PLAYTHING

PT. 2

By
J. Jenkins

Published By: J. Jenkins

Copyright © 2011 by J. Jenkins

Notes From The Author

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This e-book is intended to be a blending of erotica and romance. The work is the product of my
twisted imagination, and while some detailed locales and referenced material truly exist, main
characters, and events are completely fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or
occurrences is entirely coincidental. Please be advised that this book contains ‘Adult Reading
Material’: graphic language and descriptions of sexual encounters between adult characters that
some readers will find vulgar and offensive. Persons under the age of 18 and those of a
conservative nature, please don’t venture beyond this page.

Acknowledgements

As always, I dedicate this story to everyone who gives the words and characters a chance to
come alive in their imaginations. Thank you for investing your valuable time in downloading
and reading my work. Without you, my story would never have an end.

****

J. J.
CHAPTER SIX
I’m looking at this stripped and sweaty guy, who’s flexing as he enters the room, trying to make a point with all
the beef he’s packing, except for in one crucial area. He’s the payback I consider throwing at J. C. for parading
those women in front of me. It’s either this saphead or risk waiting for the last contestant. I don’t want to lose
my chance. Every other man that’s walked in has been awestruck by Jhumar. Not this one though, his conceit
and contempt for J. C. is palpable. So I won’t forfeit my chance. I’ll use this burly buffoon to show everyone
that Jhumar is mine.

Okay-- Okay! So suddenly, I’m singing a different tune. I’ve treated the old J. C. with little regard, tramped
around, and all over him, but that was our thing. He’d wanted my control and condescension, needed me to keep
his nuts in a vice. This new one still needs some of that, but he’s got more to offer than the one I’ve had jumping
through hoops. Stupidly, I haven’t publicly staked my claim. There’d never seemed to be a need. I hadn’t ever
imagined he’d be unfaithful, still don’t want to believe he’s been. But, I’m not sure since I’ve seen his erect
eager-pleaser in that sleazebag’s pie hole. But if he doesn’t care, then why has he gone to all this trouble?

I’m grateful, thrilled actually. He’s finally gotten it right, using his brilliant mind to give me the pleasure of a
lifetime. I should be confident that he loves me. Yet I feel unsure and scared. This would’ve been perfect if he
hadn’t let those back alley, bone biters mouth and caress him. The fact that he hasn’t come with them doesn’t
take away the hurt I feel at having witnessed him with another woman, but his inability to climax should be a
testimony to the syphilis sisters that they’re not my equal, have never had a fraction of what he and I share. Now
all they’ll be getting is a zero on their scorecard, because after tonight they’ll only be unwashed cunt-funk
memories for him.

I don’t care if I’m being hypocritical, considering he’s orchestrated my Messalina fantasy, more so a narcissistic
dominance trip, than a nymphomaniac’s need for sex. Damn it, I CRAVE POWER, the psychological energy I
absorb from a man’s run for the roses or the physical authority I draw from a lover when I sail him around the
world. Those levels of satisfaction don’t nearly equal the electrifying jolt I get from exerting my will over
Jhumar. I need him more than any car, condo or Cessna. That’s the real reason I’ve been with him, waiting and
hoping we’ll manage to forge a permanent association.

I’d been relieved that he hadn’t craved the same things I do, at least not personally, or else we would’ve been
done long ago. Professionally he gets his fuck-fest on, shafting hundreds in an hour and let me tell you,
afterwards, when he’d come to me, I’d had to put on my black stiletto boots to do a mean rendition of Nancy
Sinatra all over his backside. Now, it appears he’s been playing me for a fool.

He’s never been solely the man I’ve experienced. I knew that from the start. That’s why I wanted him, the
brilliant bad-boy, fictional bone-thug killer. Instead, what I’d actually had was a moneymaking wimp and area
rug. That was until a few hours ago.

A doormat doesn’t thrust other men in his girl’s face. Only a master, secure in his abilities and extensive
repertoire, serves up a sausage smorgasbord to his woman. Also, a trodden upon, piece of battered matting
wouldn’t have been ready to bore a guy a new A-hole for trying to sneak a kiss from his Boo. Oh yeah, I’m his,
but with a few conditions. First, he has to pay for wounding my pride with those bag-brides from Bitchville.
Then he’d better convince me he’s been faithful. J. C. will do these things because this drugged up, Evelio
Costales wannabe will be shooting for one of my forbidden baskets. The true measure of my man’s love and
strength will be revealed in whether he allows this guy to score or if Jhumar blocks the shot.

From my recumbent position here on the chaise, I get to my knees and extend a hand to this behemoth, who even
from a distance reeks of perspiration, rum and chemical smoke. He’s twitchy, a mountainous mass of murderous
masculinity, with a destructive glint in his eyes that has nothing to do with the drugs he’s on. I can tell he likes
listening to fake, gagged out mouth music that’s played on his mini piccolo. Then he customarily breaks into a
difficult to maneuver and short-lived version of the back-door-boogie, at which time he chokes his partners,
sometimes to his disgust a b-boy, until they lose consciousness, now and again earning them one-way rides to a
body dump, instead of the few bills he’d typically toss in their faces.

Jittering, he moves towards me, stopping at the edge of the lounge, his swizzle stick and shrunken olives within
inches of my face. Phew wee, he’s scary stinky. I’m going to get this over with quick. Smiling in invitation, I
ask, “What’s it to be?”

With his head tilted, he gives me a cold stare. “You know, Jinetera,” he states in Cuban accented English,
cupping the niçoise olives he’s passing off as balls. I don’t laugh at the sight of his tiddly tinkler. He’ll try to
hurt me if I do; what he lacks in the longanisa department, he overcompensates for with a bull-cock full of crazy.

Running my fingertips along his moist upper thigh, I wet my lips, wanting a rise out of his flaccid, two-inch
frigamajig. It isn’t happening. He’s still SpongeBob soft. Needing some sort of stiffening from him, I question
patronizingly, “You’ve decided to step up from the slum, try out something different, a bit more expensive?”

His five-eight height appears to increase, as he draws his shoulders back and stiffens his spine. At least
something has gotten rigid. Now more angry than we he’d first marched in, he spits on the floor, giving me
another once over. “Puta, it’ll be a stretch for you, seein’ that low-rent maricon is your chulo. So stop talking
and just put it in your mouth,” he orders, his accent thickening, while the Tom Thumb tallywagger he’s
supporting with his pinky is limp as a snipped off section of overcooked linguine.”

Yawning and rolling my eyes, I inform him, “That’s against the rules. How about-”

“Fuck the rules. Whore, suck my cock or…”

Blah, blah, blah… He’s making threats, but I’m not giving him any consideration because action from the other
lounge catches my attention. I turn my head and focus intently on J. C. who’s dissin’ me, whispering into that
brown-haired socket’s ear and damn it, he’s got his hand on her thigh, just at the hem of that schoolgirl skirt she’s
wearing. In response, I move my hand to this guy’s six-pack, stroking the sweaty, carved muscles. He’s a waste,
not because he’s got a small spout, but because he’s zorilla funky.

Still looking at Jhumar, in a nasty tone, I tell Mateo, “Choose something else or leave.”

He grabs the lower portion of my face and forces my attention back to him. “What the hell are you lookin’ at him
for? It’s my dick you need to suck. Open your mouth puta, or I’ll break your jaw pryin’ your lips apart,” he
warns, tightening his hold on my cheeks, shaking my head from side-to-side.

Needing to tame this foul beast and light a fire under J. C.’s two-timing ass, I sweetly say, “Mi carino, stop
pinching me and I’ll do it.”

He releases me, flashing a smug smile, stroking his Vienna sausage. “Yeah, you betta recognize. That punk ain’t
shit, bends over at my say, just like you, for any dick with a dime to drop in your slot. Now open up,” he finishes
demandingly.

If I wanted to, I’d break this guy’s back, have him humping a keyhole, but for now, I had a bigger tree to fell.
From the corner of my eye, I see J. C. watching us. Brown-hair leans over and kisses him on the cheek, then
stands up. Well, screw them. I raise my eyes to Senor Stinkarillo and inquire, “Where’s your condom?”

He frowns and lightly slaps me on the cheek. “Madre de Dios, you’re a difficult cunt. I ain’t gonna wear one,
alright. I’m the one should be worried. How many fuckers have had their pingas in your mouth?”

Naw, that wasn’t the reason. The condoms probably fell off. I smile at him sensitively. “No problem amor.
Bring that monster here and let me blow your mind.” I begin leaning forward, wrapping my hands around his
moist thighs, when peripherally I see the other two hoe bags take turns, one-at-a-time, kissing J. C.’s cheek before
getting to their feet. The pungent, chemical stink of this guy is in my nose, and from downstairs, DMX’s ‘Party
Up’ is rising into the room. “Y’all gon’ make me act a FOOL, up in HERE, up in here.” Damn skippy! Screw
Jhumar Castiglione’s unfaithful ass.

My lips are getting closer to this penile stump and my eyes begin to water. No, fuck naw, I’m not crying. It’s the
b. o., acid juice fetor of a rotten month old onion, that’s causing my vision to blur. I wish this guy’s nub wasn’t
so short. If he were longer, he’d already be in my mouth. Instead, I’m steadily creeping towards him, my mouth
opening.

“Yeah, Jinetera, come taste my meat,” he invites, pumping his hips towards my mouth.

I’m so close and DMX is urging me on. Just as my lips are ready to make contact, I hear a resounding voice,
“What are you doin’ Boo?”

Lying dog, hateful stinker, Jhumar Castiglione, crown cockadoodie, is a miserable prick whose been toying with
me, making me think I’m the only woman in his life when he’s obviously been breaking it off with any skeezer
that sashayed her Buffie Carruth, big ass by him. Well, I’ll show J. C. that I don’t give a flying-F about his
deceitful behind.

Trying not to sniff and let out a wretched bawl, I open my lips a little more, and here goes Jhumar, bugging me
again, “Hannah. Boo. Don’t do it.”

Mateo throws J. C. a murderous glance. “Maricon, shut the fuck up. How the hell am I supposed to get my nut
on with you flapping your gums. Maybe you wanna suck my cock. Is that why you got your mouth open while
I’m tryin’ to handle my business?”

DMX is rappin’ out, ‘There go the gun click, nine-one-one shit’, when nearby there’s the real sound of a bullet
being chambered. I look around Mateo’s wide body and see blond bazoombas standing behind him with a Glock
pointed at his head. His two inches shrink to one. “No me jodes. Wait! Wait!,” he yells, raising his hands in
surrender.

The black-haired bimbo walks to his side and pushes him away from me so that the brown-haired schoolgirl can
take his place, pulling me to my feet. I try to resist, but she’s insanely strong, smiling at me desirously. For the
first time, since this fantasy started, I feel naked, which of course I am.

She and I are the same height and as soon as I have sound footing on the floor, she pulls me into her embrace,
sighing out, “I’ve always wanted the Admiral. I bet he tastes like a Payday, pea-nutty delicious and salty-sweet.”
Tenderly, she begins running her tongue across my compressed lips. Her eyes are open, looking into mine and
what I see there scares the hell out of me, single-minded devotion to J. C., to me as well, if I’ll accept her
commitment and most enticingly, there’s near insatiable hunger in their depths. Lowering my lashes, I melt into
her embrace, my lips parting, body adhering to hers as she begins to lap, with purposeful strokes, in the pool of
my mouth.

I taste her minty sweetness. As an added treat, her mouth holds the intoxicating kick of Jhumar’s enigmatic
flavor and I groan. Lifting my hands, I hold her head in place, spiraling my tongue around hers, stroking its
underside, and then tracing the backs of her teeth. Still, I want more. Releasing her face, I lower my hands to her
thighs and begin lifting her skirt only to feel her pull away. I open my eyes and look at her hungrily.

She’s smiling. “He tastes better than I’ve imagined. The next time you plan to see the Admiral, call me and we’ll
really rock his boat,” she says, her voice the low sultriness of a cello’s G note, her amethyst eyes glowing
ecstatically.

Now, I don’t like myself for thinking badly of her and the others, but I can’t promise about the Admiral. She’s a
threat to my happiness. Seeming to understand my silence, she winks and turns away.
Taking a few steps, she’s soon beside her chums, saying to Mateo, “You want to break the rules. Here’s your
chance, with all three of us.”

The blond lowers the gun and Mateo relaxes, allowing his hands to drop to his sides. “Oh, I’m down with that,”
he grins, starting to stroke his frigamajig again, that is until he sees the syringe in the black-haired woman’s hand.
He lets out a loud whoop and fist pumps the air. “Shit, we’re really gonna party.” Moving forward he pushes me
aside, and on all fours, crawls atop the chaise, calling out to J. C., “Bro, ‘bout before-- Hey, no disrespect. You
know how it is. Your girl had my nose wide open and I wasn’t thinkin’. But I see a major leaguer like you, really
knows how to party. Props man-- Props!” His ass is in the air and the black-haired girl inserts the fully loaded
syringe, depressing the plunger. “Oh mamita-- That feels damn good,” he groans, swaying his buttocks. “Mas
jeva-- Mas,” he chimes, his little pecker now teakwood hard. The blond hands her black-haired partner five
more syringes, as the brown-haired girl climbs atop the lounge, stripping off her skirt and exposing her hairless
mound to Mateo.

Immediately, he’s lapping away and she’s grinding against his lips as her friends continue working on his bum
hole, turning the key of his desire, emptying the remaining syringes of what I don’t want to know, and he’s ooh-
ing, ah-ha-ing, and sweet mother-ing. I look up into the brown-haired girl’s passion-purple eyes and start backing
away. I’m out of my league. If Mateo survives them, he’ll be prime picking for the vegetable stand.

Shaking with fright, I keep retreating until I bump into a warm, solid figure. Spinning around, I look up into
Jhumar’s unsmiling, molten gold eyes. My mouth forms an O as he roughly grabs my arm and drags me from the
room.

After a few minutes of hauling my naked butt down shadowy passageways, he opens a massive black door and
flings me inside a room full of candlelight. I’m still on my feet and hurriedly begin backpedaling as he
approaches, yanking off his clothes, tossing them about the room. His voice booms out, “I give you everything
and all you do is dis me. You need to learn that here, in this part of my world, you don’t call the shots.”

I’m still backing up, through an expansive black and white, gothically designed bedroom, crossing the threshold
into a similarly decorated master bath and only stop moving when my legs contact the heated surfaces of metal
and marble. Looking down I see I’ve bumped into the side of a black double bathtub that’s full and steaming.
Glancing back at him, I raise my quivering chin and say rebelliously, “I’ve had enough. Take me home.”

He’s stark naked, the mass of his defined pecs quivering, strong hands clenched at his sides, his engorged dictator
standing out, demanding absolute obedience to his authority. His face has transformed from its youthful
handsomeness to mature manliness. In a low and imposing tone he states, “You were actually going to blow that
guy, even though I told you oral was off limits. Now he’s paying for his disregard and so will you.”

I give a slight toss of my head, placing a hand on my naked hip, pretending he doesn’t have me shaking with fear.
“Ho-hum Jhumar, ho-fuckin’-hum-- Stop believing the J. C. hype. You’re not a gangster, thug, drug lord or
Gorilla Pimp. Now get my clothes.”

He looks like he wants to spank my ass. Instead, he demands, “Get on your knees Boo.”

“No,” I say boldly, shaking my head to punctuate the point.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and with physical strength I’m not accustomed to him exerting, he forces me
to my knees . Now that I’m visibly trembling at his feet he says, “Your mouth belongs to me. Open up and take
me in Hannah.”

Shaking, and sniffing like a coke fiend, I look up into his eyes and say with desperation and despair, “What are
those women to you?”

He grins, a quick flash of white teeth. “Employees. Are you jealous?”

Resting my hands on his thighs, because I can no longer resist his allure, I fiercely admit the truth, my voice
breaking, “Yes, damn it. Yes, I am.” He ‘tut-tuts’ me. My bottom lip quivers and my eyes plead with him. “Say
you haven’t been unfaithful.”

He doesn’t, just keeps staring down at me, his clenched fists at his sides. After several upsetting seconds, he tells
me, “Boo, open your mouth.” Unclenching his hands, he places his index and middle fingers against my lips,
teasing them apart and with a tiny heartrending cry, I take them in, licking and sucking, listening as his breathing
deepens.

Lowering my eyes from his, I feel the stinging behind my lids and know I don’t have Mateo’s stench to blame for
my watering orbs. I need J. C. to only want me. Circling his fingers with my tongue, I also begin stroking the
strong muscles of his legs, up to his hips, my hands moving around to cup his tight, rounded buttocks.

With his free hand, he strokes hair back from my face. “That’s right. Get into it, Boo. Enjoy the feel of me in
your mouth. Soon it’ll be time for the real thing.”

I continue licking, circling and sucking his two fingers, massaging the taut muscles of his ass, as his big, thick
tent-peg, stands between us, the musky smell of him making me lightheaded and weak. He pulls his fingers from
my mouth and lifts his pylon to my lips. I hesitate. Still unable to look at him, I can only whisper, “J. C.,
please.”

Comfortingly, he continues stroking my hair, but his voice is steely, “Come on, Boo.”

Feeling wetness on my lashes and cheeks, my mouth also brims with moisture. Obediently, I take Old Faithless
into my shaking hands and begin repeatedly licking the head with the flat of my tongue. Occasionally, I nip a
short distance along the sensitive upper area on the underside of his shaft.

“That’s right Hannah. Now, go on down,” he instructs

With his crimson-crowbar still in hand, my tongue travels his entire length, down-one-side, up-the-other, then
spirals from top-to-bottom, and back again. Taking a moment to catch my breath, I listen to the heavy umf--
umf-- umf, of his breathing, before I again venture to the south of his pole, cupping and licking his sack until he
shudders, drawing in a loud breath before exhaling to praise my performance, “Ah Boo-- You’re a natural.”

I should be reassured by that compliment, but all I see in my mind are those women doing this to him, pleasing
and loving my man. Apparently he’s needed someone to worship at the altar of Castiglione, but I hadn’t realized
and before tonight, even if I had, I probably wouldn’t have cared, because I’d been consumed with the thrill of
walking all over him.

He’d been right. I’ve never given a blowjob. I know it’s absurd, but I couldn’t soil my knees for any man
because I feared being submissive. I’ve never had faith that a man, having power over me, wouldn’t gag me.
With J. C., the issue had never come up because I’d established the rules. Now, even though I feel he’s breaking
my heart, and despite his being angry, I’m confident he won’t outwardly hurt me. So far, he’s kept his hips still,
allowing me to set the pace. I want to please him, make him forget that other women have existed in his life, in
his bed, on their knees before him.

Determined, I get my mouth nice and wet. Then with my fingers and hand, I form a seal and ring against my lips.
Artlessly, I take his big, sweet, custard-chucker into my mouth, moving up-and-down the length of his shaft,
suck-, suck-, sucking and slurping, while my hand adds additional north-to-south motions, along with some tight
clenching and twisting. I constantly flick, twirl and thump his big baton with my tongue, occasionally taking him
out to lick the head and shaft, and then I venture below for a tea party.

With my eyes closed, one hand resting on his thigh and the other supporting the weighty length of his woman
pleaser, I open my mouth, taking in Darjeeling and Earl Grey, until my upper lip brushes the juncture of his shaft
and pouch. I juggle them with my tongue, then gently tug and pull until his thigh spasms beneath my palm.

“Yeah, oh yeah-- Ah-- Boo-- Ah-- Damn, you’re good,” he cries, pulling away.

My eyes remain closed. I don’t want to see what he thinks of me, have him know my suffering. I feel him lifting
me to my feet, picking me up and depositing me in the warm bath. Immediately he joins me, sloshing water
around as be begins lathering me up, washing my entire body, cupping and massaging my breasts, taking time to
suck and bite my nipples until I moan. His free hand travels down my stomach, then between my legs, working
in steady circles, one finger tracing the folds of my labia, tweaking my clit. I lift my mound into his touch,
sighing, “O--, O--, Oh, yes-- my J. C., mine.” Pressure builds in the pit of my stomach, at the center of my
thighs, and abruptly he stops, his hand moving on, cleansing my legs and feet.

Cradling one of my arches, he says, “You have the sexiest toes.” Rinsing soapy froth from my foot, he kisses it,
nipping and biting my digits as I choke back a squeal.

My breaths are ragged and I hiccup out, “O, O, O, J. C.” This is too much sensation, the stripping and washing
away of Messalina so that I’m cleansed of those other men and made ready for Jhumar. Blindly, I reach out,
touching him. He brushes my hands away, pulls me across his lap, my thighs straddling his hips, to wash my face
and neck.

“You’re gorgeous. Now, just a bit more cleaning, followed by a little punishment for your disobedience, then
later I’ll give you more of what you’ve been hungering for.”

Warm, pulsating water rains down on my hair and head. When I’m soaked, he shampoos and conditions my
elongated tresses with something that smells of summer sunshine, then he rinses away the suds. With my palms,
I stroke water from my face, the feeling of his rock hard and rigid ramrod beneath my bottom is driving me crazy.
But I can’t look at him if he won’t be mine alone. Keeping my hands over my eyes I say, “You’ve made me see I
only need you. I want you to only need me too.”

Cryptically he says, “I know. Now open your eyes and sit on the edge.”

Frightened that without a backwards glance, he’ll walk away from me, I do as he requests, my heart thump-,
thump-, thumping in my chest, ears ringing from the rapid rush of blood through my veins. I see he has a black,
handheld showerhead in his hand and he’s looking into my eyes as he turns it on, the water forcefully blasting
and pulsating out. My legs tremble and my inner muscles tighten as he aims the coursing and pounding jets onto
my clit. The force is hard, hot and unrelenting. I thrust my hips into the stream, arching my back as a climax
unseats me from the edge of the tub and I’m toppling backwards to the floor, crying out, “Sweet heavens, Oh
my-, Oh my…”

I’m flat on my back, looking up as he climbs from the tub and extends a helping hand. Unsteadily I get to my
feet and he leads me to the towel rack where he roughly dries my hair and body. When he’s done, he lifts me into
his arms and carries me into the bedroom, dumping me in the center of a huge black, iron framed bed, dressed
with black and white linens. Immediately he’s on top of me, straddling my hips, lifting my hands high and
cuffing them to the headboard. Uh, oh, I don’t like this at all.

“Jhumar, release me,” I demand weakly.

He ignores my request. Reaching over to a black nightstand, he opens the drawer and takes out three small silver
balls, each separated by a length of silver cord and all attached to a small silver device. Next, he retrieves two
small black clamps attached to black cords and a small black box. Items in hand, he sits up and gives me a
captivating smile. “You have to be punished Boo, like Beauty was disciplined in those books you read.”

He wouldn’t dare. I gulp, searching his eyes and squeak out, “Listen, I’m already satisfied with what you’ve
given me. Uncuff me, we’ll snuggle up and sleep together the entire night. I know you’d like that Jhumar. You
always wanted to before.”

“Hannah, Hannah, hardheaded Hannah-- The lessons you need to learn won’t stick unless they’re reinforced.
But, since I could never really hurt you, I’m just going to attach these vibrating clamps to your nipples and turn
them on.” He does and I arch my back off the bed, thrash my head this-way-and-that, as pleasurable sensations
assault my pinched and erect buds, then spread throughout my torso.

Leaning down he kisses me, thrusts his tongue in and out of my mouth as his fingers spread my southern lips and
push-pop--, push-pop--, push-pop the beads into my playpen. With his tongue deep in my mouth, his chest
crushing my vibrating breasts, he turns on the Ben Wa balls, starting to thrust and pump his hips against my
shivering and shaking pelvis, electrical jolts ricocheting within my feminine walls, tears streaming unchecked
down my face. I cry into his mouth, “O, Jhumar, O Jhumar, I need you.”

Hips in continual motion atop mine, lunging, thrusting, then whipping about in sensual figure-eights, he takes his
tongue from inside my mouth, bites and nips at my lips, then kisses along my cheek to my ear, whispering, “Naw
Boo, tonight you need a Gran Master to make you beg.” He cranks up the power on the balls and clamps and I
scream as intensely pleasurable pain wracks my body, orgasm-after-orgasm shaking me, him and the entire bed.
“That’s my girl, now let me see your O face baby,” he breathes heavily into my ear. Sitting up, he increases the
two intensities again.

“Ooh-- O-- Ooh, O--, Damn it J. C., stop, it’s too much,” I cry.

“Naw sweet Boo, you need a little ‘Rapper’s Delight’, where usually ‘the beat don’t stop ‘til the break of dawn’.
But for you, badass Hannah, since you were going to blow that guy and because you always told me I never
satisfied you, this won’t end until tomorrow afternoon,” he says with a viciously sexy chuckle. Again, he cranks
up the devises and I’m vibrating and zinging like mad. Then he sets the controls down and rams his iron hard
hot-rod inside me, pounding away with a wildly, brutal rhythm, violently agitating the already pinging and
bouncing balls inside my sports palace. The clamps are pinching and pulsating on my nipples, adding to this
sexy torture. But it’s the feel of having him, this powerful prick, inside me that really makes me climax again,
my mouth forming O, O, O, over-and-over, until my feminine dam breaks, flooding him with my waters. “Yeah
Boo. That’s right, pretty mama. Keep on serving up what I need,” he says with a deep sexy laugh and a groan as
my sperm-sucker clamps tightly around his banging blow pop and those ping-ponging silver balls, squwee-,
squwee-, squeezing them tightly. He lowers his lips to mine, kissing me punishingly, his tongue fucking my
mouth, Senator Packwood plowing my cloven inlet and I clamp down on his pussy-prisoner some more and bite
Jhumar’s tongue. Still subjecting me to his thug-life kiss, he opens his eyes, looking into mine, which are full of
tears and he ends the kiss to whisper into my mouth, “Come on Hannah Hardcastle, let me have it babygirl.”
More of my tears fall and I climax to the sound of his pleasured sigh. Unrelentingly, he pounds into my vibrating
and clenching snatch, beginning to kiss me again with the same unrestrained violence as before and I wonder if
he’s done this with those other women. Damn, damn, damn it, if only he’d reassure me, tell me absolutely, then
I’d know he’s mine and mine alone. But since he won’t, and seeing that this is his idea of punishing me, then
when I get free, I’ll really be a ball-bustin’ bitch to get the answers I need out of Jhumar Castiglione.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The warmth of her mouth on my cock is amazing, saliva slick and tantalizingly tight. I rock my hips against her
face as she deep throats me, taking my red-hot poker to the back of her mouth, where my tip caresses, strokes and
pushes against soft and moist tissue. She swallows, swallows, motherfuckin’, swallows me and I feel I’m being
drug to the bottom of love’s sea by my vixen’s voracious vortex. Damn, if she’d taken this device out of the box
from the beginning, I would’ve been chasing my own tail twenty-four-seven, doing all sorts of tricks just to sniff
at the door of her tropical toyshop.

As it stands, I’m already partially Hannah’s lust slave, needing her rough treatment to get off. So, it’s no mystery
that I continue pumping against her face, into the ever increasing, painful tightness of her warm throat and mouth,
wondrously feeling her lips kissing the flat region from which Spunky The Wonder Dick springs. Man, oh man, I
love this hard-as-nails hellion and that emotion is growing, becoming more complex.

Burying my nose in her crimson bush, I lap at the sweet, creamy center of her copra cookie. Spiraling and
thrusting, I eat up her sticky goodness, taking breaks to nip and nibble on her nub so that she sucks harder on my
crack pipe, bowing my spine, trying to trick me into kicking Spunky out of the game. My Boo doesn’t want to
play against a major leaguer. She needs Willie The Woebegone Wanker back on her mound. That third-leg, relief
pitcher, alter ego, will set her free from the cuffs and docilely have her hitting my ass with a hickory stick. But
Spunky ain’t retiring to the dugout just yet.

I feel her throat constricting and expanding, her mouth restraining and freeing, trying to milk the man-juice from
my marrons. But stretched out atop her, with my dick planted to the hilt in the haven of her oral hole,
hedonistically humping and grinding, I have the ultimate control over her, over this fantasy fuck festival. The
choice of when I leave her inner sanctums, the lower of which will make me one of the wealthiest and most
powerful men in the world, is up to me.

Moving my lips, I kiss and lick her inner thighs, my slightly opened mouth caressing back and forth across satiny
skin. She shudders, rhythmically lifting Mount Pleasant back against me. I groan, inhaling deeply a nose and
lungs full of her intoxicating love potion number 69. Willie whimpers and whines, wanting me to roll off Hannah
so she can have her heavy-handed way with him. But Spunky and me just keep on sliding in and out of her slick
mouth, feeling the raised texture of her tastebuds slipping along my Spunkmaster’s sensitive skin. The tip of my
tongue flicks across her sex-swollen seed. I drag my teeth across that bundle of nerves before biting down and
tugging back. She’s doing the same thing to old salty dawg and I’m panting against the gates of her promised
land, my pulse pounding perilously. The muscles beneath the cashmere soft skin of her abdomen spasm and
vibrate, dedicating a silent, stadium shaking orgasm, a shout out to her little homie Willie, some conniving,
Cheap ass Trick song, a pussy entreaty of ‘I want you to want me. I need you to need me.’ that the whipped
wussy is pricking up his ears for, falling for her again.

My pelvic muscles tighten as her snapping pussycat constricts on my tongue, her mouth toying with my taunt
string. Willie’s listening, buying into that silent rolling wave of destructive feminine desire, the luscious
undulations of her body that make speech unnecessary for her to get her point across to him, ‘Willie-boy, throw
the damn game’.

With the full flat of my tongue, I’m lapping at her coco-nutty ho cake, parting swollen pink lips with each lap,
stroking across the pleasure center while Willie is being bathed in wet, stupidity increasing steam heat. Hannah’s
head makes circular motions as she pulls him around the way, whipping him to her will. He’s dazed and dazzled
by his Domina. His need to satisfy her and boner blindness, makes my thrusting into her mouth less deep and I
no longer give her nastily naughty nips to her nub-nub. Willie has me physically and emotionally softening,
which Hannah rewards him for by simultaneously taking him and the twins into the match for a rockin’ and
whirlin’ sexcapade down deep in the sultry, slippity-slope of grove rima oris. My legs and butt tense as I grip
handfuls of white cashmere thigh and black cotton sheet. I know the sensation of being peeled, outer layers
removed to get at my gooey, spineless center and I allow Willie to take the lead, with a tender cry of, “Oh
Hannah. My precious Boo.” Spunky retreats, but no fuckin’ way am I ejecting him from the game.

I’ve been at her for hours, and still I can’t get enough of her funky stuff. What I’d seen her do with those men,
just like with the photos of her and those players, whetted my appetite for a banquet, and not for one of those
dollar, red-boxed microwave meals. She’s a female Ramsey Gordon, cordon bleu to the core. Everything about
her is five-star and fresh, mouth, cunt and definitely her private reserve of bootylicious, cherry-chocolate Rocky
Road, a delectable dessert I’ll devour at the end of this weekend, but not yet. There’s still much I need to do to
her before that happens. A little more fucking, followed by an iron-rich brunch for Hannah, then some more
playtime for me as I prepare her for the next segment of her erotic fantasies.

Kissing her nether lips one last time, I pull out of her mouth, the wetly erotic ‘slurp-pop’ sound of my hard,
throbbing cock springing free of her moist woodlet, has the twins drawing closer to my body and with Willie, my
entire world is Hannah. I excavate my face from between her thighs, moving to see her eyes and if her O face is
worth an eternal pact with the Devil, then the euphoric expression of my woman well loved is priceless. She’s
laid back. Her skin is flushed and dewy, with her lashes relaxedly closed, lips parted on an endless sigh, chest
and nipples still shaded rosy-red with satisfaction from their previous extended playtime with the vibrating
clamps. Unable to resist the pink swollen mammillas, I lower my head and suck one into my mouth while
squeezing and rolling the other between my thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, Jhumar,” she sighs, lifting into me, rubbing her thighs together.

Still strumming my fingers over her breast, I kiss my way up her neck, to her mouth where I lick her parted lips,
darting my tongue in and out of her sweetness, saying, “Boo, I have to do this, give you what you need so we can
move on.”

Against my mouth, she emits a tortured cry. “You’re leaving me for those women, after all the years of my
putting up with your whining and sniveling? For three years I tolerated your clumsy groping, but now you’re
poppin’ super-stud pills, putting me through an Atomic Dawg screw session, and plan to continue using and
abusing me this weekend only to toss me in the gutter on Monday, unemployed, homeless and with no means of
transportation.”

“Now don’t get upset Hannah, it’s not like that and I haven’t hurt you at all.” I kiss her, Willie wanting me to
calm the fear he feels within her restrained body. I sit back on my haunches, running my left palm from her flat
stomach, to her hip, squeezing the firm curve reassuringly, before walking my fingers down to her shapely calf
and on to her delicate ankle, which I grasp securely, pushing her leg up until her knee is parallel with her breast.
Her big-blue eyes are staring into mine trying to bewitch me.

I have to look away, focusing down on her exposed and taut passion flaps. “Damn woman, you’re a delicious
coconut sweet potato pie,” I declare, beginning to rub her tender flesh, watching as she winces and shudders,
needing to bring her to orgasm again.

Hannah bites her lower lip, riding out the waves of O that threaten to drag her under. “J. C., I don’t like you
acting all crazed, posing as something you’re clearly not. What would your parents think if they knew you’ve
been doing God only knows what with those three women and God only knows what they did to that man last
night. If they hurt him and when they’re all tied back to you there’s going to be prob-”, her words die out to a
strangled moan as I shove three fingers into her slit, rubbing her clit with my thumb. She’s panting, “Sweet
mercy-- How much Viagra are you taking? It’s nearly noon and you still haven’t come.”

Withdrawing my fingers from her tight clinging flesh, I spank my cock against her grand divide. “This is all
you’re doing Boo. Being a sledgehammer of a woman, you need an iron hard spike of a man to bash away at,
before he finally drives his point home.” Letting my hot rod rest against the folds of her labia, I hear her purring
deep in her throat, her eyes flashing at me menacingly before she shutters the emotions behind her lashes.

“Don’t blame me for this muck up. But by the end of next week, you can do all the finger pointing in my
direction that you like. I won’t shrivel up like an old out-of-the-box raisin because you’ve decided to waste your
time and talent playing around at being a pimp. I’m going to move far away from California and marry the first
old guy with enough money to buy me happiness.”

I know the sensation of cold steel piercing my chest. Willie is so beside himself with the thought of her taking
off, belonging to, not just screwing with, someone else that I struggle to leave her wrists bound. Still holding on
to one of her ankles I grip the other one, extending her legs up and spread open, over her shoulders, toes pointing
at the upper bedposts. “You play with other men Hannah. I’ll never see you married to one.”

“If those women are staying in your life, then there’s no need for me to be a fifth wheel,” she declares defiantly
with an icy glint in her eyes.

Drawing my hips back, I ram into her so hard the bed shudders. “If any man marries you I’ll break the son of a
bitch.”

I want to punish her for the threat, so I viciously pump, roll, ball slap and grind against her and I swear I hear her
body calling to me, “That’s right J. C., punish me.”

Leaning back, I watch my one-eyed monster claiming and possessing her, sliding in and out of her sticky sauna as
I try not to have visions of her married and settled down with a bevy of Bebe’s kids or Southpark juvies tied to
her apron strings. Suddenly, I feel queasy. I return my gaze to hers, seeing in their depths that she has every
intention of following through with the threat to spite me. “Damn it Boo, don’t make me do something we may
both regret.” I pull out of her and lower her legs back to the bed.

She looks smug, chin tilted up, glowering at me, “You don’t have to give me back the condo, car, plane or my
job. All you need to do is explain about the women, assure me there haven’t been others and tell me you’ll get
rid of them.” She stretches and undulates her beautiful beguiling body, trying to entice Willie. “I promise things
will be different.”

“They already are,” I say, positioning my mouth on her mound, sinking my teeth into the flesh of her luscious
lower-lips until she screams and sighs with pleasure, arching high off the bed. Biting her again, I force her back
down to the mattress and keep her imprisoned beneath the strength of my palms on her abdomen and hip.
Hannah corkscrews her cunnie against my face, spreading her legs wider to grant me greater access to the rave
hopping off in her South Central Coliseum.

“Uh, uh, uh… Oh yes, yes, yes… Harder, hard, hard, harder…” The muscular mouth of her pink gold mine
puckers for my lips, kissing me in return, drawing my tongue in, latching on tightly, allowing me enough freedom
to spear back and forth to her cried out Cha-Cha rhythm of, “Oh-oh. Oh-oh-O.”

Sliding my hands under her ass, I lift her home plate of jellyroll delight into my mouth and I eat her like a
starving man, biting, chewing, and swallowing her delicious juices. She’s still moaning, her knees trembling
against my chest and when her climax rips into her, Hannah begs, “Fuck me. Please fuck me now.”

I stop. Willie and Malibu J. C. would run and fetch, do her bidding. High in the hills above Vegas, me and
Spunky the Spinmaster weren’t being suckered. Moving to lie on my side next to her, I smile at her frustrated cry
of, ‘Fudge, fudge, fudge,’ as she angrily drums her heels against the mattress. Slipping one arm under her neck, I
slide my hand onto the mound of her still overly sensitive breast and nipple and the moment my warm palm
settles there she’s shuddering and crying out her release. “That’s right Boo. Let me hear it. Who’s your man
baby? Who’s the Grandmaster?” With much satisfaction, I see her lips form their perfect O, which demands
another kiss. With my fingers pinching her nipple, palm rotating across her breast, my other hand slides between
her legs, massaging and teasing her tender box open, as I hook my fingers inside her demanding, “Tell me you
won’t leave.”

From beneath lowered lashes, she studies me and I can see the brightness of unshed tears sparkling diamond
bright in her eyes. “I’m going as far away from you as fast as I can unless you get rid of those women,” she
mutters in a defiantly choked tone.

“Alright Boo,” I say, pushing four fingers into her and delight in the spilling of her tears as I begin rotating my
fingers inside her, readying her for the slide of hand into her body.

Her bottom lip trembles as her mouth forms a happy smile. “Oh, J. C., you’re wonderful. You won’t regret-”

I laugh, a harsh, bitter sound and stop at the look of confusion in Boo’s eyes. “My kittens aren’t going anywhere
and neither are you,” I inform Hannah, pushing and skewering my hand into her tightness. Lowering my lips to
hers, I peck at her mouth, and then kiss each cheek before planting a tender kiss on the tip of her nose.

Something in her breaks then and she’s crying with heart wrenching wails, struggling to dislodge my hand from
her center, needing to be free of the cuffs so she can regain the control she believes she wants. She’s thrashing
and wriggling about until she’s flushed pink all over and suddenly she stops flailing and fighting, crossing her left
leg over her right, sniffling out, “I-- Have to-- Pee.” Her anguished sobs resume, an artic blast to my libido, and
I gently withdraw my arm from beneath her head and my hand from inside her, scrambling to undo the cuffs.
“No, no, precious Boo. Don’t cry,” I say, trying to calm her, while freeing her wrists. I take a few seconds to pet
and gentle her before I help her into a sitting position and before my ass is firmly anchored on the side of the bed,
she bitch slaps me hard enough that my ears are ringing. Then she takes both of her hands and shoves my Willie-
silly ass onto the floor. I look up at her, my head full of ring-a-ding-a-dinging. I see her mouth moving angrily,
her hands and arms gesticulating wildly before she begins marching away.

Reaching out I snag her ankle and pull her off balance so she topples to the floor a short distance ahead of me and
all the pleading and silent signals she’s accustomed to giving to Willie the Wuss, aren’t gonna make one damn bit
of difference. Fuck my head hurts and I’m gonna show Miss Heavyhanded Hannah Hardcastle, once and for all,
that while she’s in my house, she’ll play by my rules. Unsteadily, I lunge toward her and my stubborn, coconut-
headed Boo deliberately mule kicks me in the nose. I silently sprawl backwards against the side of the bed,
feeling blood trickling from my left nostril, but at least my hearing has returned. When I’m able to stand up I’m
gonna wear her ass out.

She gracefully climbs to her feet, towering over me; legs spread apart, hands on her hips. I can see glistening
drops of her cunt juice glossing her burning bush and all I think about is getting inside her. Distractedly, I tune
into what she’s saying, “Stay put. I’m going to get my clothes and when I come back you’re going to tell me
about those women.” Angrily pivoting on her heel, she stomps to a door I guess she believes is the closet.
Unfortunately, for her, it’s not. Swinging the heavy black wood open, she’s greeted to the sight of my blond
kitten standing outside with three Rottweilers surrounding her and I see my other two kittens hurrying toward the
open door.

The dogs sniff at Hannah and emit low thundering growls that immediately have her walking backwards. My
blond gives Boo a look that lets her know that if it weren’t for me, Hannah would be in a shit load of trouble and
to Boo’s credit, her spine stiffens and she stops retreating, stands mad dogging the three Rottweilers and all three
of my kittens saying loudly, “I want you out of his life. Whatever criminal mischief, drugs and perverted games
you’ve been involving him in are over. J. C. is mine.” She advances on the blond, despite the growling and
barking of the dogs that has started and snaps her fingers in my main kittens face.

I get to my feet and watch as the blond smiles brightly at Hannah before she shoves her with staggering force.
She keeps pushing and propelling Boo backwards toward me, as the other kittens usher the dogs from the room
then return, joining in the jostling and jolting match. Surrounding Hannah, they bash, batter and bully her
between them, crowding past me until Boo falls on the mattress with a strangled cry, “J. C., help me.”

The black-haired kitten leaves the others to their fun-and-games, switching her fine tail over to me. She takes off
her snug fitting white t-shirt, her bare breasts bouncing as she cleans the blood from my nose and face. Then she
lifts the stained garment, inhaling the metallic scent of my blood and the animal musk of my desire for Hannah.
Dropping the shirt to the floor, she undoes her skirt to stand naked before me. I give a silent nod and she returns
to her now naked playmates, which are holding Hannah down by her wrists and ankles. Without preamble, she
climbs atop Boo’s twisting hips, planting a knee on either side of her body before she leans forward and grabs her
hair, effectively ceasing Hannah’s struggles before releasing her.

I watch as she circles her pelvis in a slow clockwise motion, her shiny, succulent black rose, sliding against Boo’s
flaming thatch and I’m instantly erect. My blond straddles Hannah’s face and plants her Duranta-gold shrub on
her lips, spiraling in the opposite direction of her black-haired teammate and I know they plan to unwind Boo,
weaken her for me. Baby kitten, who’s been holding on to Hannah’s ankles, releases them and moves up between
Boo’s spread thighs. Placing one palm on her dominant partner’s perfectly rounded rear, she slides the fingers of
her free hand into Hannah’s cunnie, repeatedly force fucking her with a fervor designed to shock some sense into
Boo’s hard head. As a treat to me, she moves the hand that’s resting on her amiga’s tantalizing tush, to finger her
pal’s back parlor, before sliding it into her. God, this wasn’t part of my plan but I can’t stop looking at them.
Four of the most beautiful creatures to ever grace a man’s bed alone, were all in mine and me, Willie and Spunky
want in on the game.

I climb onto the bed just as the blond and black-haired kittens lock lips, forming a tent over Hannah’s torso. I
slide into the opening and latch on to Boo’s breasts. Placing a hand on one and my lips on the other, I squeeze,
suck, squeeze, suck, pinch and bite until, despite the combined weight of us all holding onto her, Boo bucks up
off the bed. She’s convulsing in the most spastastic orgasm I’ve ever seen, eyes round, lips O-ed and her hand
pressed to her heart that is beating so hard and fast that I can hear the boom-boom, boom-boom, boom-boom,
filling the room, see the pulse pounding in her throat. She’s ready and so am I, needing to claim my punished and
repentant Boo before I grant her the love bite of a lifetime.

The kittens move away, taking seats around the room, leaving Hannah and me on the bed. Sitting on the side of
the mattress, I pull her up and over to sit on my lap facing me, drawing her feet up on the Serta Perfect Rest, so
that her knees fit snugly just at my armpits. My arms are wrapped around her hips, my palms stroking, cupping
and playing across the swell of her sexy rear-end. Leaning forward, I nuzzle wildly disarrayed strands of hair
back over her shoulders then shift back to gaze into her eyes, and then scan her face. Her cheeks are blush pink,
her lips, swollen and wet. I smell her concession stand still serving up the mixed cocktail fragrance of her and
the raven-haired kitten. The scent reminds me of a Necrophiliac: vodka, melon liqueur, pineapple and orange
juices combined with light and coconut rums, a befitting foreshadowing for the dark and mysterious erotic
fantasy that’s to come.

Leaning in to kiss her mouth, I feel Boo’s hands tremble atop my shoulders and know that she’s scared to death
of what the kittens will do to her. I squeeze her buttocks reassuringly, hugging her closer, smooch, smooch,
smooching at her lips, then end the oral contact to say, “Accept that they’ll always be near or with me and things
will be easier Hannah.” I slide my long denied cock into the welcoming warmth of her Wrigley field and hear her
pleasured sigh as she wraps her arms tightly around me, squeezing me as if she’ll never let me go. I’m stroking
up into her and she’s pushing down on me, our movements becoming more energized, fierce, and combative as
we battle for the dominant position in this thing we’ve got.

She nudges my ear with her nose, biting the lobe as she whispers, “I’ll die before I accept those women in your
life. I don’t care how many men you allow me to fuck or how broken and destitute you try to leave me. You’re
mine, my door mat to walk on when I want, a toy to tease and torment, my rocking horse to ride and whip at my
pleasure. So when I get you back to the city, I’m going to put on my blackest, highest, kick-ass boots and have
you on your knees for hours, sniffing my snatch and eating my pussy until you’re drunk from my brand of
Everclear. You’ll remember then, which one of us calls the shots. Once I have you free from whatever voodoo
vibe those women have you under, I’m gonna ride your ass until you’re sopping wet, lathered up and ready to be
wrung out.”

Grinding down on my cock, she tightens around me until I scream out her name and pump harder into her, crying
out, “Yes -- Oh yes-- Ride me, baby. Ride me hard.”

She doubles the action of her hips. Pump, pump, pumping. Tightening-- Fuckin’ squeezing me until I toss back
my head, pressing my chest snugly against hers, palming her ass so tightly she moans out an O and extinguishes
the burn in my flame shooter with the gushing flood of her ejaculation. The commingled sound of our labored
breathing fills the room and I hug her one last time, kiss her sweet, sweet lips, before I beckon for the kittens to
come take her away.

They pull her off me, surrounding her and to really piss Boo off, they each step to me, Frenching my mouth for
all they’re worth, The black-haired kitten even kisses my injured nose. I feel my cheeks color like a nerd who’s
recently discovered his palms aren’t the only means of sexual gratification in the world.

Sheepishly looking at Hannah’s angry red cheeks, I see she’ll keep fighting, so to prepare her for a battle that
even Abraham Van Helsing wouldn’t undertake, I say, “Now Boo, go along nicely with the Kittens. They’ll
prepare you for your next fantasy. I was gonna do it myself, but for some reason I’ve developed a headache.
Rest assured you’ll be in good hands and by sunset tonight, you’ll be ready to have your ‘Secret Thirst’ satisfied.”

Blink, blink, blink, then she looks at all three of the kittens, before returning her gaze to mine, her eyes so wide,
they dominate her face and in a high-pitched squeak she says, “You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?”

I shake my head. “Naw Boo. I’m gonna make sure you get a lot of Vamp Hampton Wick tonight with a plentiful
helping of Lamia Fruitex Vulvaria on the side. Aren’t you lovin’ the treats I serve up at these away games? I
think they beat the hell out of Wursted Willie on a boot-heel skewer,” I say, smiling at her broadly.

She looks at me for several seconds, apparently thinks I’m joking because she bursts into peals of laughter and
when no one else joins in the merriment, she abruptly stops and gives me an incredulous stare. “You’re full of
shit Jhumar. All four of you are head cases from Madhattersville. Vampires don’t exist,” she finishes with an
authoritative tone used by know-it-all morons who haven’t ventured beyond their own comfort zone.

I watch as Raven, my black-haired kitten taps her lightly on the shoulder. Hannah spins around with an angry,
“What?”

Raven smiles beautifully at Boo, her eyes shifting from obsidian to a smoky gray, and then going a colorless,
blinding, glowing white before she extends her fangs for Hannah Hardcastle to see. My Boo steps back, opens
her mouth to say something, thinks better of it then turns around to confront me when Raven steps up behind her
and lightly grazes the side of Hannah’s neck with her sharp teeth. For the umpteenth time, in less than twenty-
four hours, I’m treated to Boo’s O face, as she faints at my feet.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Many hours have passed since I last saw Jhumar. I miss him. My skin burns for his touch. Between my thighs
and throughout my body there’s an ache only he can end. Everywhere I look, I see his face, glimpse his body
gliding around some corner and I’ve taken off in pursuit, out running the kittens to get to him. He’s constantly
eluded me, seeming to vanish. His memory is a playful phantom.

I recall his manly musk, the sweet, slightly bitter, sea salt taste of his flesh and bone, clinging to the inside of my
mouth and coating my throat. I need him so much, want him on top, behind, in and all over my body. But
Amyzeta, the brown-haired girl, and the others won’t allow me to go to him and they won’t bring Jhumar to me.
They say he’s resting, taking care of business or many other excuses they patiently give when I ask for him with
obsessive need. But, challenging their stance isn’t something I’ll foolishly do again. With those three, getting
pushy will only make them shove back harder than I can handle, yet the resulting sex with them, accompanied by
J. C. had been fiercely wild. Although I’d given him a piece of my mind afterwards, he’d already torn from me
the armor I’d lived in to keep him at an emotional distance. I delight in this new, suppler feeling, the light-
weightedness. Being a woman who craves power and control, there’s something very freeing about having it
taken away, being reduced to a body, used, pleasured and satisfied whether I admitted wanting the total abandon
or not.

Standing here on the elevated deck with the warm evening breeze caressing my skin, left bare by the halter-
necked, fully open front white silk negligee the kittens had me don. I look over my shoulder at the three women I
not long ago thought of as big-booty skeezers, watching their easy camaraderie. Sitting on westward facing
furniture, bathed in faint, fastly fading sunlight, they sip blood-red ‘Velvet Vampire’ cocktails from clear crystal
pint glasses, laughing and talking, engaged in everyday things, ordinary gal pals do. As I’ve gotten to know
them, I believe I could come to consider them friends, sisters even, if they aren’t my competition for Jhumar. No
one has given me any such assurance. Turning away from them, I continue looking out at the setting sun.

I marvel at the beautiful blue-orange horizon and the twinkling gem-bright lights of the Vegas Strip that rest far
below this erotically eclectic world J. C. has created. From the outside, this estate appears to be the expensive
southwestern home of a rich weekend cowboy. The downstairs interior maintains that façade. Venturing upstairs,
throughout numerous wings, as I’d done with Amyzeta and the others, while they’d prepared me for this evening,
I discovered varied thematic décor and subtle sensual schemes, which reveal this place for what it really is: my
man’s erotically diverse play land.

Last night I’d been in the ancient Rome inspired room and then the dramatic Middle Ages quarters, a darkly
decadent bath and suite that in hindsight made being bound and forced to submit to my golden-eyed
grandmaster’s prolonged sensual torment, a very fitting practice, which I won’t occasionally mind having him
repeat. Yes, I certainly want more of the feel of his hands molding me to his will. I crave the taste, the feel of his
sour and sweet, sugar sucker, sliding between my lips. How I long to know the weight of his engorged flesh
pressing against my tongue, the length gliding down into the recesses of my throat. My life will be fulfilled when
I’ve experienced the pulsations of his prick, that majestic member, sending a whoosh of intoxicating, one-
hundred-proof, inebriating love liquid into my hard as steel core, thoroughly melting my heart.

Before he hadn’t come in my mouth, denying me the pleasure, I believe, as part of my punishment. Now I thirst
for a drink from his hefty hose, want the chance to prove I’ll be his prized fellatrix as well as his cherished
dominatrix. I have to be all that he needs.

Never before had I considered the possibility, but secretly it’s what I’ve desired, having Jhumar possess me, as
much as I control him. In the past I’ve degraded him, treated him abominably, marched out a marathon across his
willing body and I thought doing so proved him weak, rightfully beneath my feet. What I hadn’t seen was that he
allowed me to be that way with him, that at anytime he could’ve ended it all. Now he’s proven his ability to bend
me to his desire, break me if he wants, as he’s done many others.
I’m no longer the woman Jhumar has gifted everything imaginable, no longer the Hannah Hardcastle he’s tried
impressing through respectably romantic devices. At this time, I’m more than a girlfriend, the occasional fuck,
most often a dry hump, in J. C’s mind I’m a job. Moreover, what makes him professionally successful is his utter
enjoyment of his work, treating the tasks he undertakes as a high stakes game to be played skillfully and
mercilessly. Rarely do his challengers leave the arena unscathed, example the Cuban guy.

I’m not certain what existed between them but there’s been no sign of Mateo, no evidence that he or anyone other
than the five of us have been in the house. The ‘kittens’ never mention the drugged up guy and when I ask they
ignore me. I get the same treatment when I question their ‘employee’ status within the Castiglione Empire.
Translation-- the media hype is stone-cold truth. That realization makes my crack of heaven clench so hard, and
tight I could snap an iron rod in half. This is what’s been missing from my relationship with J. C., the thing I
denied wanting in whole, the dark danger of a man uncontrolled by societal norms, the force that sexually slays
me.

A better woman would probably feel repulsed and offended by all that he allegedly does. The very thought of
him being a true bad-boy beneath that gentle, baby-faced exterior makes me weak in the knees. I’ve already
fainted and I won’t lie, claiming my collapse was due to sexual overexertion. I’m not delicate enough to swoon
from a few hours of continual fucking. I flatly zonked out at the idea of the real Jhumar Castiglione, taking
control of me, making my vampire craving come true and even though I know the sexy bloodsuckers of my erotic
dreams don’t exist, I’ve taken extra care not to be alone with Raven, his black-haired kitten. J. C., media monster
extraordinaire, music and cinema magician, could make anything real with the right budget and incentives.

When Raven had been astride my hips, snatch fucking me, I’d felt how easy it would be for her to steal into my
body, consume my soul. Later, when I’d felt her warm breath against my neck, teeth poised to penetrate my skin
and I’d looked into Jhumar’s golden eyes, imagining, feeling his big cock pushing into my pussy, I’d come, and
come, and come, barely holding on, white-knuckled, to the safety bar of the rapid moving emotional rollercoaster
thrill ride that he’s created. Wonderfully wound-up, wet and wanting, yet secure in the knowledge that when it
really came down to it, he’d protect me, not from a little push and shove between me and the kittens, but from his
la vida loca, because he’d always done that very thing, taken care that whatever he was sidelining in never fully
came to light. I wouldn’t love my man less if it did.

From behind me, warm hands slide around my waist, supple lips pressing against the side of my face. I whiff
vanilla rum and coconut as a sultry voice speaks out, “The beauty of this place makes me never want to go back
to the real world. Tomorrow the full moon will fill the night sky, transforming this oasis into something truly
spectacular.” Amyzeta hugs me tighter, and then breathes sultrily into my ear, “It’s time to go up Hannah.”

Turning within her embrace, I feel the press of her body against mine, sandwiching me between her and the
railing, our bodies as close together as they can get without us becoming one. My eyes caress her face and she
lifts her hand to play with the loosely flowing waves of my red hair, which she and the others had styled to please
Jhumar. “He likes long hair. So I’ll let mine grow,” I offer, with the question I want answered hiding below the
surface: ‘Do I have a future with J.C.?’

Amy motions to kiss me and I draw back. An understanding smile curves her lips. “Oral is off limits with other
men, outsiders Hannah, not between us,” she says and moves her head forward the tiny distance that separates
our lips to explore my mouth with her cran-raspberry tasting tongue.

I kiss her back, stroking the underside of her full breasts that fill her deep-purple sweater. When she ends the
kiss, her forehead resting against mine, I’m breathless and see, directly behind her, the other two waiting for us,
Raven holding my white stilettos. Searching Amy’s rich-violet blue, ‘Mayflower’ geranium eyes, I whisper
against her lips, “Please, tell me what you and the others are to him.”

Unblinkingly she examines my gaze and apparently not finding what she expects, Amy whispers back, “By now,
you know we won’t ever tell you. But I’ll say this, the answer you need to find is what he means to you, what
you mean to each other. Now let’s go.”

Silently I follow them, gliding on six-inch heels back to the suite I’d left hours earlier. Standing, back toward the
bedroom door, first the blond kisses me on my left cheek, then Amyzeta kisses me on the right. When Raven
steps forward, her glossy black hair flowing around her shoulders, breathtaking breasts straining beneath a
midnight corset cinched so tight I couldn’t understand how she wasn’t the one needing to be lifted from the floor,
I step back, bumping into the solid wood with a ‘thud’.

She gives a throaty chuckle. “So now you’re afraid of me?”

“A little,” I squeak, knowing the time for false bravado is over. The other kittens are walking away, hand-in-
hand, leaving me alone with her. “You’re not really a vampire are you?” I croak, my palms beginning to sweat,
knees trembling, even though my rational mind assures me no such creatures exist.

I feel her hand on my exposed stomach, sliding down over my silk covered mound and on between my thighs.
Slowly, inch-by-inch, her face draws nearer to mine until she shifts her head and her lips are nuzzling my neck,
her fingers easing beneath the crotch of my panties just as her teeth test the flesh covering the erratically pulsing
artery in my throat before she pulls back, withdrawing her hand. “Of course I am and whatever else J. C. needs
me to be,” she says just as the door behind me abruptly opens and I stagger backwards, up against an unfamiliar
form, slim and muscled, definitely masculine, his strong arms encircling my waist. He’s covered in soft rich
leather, I can tell by the feel of the animal skin against my barely covered body and I can smell the arousing wild
beast fragrance that isn’t all his clothing. His fingers begin slow, dime-sized circular motions atop my stomach
and I’m shaking like a naked virgin pushed into the populated shower of a maximum-security prison. He walks
me backwards into the room and I gulp. With wide-eyes, I watch as Raven steps in, closes the door and follows
us over to the bed.

“Please, where’s J. C.?” There’s no disguising my nervousness. Hell I don’t even try. I haven’t even set eyes on
this guy and he’s already successfully scared the bejesus out of me. The fact that I think I see Raven’s canines
elongating isn’t helping either. But between the two of them I’ll take her on, at least she’s familiar.

I reach out, begging, “Don’t leave me.” Suddenly, I shudder violently, feeling my body effortlessly lifted by
leather-guy and positioned in the center of the bed. That’s when I see his beautiful almond-shaped black eyes,
full of melancholy and mystery, surrounded by long, thick lashes, set beneath prominent, glossy black brows. His
face is square, formed of sharp slashing angles, cheekbones a model would murder for and a perfectly formed
masculine nose. But truly, it’s his mouth that has my nipples standing erect, breasts heaving from rapid breaths, a
team of butterflies flitting about in my stomach, flooding, wet warmth saturating and coursing from my nether
field.

I try to close my thighs to stave of the gushing but his slim, powerful feeling hips move between them, his hard,
cool, animal-skin covered erection rhythmically pressing against my satin covered tropical wonderland. I can’t
look away from him, from that sadly sexy mouth that’s drawing closer, the perpetually down-turned sides of full
satin-soft skin over hard-determined lips. His straight, shoulder length, pitch-black hair shines in the candlelight,
falling forward as his mouth gets nearer.

Raising trembling fingers, I touch his lips and know their coolness against the heat of my flesh, use my other
hand to sweep satiny black strands back behind his ears as I tell him, “So pale, dark and glorious.”

He lowers his lashes, peering intently at me through half-closed bedroom eyes, then slowly smiles, my fingers
falling away from his lips and hair as I see the glint of his long, sharp, pointy upper cuspids twinkling like stars in
the room’s low light. “I’m glad you think so,” he says in a deep, resounding Scottish accent, sexier than Sir
Thomas Sean Connery’s, which causes me to rub my fired-up mound against the icy solidity of his cock.
“Lovely, red-haired woman, let me feel your fire,” he sighs, inhaling deeply. Then he smiles broadly, a mouth
full of the sharpest, hardest, whitest teeth I’ve ever seen, making me think he could easily devour me. In that
sexy rolling voice that has the gates of my Venus Cell opening, readying to imprison him, he says, “Do you
realize you smell like summer sunshine?” I nod, unable to utter a word.

Raven joins us on the bed, sliding her naked body up against mine. Reaching her hands between us, she undoes
his leather shirt and unties the sides of my thong, pushing the front layer of my fabric away. Skillfully, she drives
two of her fingers in-and-out of my well-lubricated opening as he resumes bumping his glacial length against my
sweltering center. The contrasting hot and cold sensations cause me to break out in goosebumps.

I want to speak but the sensations have robbed me of coherent thought. Having Raven turn my face toward hers,
to first tease my lips between her teeth, then tongue my mouth with whirling circular motions, just as leather-guy
lowers his mouth to the exposed side of my throat, heightens my arousal. As he bites down and sucks in, his
hand working between us to free his cock from his pants, I go completely stupid with sexual need. Just then, I
hear the bedroom door open and leather guy climbs off me, but Raven remains, still smooching and sucking on
me, her hands busily manipulating my breasts, pinching my nipples. I snog her back, wrapping my arms around
her, desiring her touch to fill the great sense of loss I’m feeling since leather guy has moved away.

My lips are wet and slick from her sweet tasting saliva. I groan and wriggle against her strong, yet soft body, my
hands moving down her side to rest at her unbelievably narrowly pinched waist. Fingers fluttering against taunt,
cool flesh, I want to delve my digits inside her southern moisture and as my hand begins a slow and seductive
curving journey on its way to the Night-blooming Jasmine fragranced field of her sex, she captures my wrist and
says against my mouth, “Slide around, until we’re positioned crossways the bed.”

I do as she instructs, our lips resuming their mating and clinging. In this position, I can see J. C. has entered the
room and he’s dressed only in a pair of black briefs. His defined musculature is a remarkable sight in the
flickering candlelight as he stands relaxedly talking to the now naked-vamp guy. My heart does a pitter-patter-
skippity-skip; skip a beat thing that has me pushing against Raven. I feel like I can’t breathe.

She releases my lips and without my uttering a word, Raven knows what’s startled me and gives a low gurgle of
mirth. “Alone they’re breathtaking. Together they’re magnificent. J. C. is hot, golden and gleaming skin over
unexpected, unbreakable strength while Ramzi has that silvery-white skin over a body that’s steel hard, icy cold.”

My eyes shift between Jhumar’s massive bulge beneath the black fabric and Ramzi’s exposed white python. Not
caring that I sound like an awestruck teen, I let loose a statement of idol worship, “Holy cow they’re hung. J. C.
has always been big, but tonight he looks… Well--he looks way, way, longer and larger.”

“Just wait until you’ve had them both at the same time. Your life before this was about quantity. Now it’s your
time to know sheer quality,” she says, stroking her hand along my side as I peer over her shoulder, ogling the men
who are walking our way. Shifting my gaze to her eyes, nervously I question, “When he bites, does it hurt?”

Her eyes twinkle with merriment. “Who? J. C. or my husband, Ramzi?”

My eyes widen at her implication and stunned I remain still, silently staring at her until I feel the weight of the
men joining us on the bed. Jhumar’s warm hands roll me onto my back as he leans forward to press a hard, sure
smack on my mouth. I motion to wrap my arms around his shoulders but he pins them to the mattress beside my
head.

Lips still in contact, his eyes look into mine, our tongues twining and twirling, spinning and spiraling. Without
breaking our oral contact, he straddles my waist. Raven and Ramzi’s hands spread my thighs, warm fingers
stroking along my flesh, cool lips sliding up my inner thighs and my arena of bliss is awash again with wetness.

J. C. ends our tongue match to nip along my jawline, just as Raven’s warm breath gusts across my ruddy mound,
followed by a cool billowing breeze from Ramzi that chills and thrills my flesh. They keep alternating turns,
stirring and stimulating me, warm then cool, cool then warm, slowly zeroing in on my clit as J. C. flicks my lobe
with his tongue. He growls into my ear and I whimper, struggling to get my hands free so I can touch him. He
holds my wrists tighter, puffs hot air in my auditory canal as my legs are eased further apart, Raven on the left
limb and Ramzi on the right. Jhumar traces my tragus with his tongue as the couple simultaneously nuzzle my
nick-nack, and then lick my feminine-flaps apart. I imagine them kissing each other as they tongue me and a
jaw-jarring trembling, such shuddering, takes hold of me, that I fear being completely undone.

Jhumar’s lips move into a smile against my ear, his voice soft, “Boo, what is it about the idea of vampires that
you find more satisfying than me.”

Feathering soft caresses against his shoulder, I then press tender kisses against the mounded muscle, saying
assuringly against his smooth skin, “I don’t need the fantasy anymore and I’m sorry I kicked you in the nose.
This thing between us is imperfect and complicated, but it’s all I want, you’re everything I need.”

He releases my wrists, reaching to the nightstand, rustling papers. With no ceremony, he presents to me a typed
sheet of paper and a pen. “It’s your letter of resignation Hannah, effective as of this morning,” he explains. I
sign without reading or commenting. Returning the items to him, I take the opportunity, now that my hands are
free, to hug him close, run my fingers along the curve of his buttocks, rotating my hips against two persistently
pleasing mouths and tongues.

I listen as he secures the items in the bedside drawer, and then returns his attention to me, capturing my
wandering hands to entwine our fingers. Again, he securely presses my hands up beside my head and resumes
sending whiffs of air against the side of my neck.

Pressing and rubbing his lips against the vein pounding in my throat, he boldly asserts, “I’ve brought you too far
to throw in the towel now.”

I feel his already hard erection engorging and lengthening to a greater degree between our compressed bodies and
my gammon-goalposts grow more swollen in response to the slide of his brief covered hips. He rocks and bumps
his steely shaft against the upper region of my stomach. Raven and Ramzi increase their sucking, biting, nipping
and lapping at the folds of my cracked coconut until the sensations grow painful.

Moaning and squirming, my fingers tighten around Jhumar’s knuckles, and through a rising, steamy sexual haze,
I hear him, “What was it about those nocturnal lovers of your erotic reads that made you come?”

My response is instantaneous and in a sexually spasmodic voice, I tell him, “The thought of surrendering
completely to someone of supreme strength. Knowing that he or she would powerfully penetrate and ecstatically
pleasure me, forever bind me to them so I’d always be protected, never again in my life feel alone.”

J. C. licks the underside of my earlobe, then down my neck. When he reaches the base, he says a might
disbelievingly, “You want to be connected to someone for all eternity?”

I nod eagerly against his shoulder. “Yes. To you.”

He grows still. They all do. I feel their breaths, hot, warm and cold. Listen to ragged breathing that’s steadily
increasing, until the room seems to be filled with the sound of a windstorm, I note the candles flickering and
blowing out, leaving us in total darkness. My heart races and I have a death grip on both of Jhumar’s hands that
release when I feel Raven puncture the inside of my left thigh. I whine and whimper as her fingers stroke my slit.
Sounds of lust elevate from my chest and throat as she sucks on me, from me. When she pushes her fingers into
my pussy, I groan and cry out just as Ramzi pierces my other thigh, drawing my skin deep into his mouth.
Shuddering, I feel his fingers join Raven’s inside my mystic grotto, entwining and moving. Their mouths,
tongues and fingers are in continual motion.

“J. C., J. C., oh God, J. C.,” I shout out, feeling weak, not caring if what I’m experiencing is real or his
professional magic. I close my eyes, going with the flow, further into the sensation of letting go, total
abandonment, absolute submission.
His mouth remains pressed against my throat as Raven and Ramzi continue imbibing from my thighs, sliding
their joined fingers to-and-fro, within my covered way. Strong fingers tighten their grip on mine and from a
distance, I hear Jhumar say, “Hold on to me a little tighter Boo.”

No sooner than he’s uttered the words, the couple devouring me, in unison, chomps down harder, while
increasing the force of their ramming fingers, enthusiastically engaging me in a fast-paced execution of the two-
finger-slot-salsa. I scream in pleasured torment at the same time J. C. latches his lips and teeth to the side of my
neck, not penetrating, but in a spine arching love-bite that shatters every belief I hold about being sexually
satisfied. He sucks, releases, slurps, relinquishes and finally draws on me so violently I see flashes of white light
behind my shut eyelids as I come with a rush of emotion and ejaculate, ecstatically declaring my devotion and
love to him.

There’s deathly quiet in the room. When J. C. doesn’t express similar sentiments for me, my lips tremble and my
fingers twitch nervously, self-consciously, against the back of his hands. Raven and Ramzi withdraw from my
thighs with trailing, tingling licks of their tongues, their fingers vacating my flooded fern gully. Still J. C. holds
me down, biting and sucking on the side of my neck, his weight a comforting cover to me now that I’ve been
emotionally stripped naked before the others.

I feel bodies shifting on the bed, Raven climbing off and Ramzi straddling my upper thighs, positioning his
anaconda at the entrance of my Eden. With my lashes still lowered and fluttering, I can tell the overhead lights
have been turned on and J. C. calls a slow seductive halt to the love bite on my neck, circling the sore and
tormented area with his tongue, butterfly caressing the ravaged flesh, before releasing my hands to sit upright,
demanding of me, “Hannah. Boo. Baby, look at me.”

I do, and see the Gothic, black and white room bathed in an eerie red glow. Ramzi is sitting a bit behind Jhumar,
who rises, standing on the mattress, stripping off his black briefs. Big boss and his two buddies are free of their
confinement and J. C. eases back down, across my upper body. He repositions my head and shoulders on a
triangularly sloping pillow, which the perfectly hourglass shaped Raven handed him. She leans in kissing Jhumar
with her cherry-red lips. Then she shifts down, pressing her mouth for a long time against mine, allowing me to
taste the contrasting brackish and sweet, bitter berry-red flavors on her tongue. When she ends the contact Raven
climbs upon the bed, standing straddled across my middle, between J. C. and Ramzi, her perfectly shaped ass
scant inches from the back of Jhumar’s head and I envision her wet, glossy, black bower of bliss being in perfect
alignment to her husband’s mouth. With much interest, I watch as his hand slides around her hip, his long,
strong, pale fingers caressing her plump cheek.

Jhumar’s deep voice draws my attention back to him, “Did you like that Boo?”

“Yes,” I answer huskily, running my palms up his thighs, my mouth watering at the sight of his humongous
lollipop just waiting to be licked. As if his cock really has a mind of its own, can hear and respond to what I’m
thinking, I see a big, sparkling diamond-bright droplet form on its tip and I dig my nails into his unyielding flesh
to keep from grabbing hold of his dynamo do-jigger.

J. C. strokes my hair, my face, fingers the sore side of my neck as Ramzi pinches my tender right thigh and I arch
up beneath them, listening to the sound of Raven’s robust expression of mirth as she grips Ramzi’s shoulders to
avoid loosing her balance. Jhumar lowers his head to mine, giving me a full view of her back, just in time for me
to see Ramzi’s fingers entering her Hawaiian-hideaway, to which I see her convulse, hear her sharp intake of
breath.

I moan loudly as he begins finger-fugging her fantail and by the slurping sounds I hear, I know he’s having a fine
husband’s-supper. Her ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’ and ‘oh Ramzis’ are a testimony to all that’s taking place and the pleasure
she’s receiving.

To fully get my attention back on him, Jhumar rubs rigid Roger Ramrod against my lips and immediately I’m
staring into his third eye, trying not to be distracted by the wet sucking sounds of Ramzi’s mouth on Raven or her
repeated love noises. I make myself focus on what he’s saying, “Last night you didn’t finish your fantasy and
that was disappointing. Before we go our separate ways, I want to know I’ve given you everything you’ve
desired to get off, have you tell me I’ve satisfied you completely. So to cap off last night’s competition, I’ll count
this interlude in the numbers, which has you breaking the Messalina record.”

I don’t take my eyes off his cock, not wanting to see the truth that after this weekend we’d be utterly kaput, done,
over, history. So I engage in a lot of self-deception to get me through, help me enjoy whatever it is we have left.
Monday, I’ll deal with the pain.

With a smile in my voice, I express my gratitude, “Thank you J. C. and so there’s no question in your mind: you
have given me what I fantasized about.”

He shakes his head at me. “Not fully. Not yet. With the vamp allure, there’s more to the sensuality of the
bonding, not just a mortal man or woman surrendering to the mystery of eternal erotic care, protection and love.
There’s the major part of the mythic giving by the immortal to his desired, which only then thoroughly unifies
them.”

Nodding in response to his statement earns me the caress of his wet tip against my lips just as Ramzi presses the
head of his super snake between the gates of my garden. Jhumar continually bats Old Weeping-And-More-Than-
Willing against my wet lips. Raven’s erotic cries ring out as her husband continues to double her pleasure while
he slithers further into my nether land. Jhumar rubs the wet tip of his cream spout all over my lips, before
zeroing in on the center and butting up against the divide. Finally, my ‘O’ of understanding paves the way for
him to push into my mouth.

His golden eyes glimmer as he watches me sucking and licking, gnawing and gobbling him up. The pounding
play of Ramzi into my cunt, combined with the teeter-tottering of Raven atop the mattress as she’s worshipped in
the front and back halls of her basilica, heightens our desire as Jhumar thrusts further into my mouth, going deep,
being forceful.

Rising to his knees, he never misses a stroke on the slope of my tongue. I wrap my hands around his thighs,
drawing him further into my depths and his breathing grows spiky. Gripping my head he pushes all the way in,
shouting out, “Fuck, fuck, damn it Boo.”

Ramzi pumps into me harder, droplets falling onto my thighs and stomach from his dinner beneath the bridge and
I can just picture his fingers prying her winking-walnut open, sliding back and forth into that tiny, tight and
tucked opening. Inspired, I move one hand off Jhumar’s thighs to travel along his hip in a gentle caress, over his
tight round buttock. The movements of Ramzi and Raven spur me on along with the knowledge that if we were
ending anyway I had nothing to loose. So decisively, quickly, I shove my unlubricated middle finger up my
man’s rectum, rapidly stimulating his P-spot. He grips my head so tightly, shoving tremendously hard down my
throat, coming with a rush of warm jizz and a roar of ferocious release, holding my head in place as he squirts
and pumps every little swimmer down my fall. Soon there’s another masculine cry and I come. My pussy,
clenches on Ramzi’s king cobra and milks his venom from him. For the first time in my life, I experience the
oddly pleasing sensation of cool ejaculate in my hot box, which makes me come again. I squeeze him harder,
holding him prisoner within my pussy as I continue sucking the life force from Jhumar. Repeatedly rocking and
gyrating my hips, I pump the flow of cold energy from Ramzi, while I suck, milk and squeeze J. C., until they
both cry out again.

Not to be denied a place in the symphony of ‘oh, ah, so bloody, damn good’. Raven’s melodic cries and
whimpers usher in a unified crescendo of a trio singing a cappella of their sexual satisfaction before, the voices
and cries grow faint. I continue trembling and shivering from all that my man has given me, slurping the final
spurts of his rich vanilla cream from his huge and hefty straw.
A short time later, I hear and feel my vamp lovers leaving the room. Still I keep J. C. in my mouth, gently sliding
my tongue from left-to-right on the underside of his honorable prick, my finger slowly easing from his O-ring.

He sighs and shudders, the muscles of his thighs convulsing against my body. “Damn it Boo. No matter what I
do, you always seem to best me,” he says in an unreadable tone, before easing out of my mouth.

Climbing off me, he snuggles up against my side. J. C. wraps me in his arms and kisses me thoroughly, saying
passionately, “I forgot to tell you, how beautiful you are Hannah and thank you for keeping the heels on. You
know what a turn on it is for me.”

He lifts each of my legs, removing the white stilettos and tossing them heedlessly over his shoulder. With
unsteady hands, he smoothes the white silk negligee over my side, murmuring beneath his breath, “Absolutely
beautiful.”

I snuggle back into his embrace, just wanting to be held, needing to appreciate his love for however long I have
left. “Jhumar…”

“Yeah Boo?”

Raising one of his hands to my lips, I kiss his palm and whisper into its center, “Thank you for everything.”

He nuzzles my neck, vowing sleepily, “There’s still tomorrow, a night with a full moon. I think you’ll enjoy our
last hours here most of all. I’ll be serving up your final fantasy.”

Entwining our fingers, I position our joined hands to rest against the still quivering muscles of my stomach.
Although my mind is full of shattered memories of the three years I’d wasted by not working to understand him,
my voice is full of solid certainty, “I’m sure I will, Jhumar. I’m sure I will.”

Already, I hear the sound of his even breathing and know he’s asleep. Pressing our hands closer to my stomach,
making his hold around me tighter and more secure, I follow him into another dream world, saying a silent prayer
that the last part of this upcoming plaything, he’s treating me to, won’t be the end as I fear. I can’t imagine a
future without having J. C. as mine.

THE END OF PT. 2