Chapter 13
"Oooooooh ... Billy-san ... do it again ... please!.." Night. Quiet. Dark. In a woman's apartment.
Billy and the woman, in bed, making it, his Number One securely stuck inside her quivering cunt, stimulating her sweet juices, making her erotic feelings come out.
It was about a week after the opening night of Soul Nation. And, one week, less one day, after the closing night of Soul Nation.
No, the cops hadn't closed Billy's club down.
He had.
Closed it down into a "private" club, where all sorts of erotic and sexual adventures could be had, but only by a very restricted membership list. And, those who were lucky enough to get on that list had to hand out heavy bread, much loot indeed, before they were even considered for membership. The press stories and photos of the opening night incident had really sparked interest among the entire populace of Japan, not just Tokyo alone. For, the Japanese are a sexually permissive nation, and sometimes sexually kinky as well.
In short, the resident Orientals had dug that crazy
scene, and Billy had "converted" his club and walked away with a big bundle in the process. He'd "sold" his club to a syndicate of Japanese investors, all big businessmen from some of the largest corporations in the country, who wanted the place for selected employees of theirs—including, of course, themselves.
"Uuuuh ... more, Billy-san ... more! ..."
Her moans seemed to blend with the blues in the background, being hollered out by no one less than B. B. King, one of Billy's right on favorites. As if B.B.'s guitar was goosing him, he pressed his chest hard against the girl's lovely, squishy breasts, feeling the flesh temporarily give way and the nipples nail into his skin.
Her clit was nestling against his stomach, neatly finding its place in his navel. He moved his stomach slightly, and she began to moan with that sweet sexy sound that means he was striking pretty close to home. He had her down on her back in bed, in the good old traditional position this time. But, with the most basic of B.B.'s blues playing in the background—what could be more natural?
He could feel the King's rhythms getting into his soul, and his body began to move in accompaniment. He noticed that she was twisting, too, keeping that rock-hard beat with her body, while her mouth sought his ears and her tongue began to stab into his eardrums. He started nudging her cunt with his cock, moving it around slightly, changing positions just a fraction of an inch so that all the membranes in her sweet hole were being equally stimulated.
She responded by biting him on the earlobe.
He responded to that by swinging his head around and biting her on the upper lip.
She made some yelping sound, as if he'd really hurt her, which of course he hadn't. He clamped his teeth around her lower Hp next, carefully squeezing his mouth shut so his teeth merely grazed the fleshiness of her lower lip.
Then he withdrew and gave her a good hard smack on the mouth.
With his lips.
She could feel the strength of his mouth against hers, and she tried to French him first. But he was too fast, too quick for her. His tongue snaked out and smacked against her teeth, pushing them open. He got his tongue into her mouth, touching the tip of her tongue, pushing it back, further back into her sweet sucking mouth, using his tongue like a tennis racket, batting back at her, his tongue reaming and creaming all over her mouth membranes, forcing her to sort of suck his tongue as he Frenched her hard and fast.
While, at the same time, Number One was taking care of serious business a bit further down.
He had gotten her going into orgasm by now, and her haunches were vibrating up and down on the bed springs, her back arching toward his, her hands clutched hard around the firmness of his tough ass. He could feel her fingernails doing their digging into his flesh, but there was no pain connected with that, he didn't flinch an inch.
Those big boobs of hers were really banging against his chest, as her arching back pushed her torso toward him, their chests together as if one. He could feel the hard, pointed nipples biting into his skin, almost cutting loose some of his chest hairs.
She was indeed a wild one when she was going on this way, and she was really getting it on.
Her entire body seemed to be the embodiment of one gigantic orgasm, and now, as he Frenched her, she was trying to swallow his tongue and hers both.
Far out, he thought . .. this chick is a sister and a half...
Number One was feeling pretty firm inside her, and his balls were in their usual state of precoital agitation. No question, he was ready and steady.
To strike, and strike hard; that would be next.
He was breathing a mixture of perspiration and perfume, listening to a sound stream of her moans and B.B.'s lusty blues. Of course, he could easily make it without music, but it wouldn't be half the fun. Music made the balls grow big, the cock grow hard; and the cunt become that much more lubricated and accommodating, too.
Her orgasms were so intense that she was like a flying comet, burning herself up the closer she got to Father Earth, the latter in the position of Billy Jones.
Bang her, Billy, said a strange little voice inside his skull. Bang her beautiful, baby—and bang her now!
The voice was right. The cunt was ready.
Right at the crest of a magnificent orgasmic expression that she had created—Billy came.
Rat-a-tat-tat, one round after the other, his cock let loose its stinging sperm, stabbing her pussy like a knife. She clutched him closer, her skin evaporating into his, trying to become one. He kept on firing off his rounds, blast after blast, feeling her body receive them and buckle after each one as she felt him exploding like a land mine inside her. Her
membranes struggled to stimulate his exertions even more, and after he'd finally shot his load and was quiet again, she was still goosing her juices, drenching both of them with pussy juice and perspiration.
The blues continued in the background.
Both lay still, still stuck in each other's arms.
Billy Jones.
And Miriam Henderson.
Not Sunny. When she left the club that night after Takitoshi's fucked-up performance, she had really split for good. For whatever reasons. She hadn't told him, because she'd just packed up and moved out, and that was that. No one knew where she was. He had no way of knowing what unfathomable Japanese logic had worked its way inside her psyche, and caused her to cut out.
Well, he was cutting out, too.
In a couple of hours, both he and Miriam would be headed for the airport, ready for a Japan Air Lines flight to New York. Yes, they were both going home again, black brother and black sister. Back home, where they belonged. No more gaijins (foreigners) in a foreign country.
But, not exactly back to Harlem poverty, either.
No, not hardly. Not with what Billy had collected from the sale of his club, and the bread Miriam could get from her bourgeois family. No, they'd five in style, in a town-house on the Upper East Side, where Billy would set himself up in business and make plenty more bread where the other came from. What kind of business? Well, that was Billy's secret, for now. But with all the cool tricks and expertise he'd picked up in Japan—it would be a business that would bring in plenty of customers with lots of loot, make no mistake about that
He started to pull out. "Where do you think you're going, honey?" "Got a plane to catch, baby, don't you remember?"
"We got time for one more." "Have we?"
He felt her cunt lips close about his relaxed cock again, and the way they were moving and grooving, the way Number One seemed to start responding, all he could say was:
"Right on."