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The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 01

By: christo



All characters are over 18.

The envelope sat neatly centered on his desk, his name inscribed on the creamy paper in delicate calligraphy. Roger lowered himself into his chair, his eyes shifting left and right before they returned to his desk He pressed a button on his phone and said, "Debbie, did I have any visitors while I was at lunch?"

"No, Mr. Travers," his assistant said. "No visitors and no calls."

Roger smiled. "Thank you." 

So they wanted him to know they could reach him whenever they wanted. He wondered how they got past Debbie. But the details really didn't matter to Roger. He liked a little mystery. 

The envelope was sealed with a dollop of red wax, the wax stamped with the letter "J" entwined with a serpent. He broke the seal and pulled out the single sheet inside. The writing was in the same elegant script. "The Duquesne Hotel dining room, seven-thirty. Bring the money."

A powerful stirring rose deep in his loins. It was actually going to happen. After ten months of waiting, time filled with anonymous letters and late-night phone calls and mysterious rendezvous, it was finally on.

Roger unzipped his pants and pulled them down around his ankles. His erection demanded immediate attention. He leaned forward and again triggered the intercom. "Debbie, could you come here a moment?"

He enjoyed watching his sexy young assistant walk into the room, enjoyed watching her cross those long, long legs as she sat before him. Her dark hair was pulled up in a chic, professional bun, and her brown eyes were hooded by long lashes. She wore an elegant black suit that cost Travers an even thousand dollars. That was part of the deal he made with Debbie when he finalized the sale of his company. He no longer had any real business to conduct, but he still wanted the ego gratification that came with having a competent and sexy personal assistant. He needed someone to pick up his dry cleaning, to schedule appointments with entrepreneurs begging for venture capital, to look gorgeous on his arm when he attended gala dinners or fundraising events. He paid Debbie forty-five thousand dollars a year, paid for the lease on her car, the rent on her apartment, and made sure she was dressed in a manner befitting a man of his station. 

And Debbie repaid him with the gifts of her competence, her beauty, and her body. It was a more than even exchange. He'd once thought about impregnating Debbie, and even had his lawyers draw up documents to sign so she couldn't sue him for exorbitant palimony. But the urge to procreate never lasted long enough for him to act on it. A child might keep him from doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted, and that was a burden Roger doubted he could ever accept.

Roger said, "I need to cancel my appointments for the next two weeks. I'll be away and incommunicado."

"Of course, sir." 

"After you clear my calendar you're free to take off until I contact you. Use the condo on St. Thomas if you like."

She smiled politely. "That's very kind of you, sir. I may do just that."

She asked no questions, showed no curiosity about this sudden change of plans. That was another reason why he kept her in his employ after his company. She was intelligent, circumspect, and totally devoted to him. She didn't show the least curiosity about his unusual request. It wasn't her place.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked, slowly rising from the chair. Another of her fine qualities-anticipating his needs. He swiveled his chair as she stepped around his desk. She saw his erection and a smile spread across her lips. "It looks like there is."

She knelt between his open legs and hefted his heavy cock in her soft hands. Roger closed his eyes and sighed as her warm mouth engulfed him. She let her saliva coat his penis, getting him wet, getting every nerve ending tingling and anxiously waiting for her lips and tongue to pleasure him.

"Do you want it quick, or slow?" she asked. 

"Slow, please. I need to think."

"Of course, sir." She knew Roger did his best thinking while getting his cock sucked.. He'd come to the decision to sell his company exactly one minute after he came inside his assistant's delightfully talented mouth. Debbie gave head as good as a Bangkok prostitute, a pleasure that Roger enjoyed for the first time ten months ago, during a sex vacation he took with some former Japanese clients. He spent a week indulging himself in practices that would have gotten him 20 years in prison back in the States. 


That's where he heard the rumors.

That's all it was at first-rumors. Roger stayed in a very private and exclusive resort where new girls were brought in ever day. "I want at least two available to me at all times," Roger told the tiny, elegant woman who supervised the resort's "entertainmen".

"You like Asian girls, or Western?" the woman asked.

Roger smiled. "I didn't come eight thousand miles to fuck women I can find at home."

The woman smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir."

"At least two at all times," Roger reminded her, and retired to his suite. Ten minutes later there was a soft tap at the door, and when he eased it open two pretty Thai girls stood there in satin teddies, lip gloss, and high heels. "Good evening, ladies," he said, and stepped back to let them walk into the room.

For three days Roger rutted like a animal, fucking girls who came and went as though on a conveyor belt. He found that he liked having two girls side-by-side, legs spread wide, so he could switch back and forth between them, fucking one until she really started to moan and writhe under his powerful thrusting, and then mounting the other girl, savoring the subtle differences between the two vaginas.

After lunch on the third day Roger was dozing in bed after ruthlessly fucking an extraordinary Japanese girl. The girl teetered in on five-inch heels and a plaid miniskirt that barely covered her ass. She wore her hair in long black pigtails and looked like the ultimate piece of Asian jailbait. Roger fell on her like a wolf upon a lamb, yanking up her skirt and attempting to impale her from behind. The Japanese girl was so tight that he couldn't penetrate, and she started squealing with pain as Roger tried forcing his huge penis inside her.

He turned to the other girl, a frightened Thai girl who couldn't take her eyes off Roger's throbbing erection. "Lube me up," he barked at her. He pointed at the bottle of KY on the dresser. "Now!" The Thai girl quickly obeyed, pouring a generous dollop of the clear liquid into her palm and stroking his cock with her tiny hands. Her nails were nearly two inches long and made her pumping fingers look like tentacles. Roger sighed with pleasure as she made his cock glisten with silky oil. He put his hands on the hips of the Japanese girl and, this time, managed to slide inside her incredibly tight hole.

"Uhhhh!!!" Roger groaned. Her pussy was as tight as the asshole of a girl he'd fucked the night before. But this was pussy, wet, velvety-smooth pussy, and he felt her walls stretch as he pulled back and thrust deep inside her. 

"Aiiiiieee!" the girl shrieked. Her cries excited Roger and he tightened his grip on her hips and fucked her with long strokes, forcing himself to be patient. The Thai girl moved behind Roger and fondled his testicles with her nails, and Roger angrily slapped her hands away. "Go stand over there!" he snarled, and the girl slunk away like a dog who'd just been kicked. Roger didn't want the extra stimulation of her long nails on his scrotum, because this girl was so fucking tight that he was afraid he'd blow his load before he could fully enjoy her.

"Do you speak English?" he panted.

"Ye...yes," the girl said through her tears.

"Good," Roger said. "Good. Am I hurting you?"

The girl clenched her teeth. "No, no sir."

Roger started fucking her faster. "I'm not hurting you with my huge cock?"

She shook her head, making her pigtails waggle back and forth. "No, sir."

Roger unsheathed himself and carried the girl to the bed. He tossed her and she bounced across the silk comforter, and Roger knelt over her and brandished his cock in her face. "Have you ever had a bigger cock than this?" Roger loved the sexual power that came with being enormously endowed, and he loved to hear his women tell him how impressed they were by his size. He was pleased when the girl said, "No, sir. You are my biggest ever."

"Touch me," Roger commanded, and the girl put both her hands on his cock and started jerking him off. She looked up at him with her dark, frightened eyes and Roger had to fight the urge to erupt in her face. She was lovely, so lovely and innocent and childlike, and Roger slid down her body and again fed his organ inside her. She went rigid and arched her back as, inch by endless inch, he invaded her vagina.

It didn't take long for her to exhaust Roger's endurance. She wrapped her legs around his waist and Roger pumped and pumped and pumped and the wet sounds of his erection squishing in and out of her pussy broke his resolve. He pinned her wrists to the bed and pounded away until that infernal pressure in his shaft overwhelmed him and he buried his cock deep as far as it would go and let it spurt, spurt, spurt, until his semen oozed our from around her overfilled hole.

"Christ Jesus," Roger groaned. The girl swallowed hard and wiped tears from her eyes. Roger withdrew and the she scrambled off the bed and smoothed out her skirt. She managed a weak smile and said, "Thank you, sir."

He grabbed her by the wrist. "No, no, stay, please. I'm not done with you, my darling. Stay, I'll order dinner for us." He looked at the Thai girl cowering in the corner. "For us all."

They dined together on lobster and shark fin soup and two bottles of champagne, and Roger's young companions relaxed and started giggling at Roger's jokes and compliments. When the waiter cleared away the dishes Roger yawned and said, "If you don't mind, I think I'll take a quick nap. Perhaps you'd like to shower and change before we have some more...fun?" The girls giggled and went off to the bathroom with its marble floors and Jacuzzi tub.

Roger lay down on the bed and sighed, both from exhaustion and from the anticipation of another go with the delicious girl in the bathroom. He closed his eyes and held his breath for just a moment-and heard voices coming from behind the bathroom door.

The girls were talking, in English, probably the only language they shared. "He hurt me," the Japanese girl sobbed. "This only my second time, I told I would only have small men at first."

The Thai girl snorted. "They lie all time, you should know that. He very big, most men much smaller. Be glad he not put it up your ass."

"He might when he wake up."

"No, he like your pussy too much, he just fuck you that way."

"But he hurt me," the Japanese girl said, the despair in her voice obvious.

Roger smiled to himself. He was pleased that the Japanese girl feared him, feared his cock, and hearing the Thai girl say that most men were smaller than him tickled his ego. He decided to give the poor Japanese prostitute a break. He would screw the Thai girl next while the other whore sat on his face. That way she would be wet and loose when he fucked her again. Well, as loose as her inexperienced pussy could get.

Then her heard the Japanese girl say, "I wish the devil women work here. They fuck him crazy. They make him cry and beg."

"Shh!" the Thai girl whispered desperately. "You not ever talk about them. Room might have microphones. Anyone hear you talk about them, you disappear. Forever."

"I not care," the Japanese girl said savagely. "The devil women fuck him and make him cry like he make me cry! Fuck him and make him slave! Fuck him..."

Roger pulled the door open and the two tiny girls recoiled in horror. The Thai girl smiled nervously and said, "So sorry, sir. Do you need massage to go sleep?"

"Tell me about the devil women," Roger said. 

The color drained from the Thai girl's light brown skin. "Devil women? I not know...I not understand English so good, you want me dress up?"

Roger turned on the Japanese girl. "Tell me about them." She walked backwards until her bare ass touched the cool marble of the tub. Roger walked up to her until he loomed over her. He was erect again, and his fat cockhead bobbed in her face. He reached out and gently caressed her face. "Tell me, darling."

The Japanese girl slowly shook her head back and forth, her lips trembling, those dark eyes full of fear. "Tell me," Roger said, running his thumb over her chin, "tell me or I'll hurt you."

"Tell him nothing!" the Thai girl shrieked. 

Roger pivoted and backhanded the Thai girl across the face. She slammed against the far wall and slumped unconscious to the floor. The Japanese girl, her eyes now wide with terror, stood frozen in place. Roger grabbed one of her pigtails and dragged her back to the bedroom.

She screamed in agony, screamed for help, and Roger could only laugh. "Make all the noise you want, darling. These rooms are totally soundproof. So the other guests won't be bothered by the other noises men and women make." He laughed and she started to cry.

Roger threw her on the bed and lay on top of her, crushing her with his bulk. "Now, I've heard rumors," Roger said. "Rumors of two incredible prostitutes. Very expensive. Very skilled. But no one knows anything about them. But you do, don't you?"

The terrified girl shook her head emphatically, which confirmed to Roger that she knew something. "Very well," he sighed. "I'll make you tell me."

Roger flipped the girl on her stomach and seized her hips. With one brutal motion he impaled the girl with his iron-hard erection. She thrashed and screamed like a speared eel, but there was enough of Roger's semen still inside her to grease the way for his dick. When he had her pinned to the bed like a butterfly Roger reached out and grabbed both her wrists and yanked her arms back. From his high-school wrestling days Roger knew how painful this maneuver, called "the surfboard", could be. Though he'd never endured it with a dick up his ass, which he knew must only add to the pain.

"Hurting me!" she squealed. "Please, I sorry, I talk too much, please!"

Roger eased the pressure a bit. "Tell me what you know about the 'devil women'."

"I know nothing, I make mistake!"

Roger pulled her arms back and listened to the girl scream, and scream, and scream. When her cries turned into shrieks of absolute agony he eased the pressure. "Please, tell me."

Through her sobs she said, "Please, they kill me if I tell."

Roger pulled her arms back just a bit. "I'll kill you if you don't. I'm sure a place as luxurious as this can deal with a dead whore dirtying up the place." He pulled her arms back again and waited until she started to hyperventilate.

She gasped for breath and nodded. "I talk."

He still held her wrists but gave her arms some slack, and Roger listened to the Japanese girl talk about two women who were, so she'd heard, unique in the annals of prostitution. They did not seek out clients-in fact, their existence was one of the most carefully guarded secrets of the vast Asian underworld. But when they did take on a rare client, they inflicted such pleasure in the course of their lovemaking that it drove men mad. They brought men to climaxes that lasted minutes, orgasms of such intensity that men fractured their pelvises with their spastic thrusting. 

"How much do these women charge?" Roger asked. 

The girl swallowed. "I hear, five-hundred thousand US dollars, for one time."

Roger laughed. "A half-million. Bullshit."

"That's what I heard, sir." And he could see in her eyes that she wasn't making it up.

"Are they Thai, or Chinese?"

"No, they are Western. I know not where, exactly. I hear they are French, but some say they are Russian. I never meet them, not know anyone who meet them. I hear they are more beautiful than any women, make men go crazy to fuck them."

"How did you hear about them?"

She looked away. "Man who...hire me. He have brother who is big shot in Hong Kong triad. He like to brag, tell us all about them." Her eyes went wide with terror. "He die right after he talk about them. He get cut up all over. Never find his privates, or his tongue." She started to cry. "They kill me now too."

"No one will ever find out," he reassured her, though he didn't care a whit what happened to her. "How do I arrange a meeting with these women?"

"You want fuck them?" the girl said, horrified. "You not understand, they fuck so good they make men go crazy, men kill themselves, men cut off their organs."

Roger laughed. "I'm not afraid of a couple of whores," he said, putting some pressure back on her arms to emphasize the point. "You said you heard they might be French or Russian," Roger mused. He had contacts in Europe, on both sides of the law, maybe they could help him find these women. "Maybe one woman is French and the other Russian?"

The girl shook her head. "No, sir. The two women, they are...mother and daughter."

To Roger this was the last detail that convinced him the rumors were true. It was too sordid, too twisted, too...delicious. Adding the sin of incest to that of prostitution. Delicious.

He released the Japanese girl's wrists and she whimpered with relief. Roger grabbed her hips and was about to fuck her again when he sensed motion to his left. The Thai girl, her right eye already swollen half-shut, stumbled into the room. "I...I wanted to apologize, sir." She looked straight at the floor, obedient, penitent. "I am sorry." 

Roger uncoupled himself from the panting girl on the bed and walked to the Thai girl. He gently took her face in his hands. "I accept your apology, my dear," Roger said. "Are you all right? Do you need some ice for your eye?"

The girl shook her head but Roger stuck his hand in the silver basin that held their champagne and brought up a handful of ice. He handed the girl a cube and she gingerly touched her purpling skin with the smoking cube. While she soothed her aching face Roger slipped behind her and, with a series of savage, wrenching thrusts of his hips, crammed his huge cock in her asshole.

The Thai girl couldn't even scream. Her mouth opened and air escaped her lips, but all Roger heard was a deathly rasp. His cock was still slick from the Japanese girl's pussy and from his own boiling semen, and he was able to saw his cock in and out of her rectum without discomfort. The discomfort of the whore he was reaming didn't register in his mind. She was so tight, her buttocks so firm and smooth, and watching his thick pink snake pry apart her pretty brown pucker filled him with a sense of depraved triumph. 

Roger reached again into the silver bucket and filled his hands with ice. He cupped her small breasts in his chill palms and she reared up, trying to keep his freezing touch from her body, but Roger just forced his cock deeper in her rectum and there was nothing she could do. He was so huge now, so hard and swollen, that he couldn't pull his cock out, the fat helmet held him tight inside her body, and the only way to break their bodies apart was the deflation of his dick after orgasm. 

It took a long time. Roger had more endurance after coming once already and it took several minutes of powerful, jackhammer thrusting for her pulpy canal to bring him on. In fact, what really put Roger over the edge was the look of abject horror on the Japanese girl's face as she watched this unnatural coupling. 

"Don't worry," Roger groaned as he started to come, "you'll get some of this tomorrow." And the idea of popping the pretty girl's ass cherry as so wonderful that Roger filled the Thai whore's bum with his sperm. It took nearly five full minutes of pulling and tugging for Roger to unplug himself from her ass, and when he finally yanked himself free a pink slurry of semen and blood poured down her legs. 


The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 01



"You can leave now," Roger panted. He was exhausted, and wanted a shower and a nap before going out for the evening. The Thai girl could barely walk and the other whore helped guide her to the door. The turned before leaving and bowed. "Thank you, sir," they said in quiet, little-girl voices. And then they left.

Roger took a long shower and slipped into pajamas. Before he laid down to sleep he called the extension of the resort's madam. "This is Mr. Travers," he said,

"How may I be over service?"

"The two girls you sent to me this afternoon."

"Were they not to your liking?"

"On the contrary, they pleased me very much. I would like them again tomorrow."

"Of course, sir. Very good, sir." 

Later that night, much later, Roger sat in a nightclub with Takahashi, a former business client. They drank sake and the alcohol loosed Roger's tongue enough that he mentioned the rumors and what the whores had told him. "What do you think," he asked his drunken friend. "Could it be true?"

Takahashi shrugged. "Who knows the fuck?" he slurred, his perfect English fracturing under the weight of the drink. "Who pay five-hundred fucking grand for fucking once time?"

"I would," Roger said. "I have more money than I know what to do with and too much time on my hands. For a half-million," he shrugged. "It's only money."

Only money. That thought brought Roger out of his reverie. Once upon a time those words would have sent Roger into a rage. When he ran his company he was a tyrant about wasting so much as a penny. Now that he was just a megarich layabout money was just a means to indulging his appetites. Roger liked his women to have long, sexy fingernails, so he spent $50 a week to ensure that his six serious mistresses kept their nails exquisitely manicured. Three hundred bucks a week, over fifteen grand a year, just so Roger could say, as he did to Debbie right now, "Tickle my balls, baby, tickle my balls," Those perfect fingernails stroked his sensitive sac as her tongue slavered over the head of his cock. Fifteen grand and it was worth every dime, because he had so many dimes now they couldn't be counted. "Baby, play with my balls." Her dark eyes smiled up at his as her creamy lips stretched tight over his thick shaft. She released him from her moist mouth long enough to say, "Penny for your thoughts?"

He grunted and she resumed sucking his cock. Her head bobbed up and down in his lap and he gently caressed her soft hair. A penny for his thoughts, but five-hundred grand for the sexual encounter of a lifetime. 

"Come on, honey," he urged. "Do it nice."

Debbie formed a tight seal over his cockhead and corkscrewed her mouth up and down his shaft. He quickly became saturated with her saliva and her right hand followed the path of her mouth, giving him exquisite pleasure over his entire length. Her hands were so soft, her lips so wet, and the nails that tickled his balls so sharp. He couldn't hold back even if he wanted to. "Debbie, baby, oh..." Roger's hips thrust involuntarily, "Oh, honey, yeahhh!!" Her eyes looked up at him with adoration as he pumped a full load of semen into her stomach. 

At last his spasms ended. Debbie let his cock fall from her lips, and she opened her mouth wide to show him the thick white coating he'd left behind. She swallowed hard and licked his softening cock, cleaning him, her eyes never leaving his. Roger sighed, well-satisfied. "You're very good at your job," he sighed, caressing her face.

"Do you think I deserve a raise?" she asked.

"No," he said, his voice icy. He didn't like it when Debbie behaved in a playful way. He wanted her crisp, cool, professional. "You're paid well to do the tasks I set before you. If you exceed my expectations, I'd consider it. That time hasn't come yet."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

He helped her to her feet. While she reapplied her lipstick he said, "I have some errands for you to run right now. Make the phone calls and other arrangements from home. I need to do some thinking." She seemed a bit downcast after his chastisement, so he said, "I'll transfer some extra money into your account from home. Your bonus isn't due until September, but I see no problem giving it to you now so you can better enjoy your trip."

She smiled, obviously relieved that he wasn't too displeased with her. "Thank you, sir. That's very generous."

"I'll call you when I need you back in the office. It should be at least two weeks. Enjoy your trip."

She left after thanking him one last time. In a few days that gorgeous body would be lying on the beach, the sun turning her skin to a golden brown, the same luscious color as the dozens of Thai prostitutes he'd enjoyed during that remarkable trip.

He sat back in his chair, put up his feet, and again fell deep in thought, thinking about his Asian trip, and especially the day after he learned about the two mysterious whores. He had expected the young Japanese and Thai girl to return the next day, but when Roger opened the door he saw two new girls smiling and giggling. He shut the door in their face and immediately dialed the madam.

"I asked for the same girls as yesterday," he said sharply.

"So sorry, sir, but they are no longer employed here."

"Then go hire them again, I want them."

"I'm sorry, sir. That is impossible."

A chill ran up Roger's spine. "I'll pay. I'll pay five times the usual price."

The woman said, "I'm sorry sir, it wouldn't matter if you paid five hundred times." And she quietly hung up.

So his room was wired. Were they trying to scare him? And who exactly were the "they"?

Roger went to the door and the two girls who still waited for him. He showed the girls a plastic smile and let them inside his suite. An afternoon of passionate fucking with these two juicy young women lay ahead. But Roger wasn't interested in these women. He wasn't even much interested in the girls who had so abruptly and ominously vanished. He was thinking of the devil women, the mother and daughter, the whores who commanded a fortune for one soul-shattering fuck. Roger Travers knew in that moment that he would not be content until he met these mysterious prostitutes, met them and fucked them and learned for himself how fearsome the truly were. 

But for now he had to content himself with two gorgeous teenage hookers. Roger sighed and went to the bed, a grim afternoon's work ahead.



The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 02



For most men, having wild sex with two talented teenage hookers would be a guilty dream come true. But for Roger Travers it was just another day in Thailand, another day sticking his cock in the same orifices over and over and over again. The girls were gorgeous and tireless and normally would have fully occupied Roger's attention, but he had other things on his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about the story he'd hear the day before, about the "devil women", two mysterious prostitutes who could, it was said, drive men insane with pleasure. He'd heard the story from two girls he'd fucked and tortured the day before, girls who had suddenly vanished after revealing their secret. 

Even as he was screwing one girl while the other tickled his balls with her nails, Roger's mind was fixated on these fearsome courtesans. He wanted them. He didn't know what they looked like, couldn't imagine what techniques or skills they might possess, but Roger had the money and the ambition to do anything in the world, and right now what he wanted most was to fuck these "devil woman". 

It took him a long time to come, and when he finally emptied himself into the vagina of the panting whore lying on his bed he pulled out and shoved them both toward the door. "Thank you, you wild crazy man," the one girl giggled brainlessly. His semen flowed down her thighs and the other girl's lipstick was smeared from giving him head, but from their moronic smiles and chattering you'd think they'd just ridden a merry-go-round. He remembered the two girls who left yesterday, the pain in their traumatized eyes, and how much more satisfying that had been. He shut the door, pulled the silk comforter off the bed, and lay down to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later there was a sudden tapping at his door, soft but insistent. He ignored it. The knocking came again. "Go away!" he snarled. There was a pause of twenty seconds, and then, louder, knock, knock, knock. "I say, go away!" Ten seconds later, knock, knock, knock.

He stormed to the door and nearly ripped it from its hinges. The expletive assault stuck in his throat. Standing before him was a Thai boy, maybe twelve years old, wearing a Limp Bizkit T-shirt, cutoff jeans, and a Yankees baseball cap. He looked up at Roger with insouciant eyes. 

"You Travers?" the boy asked.

Roger was caught off guard. This hotel prided itself on its security and discretion and was more than capable of keeping beggars from bothering the guests. But this boy didn't look desperate. He looked impatient. "You want me check your passport? Roger Travers, yes, no?"

"I'm Travers. What do you want?"

"I want you give me fifty thousand dollars, right now. I know you not have money here, you go to bank and bring back. I wait for you here."

Roger stood there, frozen in place. The boy didn't look like he was armed. There didn't seem to be any one else lurking in the hallway. "Why would I give you fifty thousand dollars?"

The boy walked past Roger and pushed the door closed. "Because you talk a lot. You say five-hundred thousand US dollars not much for fucking. My master, he say, let's see if Travers just talk. You give me fifty large, down payment. My master, he check you out. You come out OK, you get what you pay for."

Roger laughed. "You think I'm so stupid I'd give you that much money and hope you don't rip me off?"

The boy flopped on the bed and picked up the phone. "No, my master not think you stupid. He prove he not break promise. You get money first. Tell bank president you want speak to Mr. Chao. When you speak Mr. Chao, give him this." The boy handed Roger a white envelope sealed with wax. "You not open envelope. You do, bad news for you. You give Mr. Chao envelope. Then you see."

The boy pressed a button on the phone. "Room service? Order for suite 122. I want double cheeseburger with mustard, onion rings, and bottle Dom Perignon 1990. Thank you." The boy smiled at Roger. "Year I born, very good champagne."

"They won't deliver it. I have to sign for the food."

The boy stretched out on the king-size bed. "They deliver it for me. How you think I got up here? They know me. They know my master. They not charge you for food." The boy fluffed the pillows and lay back. "Go now! I not want wait all day."

Roger dressed quickly, putting on lightweight khakis and a white linen shirt. He went to the hotel lobby and had the doorman call a cab. He waited under the hotel's broad awning, the oppressive heat and humidity seemed to wrap a sopping blanket around his body. He didn't usually mind the tropical damp, but he shivered a bit as his sweating body cooled itself. This was very odd. He'd seen many odd things during his time in Thailand. He'd done many odd things. Illegal, immoral things. But this was different. This was outside his control. 

It excited him.

It was a short drive to the bank where he'd set up his account for this little adventure. Wiring a million dollars into a bank gets you certain privileges, and Roger was escorted into a back room with Mr. Rudi Prangitan, the bank's president. Prangitan was a short, squat man, his considerable weight concentrated around his midriff. His dark eyes seemed to sparkle with joy as he beheld Travers walking the corridor to his office. Travers wondered what those happy eyes looked like when Rudi put the screws on a customer facing bankruptcy and ruin. 

"Mr. Travers, so delighted to see you, so happy!" Prangitan squealed with the ardor of a teenage girl meeting her idol. "What can I do for you, anything, you just need to ask and it will be done!"

"Thank you. I need fifty thousand dollars, US, immediately." 

"Of course!" Prangitan pressed a number on his phone, spoke a few words of melodic, flowing Thai, and replaced the receiver. "You will have it in your hands within moments, my dear, dear friend. Have you decided to extend your stay in our country? Please tell me you have, it would be so sad to have you leave us just as you began to enjoy all that Thailand has to offer gentlemen such as yourself."

"No, I'm leaving tomorrow. I have a meeting next week to finalize the sale of my company. A formality, but I have to be present in person to sign the documents."

Prangitan lips curled in a sweet, oily smile. "So sad, to give up the firm you spent your life building, bit by bit, into a colossus. Still, from the figures reported in the financial press, how could you resist?" Prangitan licked his lips. "Are the figures...accurate?"

Travers leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. "No. They're not even close." Prangitan's grin turned wolfish. The implication in Roger's voice was, no, I'm getting a lot more than the reporters have guessed. Roger was about to move from the realm of the merely rich to the Olympian heights of the fabulously wealthy. And that made him a terribly interesting man in Prangitan's eyes. 

"I hope you will be coming back to Thailand soon," he ventured.

Roger knew what Prangitan wanted to know. "Not soon, I don't think. But soon enough that I want to continue the relationship we've started, my friend. I have to say, I've received a level of service here that is sadly lacking in American and European banks."

Prangitan's white teeth showed. "That makes me very happy, to hear you call me friend. Because that is what a banker should be to his customer, a friend."

"Such an important relationship."

"Indeed, sir. Indeed."

The door opened, and a young woman came into the room with a thick manila envelope. "Thank you, my dear," Prangitan said, and the woman smiled nervously and left without turning her back on the two men. He handed the envelope to Roger. "My friend, I must apologize. You needn't have bothered yourself coming here in person. Much as I enjoy seeing you and speaking to you, you need only call me with your requests and I could have a courier deliver the cash."

"I know. But there was something else I needed of you."

Prangitan spread his arms. "Ask, my friend."

Roger swallowed, wondering if he was about to make a fool of himself. "I want to speak to Mr. Chao."

The change in Prangitan's expression was so sudden, and so severe, that Roger thought the man was having a stroke. His left eye twitched, his mouth gaped, an odd gurgling sound came from his throat. Even though the room was air-conditioned Prangitan broke out in a violent sweat. His lips trembled. "Mr. Chao," he whispered. 

"Yes." Roger pulled the envelope from his inside pocket. "I want to give him this."

Prangitan reached out for the phone and pressed a button. His hand trembled. "My car, please," he said. He tried to smile, and the effect was so grotesque Roger felt his own stomach flutter. "I will take you to Mr. Chao."

"Is that a problem?"

The smile left Prangitan's face. "No. No problem. No problem."

Prangitan's car was a Cadillac, and the driver looked surprised and insulted when his master said, "I will drive myself." Roger opened the passenger door but was told, "No, Mr. Travers, please, sit in the back. Make yourself comfortable."

Roger relaxed in the Caddy's leather opulence, watching the chaos of downtown Bangkok fade as they drove out into what might be called the suburbs. They drove for well over two hours, into rich, verdant farmland, rice paddies stretching as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful, Roger had never seen anything so intensely green as the young rice shoots rising from the water. 

They pulled off the main highway to a road that looked like it had been paved just a few days before. The blacktop was so smooth it felt like the Cadillac rode on rails. Roger noticed that every five hundred yards or so there were platforms about thirty feet in the air topped by small sheds. "What's are those structures for?" he asked as they passed one.

"They are observation posts," Rudi said. His voice took on a frightened, faraway tone. "I am sure there are machine guns pointed at us right now."

"Why?"

Prangitan looked up into the rear view mirror. "You do not know who Mr. Chao is?"

"No."

"Mr. Chao is...you have heard the expression, the power behind the throne?"

"Yes."

"That is Mr. Chao. He knows everything. Owns everything." Rudi paused. "Owns me."

The drove up to a gate guarded by four men in green fatigues who all carried automatic weapons. One held up his hand and Rudi brought the Caddy to a stop. He lowered the window and the guard marched over. The other three, Roger noted, spread out and aimed their weapons at the car. They looked very suspicious and very professional.

The guard slung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled out an Beretta 9mm. 'Identify yourself," he barked.

Rudi's voice wavered. "Prangitan. My password is 2-3-8-9-2."

The guard stepped away, produced a cell phone, and dialed. A minute later he stepped back. "You do not have an appointment."

"I have an important guest. He has a letter of introduction."

The guard spoke into the phone. There was a pause, and then his body stiffened to attention. He nodded, snapped the phone shut, and returned to the car. "Proceed directly to the main residence. Do not deviate, or you will be stopped."

"Thank you," Rudi said. He raised the window and the drove through the opened gate. There were more unusual buildings, low concrete structures with narrow slots. "Pillboxes," Prangitan said. "Heavy machine guns. Anti-tank weapons."

"Mr. Chao has powerful enemies, I take it."

Rudi shrugged. "The United States government, mostly. No one in Asia would take him on directly, not without your government prodding them, giving military support. Nothing has happened for a long time, but Mr. Chao takes few chances."

The car pulled up to a house that looked like it had been dropped by aliens. It was a huge, plantation style house right out of the antebellum South, with broad verandas and brilliant white columns. There wasn't another house within sight. Roger got out of the car and Rudi escorted him inside. The foyer was of veiny red marble, covered by exquisite Oriental carpets. Huge fans set in the high ceilings stirred the air. 

A woman entered the foyer, a stunning, striking, fantastically beautiful woman. Her hair hung to her waist, a shimmering curtain of jet-black silk. Her light brown skin was rich and radiant, the creaminess of her complexion absolutely extraordinary. Her smiling lips were full and pillowy, her eyes dark yet warm and serene. She wore a loose magenta sarong that flowed down her slim, elegant body. "Rudi, it is so nice to see you again." She offered him his hand, and Rudi kissed it, his whole body quaking. 

He said, "Mala, may I present to you my very good friend from America, Roger Travers."

She held out her hand, but not to be kissed. She shook Roger's hand with a confident grip. "I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Travers."

"The pleasure is all mine. And, please, call me Roger."

She tilted her head, appreciating his tact and politeness. "Please, gentlemen, come with me."

Mala led them up the broad staircase. He watched her hips sway back and forth as she walked. She was slim and graceful, and when she turned and saw him staring at her body she showed no embarrassment or disapproval. She smiled, and he smiled back. 

As they curled up the stairs to the second floor Roger noticed the men standing quietly in the shadows, serious men with submachine guns. They didn't make eye contact with Roger as he walked up the stairs, but he knew if he reached into his pocket there would be six gun barrels pointed at his chest. 

They walked down another corridor, and Mala stopped. "Rudi, will you wait outside? Thank you." She led Roger into a small room furnished with a pale green sofa and matching chair, both richly upholstered. She closed and locked the door, and said. "I apologize for this affront to your dignity, but I must ask you to remove your clothes."

"What? Why?"

She folded her hands in front of her. "My employer has many enemies, enemies who would like very much to kill him. Many of these enemies are from the US and Europe. Before I take you to your interview I must make sure that you haven't the means to inflict injury. Again, I apologize."

"No need. I understand completely." Roger removed his clothes and tossed them carelessly on the floor. He stood confidently, hands on his hips. She was looking at his penis, which slowly began to thicken. "See? Nothing to hide."

She walked close to him, so close that he could smell the jasmine in her hair. "I must make a close inspection. I fear that I shall have to touch you in intimate places."

He was fully erect now, his penis almost touching the soft material of her sarong. Mala's cool hands drifted all over his body, over his chest, his arms, his back. "A few years ago," she explained as her hands explored him, "one of my employer's closest associates was killed by a man who had a syringe of poison surgically implanted in his hip. The assassin was very fat, and the hypodermic was inserted in an incision made in one of his folds of skin."

"Very ingenious."

"Yes," she said, as she knelt before him and ran her hands from his inner thighs down to his ankles. "It is sad that people will go to so much trouble to hurt others."

"It is." He was desperate for her to touch him, but she showed no interest in the hard flesh sticking up between his legs. She moved behind him and Roger again felt her soft touch. She tenderly frisked his back, his buttocks, and his legs. 

"I'm clean?" he asked, trying to keep the lust from his voice.

"I must inconvenience you one last time," she said. She reached into a deep pocket in her sarong and produced a tube of lubricant. 

"Is that totally necessary?" Roger asked, knowing what was coming next.

"I'm afraid it is."

Roger spread his legs and waited. He felt Mala move close to him. Her finger gently probed his sphincter. And then Roger looked between his legs and saw her tiny hand snake around his waist and grip his penis. He groaned with ecstasy as delicate fingers circled his cock and slowly pumped. His groans grew even louder where her slippery finger penetrated his rectum. She plunged her finger in and out of him as her hand glided over his penis.

"I don't think you have a weapon concealed in here."

"No," Roger groaned, wanting to laugh but unable to because her hand made him feel too good. 

"Mr. Chao informed me that he would not be available when you arrived. He asked me to entertain you until he was ready."

"How much time to we have?"

Mala extracted her finger and released his penis. He turned and watched her unfold the sarong, revealing her magnificent body bit by bit. Her golden skin seemed to glow from within. Her breasts were small yet plump, the dark nipples pointing toward the ceiling. Her buttocks were smooth and taut, her arms and legs toned and lightly muscled. "We have enough."

She guided him to the chair and she knelt between his legs, smoothing her hair away from her face and his groin. She lifted his heavy cock to her mouth and kissed him, kissed him down there again and again, her eyes smiling up at him.

"Have you ever been to America?" he asked.

She shook her head side-to-side, and then her mouth was over him, over his entire length, and when she drew her lips back his shaft glistened.

"You should come back with me," he groaned as she swallowed him whole again. "I would enjoy your company."

She was good. Oh, God, was she good. She gave him head and he could almost feel the semen in his balls bubbling. She stopped and her tongue swirled over his big purple head. "I would love to, but I don't think Mr. Chao would approve."

"Maybe he could be persuaded."

She laughed. "Wait until we are done, and then ask yourself that question again."

He lay back, his legs spread wide, and Mala loved him with her mouth. She burrowed deep into his groin and sucked his nuts into her mouth, jerking his slippery cock with her slender fingers. When she returned his cock to her mouth she looked into his eyes and held him spellbound, her eyes never leaving his. He felt his orgasm gathering within him, ready to burst forth.

"You're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met," Roger said, with more emotion than he expected.

She took his entire length into her warm mouth last time, then slowly drew her head up, her full lips stretched tight by his girth. She stood and kissed him on the lips. "I think it is more important to be beautiful on the inside, than the outside." Roger was about to disagree with her, but then she crawled into his lap and settled herself over his erection. "Let me show you what I mean."

Roger sat on the chair and Mala sat on him and that was how they coupled, his pin buried deep inside her, Mala putting her hands on Roger's shoulders and easing herself up and down his cock. She was wonderfully tight, wonderfully wet, and then Mala showed Roger what she meant about her beauty inside. The muscles of her pussy squeezed and wrung his penis like some sublime vortex. Roger groaned like an bear as her vagina worked him in ways he'd never experienced before.

Roger sucked Mala's dark brown nipples into his mouth and she sighed with delight. She was so lovely, so magical. This was a woman he could see himself loving, imagine her by his side as his wife. She was warm and gentle yet passionate and magnificently skilled. She was far better than any of the girls he'd enjoyed the last 30 days, and that was saying something. She was the greatest fuck of his life. 

She seemed to sense his thoughts. "Do I please you as much as the whores you've visited?"

"You please me more than any woman I've ever known."

Her pussy gripped him again, then relaxed. Roger groaned. She kept it up, the clenching and releasing, which, combined with the rhythm of Roger's thrusts, had him moaning like a kid popping his cherry.




The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 02



"Mr. Chao should be ready for you now," Mala said. "I'll finish you now, if you don't mind." And she did finish him. Roger wanted to pleasure to go and on, he wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon in her arms. But she was too much, her body overwhelmed his ability to resist. She quickened the pace of her bouncing hips, increased the tempo of the undulations inside her, and he couldn't stop himself. "Mala, ahh, God!" he cried, thrusting into her as much as he could with her slight weight bearing down on him, and then his penis blossomed inside her and his throbbing organ pulsed and spurted. She cooed with delight as he filled her with his semen. "You Americans, there's always so much of you when you come," she sighed into his ear.

"I understand now what you meant, about Mr. Chao not letting you go." He caressed her face. "If I had you, I'd never give you up, not for anything." 

She rose, uncoupling their bodies. "I will tell Mr. Chao you are ready. There is a basin of water in the bathroom, feel free to freshen up." She made a slight bow of her head, and then she was gone. He was disappointed at how brusquely she ended their encounter. He thought there had been a larger connection between them than just the sex. 

He sponged his crotch and armpits with the soapy water, then dressed. As he was buttoning his shirt the door suddenly opened. A man walked in, Chinese, not Thai. His black hair was parted on the side and rather long, covering the tops of his ears. He had crow's feet around his eyes, the kind you get from smiling too much. But his eyes themselves belied the air of good humor. They were cool, calculating, devious. Roger watched those eyes look him up and down and he felt like the man had just read his mind.

"Roger Travers," the man said, a statement, not a greeting. "Graduated magna cum laude from Carnegie Mellon University in 1978 with a degree in computer science. Received your Ph.D in electrical engineering from MIT, 1982. Worked for IBM for three years, then moved to California to do research at Bell Labs. While you were there you found enough spare time to earn an MBA from Stanford." He closed the door behind him and walked to the couch. "Remarkable," he said admiringly.

He continued, "You left Bell Labs and started a company called Dynamic Computing Solutions. You sold the company in 1986. You then started Integrated Systems. Sold that company in 1992. And then you started yet another company called Travers Advanced Computing, and built it into one of the biggest networking companies in the world." He paused and smiled. "One of the biggest, but not the biggest. Hence, your decision to sell the company to your largest competitor."

He walked up to Roger and stopped a few feet away. He grinned. "I'm not trying to show off," he said. "When such an eminent American entrepreneur enters my sphere of influence, I make it my business to learn something about him."

"You could have learned all that by reading the article the Wall Street Journal did on me," Roger said

The man nodded. "True. But I don't think the Wall Street Journal reported that the original offer for your company was $3.6 billion, and you negotiated your way up to $5.65 billion. You stand to make two-hundred and sixty-five million dollars on the deal. You must be an extremely tough bargainer."

Roger's mouth went dry. Those were the exact figures, and they had not been released to the press. Or to either company's board of directors. They wouldn't find out until after the papers had been signed. 

The man saw how flustered Roger was and he laughed. "Now, my friend, I'm showing off." He held out his hand. "My name is Raymond Chao. And I am delighted to meet you."

Roger shook the offered hand, and Chao led him out on the veranda to a small table shaded by a broad umbrella. They sat and a young man in a spotless white suit arrived with a large pitcher of iced tea and two tall glasses. Chao poured, and said, "I believe you have something for me?"

Roger handed over the envelope, and Chao examined the red wax seal. "Indeed..." he murmured. He tore the seal and removed the single sheet inside. Roger could see that there was only a few lines of text, and Chao scanned them quickly. "Interesting..." he said, and then he read aloud. "My very dear friend, I send to you a most exceptional gentleman, one I think worthy of our trust and consideration. He wishes to arrange a meeting between himself and those who are my most cherished and beloved. I must ask your help to facilitate the rendezvous. The usual procedures, of course. I am, as always, your most steadfast and constant friend..." Chao folded up the note without revealing the name of the author.

Chao took a long sip of tea. "You heard the rumors, and unlike most you chose to believe them." He looked at Roger, measuring him, like a man who'd just been raised in a poker game and was deciding whether to call or fold. "Five years ago you went on an guided expedition to Mount Everest, yes?"

Roger nodded, slowly. Chao continued, "Five hundred feet from the summit, you turned back. Your two guides and three other clients pressed on. A storm hit late in the afternoon. One of the guides and two of the clients died. Those who survived lost fingers, toes. You turned back. Why?"

Roger had told the story a number of times to the media, and he was sure Chao knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from Roger's mouth. "Before we made for the summit we set a turn-around time of 2PM. At 2PM we weren't even close. I was exhausted. We all were. We had a plan. I chose to stick to it. The others didn't."

"That must have taken remarkable discipline, to come so close, and then deny yourself the prize."

"Yes, it was. It was agony going back." Roger sipped his tea. "But without discipline, courage is just recklessness."

Chao nodded. "My friend, I ask now that you show some discipline. Forget about this. Go back to America, sell your company, have other adventures. Trust me, this is not something you want to do."

"And why is that? Have you met these women before?"

"No. Because if I had, I would not be sitting here chatting so pleasantly with you. I have seen men who have coupled with these women. They are no longer...intact." Chao leaned forward to emphasize the point. "There is something terribly wrong with them. They are never at peace. Their bodies crave the intensity of the pleasure they once enjoyed, a pleasure so overwhelming it taxed them to the point of death."

The warning only served to whet Roger's appetite. "Women are women. Sex is sex. Great sex is great sex. I'm not a man who gets pussy-whipped."

Chao's laugh was a harsh bark with little mirth in it. "My friend, these creatures are more devil than woman. What they do to a man is more torture than sex. If you wish, I will help you. But, again, I advise against it. You will come to regret it."

Roger sipped his tea. "You know about the failed expedition to Everest. So you know that the next year I went right back, and that time I reached the summit. Along the way I passed the bodies of my former comrades. They're still there, right where they collapsed at the end, frozen in time. And I went right past them. It didn't faze me." He set his glass on the table and matched Chao's stare. "I appreciate your concern. I do. But I'm intrigued. My curiosity must be satisfied."

Chao sighed. "Very well, my friend." Roger didn't see Chao make any kind of signal, but the white-jacketed man suddenly appeared. "Send Prangitan in."

Rudi came in, sweating and looking ill. "Rudi, my friend," Chao said without much warmth. "You will open a special account for Mr. Travers and transfer five-hundred thousand US dollars into it." Rudi asked no questions, made no objections. He merely nodded, and Chao said, "You may leave." Rudi swiveled and was gone.

Chao spoke slowly. "I am personally guaranteeing that you will not be swindled. You may take the money in this account and do with it what you will. But if you set up the encounter, and follow it to its completion, I expect to have my money returned." The dark eyes narrowed. "I should make it clear, I am not a man you should casually insult." The words did not fully describe the menace projected by this otherwise amiable man. 

Roger squared himself in his chair. "I would never insult your generosity. I thank you for such kind consideration."

The cloudy mood lifted instantly. Chao said, "I would like to think that this could be the beginning of a long and beneficial relationship. I have had some, ah, difficulties with the government of your country, and the insight of such a prominent citizen could be invaluable."

"I probably hate the US government more than you," Roger said. "Degenerate thieving bastards."

Chao laughed. "Perhaps you do, but I doubt it." Chao checked his watch, and sighed. "I am sorry, but I have a pressing appointment. I must leave immediately."

"Wait, if Rudi left, I have no way to get back to Bangkok."

Chao stood and Roger followed. "One of my helicopters will take you back to the city." He extended a hand. "Good luck, Mr. Travers."

He and Roger shook. "Thank you, Mr. Chao." Chao turned to leave, when Roger remembered something. "Mala. She, ah, works for you?"

"Yes."

"How much would it take to hire her away?"

Chao laughed out loud. "As I'm sure you learned, she is a pearl without price. I would never give her away for something as trivial as money." Then, again, his dark eyes turned serious. "She is extraordinary, wasn't she?"

"Incredible."

"I should warn you, that as pleasurable as her lovemaking may be, compared to the women you intend to hire, Mala is nothing. Nothing. You are in a little in love with Mala, I can see. You would give me millions to take her back to your country as your concubine. What will you be willing to do after your time with those terrible women?" Chao didn't wait for an answer. "One more thing for you to consider." 

Chao passed through a door and the white-suited young man materialized. "Follow me, sir," He led Roger up several flights of stairs to the roof, which doubled as a helipad. A helicopter was already spooling up, the big rotor blade spinning faster and faster. The young man held open the rear door and Roger climbed in. The pilot said, "Buckle up, sir," in a broad Australian accent. 

Roger secured himself and the helo leapt from the roof like a rocket, the pilot opened the throttle wide and leveled off at a thousand feet. What took Rudi hours to drive took the helicopter fifteen minutes. The pilot set his craft down on the pad of a hospital a block away from Roger's hotel. There was a man waiting to escort Roger to the elevator, which took him directly to the main lobby. A motorized rickshaw sat waiting, and a minute later Roger was strolling confidently into the hotel, the manila envelope in his hand.

He opened the door and found the boy lounging on the bed watching the "The Matrix". Keanu Reeves was showering a high-rise building with a minigun, and the boy rolled over and saw Roger in the doorway. "Damn, you back before big scene in subway," he said. 

"You can stay and watch it," Roger said. 

The boy leapt off the bed. "I have on DVD. You have money?" 

Roger handed him the envelope and the boy tucked it under his arm like a football. "You aren't going to count it?"

The boy laughed. "Rudi know, he short money, he end up short a hand. Or a dick." Then the boy's smile vanished, and for the first time Roger saw him look serious, even somber. "You must be strange man, pay this much money just for women. For this much, can get thousand hundred girls."

"What do you know about the women I intend to hire?"

"Nothing. I make sure I not know things I not supposed to know. Make life much easier."

"As you get older, I think you'll learn that the more you know, the more power you have."

The boy shrugged, his carefree air returning in a flash. "I think, better you know a little bit important stuff than whole bunch of bullshit." He tugged his Yankee cap over his black hair. "You big boy, you take care of yourself." He paused halfway through the door. "I leave you half bottle champagne. Drink, celebrate. But, remember old saying."

"What old saying?"

"Be careful what you wish for. You may get it." The boy passed through the door without a backward glance.

*****

Now, ten months later, Roger settled back in his chair and remembered how sweet that champagne tasted. And tonight, after he confirmed the deal at the Duquesne Hotel, he would enjoy another bottle of Dom Perignon 1990. That boy had been right. It was an excellent vintage. He would toast himself, to the coming climax of another great adventure.

Since his return from Thailand he'd received several anonymous missives. One letter instructed him to wire an additional fifty thousand dollars to a Cayman bank account. A midday phone call commanded him to order a drink at the bar and then immediately leave, a setup Roger later thought must have been contrived to obtain a good set of his fingerprints. Every few weeks envelopes arrived with brief messages inside-"Be patient, Mr. Travers", or, "The arrangements are almost finalized". 

He had the feeling he was being followed, though he never really spotted a tail. He came home and had the sense that someone had been there while he was gone, just a feeling, maybe the lingering scent of the intruders who'd left a few minutes before. 

Just a few weeks before he'd attended a fundraiser for the symphony and noticed that a gorgeous blonde woman in a beaded silver gown kept staring at him. She was in her mid-thirties, older than he liked, but she was so beautiful that her age of course meant nothing. Her dress was cut very short and he let his eyes wonder over the shapely legs and ass, and he let her catch him admiring her body. He wanted to talk to her but he couldn't break away from the conversation he was having with the Mayor. But when he saw the blonde walking to the bar he excused himself and shouldered his way next to her.

The woman didn't look at him, she just lifted her vodka tonic to her dark red lips and then said, "You're Roger Travers, yes?"

He was pleased that his fame had spread so far. "I am."

The woman put her elbow on the bar and turned to face him, her lovely, confident face looking up. "I've heard that you are enormously endowed. Is it true?"

The question surprised Roger, but it was a most pleasant surprise. "Yes, it's true."

"Enormous."

"Yes. Might I ask where you heard this?"

She sipped her drink. "You know a young woman named Jennifer Cullimore?"

Roger stiffened. Jennifer was one of his on-again, off-again mistresses, a 22-year-old girl he'd met while getting an extended lap dance at the city's premier gentleman's club. Jennifer was a bit too excitable for Roger, she called him constantly and loved flashing and fucking in public. But still, a delicious piece of ass. "Yes, I know Jennifer quite well."

"And I know Jennifer quite well. Well, I know her mother quite well. And I guess Jennifer looks to me as a big sister, someone she can confide in. Someone she can talk about her love life with. Talk about the sexy older man with the big dick who fucks her until she screams."

Roger was smiling now, knowing that this woman was as good as in his bed. "I think that's very decent of you, to mentor a lovely young person like Jennifer."

The woman smiled sardonically. "There's nothing decent about what I'm thinking right now."

Roger moved closer to her, and she put her hand on his wrist. "And what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that I'm not wearing panties. I'm thinking that I'm very, very wet. I'm thinking that the bathroom at the far end of the lobby isn't being used. And I'm thinking that I want you to meet me in that bathroom and fuck me with that huge cock like you fuck that ditzy slut Jennifer."

Roger laughed. The woman smiled and turned to walk away, but Roger seized her wrist. "What's your name?" he asked.

She turned and caressed the front of his fly with her free hand. "Alexis."

"I'll hurry, Alexis," he said, releasing her.

She shook her head. "We have plenty of time." 

He let her walk down the hall until she turned the corner, and then he followed, walking slowly, a man in control. But when he turned the corner and was away from the crowd her trotted toward the far bathroom door. It was quiet in this part of the concert hall and his footfalls echoed on the polished marble floor. He pushed the door open-and there stood Alexis, her silver dress hiked up over her hips, bent over the sleek black sink. Her legs were spread and her pussy was pink and plump. "Hurry," she whispered. "I want your cock inside me."

Roger locked the bathroom door. He wanted her to wait a bit, he wanted to show her that, as sexy as she might be, he was not the sort of man to be driven crazy just by pussy. He ran his finger between her legs and caressed her slit. She was wet, very wet, and he put his finger in his mouth. "Mmm..." he said, and the taste truly thrilled Roger. She tasted so fucking GOOD. He knelt down and buried his nose in her sex, thrusting his tongue inside her, drinking her musky juices. "No," she hissed. "Your cock! I want your cock!"

Roger fumbled with his belt, unzipped, and yanked down his slack. He pulled down his boxers and Alexis smiled when she saw his erection. "Yessss," she said. "That is a huge cock."

"And here it comes," Roger said, moving close in behind her. He rubbed his helmet up and down her furrow, moistening the tip, and then he slowly pushed himself inside her. Alexis was wet, very wet, and though she was tight he was able to penetrate her until his bone was buried inside her. He could see her in the bathroom mirror and saw his face contort with animal lust. "Feel that, baby?" he snarled.

And then Alexis's pussy walls gripped him, gripped him hard and twisted, pulled, stroked, and Roger gasped. He looked at her in the mirror and her expression was totally calm and businesslike. "Do you feel that, Mr. Travers?" she said.

"Yes," he groaned. She was just like Mala, but the blonde woman's pussy was even more muscular and devastating. Her squeezing, stroking vagina fixed Roger in place. She was making him feel so good he didn't even feel the need to thrust. "Big cocks are easy," she said coolly. "Lots of meat to grab and GRIND." She punctuated that last word with a diabolical corkscrewing motion around his helmet. 

He groaned. "How do you do that?"

She ignored the question. She made sure she held his eyes and she said, "Your encounter will take place within the month. You will have the rest of the money ready."

The undulations of her magical pussy increased. Roger couldn't help himself, he put his hands on her hips and started thrusting. Ten seconds later he was on the brink. "You're from Mr. Chao?"

She smirked and shook her head. As she brought Roger to orgasm she said, "I answer only to Monsieur Joubert."

"Jouberrrrr.....arrrrgh!" Roger groaned as his penis pulsed inside her silken purse. When his spasms ceased she disengaged herself and walked toward the door, ignoring the semen that ran down her legs. Before she left she turned and smiled at him. "You poor man. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into."

Roger grabbed a paper towel and wiped his cock. "Don't flatter yourself. You might be a great fuck, but don't go thinking that you or these other women can get the best of me just because of some trick you can do with your pussies."

The woman laughed, a long, hearty, good-natured laugh. She walked back to Roger, took his face in her hands, and tenderly kissed him on the lips. "Monsieur Joubert will find that comment most amusing." She walked back to the door.

"Tell Joubert to hurry this up." 

She shook her head. "Monsieur Joubert will contact you when he is ready." She pulled the door open, and as she walked through the door she laughed again. "You poor, stupid man."




The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 02



Roger dressed and walked back to the party. At least he had a name for his procurer. Joubert. Well, that made sense, if the two mysterious whore were French it would make sense that their pimp would be French. 

He made his final arrangements. He put four-hundred-thousand dollars in a safe-deposit box and waited for Joubert to contact him. And now that day had finally come. He looked again at the envelope he found on his desk that afternoon. "The Duquesne Hotel dining room, seven-thirty. Bring the money." He tried to imagine the man he would be meeting tonight, the man whose seal was the letter J entwined with a serpent. 

He had some time before his meeting, so he drove home and took a long bath, relaxing in the tub, clearing his mind. He attended to his toilet carefully, shaving with deliberate care, and chose from his huge walk-in closet a navy blue suit, white shirt, and a silvery blue tie. He called his bank and told them to expect him at closing time so he could access his safe deposit box. He decided not to wear his shoulder holster and the Walther PPK automatic. Tonight promised enough drama without the added spice of a firearm.

At the bank Roger filled a stainless steel suitcase with the four thousand hundred-dollar bills he'd secreted in his safe deposit box. The suitcase was heavy, and for the first time Roger realized just how much money he was spending on this insanity. A half-million. A small fortune. But he had thousands of small fortunes to blow on indulgences like this. What the hell was he going to do, leave it to CMU, start a foundation to find homes for lost puppies? Fuck it. He was going to spend every goddam penny on whatever he wanted. And what he wanted most of all was to experience these two shadowy whores from hell. He drove to the Duquesne with difficulty, his erection jutting up between his legs.

There was no reason for this city to have a four-star hotel like the Duquesno. There weren't enough people in the city with the requisite level of sophistication to properly enjoy such exquisite service, and certainly not enough people of sufficient means to enjoy it often. Roger was one of those rare people. He'd been to the Duquesne scores of times. It was his favorite place to take new conquests, especially the young, naïve girls who thought that a man holding the door open for you was the height of chivalry. After an evening with the Duquesne's exemplary staff attending their every wish Roger seldom had difficulty bedding his companion. After such a display of service the girls probably thought it would be a terrible breach of manners to refuse him.

Antoine, the captain of the Duquesne's large dining room, spotted Roger standing at the front desk and glided quickly yet without obvious haste to his side. "Mr. Travers, as always, a delight to see you."

"Good to see you, Antoine. I am meeting a..."

Antoine held up a hand, his calm eyes gleaming with understanding, managing to interrupt Roger without seeming impertinent. "Your tête-à-tête has already been arranged. If you would please follow me."

Antoine led him though the main dining room and then turned left down a small hallway. The hallway turned right, and ended with a door. Antoine tapped three times. 

"Yes?" a voice asked from within.

"Your guest, monsieur."

"Send him in."

Roger stepped inside and stopped cold. He stood in one of the hotel's private dining rooms, a room dominated by a long table cluttered with plates laden with steaming food. There were three diners-two young woman, both blonde, voluptuous and gorgeous. and a man. The man was the reason Roger stood frozen in place. He was a midget, only a few inches over three feet tall. He had a thick head of curly, light brown hair, and wore a neatly trimmed goatee. His dove-gray suit was as well-tailored as Roger's.

The midget dug a knife into a slab of fois gras and smeared it over a toast point. He wore an enormous signet ring, and Roger could see the raised letter "J" twisted with a snake. 

"You gape like a fish, Mr. Travers," the man said, popping the morsel into his fleshy mouth.

Roger set his jaw, angry for showing weakness. "I didn't expect a mid...I'm sorry. A little person. Isn't that what you people prefer to be called?"

The insult was ignored. "I prefer to be called Monsieur Joubert, and I like to be paid in cash. You have it?"

Roger walked over and set the briefcase on the table. He snapped the locks open and showed Joubert the money. "Four-hundred thousand, as agreed."

The two girls walked over to the side table. Both were absolutely stunning, beauties who might have been plucked fresh from South Beach. Thick, golden blonde hair, full breasts, legs like aerobic instructors. They didn't spare Roger so much as a glance as they dug into the briefcase, tearing the paper bands holding the bills together and riffing through the cash with the mechanical skill of a Vegas dealer. When they finished they looked at each other and nodded. They said, in unison, "It's all here."

"Thank you, my dears." Joubert said as the girls resumed their place at his side. He looked at Roger. "You'll receive instructions tomorrow. Follow them to the letter." He lifted an oyster to his lips, saw Roger staring, and said, "I suggest you go home and get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, eat a large breakfast, with lots of protein. Steak, cooked rare, would be best." He slurped down the oyster and said, "Good evening, sir," ending the interview.

There was nothing left to do but walk out the door. The two blondes didn't even bother to watch him go. One refilled Joubert's wine glass while the other spooned caviar onto a blini. It was like he hadn't been in the room. 

He was irritated. Joubert treated him like a schoolboy. Well, he thought as he patted the erection in his pants, he would show Joubert who was a boy and who was a man. And after he enjoyed the attentions of the two "devil women", maybe he'd buy a few hours with those two arrogant blondes. Get them on their knees, where women belong, and show them what it was like to be fucked by Roger Travers.

Yes, something else to look forward to. Roger drove home and followed Joubert's advice. He was asleep by nine o'clock.



The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 03



Roger woke at 6AM on the day he finally would have his encounter with the two mysterious prostitutes. He jogged his usual two miles on the treadmill, but he felt so good that he cranked up the speed and sprinted an additional half-mile. He had never in his life felt so vital, so infused with strength and power and male will-to-conquer. He stretched for twenty minutes and then did his usual three sets of fifty push-ups and two-hundred sit-ups. He went to the master bathroom, stripped, and admired his ripped body in the mirror. He was forty-eight years old and had the physique of a college halfback. He stepped on the scale and saw that he weighed exactly 190 pounds, the same as he'd weighed the last fifteen years. 

He flexed his arms, his pectorals, and then he flexed his cock, which stood up huge and hard and proud between his muscular legs. He tenderly stroked his penis, knowing that tonight he would be using this as a weapon against two women, mother and daughter, who were supposedly the greatest fucks on earth. He smiled as his penis throbbed in his hands. He would show them that there always has been, and always would be, a very big difference between the sexes when it came to power. 

Roger showered and went to his favorite restaurant for breakfast. He took Joubert's advice and loaded up on protein, ordering filet mignon, four eggs, and three glasses of whole milk. When he went back home after he ate he saw the mail truck pulling through the tall iron gates of his secured neighborhood, so he parked his Mercedes in the driveway and took a look. Inside was the usual collection of letters, catalogs and brochures, and also envelope, heavy, creamy paper, sealed with red wax, with that same stamp. Joubert. 

The letter inside read, "You will be picked up at 8:30PM. Black tie, please. Eat nothing else the rest of the day, your breakfast was large enough." Again, the little man was showing off, letting Roger know that he was under close observation. He didn't mind. Tonight he would show off for Joubert.

There was nothing to do but wait. He read the newspaper, read a book, took a nap, watched a Brazilian soccer game on his plasma TV. As the day slipped into evening the waiting began to wear on him. He didn't know what he was getting himself into. He wasn't afraid that he would be kidnapped or killed, some intuition told him that Joubert was far above such petty trickery. He didn't know if he should be afraid. He thought about the warning Mr. Chao gave him back in Bangkok, that the men who coupled with these women were no longer "intact". Should he rethink this? Should he back out?

Of course that was impossible. Roger hadn't reached his exalted place in the world by stepping back when a challenge presented itself. He was confident he could handle whatever happened. He wasn't some hick who didn't know what a blowjob felt like. He was a man of the world, the entire world, West and East. He'd take on these two whores and leave them sore between their legs and his semen crusting on their lips. 

At seven Roger showered again and dressed. He selected his Hugo Boss tuxedo, dressed, and waited. It took considerable discipline not to stand at the door looking out the window. He forced himself to wait in his den, re-reading the New York Times and listening to Beethoven, his thundering music appropriate for such a momentous occasion. Although he hadn't eaten for nearly 12 hours he wasn't at all hungry. He just sat, pretended to read, and waited. 

When the doorbell rang, Roger checked his watch and found that it was exactly 8:30, exactly. The second hand was just sweeping past the six on the dial. Somehow they'd synchronized themselves to his watch. Amazing, and a bit frightening. What else did they know?

He took his time, walking with an even, unhurried gait. He opened the door, and standing there was a beautiful girl with strawberry blonde hair. She wore a green, satiny sheath dress that did little to disguise her sexy, slender body. Her skin was alabaster white and her red lips and green eyes leapt out against such a pale, flawless background. "Hello, Mr. Travers, mah name is Annabel," the girl said, her voice a soft West Virginia twang. "Will yah come along with me, please?"

She took his hand and led him to the black stretch limousine waiting in the driveway. She held the door open and Roger settled into the soft, gray leather seat. Annabel snuggled next to him and pulled the door shut behind her. The windows of the car were strange, they were tinted on the inside, so Roger couldn't see where they were going, but he could tell from the scrape of the tires on the driveway that the were moving. "I guess this beats wearing a blindfold," he said.

Her hand moved to his groin and she caressed him. "Ah'm afraid you'll have to wear a blindfold when we reach our destination. But for now, the windows are good 'nuff." 

She kept stroking his erection through his pants, and Roger took her lovely face in her hands and kissed her. His fingers slipped inside the deep neckline of her dress and he thumbed her taut nipples. She cooed with delight, and said, "Ah'm responsible for making sure that you arrive at your meetin' nice and ready. Sometimes they get a little nervous and have some trouble gettin' hard."

"You're doing a good job," Roger said, slipping the straps from her shoulders. Her breasts were small as apples and tipped with nipples as pink as her lips. Roger leaned down and took her left nipple into his mouth. Annabel gently touched his face with her fingertips. "You can have me if you want," she whispered, "but if you do, you will not be allowed to continue with this meeting."

"Why not?"

"Monsieur Joubert always employs someone like me, a fluffer, to get his clients ready," Annabel said, her southern lilt vanishing when she said her master's name, which she spoke with a perfect French accent. "But he only allows men who can control themselves to keep their appointments." She bent down and kissed Roger, her tongue briefly probing his mouth before she leaned back, leaving her sigh in his mouth. "Men who can't control themselves are dangerous to him. Monsieur Joubert is taking a risk comin' here to America. If you aren't serious about tonight, if you can't resist a simple temptation like mahself, you aren't worth the risk."

Roger reached between Annabel's legs and felt the moist heat there. "You're more than a simple temptation." He gently stroked her slippery cleft, wrapping his arm around her and burrowing his fingers deeper and deeper into her vulva.

"I'm not going to fuck you tonight," Roger said as she smiled and squirmed in his embrace, "But I am going to fuck you. I'm going to make you suck my cock until I come all over those sweet lips, and then I'll put you down on all fours and fuck you till you scream."

Annabel's legs were wide open and Roger's fingers never stopped diddling her. "Darlin', you're gonna make me come."

He rubbed his thumb over her clitoris. "The other clients wouldn't make you come?"

She shook her head and that lovely red hair bounced about her shoulders. "Never," she gasped. "But of course didn't care about my pleasure." She arched her back and he diddled her faster and faster. Her thighs trembled and her nipples tightened and she had her orgasm, and Roger felt her vaginal muscles spasm around his thrusting fingers.

When she was done Roger eased back on the seat and made a point of licking his fingers. "I think Monsieur Joubert will find that I'm quite a different man than his previous clients."

Annabel leaned back against the seat, breathing hard, her eyes closed. She gingerly eased her lovely body back into her emerald dress. "Ah think you're right," she said, "but ah think Monsieur Joubert might surprise you too."

Annabel offered Roger some sparkling water, but no wine. "You cain't drink alcohol before your meeting."

Roger accepted the drink and kissed her forehead. "I must admit, I'm tempted to forgo the rest of the evening." He put her hand on his crotch. "I can't imagine enjoying anything more than making love to you right now."

She lowered her eyes. "Mr. Travers, compared to the women you're meetin' tonight, ah'm nothing. After tonight, you'll think making love to me's a waste of your time."

"I would never think that."

She kissed him on the lips. "Ask yourself in a few hours."

The car stopped. Annabel reached into a pouch on the door and pulled out a black velvet sash. "Ah have to ask you to put this on. Ah'll lead you, don't worry."

He consented to her request, and when she was done Roger truly couldn't see a thing. More mystery, and Roger felt his pulse quicken with excitement. He was really into this now, the fear was gone. For all the warnings, from Chao, the boy, Annabel, he was no longer afraid. Annabel had done her job well. He wanted to fuck.

The car door opened, and Annabel's soft hand nestled in his palm. "Come with me, Mr. Travers." It seemed that they passed through a doorway, and then Roger heard his footsteps echoing on a linoleum floor. They walked for about fifteen seconds, and then he heard another door creak open. Annabel released his hand, and gently nudged him forward.

"You're not coming?" he said. 

"Ah'm no longer needed," she said. When he paused, another soft hand touched his wrist and led him inside. He let himself be guided around a corner, and there they stopped. He felt a gentle tug at the blindfold, and then it was drawn away, and he could see.

He was standing in what looked like the men's locker room of an athletic club. The carpet was dark orange, the lockers were bright orange. And standing before him was a tiny and very pretty Vietnamese girl, wearing a bright saffron robe that billowed around her slight body.

She bowed low. "Good evening, Mr. Travers. Please, remove your clothes and set them on the bench. They will be attended to."

He paused, a bit bewildered by his surroundings. But the girl looked up at him with patient eyes and he took off his clothes and carefully draped them on the bench. The girl averted her eyes as he stripped, but when he stood before her totally nude she looked at his erection with no embarrassment. She stepped back and let the robe slip from her shoulders, again showing no self-consciousness at her nudity. 

"Come with me, please," she said, and Roger followed her into the showers. 

"I bathed today," he said, with only a touch of sarcasm.

"You must be cleaned a special way, to ensure that you are acceptable to those you meet tonight. They are especially sensitive to unusual smells, and as they rarely visit America, your soaps and detergents may displease them."

She turned on the water and felt it for temperature. The water beaded on her tea-colored skin and made it glisten. Roger stepped close to her and his penis slid along the small of her back. She shivered as he took his erection in his hand and rubbed it over her ass and the small of her back. 

"I must wash you," she said, twisting away. Roger didn't pursue her, knowing that she had to come back to him. She picked up a bar of clear yellow soap and a thick natural sponge. She lathered the sponge and slashed at him with it, washing his chest and armpits and back and legs, but avoiding his cock. The soap smelled odd, almost musky, but still pleasant. The girl went about her work efficiently, and in a few minutes Roger was clean, in all but one important place.

At last she set the sponge down and filled her hands with the soapy suds. She closed her hands around his cock and pumped him in and out of her tiny fists. "Ahh..." Roger sighed. 

"I apologize," she said. "It is not my intention to arouse you."

"Intention or not, you are," Roger said, cupping her small breasts in his hands. "Spread your legs, I want to touch you."

She squirmed away. "I am a virgin, I am not allowed to be touched there."

Roger seized her and spun her around, so that his erection was pressing against her ass. "I will decide where and when to touch you," he growled. He pulled her close and pointed his erection at her vagina. There was no prohibition about fucking this girl, was there? He would deflower this girl right here and now, to show Joubert that he was not a man to be taken so lightly.

A voice echoed through the locker room. "You will stop that, Mr. Travers." It was Joubert.

Roger paused, but didn't release the girl's hips. There must be a camera and speaker somewhere in the shower. "I will?" he challenged.

"You will. We do not have the time for such behavior. We are on a timetable. Allow her to complete her duties."

Roger pulled the girl tight against his pelvis, rubbing his cock between her buttocks. He wanted her very badly. "And if I refuse?"

The voice said, "You will be killed, Mr. Travers." And before Roger could speak the voice said, "Look behind you."

Roger turned, and standing there was a burly Asian man in a black suit. The man held an automatic pistol capped by a long cylindrical silencer. The man said, "The first bullet won't kill you. Nor will the second, or the third, or the fourth. It will take you hours to die."

Roger let the girl go. He turned and faced the man, showing no fear. "Leave us," he demanded. "You made your point."

The man kept the pistol centered on Roger's chest until Joubert's voice said, "Thank you, Seiji. You may go." The gunman turned on his heel and marched away.

The girl returned and resumed washing Roger's groin as though nothing had happened. She moved behind him and her soapy fingers probed his anus, surprising Roger when she thrust her finger inside him. "You must be clean here, as well," she said.

"Why is that?"

"Because that is what I was told." She kept fingering him and Roger wondered if this was her way of getting revenge. But soon enough she stopped, and she positioned Roger under the spray, washing away the few remaining suds. 

When the girl determined he was sufficiently clean she dried him with a thick, fluffy towel. She led him back to the locker room and slipped into her robe. "Please sit, and I will replace the blindfold."

Roger bored his eyes into hers. "The first time a man invades you, it will be me." He gripped his penis and waggled it at her. "This flesh will be inside you, I make that promise to myself."

She bowed. "I must blindfold you."

"I'm going to fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you, until you beg me to stop. And I'm going to make you beg. And when you beg, I'm just going to laugh and fuck you harder."

She made no response. "I must replace the blindfold now, Mr. Travers."

He sat and let her complete her task. "Just remember what I told you."

"Yes, Mr. Travers, I shall."

She took his hand and led him out of the locker room. They only walked for a dozen or so steps before Roger heard another door creak open. "You must duck your head, Mr. Travers," the girl said, and Roger leaned down and walked through the doorway. The door whuffed shut.

The floor was cold under Roger's feet, cold and smooth. "Hello?" he called out, and his voice echoed against the walls.

Joubert's voice came from high above him. "You may remove your blindfold, Mr. Travers."

Roger pulled the sash from his eyes and looked around. He was standing in a squash court, the ceiling lights turned low. He looked up and saw that there were people standing in the gallery that overlooked the sides and back wall of the court. He turned and saw Joubert, and standing next to him were his two blonde women from the night before. Ringing the court were perhaps three dozen other people, men and women, Western and Asian, all wearing evening wear. Some held flutes of champagne, other cigars. They all leaned over the edge to get a good look at him. 

Roger recognized two of the Asian women who peered over the edge. They were the two teenage hookers he had fucked and then tortured when he overheard one of them talking about the "devil women". Roger nodded. "So it was all a set-up," he said to the two young women.

The Japanese girl raised her champagne glass in mock salute. "Very good, Mr. Travers. I must say, I am very much looking forward to this, after the way you made me suffer back in Bangkok."

Roger dismissed her with a snort. He put his hands on his hips and looked up at Joubert. "You didn't tell me that I was to be the evening's entertainment."

"You must understand, it is not often that a man voluntarily agrees to meet with my dearest darlings. These good people are filled with admiration for your courage, Mr. Travers. They want to see such courage in action."

Roger's erection stayed hard and constant. "I don't give a damn about them. I want what I paid for. Where are they? I'm ready."

The assembled crowd laughed. Joubert said, "Mr. Travers, I doubt that very much." 

They laughed louder, and that infuriated Roger. He said, "I'm glad to see you brought your high chair, Joubert."

The laughter stopped. The people standing in the gallery looked horrified. Every head turned to Joubert, who showed no sign that he took offense. In fact he even smiled slightly. There was a pause of perhaps ten seconds, and then the Frenchman said, "Let us begin."

The knob creaked as it slowly turned, and the door opened, but just a crack. He saw shadows move past the tiny window in the door, and a hand appeared. The fingers were long and slim, and tipped with blood red nails over an inch long. Roger's penis bobbed in front of him, he had never felt lust more powerfully in his life. "Please, come in," he said.

The door sighed all the way open, but there was no one in the hallway. Roger waited, and then he sensed more than saw that two people stood on either side of the opening. "Ladies?" he called. "Join me, please."

Their shadows appeared first, sliding gracefully across the wall. Roger was almost trembling with excitement. He wanted to fuck. He wanted to show those degenerates up there what kind of man he was. 

The shadows came closer, closer, until they coalesced into flesh. The two women walked into the court with their faces tilted to the floor. He could see the curves of their high cheekbones but he couldn't see their eyes. And he could see their bodies. They were both absolutely exquisite. Flawless. 

Perfect.

Both women stood around five-foot-six. Their figures were lush hourglasses-overly large, and deliciously full, breasts; flat, sculpted stomachs; wide, smooth hips. The woman on the left had thick, golden blonde hair, the girl on the right had black hair of such luster that it shone even in the dim light. The blonde was the mother, in her late thirties, perhaps. Her body was obscenely ripe and juicy, her big breasts jiggling with every step, her plump vulva sweet and inviting. The daughter was about half her mother's age, and if her body had not yet filled out into the voluptuous excess of her mother, her face was even more exquisitely beautiful. Yes, he could see the resemblance in their faces, their shocking, striking faces. Each woman had the same high cheekbones, pillowy lips, long eyelashes, and dramatic eyebrows. 

The women walked like big cats, slowly, almost lazily, their long legs carefully picking out where to take each step. They seemed in no hurry. They still didn't look at Roger, who stood in the center of the court, licking his lips. These were the two most beautiful women he had ever seen. Ever imagined. He tried to decide who was the more exquisite, and couldn't make up his mind. He typically liked younger girls, but he could never say that he'd seen a more attractive woman that the blonde creature walking toward him. 

Well, that didn't matter, because they were both his. They both belonged to him tonight. He would enjoy them both, enjoy these two perfect women.

They were taking too long to reach him. He wanted them NOW. So he took a step toward the door. The younger woman made a snarling noise deep in her throat. She turned to look at her mother, who in turn looked at her daughter. Roger saw their beautiful profiles, and then the two women slowly turned to face Roger, and for the first time he saw their eyes.




The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 03



Saw their eyes, which were black as death, and which burned red around the edges like hot coals.

Roger abruptly stepped back. They didn't move slowly now. They separated, flanking him, backing him into a corner. Roger's erection deflated in just a few heartbeats.

"What, what's wrong with them?" he blurted. There was laughter from above. He looked up and saw that all eyes were on him, watching intently. "Stop them!" he yelled at Joubert.

"My dear friend, it is much to late for that now. They have your scent now. They must have you."

"Please, help me!" He was almost sick with fear. The women had eyes out of a nightmare, eyes filled with rage and lust and violence. Roger tried to control the fear, tried to get himself under control. He was bigger than both women. He was in excellent physical shape. He would break their lovely necks and run for it.

He raised his fists and stepped toward the blonde. The gallery broke into howls of laughter. "Bon chance!" one man called from above.

Roger advanced to within five feet of the blonde woman and set himself to throw a punch. The blonde showed no fear and made no attempt to protect herself. Her only protection was the intense, feral smile that slowly spread across her red lips.

"Get out of my way!" He tried to sound commanding, but his voice broke halfway through.

The blonde's smile remained frozen in place, and then her lips parted, and the pink tip of her tongue appeared. Her tongue touched her upper lip...then her lower lip...

And then her chin...

And then her nipple...

When at last she was done, she confronted Roger with a tongue that was over ten inches long. 

Roger trembled from head to toe, trying to scream, trying to do anything except stand there quaking in terror. He looked right, at the dark-haired girl, and her tongue was as long as her mother's, a slick pink obscenity wiggling like an enormous worm. With an effort he tore his eyes away from the wiggling tongues and looked at the gallery with beseeching eyes. "Stop this, please," he begged. 

The men and women who stared back no longer looked smug, no longer laughed. Their faces were serious, and fascinated, like people witnessing the aftermath of a terrible car wreck. "Stop them!" Roger screamed.

"It is too late, my friend," Joubert said. "It is much, much too late."

Roger's eyes flashed back to the blonde, who circled to Roger's left, and so took his eyes off her daughter, who slid to his right. Roger backed up against the front wall of the court and recoiled as his heels clanked against the metal strip that ran along the bottom of the front wall. 

The sound frightened and distracted Roger, and the women attacked in tandem. The blonde whore feinted, and when Roger scuttled sideways the young woman struck. She leapt at Roger, diving at his crotch, and before Roger could jerk away fingers closed around his doughy cock. Her slithering tongue shot out like a python striking a mouse, coiling around and around and around his penis. 

The pleasure hit Roger like a punch to the gut. He let out a long, cowlike moan. His penis immediately became erect as the girl sucked his head into her mouth. It was ecstasy on a scale that Roger never knew existed. The young whore's mouth closed around him and her tongue massaged up and down his entire length. Her tongue was slippery but it wasn't perfectly smooth. It was oddly striated, and to Roger's galloping mind it was as though her tongue was scoring narrow grooves into his cock. 

"HUHHH, UHHH, UHHHH!" Roger bleated as the young woman before him sucked him whole. Her full lips were spread tight by the girth of his penis, and as Roger broke out in a hot, pouring sweat he thought that, at least, this girl would make him come quickly and it would all be over. 

The mother slid behind him and slithered her arms around his waist. She pressed herself against his back and Roger heard her breath rasp in his ear. "He is stronnnnnnnng," she hissed to her daughter. "There is much life in this one. We shall have a feast, my darling."

The dark-haired girl didn't release her oral grip on Roger's cock, but she was still able to gurgle, "Yes, Momma."

The woman behind him released her hold on him, but Roger's mind was far too occupied to wonder where the she went. The younger whore's tongue was gripping his cockmeat and her mouth was sucking at him and it felt so GOOD that Roger could barely breath. Rivulets of sweat were pouring off his chin and spattering on the hardwood floor. The girl's diabolical eyes held him entranced while her dark red lips stroked up and down his shaft. 

He was so focused on the young girl kneeling between his legs that, when her mother knelt behind Roger, pried his buttocks apart, and inserted every inch of her tongue into his rectum, it felt to Roger as though someone had shot him in the back.

"GRRRAAAAAUUUUGGGHHH!" he screamed. "HUUH! HUH! GRAAUUUGGHHH!!!!

He had a tongue all the way up his ass and a tongue doing God knows what to his penis and the pleasure, the PLEASURE, was almost more than he could bear. It felt like the blonde's tongue was so far inside him that it was licking the INSIDE of his penis, while her daughter sucked and licked the skin outside. As both muscular tongues undulated inside and over him Roger had the sensation that mother and daughter were engaged in a passionate French kiss, with his body as a feeble barrier keeping them apart. 

"Uh, uh, I'm going to come," Roger babbled, and this comment brought laughter from the gallery. 

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Travers." Joubert chuckled. And then, in a light, gentle tone, "My darling, go ahead. Go ahead. Hurt the man."

"No!" Roger sobbed. "Please, no!"

"Hurt him, my angel."

The eyes of the young girl sucking his cock blazed an even deeper red. A gurgling growl rose up from her throat, mostly muffled by the thick cock in her mouth. She reached between Roger's legs and caressed his testicles, played with his balls with her dragon-lady fingernails. The mother did the same, her nails stroking the incredibly sensitive strip of flesh between his anus and balls. He moaned with even more urgency, unable to conceal how much he loved this additional sensation. 

And then the girl grabbed the base of his testes in her hand and squeezed. At first the pressure was light but bit by bit she increased the pressure. And then just before the pleasure turned to pain she squeezed with crushing force and yanked down hard and Roger felt his testicles crunch under her vise-like grip. He braced himself for the pain, he waited for the pain, and yet none came. All he felt was numbness, a large dangling void just below his throbbing cock.

"I think now, Mr. Travers, you won't need to worry about ejaculating too soon." And the gallery laughed.

Roger tried to look between his legs, looking for dripping blood, but he could see nothing except for the gorgeous young woman with her mouth filled with his manhood. He felt the blonde's fingers slide up his thighs until, he believed, she filled her hands with his damaged testicles. He couldn't be sure, because they were no longer connected to his spinal cord. 

The pleasure radiating from his groin grew, and grew, and grew, to a point where it blocked out all other thoughts. His field of vision narrowed to the girl kneeling before him. He could hear the loud sticky sucking sounds coming from her mouth, hear the blonde woman behind him going, "ummm...ummm..." as she ruthlessly burrowed into his anus with her tongue. Roger's lips grew dry as he hyperventilated though his open mouth, and his body rained perspiration that puddle around his feet. His heart pounded so hard that he was afraid he might go into arrest. It was like he was climbing an endless staircase with a backpack full of bricks. 

"Uhhhhhh...uhhhhh...uhhhh!!" Roger moaned pathetically as the two whores took him to higher and higher plateaus of ecstasy. The mother thrust her tongue so far inside Roger that he thought it would come out of his own mouth, and then he felt the blonde whore glue her lips to his sphincter and start sucking noisily, sucking and sucking and sucking and it felt so good that Roger burst into tears that mixed with his sweat. 

It went on and on and Roger waited to come. He waited, and waited, and yet he could not come, he couldn't finally crest the summit of the pleasure and tumbled into the wonderful abyss of orgasm. He wanted to come, he wanted this to end before he went insane. The tongue caressing his penis whirled and wrung his penis like a Moray eel slashing at its prey. The tongue inside his rectum found nerve endings Roger didn't know he had, giving the pleasure an almost inhuman tinge. He felt that he was enjoying a physical sensation not meant for men to comprehend. 

"All right, my darlings, that's enough." Roger was only dimly aware of Joubert's voice, but the words broke through the haze of rapture. Joubert was showing mercy. Joubert was allowing Roger to escape from this exquisite prison. "Thank God, let me come!" he said.

The gallery laughed again. "Oh, no, my friend. No, no, no. My darlings have not yet shown you the full measure of their talents. Go on, my darlings."

The tongue inside Roger extracted itself with a loud, wet "SLURRRP!". The mouth engulfing his penis withdrew, and that other infernal tongue unwrapped itself from his penis. Without their touch, Roger's body went limp from exhaustion. He collapsed on the wooden floor as though he'd been shot in the head. He lay in a lake of his own sweat, his frantic heart beating in his ears and his penis.

The mother gave Roger two seconds to recover, no more. She rolled Roger on his back, crawled between his legs, and devoured his cock just as her daughter had, with mouth and supernatural tongue. "Oh, Christ Jesus, help me!" Roger said.

"I asked him before, if he believed in God," Joubert said to his guests. "He said no. I must remember to ask him that question afterwards."

Roger tried to say something, anything, but his mouth was parched, salty sweat streamed into his eyes, and the blonde whore's bloody eyes stared at him with terrible menace as she sucked and licked him into ecstatic madness. "It feels so good!" Roger sobbed. 

Joubert said, "Then I think you will enjoy this."

The young girl squatted over Roger's groin. She eased herself down, down, down, until his exposed cockhead touched the petals of her clean-shaven pussy. He barely touched her vagina, and yet the heat from her was so intense that Roger thought he actually heard a sizzling sound.

He squirmed, and broke the alignment of their bodies just a bit. The mother, her tongue still wrapped around his shaft, tightened her constricting hold and a flash of pain somehow penetrated the fog of pleasure that so dominated Roger's mind. "Oh, ah, OHH!" he moaned, and was still. 

The girl settled herself over his cock. Her mother kept her tongue wrapped around Roger's dick, even as her daughter impaled herself. "Oh, Jesus!" Roger exclaimed, and the crowd laughed again at his blasphemy. The girl's pussy felt like nothing he'd ever experienced. It was painfully hot, impossibly tight-and it appeared to be lined with soft, slippery cilia, gossamer threads that caressed his cockhead in a totally unique and mind-bending way. It was tight, and slippery, but the silky hairs excited his nerve endings like direct current.

The girl started bouncing up and down his entire shaft, while her mother's anteater tongue twisted all along his length. The girl's buttocks rubbed against her mother's face in this demonic position, and for the first time the girl showed some sign that she was enjoying herself. Her wide nipples grew stiff buds in the center, and she closed her eyes and moaned, a sound something like a hyena celebrating a kill.

"Mama," the girl said in a desiccated voice that rattled like something beyond the grave, "We are killing him. We are stealing his soul."

"No!" Roger groaned, but it was true. He was starting to pant like a man in the throes of a heart attack. He could barely vocalize his pleasure, his throat was so dry that his voice box failed him. 

The gorgeous girl corkscrewed up and down his penis, and with every movement of her hips Roger writhed and twisted with bliss. Her enormous breasts bobbed and jiggled with every downward snap of her hips. The girl let her fingernails scrape against his chest. "We will steal your life essence," she hissed. "We will make you our slave for eternity."

Roger lacked the strength now to fight. He just wanted to come, then die. He wanted to orgasm before he died. After all this pleasure, he wanted the satisfaction of climax to make his death acceptable.

"Mr. Travers," Joubert said. "Can you hear me?"

Roger's head lolled up and down. "Mr. Travers, do you want to come?"

He found voice. "Yes!"

"Mr. Travers, tell me the account and routing numbers of your personal bank accounts, as well as the password protocols that will allow me to access them."

Roger's voice gurgled before he said, "Fu...fuck you."

Joubert's voice was gentle. "Mr. Travers, they can hold you in this state for hours. Hours. In the end you will tell me what I want to know, but you will be so shattered in your mind that you will never have another day of peace. Give me the information, and I will allow to climax. I give you my most solemn word."

The daughter leaned down, her pussy still fucking him delirious. "Tell him nothing!" she said. "We do not want your money. We only want your soul. Do not be afraid, we will make your passage into slavery a pleasant one." Her eyes radiated an evil Roger had never experienced in his life.

Roger shook his head. His body was jerking spasmically now, almost to the point of seizure. "Ah...I..." he licked his lips, trying to speak.

Joubert said, "My darling, help our guest."

The girl leaned down and extended her long, wet tongue into his mouth. It disgusted Roger, but the moistness of her tongue was so exquisite that he sucked on it greedily, sucking as much of her saliva as possible into his parched mouth.

She leaned back. Roger said, "I have only one personal account that is directly accessible. All my other accounts must be countersigned by my financial advisors."

"What?" Joubert said, annoyed. "Why would you do such an absurd thing?"

The girl kept fucking him and it took Roger a moment to compose himself enough to speak. "I have too much money, I can't keep track of it. I have three different advisors who all hate each other. Two of them have to sign off along with me on everything I do. Keeps me from getting ripped off by one of them. They're too eager to rat out the others."

Joubert looked angry, but not at Roger. He whirled and spoke to two men, one Chinese and the other Western, who looked frightened and looked at each other before they answered Joubert's unintelligible questions. Even in this tortured state Roger recognized an executive who had been let down by his subordinates. They hadn't known about his financial arrangements, which didn't exactly surprise Roger since he'd only put it into place three weeks before, just in case he was kidnapped. 

"You're thinking was quite sound, my friend, quite sound." Joubert said with a sigh. "I did not anticipate this. Ah well. Give me the data on your private account. How much is in there?" 

Roger's eyes rolled back in his head. "Let me come, please, and I'll tell you."

The gallery laughed, and Joubert said, "I admire you, sir. Trying to bargain when you have no leverage, literally as well as figuratively. Believe me when I say that if you do not tell me what I want, I will have my darling angels love you to death. That is what she and her mother want. They will take turns with you until you die, and then they will hump your corpse until you involuntarily ejaculate from simple animal instinct. That is what they want. I want to save your life. All it costs you is the money in your account."

Roger wanted to die. But he didn't want these two horrors to fuck him to death. He wanted to come. He wanted to come more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. Any price was a small one to pay in exchange, so it didn't bother Roger much to tell Joubert what he wanted. 

"I have eleven million, five hundred thousand dollars in the account. The account number is 8752930576. The routing number is 043100587."

"Are you set up for on-line wire transfer?"

"Yes."

"Annabel!" Joubert said. 

"Ah'm already logged on to the website," he heard his fluffer say. "I need the ID and passwords."

Roger gave her the code words she needed. There was a pause of a few seconds, even the two whores stopped. 

Annabel said, "It's done. It'll take a few minutes to erase all traces of the transfer."

"Thank you, my dear," Joubert said. He sighed. "I'd hoped for more from this meeting, but," he opened his palms, "oh well. No need to be greedy."

The girl slid off of Roger's penis. The woman removed her tongue. "Give him to us!" the mother begged.

"No, my angels. We must honor our agreement." Roger managed to roll his head enough to look up at Joubert. "Mr. Travers, I will allow you to finish. My darlings, accommodate our friend."

Roger wasn't sure he understood what was going on, but the blonde whore got on her arms and legs and crawled up to him. She rubbed her smooth, heart-shaped ass against his crotch.

"Oh, oh, oh!" he cried in desperation. He was beyond simple exhaustion, yet the sight of such a voluptuous, gorgeous creature offering him her body gave him a last burst of energy. His penis was huge and throbbing, and it was indeed cross-hatched with unnatural scratches and grooves. He inserted himself in the mother's pussy and screamed like a man insane.

He fucked her. He fucked her fast. He fucked her hard. For the first time in this torturous encounter he was the initiator of the coupling, and he was driven to frantic, spastic motion by the colossal desire he felt for this demon made flesh. His very DNA screamed for him to fuck her, to inseminate this terrible creature with his sperm and mix his genes with hers. 

His thighs slapped against her buttocks with such force and speed that the sound of his skin on hers sounded like spastic applause for his efforts. But still, he didn't come. He quickly built to the highest level of unsatisfied lust that he'd suffered the entire night, but his orgasm still refused to detonate.

The daughter moved in behind him. She did not ram her tongue up his asshole. At first he did not know what she was doing. But as he piledrove her mother he felt the girl's hands brush his thighs, and he guessed that she was kneading his crushed testicles. He didn't care about them, he didn't care if they were permanently damaged. He just wanted them to have the power push one last load of sperm through his cock and into the vagina of this devil woman. 

The girl put her chin on his ear and hissed, "We may not kill you, but we will drink your very life's force. The next time, I will make a gift of your soul to my mother."

He felt a hard tug between his legs. He didn't feel it directly in his testicles, but he felt his groin forced down. "Are you ready?" the girl hissed.

"YES!" Roger screamed.

"Good," the girl cackled. There was another tug, and she said, "Here comes the pain..."

At first it was the sensation of pins and needles, of a pinched limb tingling as the blood flow is restored, but this tingling was deep within his groin. Then came a feeling of pressure, more and more pressure, pressure like a tire overinflating with every beat of his heart. 

"Uh, uh, UHHHH!" Roger groaned. He looked between his legs and screamed. His testicles were swollen big as grapefruit. They were dark purple in color. And they hurt. Pain blasted from his groin like the blaring of a foghorn. It was pain of such overwhelming intensity that Roger nearly stopped fucking this gorgeous blonde monster.




The Devil's Mistresses Ch. 03



But he didn't. Because, for the first time in this cursed evening, he felt like he might be able to come. He started thrusting with even more energy, with more frantic need. The only thing that kept the pain from becoming unbearable was the pleasure, pleasure that made the searing agony seem like a minor inconvenience. 

"Uhhh, I'm gonna come!" he groaned. He said it again and again, "I'm gonna come, gonna come, gonna come!" His body began thrusting involuntarily, faster and faster and faster, so fast that he could hear his hips popping and cracking from the strain.

"I'M...UHHH...UHHH...UHHHHHHHH!!!" The pleasure of his coming orgasm took up all the synapses of his nervous system, crowding away the pain. The relief from agony combined with the physical ecstasy to take Roger to a superhuman plane of sensation. It was like a powerful narcotic, it was too much for his nervous system to bear. He was overdosing on ecstasy. Roger's hips jerked of their own accord, his arms thrashed about, his legs cramped.

"Oh my God, oh my GOD!" It was starting. The pressure was no longer concentrated in his testicles. It was all in the head of his cock, which felt like a plugged-up hose. "Come on, please, please, let me come!"

The girl screamed, "Mama!" The blonde whore yanked her ass away from Roger, and his engorged cock wobbled in front of him. Before Roger could scream in anguish the girl and her mother both wrapped their monstrous tongues around his cock. The muscular contractions began, and, at last, Roger's orgasm began.

He opened his mouth to scream, but could generate no sound. After waiting for so long to climax he had to wait a few seconds more, a few eternal seconds, as his testicles gathered themselves and delivered the first spasm of his ejaculation.

This first spurt was thin, watery stuff, his Cowper's gland producing lubricant to ease the way for the semen to follow. But instead of a tiny dribble oozing around his tip, this was a concentrated spray shooting from his nozzle. The women curled their tongues around his cockhead and the greasy fluid flowed into their slavering mouths. 

This stage of his climax went on for perhaps twenty seconds, already the longest orgasm of his life, but from the clenching inside his groin Roger knew that this was only the beginning. He stopped shooting precum, and for a moment Roger feared that he was done. And then it felt like his penis ripped itself inside out, his long cock nearly folded back on itself, and then it straightened and a tremendous amount of semen spurted from his purple helmet. "GGGGGGGOOOOODDDDD!" Roger shrieked as the most intense sensation yet tore through his ravaged body. The pleasure felt like a nail stuck in his spine, it was an almost palpable entity, as though he could reach back and pull it out of his body and stop it. 

He semen was thick and clotted, the consistency of jelly. The women took turns hooking their tongues around the head, gobbling his seed down in hungry mouthfuls. His penis and testicles continued their biological imperative, clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, spraying his DNA like grapeshot. Roger lost track of time, he didn't know how long this Olympian climax went on. A tiny part of his brain not fried with ecstasy counted how many times mother and daughter had to swallow to accommodate his endless stream of semen. One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...eight...nine

Roger lost his peripheral vision. Everything went gray. His entire consciousness faded into the background, the only sensory input his brain now accepted was the big raw nerve sticking up between his legs. He heard nothing, tasted nothing, saw nothing. He only felt, and only through his penis. And what he felt was the savage attentions of the most perfect pair of sexual beasts God or Satan ever set upon the earth. The two women, mother and daughter, sucked the very life out of him.

And then it was done. When exactly his body stopped ejaculating semen Roger couldn't be sure. His penis shuddered and twitched as the women tightened their tongue-grip on his shaft, coaxing every milligram of semen from his body. When, at last, they found that the well was truly dry, they uncoiled their tongues from Roger's penis and began to kiss, slowly, their tongues slithering over and around each other like two snakes escaped from Medusa's hair.

Roger looked down, and watched the floor slowly, slowly, rise up to his face. He lay there, without the strength to look up or around. He lay in a pool of his own sweat that covered nearly half of the court. His entire body was numb. He couldn't move, or think. He just lay there, and waited to die.

Everything moved in slow motion. Roger saw two pair of shapely ankles move past his limited line of vision, the two whores leaving behind the carcass of their most recent victim. Two more sets of legs appeared, both in black slacks with black dress shoes, and Roger became aware that someone had flipped him on his back. It was Seiji, the man who had threatened him in the locker room, and another huge man, this one with gray hair sawed into a crew-cut and heavy Slavic features. The two big men each grabbed one of Roger's legs and arms and tossed him in a heavy plastic bag that lay next to him. As they zipped the bag shut over his face, the only thought Roger's collapsing brain formed was, "I didn't die at the end. I was supposed to die..."

*****

They threw Roger on the floor of the limousine and drove straight back to his house. The limo pulled into the circular driveway and the two burly men grabbed the handles of the body bag and tossed him on the lawn. While Seiji went back to the limo the huge Slavic man unzipped the bag and took a look.

"He's alive," he said.

Seiji tossed Roger's wadded up tux on the lawn and threw something on Roger's chest. "The next time I see this pig, he won't be alive for long." The two men got back in the limo and drove away, leaving Roger lying on his lawn, staring up at the stars with unseeing eyes.

It wasn't until hours later, as the sun waited patiently just under the horizon, that Roger's curiosity was roused enough to wonder what the man had thrown on his chest. His arms refused to obey his commands, but eventually Roger got his hands around the item. It was soft, squishy, an odd, thick shape. 

He couldn't lift his head to look, so he brought the object to his face. And saw that it was a sponge, a sponge still heavy with liquid. A sharp, sudden need screamed within his brain, and Roger stuffed a corner of the sponge and sucked. Warm, stale water oozed into his parched mouth, and Roger moaned with relief. When the one corner of the sponge was wrung dry he jammed the other edge between his lips and guzzled. He lay they, gnawing and sucking at the sponge, until it was dry as dust.

Roger still needed water, desperately. There was water in the house, an endless supply of it, but he didn't think he had the strength to reach the door. The memory of his first Everest expedition flared before his eyes. He'd been utterly exhausted, oxygen-starved and dehydrated, and yet he managed to climb down to base camp in a worsening storm because he'd had the will-power to make that supreme effort. That hellish trip was a stroll down the street compared to the ordeal he now faced. 

His eyes wouldn't focus. His legs wouldn't hold him. He had to crawl. He struggled to get out of the body bag, and when he finally made it and lay on the grass he realized it was covered with a light coating of dew. He licked and nibbled at the grass like a browsing cow, and that little bit of moisture eased the searing pain in his mouth enough to give him the strength to crawl a few feet toward the door. He paused, catching his breath, and he lapped at the dew. He continued like this for forty-five minutes, until he reached the front door.

Only now did he realize that he was naked, and that he didn't have a key to the house. If the front door wasn't open, he knew that this would be where the police found his body, lying in peace on his front stoop. It was such a pleasant thought that he almost chose to lie there and die, but the lizard part of his brain refused to surrender to the void, and he got to his knees. He twisted the handle...and the door opened. He knew this must be Joubert's doing. A locked door meant certain death, and if Joubert had wanted Roger dead he only needed to give his whores another five minutes. They would have sucked him down to the husk.

He didn't make it to the bathroom sink. He pried open the lid of the toilet and his head splashed as he immersed it in the still water. He drank until the bowl was dry, and then he flushed and let the swirling current caress his rank hair. He drank the bowl dry again, like a thirsty dog drinking on the sly. 

His mouth no longer felt like he'd eaten a pail of sand. He no longer felt like he was about to die. The physical misery was such that he wanted to die, but death no longer seemed certain. He collapsed on the bathroom floor, and slept.

When he awoke the house was dark. He struggled to his feet and slapped at the wall for the switch. The light blinded him, he fell to his knees and gagged. He felt a thousand times worse than his worst hangover. His hands shook, but he could stand. He looked at himself in the mirror-and started to cry. 

He had aged twenty years in one night. His dark hair was a faded, mousy brown and his face was covered with gray stubble. His face was shrunken, his eyes protruding from their sockets, and his lips were split and bleeding. He had so admired his physique the day before, but now the muscles in his arms and legs and chest hung slack and flabby. 

Roger was almost afraid to look at his penis, and when he did his worst fears were confirmed. His organ was as black as a rotting banana, riven with scratches and notches from the whores' rasping tongues. His testicles were the same size as before, but they too looked like some kind of moldering fruit between his legs. Roger reached down and gingerly touched himself and was rewarding with a stab of white-hot pain. 

Roger opened the cabinet under the skin and pulled out a scale. He set it down on the cool tile floor and, with considerable exertion, managed to mount the one-inch platform. This morning he had weight exactly 190 pounds. He stood motionless and waited for the digital readout to blink on.

When it did, the bright green numbers read, "1 7 1".

Roger trembled from head to foot. He had lost nineteen pounds in one night. In one hour. The two whores had stripped away one-tenth of his body weight with their tongues and vaginas and fingernails. Nineteen pounds of sweat and semen and blood and who knew what else. Nineteen pounds.

Hunger, overwhelming, shrieking hunger seized hold of Roger. He still couldn't walk steadily but he bounced his way down the hallway to the kitchen, knocking over pictures and upsetting a chair along the way. With a tremendous effort he managed to open the huge stainless steel refrigerator by hooking his arm through the handle and levering it with every remaining ounce of his body weight. His arms were so weak that he could barely lift a pitcher that held a quart of iced tea. But he managed, and he opened his mouth and poured the sweet tea down his throat, only gagging a few times, sending a cascade of sticky liquid down his chest. When the pitcher was empty Roger unscrewed the top of a quart bottle of whole milk and chugged it. He drank a bottle of cranberry juice. He popped the lid on a jar of dill pickles and drank that. Anything to slake his unceasing thirst.

His depleted body screamed for protein and calories. He yanked open the freezer and pulled out two pounds of frozen ground sirloin. He tossed it in the microwave and went back to the fridge. He used his fingers to shovel peanut butter into his mouth, and then he went for the olives, drinking the oil as he chomped down dozens of the delicious green morsels. There was a pint of sour cream and Roger used his fingers again, savoring every rich ounce as he gobbled it down.

The microwave beeped, and the smell of meat sent a ripple of anticipation up Roger's spine. The meat wasn't cooked, just barely thawed and still raw, with a puddle of brown blood on the bottom of the stryofoam container. Roger tipped the plate back and drank the bloody juice, and then he set the container in the sink and tore into the ground steak, shoving mealy handfuls of the cold meat into his mouth, devouring it like a beast with a fresh kill. Roger thought it was the most delicious meal he'd had in his entire life.

He was halfway through the steak when his front door flew open and six men with automatic weapons rushed in. Two raced upstairs, two cut left into his living room. If the gunmen didn't seem shocked to find a naked wraith stuffing his face with raw meat, then Roger showed no surprise at this invasion into his home. He watched the front door and saw some familiar faces. Seiji, the Asian bodyguard. That huge Slavic man. The petite Vietnamese girl he'd tried to deflower the night before. The young hookers from Bangkok. Annabel.

She came up to Roger and took him by the arm. "Let me take you upstairs," she said.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice so dull and flat he was surprised she answered.

"Nothin', just some minor problems we need to sort out. We may need to stay here a few hours."

"We?"

"Monsieur Joubert is on his way. We won't trouble you, ah promise."

Roger started to cry. "Please, no, don't let them torture me again, I can't take it. Look at me, look what they did to me!" His tears mixed with the milk, pickle juice, olive oil, and blood sluicing down his chest. 

Annabel got him in the shower and the Vietnamese girl appeared and once again washed him. Roger kept crying, he told the girl, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

The girl said nothing as she washed his hair and body, and then she looked at him and with perfect calmness said, "Not as sorry as I will make you." She tenderly stroked his penis and it felt like a million fingernails scraping a chalkboard wired to an amplifier. He shrieked in agony. 

The girl said, "You have nothing to fear from Monsieur Joubert. But," she slid a finger into his dialated rectum, "there are others you have wronged who you must watch out for."

Annabel appeared in the doorway. "Leave us," she snapped, and the Vietnamese girl bowed and floated away. "She's going to kill me," Roger cried.

"She won't kill you, ah promise. I found your pajamas, let's get them on you." With her help Roger somehow managed to put them on. She got him under the covers. "Go to sleep, you need sleep more than anythin'."

Afraid as he might be of the Vietnamese girl, one overwhelming fear dominated Roger's thoughts. "Do whatever you want, take whatever you want. Just keep them away from me, please! Joubert's whores, please! Keep them away!"

She kissed his forehead. "Shh. No one will hurt you. Go to sleep."

In his bed, blankets up around his chin, the door closed, Roger exhausted body surrendered to the void. His body simply could not generate the energy to feel terror any longer. He had endured an ordeal that was beyond the scope of human experience, and he was still alive at the end of it. How long he might live afterwards wasn't important. He had a belly full of solids and liquids, and so Roger Travers slept, his body repairing the damage he'd brought upon himself.