Chapter 5
Wild pink slash slippery in his recent memory, Buckminster Black danced a few jigsteps. Bull shit bounced like a sack of baubles. Shrinking skein of scrotum drew up tight in his underbelly like a nut shell.
Perhaps Buckminster's balls were telling him something. Saying to him, "Do you really like the flavor of the witch's cuntbrew you and the rich-bitches are getting into? The word is this: When in doubt, brother dude, get out. And if you can't do that-at least curl up your cock and balls beneath your belly and protect yourself." Well, well.
Was Buckminster going nuts?
Or were his nuts going--?
Buckminster strolled across the graywashed wooden planking of the sundeck. Checked for indications of Cassandra's whereabouts.
He squeaked a walk toward the swinging screen vestibule door set into the side of the glass slats faceting the dome of the nearby greenhouse.
Peeked inside.
Spied Cassandra, stripped to her mildly tanned hide, watering plants and uttering birdcalls.
"Oh, Buckminster," she cried, squinting her eyes over the spray of insecticide. "Come on in. Be sure to shut the door, will you? Don't want the birdies to fly out."
"This an aviary too?"
He had a jaunt to his march.
An arch to one eyebrow.
"Nice cockatiel," he said as a greenish-white crested parakeet tweeted in flight. "They're frail, aren't they?"
Cassandra tittered as the bird alighted on her extended finger. "This one's a robust little chick anyway. Capable of putting up a good fight."
"Any cock could tell you that one."
"As I presume you should know. However, I take it you're here primarily to talk about something besides birds."
"I like talking birds-"
"So let me-"
Cassandra kissed the cockatiel on its beak and sent it twittering among the overhanging branches.
"Hang on a sec, Buckminster. Got to shut the waterworks down. Meanwhile fetch yourself up something to drink if you'd like. Under the table by the loveseat."
"Got any cups?" Buckminster said as he inspected a clear jug half-filled with a liquid the color of chamomile tea.
"You don't want that stuff," Cassandra said. "It's nectar for the hummingbirds."
"Hmmmmm hmmm hm," Buckminster emitted from between tight lips.
He shot his tongue toward the jug of hummingbird nectar, raised his eyebrows and watched Cassandra's smile in response.
Dark soil striped her face.
Sweat streaked her tawny body from her underarms to her waist.
Cassandra looked less like a wood nymph than a pig in a poke.
Still and all, her jugs were no joke.
Tits jigged in time as Cassandra ran her fingers between them, wiping sweat as though it might make a difference.
"You'll have to take it straight from the bottle," Cassandra said. "We are destitute of manners here, I'm afraid."
Buckminster twisted a champagne bottle into his teeth. Breathed up a cottony ball of bubbly into his craw and swallowed.
"Thirsty boy," Cassandra chattered.
"Save you some?" he gurgled.
"Should be another bottle icing there in the bucket," Cassandra said, absently tweaking a nipple with her thumb.
The cork soles of her high-heeled espadrilles oinked wetly as she slithered her toes through the soil and gravel.
The high heels plumped her assmeat out like a plover breast. A streak of peaty liquid snaked from her buttocks break.
Cassandra sat her wet fanny onto a quilted pillow on a wrought-iron loveseat that sat beneath an archway constructed of peaty bark profuse with cunt-like blooms of hybrid orchids the size of a woman's pompadour.
"Hot in here," Cassandra said. "Excuse my use of the bucket."
She picked up the ice bucket and rubbed its coolness to her sweltering tummy. Sat it onto her lap, oozing her thighs apart.
Cassandra next clicked on the flame of a decorative blowtorch brazier that rested on the clear glass top of the white-painted cocktail table beside her. Using her fingernails, Cassandra sliced a minuscule wedge from a cake of pitch-like gum displayed on a saucer held aloft by a jade statuette of a seemingly self-satisfied nude of ambiguous gentler.
She spread a serving of the black resin into the recess of a shallow brass cup affixed to one end of a slim bamboo tube.
Cassandra then inserted the tiny pipebowl into the brazier's flame and sucked deeply on the narrowly tapering brass mouthpiece that shanked the opposite end of the hollow reed pipestem.
Her boobs rose and fell.
Nipples achingly hard.
Tempting for the touch.
"I like the opium pipe," Buckminster remarked.
"So do I," Cassandra said. "A curiosity I picked up in a Hong Kong junkstore."
A wisp of black smoke feathered from the pipe. Cassandra nicked the pipestem against the rim of the table, nudging a tumble of ashes out into the gravel. She pressed another gooey dollop into the pipebowl as she breathed out a whisper of invisible fumes through her pulsing nostrils.
"By any chance, Buckminster, are you familiar with Oriental calligraphy?"
"Somewhat-on a conversational level."
"Know where this pipe was made?"
"See the way the symbols line up vertically along the bamboo stem? That's Shanghai style, circa 1919."
"Really?"
"Could be. Or a copy. Can't tell. Been used a lot, though."
"Smoke?"
"Thanks. But not right now. I was okay with the fuzzwine-"
Cassandra dredged the dripping magnum of pink champagne from within the ballast of the silver ice bucket.
She shot some froth down her gullet.
Passed the oversized bottle to Buckminster's waiting fingertips as he sat in a wobbly chair across from her.
Their hands touched.
Cassandra grinned like a gunman.
Edgy and tough.
"How's the investigative front, Buckminster? Anything show up?"
"Your sisters here-uh-seem to have a kind of fixation with my ethnicity."
"You find that odd?"
"Bunch of white women hot for my bod."
"I'd gather not so odd."
"It's something I did notice. No more, no less than an observation."
"Any luck elsewhere?"
"After my chat with your assistant Danielle, she was eager to tour me through the cliff house. Plenty of places to hide-but no pearlies."
"Surprised?"
"Not at all."
"Your clothes look rather damp-uncomfortably so, if I do say, Buckminster. Been yachting?"
"Little round of water sports with your friend Roxanne. When I interviewed her poolside-well, I guess I just got wet."
"I'll bet the little snit pulled you into the pool with her. She's like that."
"Thanks for warning me."
"I figured you'd make out okay with her anyway."
"Reet."
"Anything pop up at all."
"No pearls.
"Were the girls of any actual help to you?"
"Oh, yes. They helped eliminate some obvious doubts about the pearls' whereabouts." He slugged away at the bottle again. "And they also more or less pointed the way I maybe should pursue this gig. Conceptually, anyhow."
"But no leads."
"Correcto."
"Clues?"
"No clues."
"Given up?"
"I haven't given up. What's your guess?"
"That's your department." Cassandra sucked on the pipe. "So why don't we get to some more of your undoubtedly learned and fertile ideas-about the pearls. Unless you're more interested in discoursing on opium pipes or parakeets."
"Maybe later you want me to discuss orchids?"
"Only if they're hybrid." Cassandra looked up dreamily into her forehead. "I have no interest in anything pure."
She yawned as she crossed her ankles, extending her long gams toward Buckminster.
"But-of course! To the marbles. They could be out of here." He took another swig. "But I don't think that's-likely."
Buckminster popped out a cigarette. Stowed it between his choppers. He bent close to Cassandra, smelling her rising rut as he lit the cig in the opium brazier.
"Didn't know you smoked," Cassandra said. "I don't. Not when I'm working."
"Time to pack it in, Buckminster."
"Guess so. Abyssinia. My work is finished."
"Buckminster."
"Yes?"
"I think not. Not by a long shot."
"I think so. Police involvement is the only way you can go convincingly from here-if you want to keep up your end of whatever publicity act or insurance con you got going."
"Bullshit, Buckminster. Thought you were going to show me your good stuff. Thought you said you hadn't given up."
"Doesn't mean I don't take my leave now."
"I say not yet for day one. You have not met your professional obligations to me today, Buckminster." Cassandra wiggled her fanny in her seat. "Not nearly completely. In fact, hardly at all. You certainly haven't looked everywhere, questioned everyonenot by any means."
"Everywhere and anyone who counts. Process of elimination. And everywhere's out."
"Bullshit, Buckminster. Whatever are you saying? Have you no imagination?"
"Don't need any. Not for this set-up."
"What is this, Buckminster? A stall?"
Cassandra felt a chill roam at will over her head, shoulders, and hinders.
"No stall. Just let's say-that's all, folks. I've searched the house and its grounds-not completely, but enough to get the drift. Browbeat everybody who was anywhere-except right in here. And, thank you, I will have one for the road."
Buckminster stooped to the gravel between Cassandra's ankles. He snatched up the bottle of champagne from the bucket between her legs. Drained it to the dregs. Shoved the empty bottle neck first into the bucket.
"You tell me, lady. Am I getting warm? Those pearls feeling a little hot by now?" Buckminster stood, turned, walked. Cassandra called out.
"Aren't you going to see if-for instance-the pearls might be in the ice bucket?"
"Not when I know they're in yours."
Buckminster snapped about-face.
He drilled his eyeballs into hers for less than a second.
Dropped smoothly into a crouch.
Buckminster slid a hand into the frigid liquid hugging the butt of the empty bottle. Cassandra shivered as she saw him make a fist-as though grabbing up a handful of melting shaved ice.
Buckminster brought his soaking arm out into the open in a trice. Whipped his hand through the air in a lazy slice.
Brought it home like a hammer between her thighs.
Her twat fluttered.
The ice bucket tipped topsy-turvy into the gravel as Cassandra's buttocks rose off the seat. Buckminster's cold paws mauled hot meat.
"Unh."
The sphincter slid on over his thumb and forefinger. None too gingerly, Buckminster twirled his fingers higher into her haunch.
"Anh."
"Sorry, cookie, about this intrusion on your privacy. But then you know that Buckminster only aims to please his client's imagine."
He folded his three spare fingers against the side of his palm.
Wrenched his arm.
Cassandra's fanny bounced.
Her tanned hiney humped.
Her ass-hole snickered on over his fist.
Cassandra sat impaled.
Buckminster was buried to his wrist.
Cassandra chewed her lips. Licked her tongue furiously across her face.
"Okay," Buckminster said. "I think maybe one more twist. Let me make this good."
"Eaugh!"
"Gotcha."
Buckminster snaked his hardwood fingers higher within Cassandra's ass until they coiled about what felt like-unseen-a connected strand of smooth spheroids.
He clanked them together.
"Pearls, are they?" Buckminster chewed. "Pink pearls, by any chance?"
His forearm probed, fist deeply embedded in her haunch. She rutted her flanks.
Buckminster gave his forearm a crank.
"Ouch!"
He drew his arm out in a yank.
There was a rustle in Cassandra's buttocks as Buckminster's fingers flew forth.
He trailed a set of dank beads from the bud of her bung. Pink pearls gleaming deeply, wrapped about his darkling thumb.
Cassandra smiled smugly, the beads burping from her anus as Buckminster twined them upward through his hands.
Setting off her glands anew as each pearl popped through her chuckling pucker.
"You knew I had them up my ass all along, didn't you, Buckminster?"
"Not hard to figure-I mean, especially after the way your girlfriends were so protective. They just had no idea why you might have been keeping those beads so close to yourself-"
"Wrapped in my lingerie. Secreted in my boudoir. One guess goes far."
"No guess. Not with you. Not with those other two around. Incidentally, I appreciate the dress code you ladies endorse around here."
Buckminster wound the long strand of pearls around his fist.
Dropped them into Cassandra's lap.
"Fun game you had with me, Cassandra. Hope you got your money's worth."
"One more thing before you go, Buckminster."
"There a hitch?"
"No. You're hired."
"Thought I heard-"
"This pearlie show wasn't the real job. iou checked into me. You know the rest."
"Or I can guess."
"You willing to get mixed up in this?"
"Depends, Cassandra. On a number of things. Such as how strictly and to whom and when does your dress code apply? And how well do you like to be fucked up the ass by fists?"
"And--? "
"And you know my fee scale."
Cassandra played the pearls around her face, draped them over her boobs.
Dangled them to her pubes.
"As long as I'm paying, Buckminster, see if you can play it my way for a little while."
"You're right. We'll see."
"See these pearls? You know where you got them. Why don't you put them back." She parted her legs. Spread her asscrack. Threw her head back.
"Now you can start by taking those fucking mucoid clothes off."
In an instant, Buckminster had pitched his duds into a dingy heap to the side of his feet.
Cassandra reached up and gave his dark chocolate nipples a tweak. Buckminster bent into her and kissed the crack of her mouthlips.
Cassandra's ass-hole went slack.
He gave her clit a whack.
Saw the ointment pulse from her snatch.
Cassandra wrenched her body.
Vulva and ass-hole displayed before Buckminster's face. Cassandra flexed her legs about his neck to draw him closer.
Buckminster snagged her bumhole with one end of the pink-colored beads. He pressed the strand in, working quickly, uninterruptedly.
Cassandra twinged with the insertion of each pearl into her anus.
Spasms flared her limbs.
With several pearls dangling from her rim, Buckminster brought her open-faced snatch down the head of his curlicued cockhead.
Cassandra's cunt lips hogged on over the scrol-like flare at the rear of the mahogany prick's helmet-like carapace.
Cataclysmic seizures took place at the forefront of Cassandra's cunt.
Twatlips jabbered and juddered.
Cassandra shuddered.
"Come again?" Buckminster said.
Reached beneath Cassandra's hobbling haunch. Snatched the dangling line of pearls.
"In-ni-ni!"
Buckminster popped a pearlie spheroid from her pumping poopdeck.
Prime prickstem stabbed her once more. One more pearl popped from her ass-hole.
One more stipple of the initial tides of orgasm burst in Cassandra's clitoris.
"Unh," she sighed.
The panther-like prick did drive.
Her tawny hips did writhe.
Fpih!
Another pink pearl blew from her blowhole. "Aw-naw-naw."
Another miniclimax brought tears to her eyes.
Her ass melted in his grip. He pipped several more pearls from Cassandra's ass-hole.
Buckminster humped fiercely into her cunt. Then pulled the pecker out to the tip.
Cassandra's rectum exploded its nerve endings as Buckminster's fingers burbled the remainder of the strand of pearls from her rectum. Her fannycheeks shuddered and her assrim quavered.
Her tongue savored sweat.
Buckminster's deeply toned cockhead grinned as it bit in again to the chin of her suntanned and blushing quim.
Dusky prick slid within.
Cassandra's ass shimmied as the pink nacre of the dank pearls belched from her ass. She hummed. Twirled her tongue. Buckminster fobbed her buns. Pulling the baubles out.
Pearl after pearl. Orgasm after orgasm.
Buckminster's penis backed from Cassandra's cunny. He jacked once.
Scum barfed from mahogany hoghead. Semen streaked like liquid pearl through the softly tinted sunlight.
Parrots screeched "Fistruck! Fistruck! Fuck again, honey. Fuck! Fuck!"
Nacreous white-chocolate spermlets snaked against Cassandra's face.
The pullulating pussy smacked against Buckminster's hefty bull shit.
The string of pink beads bobbled against the front of Buckminster's thighs as he continued to ejaculate junglejuice onto Cassandra's tits.
She took one more hit of jizz in the face. Come draped from her eyelashes. Lined her cheeks with pearlescent streaks.
Dashed onto her chin as the remaining chunks of jizzom tumbled from his pricktip.
"Now that we've gone on a ways," Buckminster said. "How well do you know your ladyfriends."
"What do you mean?"
"Like we have to watch them from now on. What are their habits. And don't tell me you really don't know what I mean."
"Where should I start?"
"How about Danielle? Any visitors? Phone calls?
She smoke locoweed, blow candicaine?"
"Yeah. Everything you said. Fucks and sucks dollies as well as dudes. Same for Roxanne, to save your asking. You gonna tail those two? You've got to be shitting me."
"No. You're shitting pearls."
Cassandra yawped: "Why don't you wrap those beads around your balls real tight? Make them real black and blue. Then collar your pecker with the other end. I want to suck them."
Cassandra wove the strand of baubles about Buckminster's bull shit.
She noosed the neck of the prick and pulled the nacreous beads into a tight cockring.
"No, these are not the fakes," Cassandra said. "I keep the fake ones as decoys and backups in the safe, as you certainly know by now."
"See what I mean about your ladyfriends, Cassandra? There were no pearls in the safe. Tell me something, Cassandra. Is either of us smart enough to fuck and talk at the same time or are we beyond all that?"