Chapter 11
I phoned a family by the name of Simmons and a very cultured woman said to come over that afternoon. She lived in a posh apartment house on Fifty-Seventh and a doorman rang upstairs. "Send her up," a voice said through an intercom and I rode the elevator to the sixteenth floor. I padded along carpeted foyer until I came to her apartment and knocked. The faint odor of incense hovered at the door and when the door was opened a full blast of jasmine exploded from the flat.
"Ah, the government has arrived," my hostess smiled through starkly straight white teeth. "Do come in, Miss.
"Bonno," I replied.
"How nice," she said, ushering me inside.
The woman was in her early fifties, with white, beautiful hair. She wore a long well-tailored housecoat, and pointed with long, artistic fingers to a couch.
"I must have mislaid the form," she apologized with great charm. "Would you like a drink?"
"Thank you, no."
"Then you don't mind if I do," Mrs. Simmons smiled. She walked to a bar and poured herself a tall vodka. A very striking woman, I thought. She could have stepped from the pages of a weekend magazine section describing gracious living.
I began to ask her the usual questions, who the head of the household was, how many persons lived in the dwelling, and so forth, but she seemed to go off on tangents.
"Divorced, so I guess I'm the head of the house," she laughed. "He was a rotten bastard."
I had no spaces to put down such a description and so I just smiled until she came to the end of her tirade against the departed Mr. Simmons-half a drink later.
"I still have a mark from where Jonathon clouted me," she rambled. I was startled when she opened her dressing gown and pointed to a purplish reminder of her connubial bliss high on her inner thigh. She gulped some more vodka and sat with her legs protruding from her half open dress. She began to slur her words and I realized she was an alcoholic.
"You sure you won't have a drink, sweetheart?"
I shook my head and smiled, ready to proceed.
"Y'see, he was very demanding. Didn't give a fig for a woman's sensibilities. Goddamn men ...."
"Then you live here alone," I ventured, trying to get back on course.
"No, I have friends staying here," she said, emphasizing the word friends.
"Boarders?"
"Friends. Would you like to meet them?" Mrs. Simmons queried, on her way to the bar again.
"It's not necessary, if you'll just tell me their names and their relationship to you," I explained.
"The relationship," she repeated bemused. "The dearest friends in the world...."
An eerie smile crossed her eyes and I felt myself shift uncomfortably.
"I want you to meet them. A pretty girl like you has some things in common with them." She leaned over my chair and tinkled the ice in her glass. She had to be withholding something from me, for her demeanor was one of inward satisfaction with some sort of private joke. "They're just in the next room and they're having a party."
Her hand nudged my shoulder and her fingers curled slowly around my arm. "Come see them," she whispered.
I stood uncertainly. She never loosened her grip and we walked to a set of french doors. She pulled a key out of her pocket and slipped it into the ornate lock. I felt as though I were being ushered into very dangerous surroundings.
The door opened and I stood rooted in shock. I stared into a weird fantasy room decked in Indian silks, lounging divans, and colorful peacock feathers. But the decor was the least of the attractions. The animal life held center stage-dogs-beautiful scented Afgan dogs, three in number sat or stood with regal bearing while two exotic women lay half naked on the floor cushions, looking fearfully at my hostess behind me. The dogs wagged their tufted tails slowly. A distinct feeling of menace pervaded the room. I was about to turn when Mrs. Simmons' firm hand pushed me into the room and she stepped in behind me. The click of the door locking sounded like a death knell.
"Where shall we start first, with the bitches or...." she paused and chuckled. "The bitches."
One of the dogs ambled over to me and sniffed with a bored expression. I felt its long pointed muzzle pushing my dress aside.
"This is Celeste," the voice behind me said. The dog was pressing its powerful snout between my legs. "She thinks you have something to offer her."
I laughed nervously and tried to push the dog's head away.
"Celeste, not yet!" Mrs. Simmons' voice cracked. The dog backed off. But the other two huge Afgans were snooping around now.
"Ah, the canine breed. They know when there's something special around. That's Cordelia," she said pointing to a large sleek tan dog, "and Charmian."
Charmian's hard nose was pressed firmly under my skirt trying to push between my tightly clamped legs. Suddenly Mrs. Simmons' hand was planted on my fanny with more than affection.
"Charmian!" my too friendly hostess barked. The dog backed off, but her hand remained where it was.
I was about to suggest she keep her mitts to herself when she laughed. "But you haven't met the girls and they're dying to meet you."
I looked again at the two lounging women. They looked like slave girls or courtesans of some grade C Hollywood epic.
"Indians, you know, Santhan and Rahdza." The two dark-haired beauties registered their acknowledgement by lowering their eyes. The smell of incense was suddenly oppressive.
"Pleased to have met all of you. But I think I've got to be going," I said, turning quickly.
"But you've only just come," Mrs. Simmons said.
"I have a full day of appointments," I countered.
"You really must be reasonable," she continued in her phony-gracious tone. "Or I'll have Celeste and Charmian convince you."
On signal both dogs bared their teeth and I found myself breathing very hard.
"They're trained killers," she said off-handedly.
I didn't doubt it. These beautiful, gentle seeming dogs could have me for lunch and my bones for dessert. Charmian's tongue curled in a yawn and licked its chops as if to prove a point.
"Now, I'm here simply to make a nose count," I said trying to change the subject
"You must have some diversion in your life, my dear." Mrs. Simmons hand was on my fanny again. "You might even provide us with some entertainment The girls get lonely here sometimes."
I glanced at the two Indian girls who couldn't be out of their teens. They lay implacable, staring through thick long eyelashes.
"Rahdza! Make Samantha feel comfortable here."
Instantly the taller of the two girls rose and strode over to me. She was half a head taller than I was with a lithe supple grace to her movements. She leaned over and drilled me with her coal-black eyes. Impassively she took my head in her hands and kissed my lips. I pulled back, but her hands tightened around my jaws and she held me firmly while she pressed her lips deeply against mine. I pushed and realized I had handfuls of her bare breasts.
Still she held on and Mrs. Simmons hand was in my hair pulling me backward. The floor came out from under me and Rahdza covered me completely. Her tongue lashed my mouth and I barely heard Mrs. Simmons call Santha.
But the second girl was yanking off my shoes, while the air waves in my immediate vicinity carried the muffled menacing growls of the agitated Afgans.
"Hurnility is a virtue," Mrs. Simmons proclaimed while Santha and Rahdza methodically stripped me naked. My clothes lay in a little heap and I lay spread-eagled by the firm handiwork of the two dark-skinned beauties. Mrs. Simmons stood over me, her hand tucked underneath her dress, rubbing herself as she spoke.
"Santha, show me Samantha's virtue."
The girl replaced her hands with her bare feet on my ankles and leaned across my open legs to spread the lips of my pussy.
Mrs. Simmons' eyes lit up while Santha's fingers flexed my love lips open and closed.
"A very promising afternoon," the silver-haired woman commented, still massaging her muff.
Santha's fingers continued to knead my fleshy slit and I felt my node begin to blossom under her stimulating squeezes. Her eyes danced as she witnessed the fruits of her labors.
"Very nice," Mrs. Simmons cooed, moving closer to Samantha and touching her cheek with her knee. The young girl caressed her thigh with one hand while she continued to work my clit with diligence.
My body had betrayed me once again as it succumbed to the thrill of my throbbing pussy. Behind me, Rahdza's hands left my wrists and now played like chocolate icing on my breasts.
"Me first, please," Rahdza said in deep, throaty tones. Her eyes pleaded with Mrs. Simmons who was shedding her long dress completely.
"Humility, dear Rahdza," the older woman chided with a musical lilt. She kicked off her shoes and I felt her toes curling against my vulva. "Isn't that right, Samantha?"
Rahdza pinched my nipple, part in frustration, and partly to prod me to answer. "Yes," I said drily.
Mrs. Simmons was remarkably built for a woman of her years. She had long smooth-skinned legs, with hardly the barest hint of an extra ounce of fat on her shapely body. Her breasts still hung firmly and she now fingered her darkish aureoles.
"Samantha will now repay my hospitality by licking my pussy. Won't you, dear?"
The question was entirely rhetorical as she squatted directly over my face. Her two henchwomen resumed their roles as human chains around my ankles and wrists. Her aroma filled my nostrils, a combination of jasmine and her own special odor. She sat facing my legs and her fingers tapped my titties as though in signal for me to begin. I kept my mouth closed.
"I'm a patient woman," she said, shifting her body so her globular fanny moved down. Her anus was now directly above my nose and she made me wish it wasn't.
I heard a tiny puff and felt the hot blast of a fart pepper my olifactory centers.
"I'm patient, but I do have gas, Samantha," she warned.
I tried blowing the foul air away and Mrs. Simmons resumed her original position. "There's much more of that if you're not cooperative," she added.
She controlled all the choices and so I pushed my tongue against her fuzzy vulva.
"You'll have to put more into it," she ordered and I obeyed.
I began lapping her jasmine tang and heard her squeal with pleasure. As long as she was happy, I was safe, and I was safe as long as I probed my tongue through her shorthair into her vagina. She straddled my ribs with her knees and pushed backwards to feel my hot licking tongue penetrate into her moist channel. It wasn't so bad after all and I even began to enjoy the sharp taste of her pungent juices. I suddenly realized my hands and legs weren't being held any longer and so I wrapped my arms around her hips to maintain the tonguing rhythm I had worked up. I bent my knees in the air and realized the woman was being reciprocal as her lips located and helped erect my burning clitoris.
I was as hot as she was and accepted gratefully her long tongue as it slipped between my labia and curled inside my jelly cup.
The woman was a master of the slow, excruciating tempo that made my toes curl with stimulation. I reamed her cunny the harder and felt her quivering flesh come on my tongue. She paused ever so briefly in her labors at my burning vagina to savor her mini-climax, then intruded her tongue once again at her maddeningly slow pace. She moved forward and my mouth was free, cooling with her juices and my spittle.
Rahdza's hand dabbed at my chin to wipe the excess fluids off while Mrs. Simmons continued to give me the works with her tongue. My primed pussy was verging on its explosion and I tensed as I felt myself ready to be brought off. The very floor seemed to tremble as my juices jarred loose at the tip of her tongue.
"Good for starters," the long-limbed woman said, turning around to survey my post-climax glow. "But the hair, my dear, must go."
To illustrate, she clicked her teeth and pulled a hair from her lips. She snapped her fingers and Rahdza left her post for the second.
"A little shave is in order, dear Samantha," my captor murmured, shaking her head.
"Don't you think this has gone far enough," I objected, raising to one elbow.
All three dogs arose and took a step toward me. A warning growl sounded from the depths of their four-legged bodies. I inched back and saw the prize mutts do the same, licking their chops all the while.
"You don't really believe that yourself, do you," the woman chortled satisfied that I had no intentions of trying anything foolish.
Santha smiled in perfect imitation of Mrs. Simmons and slowly unwrapped the sarong that girdled her hips. She dropped the satin fabric and I saw she was shorn of her crotch hair. Her mons veneris puffed out like a baby's and Mrs. Simmons laid a hand on it tenderly. "Much prettier, Samantha. Nicer to the touch," the older woman said softly.
Rahdza doubled as a barber and reappeared with a tray of implements and bowls of water.
"You mustn't move around," Mrs. Simmons cautioned and Rahdza knelt at my side. I gulped and held stiffly motionless.
The silver-haired woman continued to stroke Santha's pubic flesh while my Indian-style Delilah rubbed a sweet-smelling soap onto my flossy vee. She stropped an old-fashioned straight razor and I tried to conceal my terror. One slip and my sex would bleed all over the Persian rug. I lay back and tried not to think of the ugly possibilities. Rahdza rubbed the foaming soap one last time and I felt the razor touch my flesh. My skin crawled with the sensation and I waited to feel the first pull. To my amazement the cold steel glided across the surface of my flesh and I could feel the cooling air cover my suddenly bare mons veneris. Rahdza worked expertly and quickly, clearing every nook and cranny of my privates of the hair that had grown up with me.
I felt myself breathing heavily as the tension drained. Patches of my pussy fur were wiped on the towel on the tray and suddenly it was over. Rahdza splashed some lotion on me and I lurched with the cold sting.
"A very good patient," Mrs. Simmons smiled.
Rahdza dabbed at me with a towel one last time and then removed the gear of her operation. I tentatively touched my privates and was shocked to feel the smoothness of my skin where a brush of hair had grown so recently.
"You would like a nap, now, my dear?"
The one vocal member of the odd trio took my hands and brought me unsteadily to my feet. I was trembling and unprepared for any further shenanigans.
"You may rest on Rahdza's pillows," Mrs. Simmons said, touching my newly shorn crotch to examine her barber's handiwork. "The girls and I will play a game. You may watch if you like, but we will not be offended if your body craves sleep."
I lay on the downy soft cushions and watched Rahdza light a water-pipe that stood in the center of the room. In quick succession the three women drew deeply from the mouthpiece while the bowl bubbled. The acrid odor of hashish pervaded the room. They fell into a dreamy contentment doing things almost in slow motion. Rahdza had unwrapped her sarong and lay with her belly touching Santha's. Her bare pubis puffed out and touched the equal member of her partner.
Mrs. Simmons sat like a queen bee at their heads, stroking first their hair and then her thighs as she squatted Indian-fashion.
The two dark-limbed girls ran their fingers along each other's sides. The three seemed in another world and my thoughts drifted to some means of escape while they were entranced with each other.
The dogs seemed to sense what was on my mind. They sat or lay with their heads pointed in my direction, ever alert. I wouldn't get three feet to the door before they would sink their fangs into my leg. I lay my head on the pillow, unwilling and afraid to tempt them. Unconsciously I ran my fingers over my bare crotch, amazed to feel the smoothness of the area.
The three stoned women continued to stroke each other's body. Rahdza became sexually aroused and ground her pelvis into Santha. Mrs. Simmons looked on in approval and tapped her shoulder. It was a sign for the ginger-skinned girl who shaved me to rise.
She stood and I realized that I was the center of attention again. What now?
Rahdza provided the answer by kneeling and running her long fingers from my toes to my breasts. I stared uncomprehending while she silently raised gooseflesh on my tense body. Then she lay on top of me and put my arms around her back.
"You love ... me ... me," she whispered in halting deep tones.
She wiggled her smallish breasts against mine and her knee dug between my legs. Her lips fell on mine and she closed her eyes as she pressed my head into the cushion. She was full of passion while I was completely cold. But I feigned responses to her supple flesh, gyrating my hips to feel her knee pushing against my vulva. My eyes were open and I saw Santha entranced by a feather Mrs. Simmons waggled against her flexing slot. Santha's lips were parted around the older woman's breast. I stared hard trying to become aroused by them, but my body was somewhere else. The dogs were dividing their bored attention amongst the four of us.
I feigned more responses, groaning and appearing to turn on with Rahdza's scented body. Slowly, I shifted my weight so we both lay side by side. I played the active role, to her delight, fondling her velvety breasts and buttocks, until she lay on her stomach digging our flesh contact. I slipped my fingers between her anal crease and saw that she was being driven pleasantly crazy.
If ever there was an opportunity to escape this was it. I was sure that if I pulled hard enough the French doors would open. The dogs seemed preoccupied. It had to be now.
I faked a lascivious laugh as I tickled between Rahdza's cheeks and lunged off toward my clothes.
I barely saw the dogs leap. But suddenly I was on the floor being bitten by Mrs. Simmons' bitches. All three held an appendage of mine in their jaws. I lay still not to have my flesh ripped from me.
"Shame!" Mrs. Simmons shouted.
Which was precisely what I felt after my bungled attempt. She called the dogs off and turned Rahdza loose on me. My one-sided soul mate didn't take too kindly to my attempts to vacate. I saw stars as she slapped me across the mouth. The depth of her anger at my sudden flight was boundless, for she slashed and slapped mercilessly. My face wasn't the only target, either. Her venomous hands clawed at my breasts while my head swam. I was helpless as Santha dragged me by the hair across the floor and back to Rahdza's palette.
"We have to teach some manners," Mrs. Simmons' voice chortled from far away. Somewhere in my head a mammoth bell clanged with a deafening roar. I stopped listening when the first crack of Mrs. Simmons' riding crop seared my belly. I doubled up to protect myself and the Indian girls pried me apart. Again I was forced into a vulnerable spread eagle on my back and the woman had her way. She whipped me until I passed out. At least, I assume she stopped after I went blank.
I have no idea of how long I was out. When I opened one puffy eye the room was darker but the young girls were tending to business. My friendly whip-wielder was not present, it seemed, while Santha was in Rahdza's saddle with a large dildo strapped on, beating the taller girl into a frenzy of stimulation.
Santha suddenly caught my eye and stopped pumping. I clamped my lid shut and heard them muttering unintelligibly. I was in for it now with Mrs. Simmons off somewhere, the Lesbian sisters had a live one-barely alive but that made no difference to them.
My body was aching with the torture the leather crop had wreaked. But Rahdza was ever ready to get in her licks. She sat with glee on my face. Her moist, aroused pussy pressed to my lips. I was too weak to offer any resistance. I pushed my tongue through my swollen lips into her damp. Santha had another thing going for her. She spread my legs and I felt her stab the dildo into my dry slot. She pushed the hard rubber with sadistic joy while my vagina held fast.
Rahdza yanked on my hair and I obediently commenced licking her oozing pussy while Santha pumped steadily through my punished cunt. She picked up speed as my membranes became glutinous almost out of self-defense and she ripped through deep into my belly. Her greedy avidness was actually a boon, for she knocked the giggling Rahdza to one side and my mouth was again free. The tall chick didn't seem well coordinated at all and I realized that they were both very high on hashish.
Rahdza crawled to the center of the room and dragged the hookah to the side of my head. She scooped a small shovelful of the powdered drug from a gaily decorated canister and dropped it into the bowl of the water-pipe. She shoved a curious dog away from the stash box and lit the burner. She drew deeply on the mouthpiece of the hose and then pushed it into my mouth. Santha continued to pump the dildo. I inhaled once and coughed in my dyke lover's face. She never missed a beat and sucked some of the hash smoke through the bubbling pipe.
Rahdza tried to get back on top of my face, but she was unsteady on her knees and toppled over, laughing uncontrollably. Santha dragged again on the water-pipe and became infected with Rahdza's giggles. She stopped pumping and I felt the jiggling dildo shake with her laughter. Chuckling childishly, Santha poked the mouthpiece between Rahdza's thighs just to the side of my head. She reamed her sister's pussy with the unconventional mini-prick. But Rahdza was wrecked, not even able to respond to the gyrating mouthpiece. She lay, numbed by the hash and dead to the world while Santha poked and muttered. Finally the novelty wore off for her and she pulled off me petulantly. She took a last drag on the hookah and staggered over to her pillows where she collapsed.
The potent hash had taken its toll, sending them on a high that brought their bodies to an exhausted state. They lay, a mass of dusky tangled arms, legs and raven hair.
The dogs rearranged themselves after witnessing the bizarre behavior of the twosome. I shut my eyes and was grateful for the peace. Suddenly, I flashed on an idea.
I was sore as blazes, but I leaned over to the box with the powdered hashish. The dogs watched my every move. I removed the embossed cover to the canister and sifted my fingers though an alarming amount of the illegal substance. I scooped out a palmful and held it aloft. A moment of indecision followed. But Charmian was the most adventurous of the sleek Afgans. Guardedly she trotted over and thrust a tongue into my palm. She sneezed and recoiled. But this mutt knew class stuff when she smelled it and so she returned to lick my palm. I dug my hand into the canister again and now Charmian had company. The dog ate it as though it were canine ambrosia. They made pigs of themselves getting into the canister and consuming what I was sure was a few hundred dollars worth of hashish. If it had a tenth of the effect I hoped it would have the local Afgan population would become stoned enough to sleep.
Minutes passed and it began to look like no such effect was forthcoming. They nipped at each other playfully, jumping over the sleeping girls. I began patting Celeste on the head. Earlier she would have taken my hand off at the wrist.
Now the big dog was in puppy heaven, looking dreamy-eyed. Her tongue hung from her chops. The other two dogs began to run out of steam at the same time. They both lay on cushions and slowly their heads sank to their paws. Celeste was in a state of catatonia, rolling her eyes.
I couldn't wait any longer. I pulled myself to my knees. My head was splitting and my body was a mass of welts. But I couldn't stop now. I walked unsteadily, but unmolested to my heap of clothing. The longer I moved about freely, the stronger I seemed to feel. I quickly put on my blouse and skirt. The other inmates of the room hadn't stirred from their drug-induced sleep. A stab of pain shook me and I itched to crack the vicious Mrs. Simmons across her mocking mouth. A light glowed on the other side of the French doors and I knew my captor had to be on that side. Trying any other way out of the room but the French doors was the height of folly as Indian screens blocked the windows to the ceiling.
Then I spied an honest-to-goodness Saracen scimitar hanging on one screen. Here was my defense. I pulled it from the decorative ribbon and tried the doors. Naturally, they were locked. I envisioned Mrs. Simmons on the other side. "Probably separating her pubic hairs," I thought angrily, owing her one more for the part she played in the great hair removal of Samantha Bonno.
Now was the time. I calmly took aim with the handle of the scimitar and shattered the pane of glass nearest the doorknobs. The shards clattered to the floor and I turned the handles. A glance over my shoulder eased my mind as the drug stupor still held every living creature behind me.
I opened the door and stood face to face with Mrs. Simmons, looking as respectable as a Victorian dowager.
"Why, young lady, you broke the glass."
"I should make you eat it," I snapped, waving the sword for her to move aside.
"What have you done to my girls," she bellowed suddenly, alarmed for the first time.
"Why don't you find out," I suggested. I was dripping with vitriol for this insane creature. She edged around me to go into her fantasy room. I beat a hasty path to the front door, rode the elevator down, and handed the scimitar to the amazed doorman.
I rushed home and called the police.
"The biggest supply of hashish you're likely to capture," I said anonymously. "Just ask the doorman for Mrs. Simmons and you'll all get promotions." I gave the address and hung up. Then I called the Census Bureau. Nobody home after hours, naturally, so I called my unit leader and told her I quit as of that afternoon.
Davina Loomis, my unit leader, and an at liberty actress too, sighed and accepted my resignation. I fell into bed and slept soundly.