
At night, Dwayne and I had to rely mostly on the listening devices. The first couple of weeks were frustrating—not one single Aaron sighting or phone call. Dwayne and I made the best of being stranded together in the cramped hotel room at night. We played cards, ate pizza, watched some television when we could get the stupid thing to work, and talked about everything from rap artists to religion.
Kyle was an interesting character, especially at night. He had a sex life that would put anyone to shame. Almost every night, a woman would show up at his place to give him the nightly fix he desired, and I don’t mean drugs either. It made me feel a little uncomfortable to sit there in the room with Dwayne, listening to all the fuck noises coming from Kyle’s apartment—mainly because I wanted to fuck Dwayne so bad.
Dwayne is so incredibly good-looking, it should be illegal to be that fine. He’s about five-eleven and 185 pounds, light-skinned with black wavy hair and light brown eyes. One night he decided to do some pushups to loosen up because sitting there was tensing up his bones. He took off his shirt, got down on the floor, and started doing them. Watching the muscles contract in his back and ass while he went up and down made my pussy start throbbing and my nipples hard. To make matters worse, Kyle was banging the hell out some woman in his place, and her moans were making my feenin more escalated by the second.
When he got up, he looked at me, saw the perplexed look on my face, and asked me, “What’s wrong?” I told him, “I’m fine, just a bit tired!” I excused myself to the bathroom. I didn’t have to use it. Instead, I sat up on the edge of the sink, put one of my feet on the lid of the toilet seat, and started fingering my pussy with one hand and rubbing my nipples with the other.