Chapter 15
I must have a very oversexed nature, because even though I had passed out I started to dream again. And it was right at the point that I had left off, fondling the naked Mr. Vellick's bullprick. There was something about him that had made quite an impression on me, and there I was holding its hard head right in my hand. I was fascinated as I felt his growing, throbbing dong stiffen, and saw drops of seminal "gladcome" drop from his peehole. I wanted to please him further and began to kiss the hairy nipples of his chest. I roamed downward slowly and mouthed his muscle-ridged belly. I darted my tongue into his hairmatted navel and felt him wince with pleasure. Then I boldly curled my lips around the real object of my desire and began to give his cock-head some real rhythmic kicks, taking it dqwn my throat . . .
Suddenly things turned nightmarish. It seem ed that his hardening head seemed to keep growing, expanding . . .
"Help," I heard myself gasping, "I can't breathe, I'm choking, I'm choking!"
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on some sort of a couch in a real fancy room all hung with Oriental type drapes. I raised my head. I was still stark naked. I raised my eyes. A huge, sallow-faced man in an Oriental costume with a big turban on his head was standing at the foot of the couch staring right up my pussy. I pulled my legs together, closing off the view.
I looked at him. He looked back. The hell with him, I thought. Either I was dead and dreaming, or I was alive and dreaming, or I was alive and not dreaming -in which case he'd most likely stick something red-hot at me -but in any case I'd had enough. The hell with him, whoever he was. I stuck my tongue out at him.
He grunted, bowed, then turned and walked out of the room.
I shook my head, sat up, put my feet on the floor, shook my head again and then looked around. I considered matters. Most likely I wasn't dead. At least aside from a mild headache and a slight chill in my cunny from that draft while I was hanging, I felt normal. Also, there weren't any noticable holes in my stomach or elsewhere, so most likely Jack hadn't gotten to skewer me after all. So far, so good. Now the question was, where was I?
"Good evening, child," said a smooth sophisticated female voice from behind me. "Welcome to the Tabernacle of Cosmic Consciousness."
I turned around. A girl was standing, smiling at me, her hands resting lightly on her hips. And what a girl. She must have been a good six feet tall, with real thick, gleaming black hair -blue-black, really -that fell in smooth, rippling waves amost to her hips. Her eyes were very big and set far apart. Strange eyes, kind of purple violet and shimmering.
She was built good, too. I could tell that easily on account of she was ninety-nine percent naked. Her skin was incredibly smooth -almost glossy looking -and reddish-gold all over.
Her costume, what there was of it, was real jazzy-looking. Below the waist all she had on was a tiny pussy-covering of woven gold cloth, held in place by a thin gold cord around her waist. Aside from that, all she was wearing was some gold bracelets on her wrists and a real classy gold choke collar. From the collar projected two gold shoulder tabs -epaulettes, I guess you call them-. And from the middle of each epaulette dangled half-a-dozen woven gold cords that hung in a sort of fringe over her breasts and nipples.
I say "sort of a fringe because, while the dangling cords would have just covered her breasts if she'd been flat-chested, this chick was anything but flat, chest-ornament wise. Consequently her tits thrust right out like two huge, golden-red fruits being shoved through a beaded curtain. It made her shapely knockers look, well, startlingly naked. Which was no doubt why she wore the costume.
The only other thing she was wearing was a real wild thing on her head -sort of a pagoda-like crown, also of gold.
She saw me gaping at her costume and smiled. "No, I am not a fugitive extra from a re-make of Daughters of the Nile-These are my working clothes. A sampling of them, at least. I've just come from conferring -with a couple of new, uh, converts."
"Converts?" I asked. "Is this place a -a religious organization?" For one wild moment I won dered if the Salvation Army had a "hippie" uniform for their New York outposts.
She smiled again. "You might call this a religious organization, honey. A pagan religious organization, at least. Not to mince words, honey, I'm in the phony cult racket. And that's why I had you brought here, honey. I'd like to have you join the Order." She reached up, took off her pagoda-like gold headdress and set it down on a table with a thump. "Damn thing weighs a ton," she complained. She stuck out her hand. "My name's Sibyl," she said. "You're Dee Dee, aren't you?"
"Yes ma'am," I said. "And it's an honor to meet you," I added, kissing the back of her hand. I know a high-class dame when I see one, especially when she's saved me from red-hot steel up my asshole.
"Come on," she said. "Let's go in the living room and have something to eat and a slug of gin. You must be starved."
And with that she turned on her heel and strode across the room. I followed her From the rear she looked almost a hundred percent naked. Just the gold cord around her waist. Like I mentioned, she was a much bigger girl than I am, and a lot of her bigness was in her hips. She had a super-colossal ass, with big, rounded, nicely shaped buttocks to match. And notwithstanding that she was obviously much older than I was -maybe twenty-four or five she'd kept her shape pretty well.
She had a real elegant walk, too -one that caused her ass to sway sensuously from side to side, with a little ripe quiver of flesh at the end of each stride-One day, I told myself, I'd learn to walk like that. As it is, my buttocks just bounce up and down when I walk -they don't roll and gyrate the way I wish they would.
I followed her through an archway hung with gold-beaded curtains, and then we were in her living room. And what a living room!
It must have been about fifty feet wide and a hundred feet long -and three or four people would have to stand on each others shoulders to reach the ceiling. The walls were mostly white, by which I mean they'd been painted white originally, and then bright whirls and splashes of different colored paints had been sort of flung at them.
There were big, soft carpets all over the floor, and dozens of soft, comfortable-looking silk cushions scattered around on top of the carpets. Except for a kind of sawed-off coffee table, there wasn't any other furniture in the room.
Sibyl sprawled on some cushions near the low table and clapped her hands together. The big guy in the Oriental costume and turban came into the room through another dorway. "Some hot grub for two, a bottle of gin and two glasses, Sardar," said Sibyl. "And make it snappy." Sardar bowed and went out.
"My he's big," I said.' He must be almost eight feet tall. He kind of reminds me of a character in this comic strip about an orphan girl. Is he a real Hindu?"
"No," said Sibyl, lighting two cigarettes and handing me one. "Not to disillusion you -or, rather, specifically disillusion you, since you may come to work here -but the fact is Sardar Parker to give him his full name, is a mentally retarded pituitary giant from Binghamton, New York. He was once a wrestler. I bought him for a hundred dollars, mostly for laughs -and few kicks" -she winked at me in a friendly but lewd sort of way -"and then dressed him up in that outlandish costume when I opened this temple. He lends atmosphere to the place and acts as my personal bodyguard."
Sardar Parker marched back into the room carrying a huge golden tray laden with bowls of steaming food. Also a bottle of gin and two glasses He set the tray down on the table and smiled in a stupid sort of way.
Sibyl yawned. "In a primitive, anjmal sort of way Sardar is devoted to me," she told me. "I can do anything to him and he just smiles. Watch. Give me your paw -I mean hand, Sardar."
Sardar stuck out his hand. Sibyl said, "Thank you," and slowly stubbed out her burning cigarette in his palm. His eyes rolled and he made some choking and groaning sounds, but he managed to keep smiling -and in an adoring sort of way.
"Thank you," said Sibyl. "Now get lost." He backed out of the room, bowing and smiling.
"My," I said. "Uh, doesn't he ever talk?"
"No," said Sibyl. "He used to, but I inadvertently backed him into a linguistic dead-end. You see, after he'd been wearing that silly dhoti and turban for a few weeks, he became convinced he really was a giant Hindu slave. As a Hindu slave, of course, he naturally wouldn't speak English. On the other hand, since he came from Binghamton, New York, he naturally can't speak Hindustani. Hence the poor bastard now can't say anything in two languages."
"How -how incredible," I said, spooning hungrily into the bowl of food in front of me. Chow mein, it was.
"Life," said Sibyl cheerfully, "is full of incredible things. That's what makes it worth living." She gestured at the Chinese food on the table. "Hope you don't mind this junk. On the cook's night out we lean heavily on the Chinese restaurant across the street." She poured both glasses full of gin. "Have a really dry martini," she said, sliding one glass toward me.
We both drank. "Now," said Sibyl, refilling our glasses, "suppose you tell me your story. Keeping it as factual as possible.
So, in between eating and drinking gin, I told her my story. As factually as seemed advisable. Like, I told her that I'd run away from home on my seventeenth birthday, which I had. And I told her that, after some colorful type hump-adventures, I'd fallen in with bad company -which was also true. But I didn't see any point in admitting that, through no fault of my own, I'd killed several people I simply said that, through having fallen in with bad company, things had gotten too hot for me down South.
I told her in detail about what had happened after I'd hit New York, even getting fucked by Victor Vellick's huge cock, because I figured she could check that real easy. As it turned out, she already had checked -so it was a good thing I was so honest and straight-forward.
"As it happens," Sibyl told me, lighting another cigarette and pouring us more gin, "I've already checked your recent history -at least back to Victor Vellick, the modelling agent, and through his files to your rather quaint landlady. Their phone conversations bear out your brief but sordid screw story. I'm glad you've been so honest and straightforward with me."
"Thank you," I said. "There's just one question I'd like to ask you -namely, how good a friend are you of that horrible creep Jack Beauchamp?
"He's not a friend at all," said Sibyl, blowing a perfect smoke ring. "Jack is simply a business acquaintance. He's very good at creating special effects, and some of the most ingenious, uh, gimmicks in this temple are of his design. I called on him tonight for purely business reasons. My Continental was just pulling into his driveway when you came dashing so nakedly toward my car. Followed, even more dramatically, by Jack, brandishing a crude but lethal-looking pitchfork."
"It didn't just look lethal," I protested," it was lethal. And he was going to stick it in me."
"Most likely," agreed Sibyl. "However, he didn't. After you fainted Sardar deftly disarmed Jack -who, I must say, looked quite ludicrous in that outlandish costume he was wearing.
"After Sardar whirled him around his head a few times and choked him just a little, Jack gasped out a lame story to the effect that you were a burglar and he'd been chasing you to regain his lost property."
"That's silly," I said. "Would I go out burgling with no clothes on?"
"An obvious loophole in his story," agreed Sibyl. "Even before hearing your own version of events, I surmised the true facts -that Jack, egotistical egomaniac that he is, had decided to produce a sadistic stag movie the hard way. Hard, that is, for the voluptuous and naked females he intended to, uh, utilize."
"That's what he was planning on doing, all right," I agreed. "Boy, I'd sure like to get even with him. Maybe I should write an anonymous letter to the cops or something."
"You could do that," agreed Sibyl, yawning and stretching her big, shapely ass langorously on her cushions. "But, lacking your horribly tortured corpse as evidence -whst could be proved? How much more sensible -and profitable -to give dear Jack a little more time and, huh, rope."
"Huh?" I said.
"Consider. Partially choked and intimidated as he is now, Jack will no doubt content himself with throwing darts at photographs of naked pussy and grinding out run-of-the-mill cunt movies. But before long his warped egomania will reassert itself. He will again plan to produce a realistic twat movie. He will do more than plan -he will take action." "He will?"
"Of course. He will lure a trusting voluptuous teenage girl to his studio. He will drug her, strip her pussy-naked, string her up and -shoot one or two sequences of his realistic sadistic movie. Then another trusting, naive but voluptuous teenage girl. And another and another until his epic of cunt, cock and blood is finished."
"That's what the monster will do if we don't stop' him," I agreed.
"But supposing," said Sibyl, stretching lazily and idly scratching her left tit, "supposing we do nothing -until he has completed and released his realistic pussy film. It will, of course, be an instant success in the stag circuit. Its viewers will marvel at his obscene and horrible special effects -little surmising that no special effects have been employed. Jack will clean up. And then, then we will step in -and black mail him. Half for you, half for me."
"Hey," I said. "What a wonderful and profitable idea"
"Quite," said Sibyl. "And the, uh, implications of the plan do not disturb you?"
As I blithely answered, "No," Sibyl smiled and languidly let her hand drop to my right nipple.
"I have an idea that you'll make a good member of The Order," she said. "Would you like to become a Primary Cuntess?"
When I nodded, Sibyl was soon completely nude beside me. I was pleasantly thrilled when her sensuous mouth kissed me full on the lips. Then I really began to get a hot moist pussy as her mouth and tongue started on my titties. Sibyl's lips on my nip pies and the delicate flicking of her tongue made them stiffen into jutting pink erectness. As she kept nibbling each titty exciting shudders began to whip through my body and I couldn't help grinding my ass and my pussy. Sibyl's strong hands caressed and kneaded my thighs and buttocks until I invited her hand further by parting my thighs and exposing my glistening wet vaginal orifice. She rubbed two fingers gently up and down the outer lips and then while they were wet with my pussy-juice, put them in her mouth.
My cunny f quirmed with mounting desire as she then kissed my >elly, and then Sibyl suddenly zoomed her questing lips down on my blonde bush and tongued my button-hard clitoris. The feel of her lips and hot, darting tongue right up my vaginal hole gave me searing pleasure. I let out a happy scream as she brought me to a sharp, bliss-laden come that made my crack convulse in thrilling tremors, drenched with cunny-juice.
"You are now a Primary Cuntess, Dee I}ee," she smiled up at me.