Paganini's Tale, Chapter 19

   Larry took a sip of his beer, grinning through the glass at
Winston, his friend from work. Lunch with him had become a
habit on odd days when their schedules coincided. Though only
with the company for three months, Winston had already
demonstrated his ability, and Larry liked him personally. Warm,
confident without arrogance, interesting... Larry was glad
Winston had joined the company.
   This lunch, he'd risked bringing up sexuality, first
obscurely, then gradually more directly. Since Winston seemed
comfortable with it, Larry continued:
   "...and she's this sudden wildness in my life. Unpredictable.
Out of the ordinary. Completely unexpected. I mean, I'm
attractive enough, but not the sort of guy who girls get hot
for just by looking at me. Nor am I the kind of guy who goes
out looking for an affair and then blames it on being seduced.
I <was> seduced, and I hadn't even seen her before. I hadn't
played up to her at all. It's just so wild..."
   "How erotic is it?"
   Larry stumbled on the question: "uh, how erotic, well...,
uh..."
   "What I mean is, it sounds like the ideas about the sexuality
is almost more arousing than the actual sex itself. Although
you haven't told me how, shall we say, <graphic> the sex is
with this woman, I get the idea that it's pretty hot.
   Larry grinned again. "Hot it certainly is. Erotic it
certainly is. That woman could light a match with her look.
It's like she's way out of my league. Like dancing with Ginger
Rogers or something. Or maybe like talking psychology with a
mindreader. It's not so much that she's better in terms of
skill. But the way she makes it happen, the lust she
inspires...."
   Suddenly Larry realized what he was saying out loud, to
someone he really didn't know all that well. For a moment he
was embarassed at revealing so much, but then he heard Winston
start to speak:
   "Yes, I've known a few women like that. One I remember best.
Her desire, her lust was so powerful it was a drug for me. Such
an altered state--I would come to my senses afterward amazed
that the world wasn't changed. She said she was in touch with
the Goddess, and I couldn't rightly say that she was wrong. Yet
I know we all have that in us. I've tapped those nerves in
women myself. Am I in touch with the God? Connected to
something, anyway, in touch with some part of us that is
magical."
   Then Winston, who had been looking up at the chandelier as he
spoke, realized he'd begun to ramble, and brought himself
short, laughing. "Listen to me! I hope I didn't embarass you.
But it's good to talk about these things. You know."
   Larry nodded. "Yeah, and I think that this affair, this...
this event I'm having with "Sophia" is making it easier for me
to talk about it. I'm remembering things, sort of, sort of
waking up to parts of me I hadn't realized were asleep.... if
you know what I mean."
   "Absolutely," Winston said, and then looked at his watch.
"Shit," he said, instantly animated, "It's 1:30! I've got to
meet Evans down at the plant in ten minutes!"
   "Okay," Larry said, dismayed only that the conversation had
to quit, "You go on, take off, I'll get the bill. You can get
next time."
   Winston grinned, standing. "Thanks, buddy. See you later on."
And he was off.
   Larry sipped the last of his beer, sitting alone at the
cluttered table, enjoying a few rare moments to himself. He put
money on the little tray that held the bill. Then he rose to go
back to work.
   She met him as he was leaving the restaurant, wearing a laced
white blouse beneath a jet-black jacket. "I watched you eat. I
watched you talk. Your lips moved nicely. I have another
assignation for you. Do you want it?"
   He didn't hesitate. "I want it."
   They continued to walk briskly. "What do you want."
   "I want my cock in your cunt." Larry smiled, thinking of the
one-line eavesdroppers passing them.
   "You want <my> cock in my cunt."
   "I want my cock to be your cock in your wet cunt."
   Her dagger heels struck the cement sharply, clacking with
each step. "Then listen. Tonight at 6:30 you will arrive at
Jackrabbit's, over on 87th. Come alone. Come with your cock
hardened. We'll see what happens."
   He started to object: what would he tell Alice? But he could
immediately think of half a dozen reasonable lies, and even the
best truth: he'd be busy until mid-evening. And so he simply
allowed the fluttering in his chest to continue. "Jackrabbit's.
6:30. It's a date."
   She turned to look up at him then, her dark eyes mascaraed
and shadowed, her mouth in a smirk. "This will be a new one,"
she said, and then, reaching out with her hand, gave his cock a
squeeze there in the middle of the sidewalk. "Tonight, then,"
she said, and turned to walk back the way they'd come.
   ***
   Jackrabbit's smelled of stale beer and too-loud catcalls
settling like a layer of dust after every night, to coat the
gelled lights above the lacquered-pine stage, dulling the
sequins spangling the walls. Smoke masked the air, made it
muggy and thick; the noise, the rhythmic disco-like music, the
thrums of bass and bass drums, the raucous screams, the
undercurrent of shouted conversations. A strip joint, where
almost all the chairs faced the stage, and all the chairs
filled by women.
   Mostly older women, fat women, bowling-club women, ladies'
auxiliary women, office pool women. Women out for a good time,
a time apart from their lives, women not looking to be picked
up, since there were probably only a handful of men here. Women
out to watch.
   And up there on the stage, making his silk-sacked privates
swing around in circles, a well-built man danced. Fives and
tens were pushed through and around the string around his hips
holding the sack on; the bills clustered around his crotch,
where the women's fingers got a touch of pubic hair, perhaps
even some soft flesh.
   And as he watched, an overly-plump woman with flabby upper
arms jiggling in her polyester knit top reached up with a
twenty. The dancer began doing a limbo-like dance up to her
spot by the stage, shimmying his ass, stroking his thighs as he
scooted forward. Hoots and squeals resounded around: the woman
was licking her lips, making the most of her twenty.
   The dancer got within a foot of her, his knees at the level
of her shoulders, his crotch near her face. She stroked the
silk sack with the twenty, in circular motions, and he played
back at her, circling his pelvis toward her. And as Larry
watched, he heard the shrill screams change their tenor, as
well as their pitch, nearly drowning out the music. He squinted
to see what the dancer was doing.
   Then he finally realized what it was: the dancer's silk pouch
was starting to push up--the man was getting a hard-on, and the
woman with the stroking twenty kept playing at it, licking her
lips some more, raising her eyebrows in overplayed amazement,
while the crowd cheered their pleasure. The stripper's prick
got larger, changing the dimensions of the pouch till it was
tight as a puptent, a black silk spearhead of magnum
proportions.
   The dancer was grinning, humping the air, lapping at the
lights as if they were the woman's cunt, and she, laughing,
cackling, slips the twenty in at the top of that spear, her
hand lingering, gripping the hard knob of his phallus. After
letting her feel him for a few seconds, he backed away, shaking
his finger at her, telling her she was a naughty girl.
   A voice behind him: "This is just decadence. The real show is
in the back. Follow me."
   He turned and saw her glove-tight blackjeaned ass move away
from him, and he followed, slipping between the women standing,
drinking, appraising. More than one hand reached between his
legs as he walked by to stroke his balls, grab his ass.
   Sophia reached the back wall. She ducked into the men's room;
he followed. In the middle stall an "out of order" sign was
stuck on the door, but she pushed in, and he saw as he came up
behind her that the flusher was a latch, and the back wall a
door.
   They entered a dark and narrow corridor, barely enough room
for two people to pass if they hugged each other. Faintly lit.
The sounds from the main room were muffled. And other sounds,
more muffled still, came from up ahead.
   They squeezed ahead, Larry smelling the faint musky perfume
that he associated so strongly with her; it smelled almost like
her cunt tasted: deeply textured, a funk of desire. Over her
shoulder, he could see light thrown into the corridor. And he
began to be able to discriminate the sounds.
   Fucking sounds. Grunts, moans. Lusty anguish. Cries of
delight. And then they arrived, and Larry looked over the
tableau:
   A three-tiered circular arena. On the top tier, women lounged
in various states of dress, one on the right naked but for the
push-up bra, another in a teddy, but with her thumb stuffed
deep into her cunt. Altogether, perhaps a dozen watchers
reclining in a rough circle around the second circular tier,
where five women lay with their legs spread, a five-pointed
star inside of which stood two men, on the bottom tier, the
circle around which the other two were built, each with his
prong embedded in a woman, and both hands busy with the women
next to the ones being fucked.
   They stood in the doorway, unnoticed. Larry watched as one of
the men, an ebony black man with wiry muscles, pulled his cock
slowly out of the 45-year old woman in front of him. After
pulling out perhaps six inches of black prick, Larry expected
the head to come out, but he kept pulling back, as inch after
slick inch slid out of the wet cunt. Amazed, Larry focused,
squinting, not believing the prodigious length of the cock
below. At least a foot long, sticking out proud and rampant
from a dark mass of curls.
   The woman losing it moaned in dismay, then cooed when his
fingers replaced his dong. He moved his bat of a cock to the
next woman, whose fat thighs opened for him, revealing a deep
red gash sloppy and glistening from masturbation. He easily
slid in, and there was a collective sigh around the room.
   Larry felt his cock hardening. Seventeen women, two men.
Three, with him. Sophia looked at him, grinning. "I've brought
you here to show my cock off. This is the Stud Room. You are my
stud. Now strip. Show off my meat."
   She hadn't spoken loudly, but since nobody else was speaking,
nearly all eyes but those delirious in the inner ring turned
toward them.  Lots of smiles, from women who for the most part
were attractive. All of them were flushed with sexual
excitement, all nipples that he could see were hard, and all
that looked at him were looking with lustful approval.
   His cock lurched inside his pants, clearly having a mind of
its own: it wanted out, and then in again. Sophia helped it out
by unzipping and unbuckling his pants. "His name is Brett," she
said loudly. "He is my cock. I put him at our disposal. He will
do whatever he is called upon to do. Isn't that right, Brett?"
   Larry half-embarassedly grinned. "That's right," he said to
her, then looked around the room, directly into the eyes of
those who he might be fucking soon. Some murmured to each
other, others licked their lips; he spoke again to the group at
large, "We'll all have some fun tonight." He felt brazen.
   "You don't think we aren't already, cock?" a woman's harsh
voice took the wind out of his sail. "But you look good enough
to me. She brings you, you've got to be good. Bring that big
cock of yours down into the circle." She was a slender fifty,
breasts loose beneath a gauze top, naked from the waist down.
Her legs weren't bad at all. She stood, and gracefully moved
down toward the inner circle, taking the two-foot drops with
ease.  "I want you first. Come on in."
   Larry felt like a servent in the employ of royalty: this was
like the debauches hinted at in some of the textbooks he'd
read, the orgies of the nobility in the eighteenth century. The
Duchess' mountain retreat, where gigolos were imported for an
evening's entertainment for all her friends.
   As he made his way past the women, hands grabbed his hairy
butt, his balls, his hard-on. Tweaks, yanks interspersed the
caresses, but all of these women wanted him. He was an object
for them, to gratify their desires. And it didn't feel that
bad. His cock stuck out, a beefy rod that Larry felt proud of.
It wasn't as long as the black man's, but it was dense, thick,
and ready. With each step, it bobbed.
   The Duchess changed the pentangle to a hexagon of spread legs
by squeezing between a blonde (whose wife was that? whose
mother? he thought, they have no idea she is like this) and the
woman who owned the snatch the black man's fingers were still
buried in. The black man grinned at Larry as he approached.
   Head thrown back, the Duchess leaned back on straight arms,
her kneees bent, her thighs spread. "Bring that randy cock to
me. Stick it in my cunt. I'm ready for it. I've been watching
for too long, and I want that prick in me. Bring it here,
pretty boy, bring that thick hunk of meat over here."
   The last step was three feet down, a depth that allowed him
to stand almost upright, his cock just above cunt-level.
Standing between his legs, his cock lay pulsing atop her pubic
hair. He tensed a muscle, and his cock jumped, then slapped
back down against her. He repeated it, giving his cock the
impression of independent life. The Duchess laughed with honest
pleasure.
   "Oh, Irene," she called back at "Sophia," "great cock you
found here. Looks like it'll burrow into me like a prairie
dog!"
   He laughed along with the rest, and then, holding the
Duchess' knees in each hand, guided his cock down toward her
opening. His cockhead lodged into her notch.
   "Ready to be fucked?" Larry said with bravado. Their eyes
met.
   "Sure, honey, I'm ready as hell. Now fuck me, you bastard
cock. Fuck me deep and wide."
   Their eyes lingered, blazing into each other; he wanted some
mastery here, and it was like she was daring him to please her.
Go ahead and try. Just try to make me come.
   He took it as a challenge. Twisting his pelvis up, he kept
pressure on the top of her cunt against her pubic bone as he
entered her, scraping the top of her vagina with the ridges of
his prick.
   Slowly, easily, moving slightly side to side, his cock forced
itself into her furrow. Her eyes widened just a little once he
was halfway in and she could feel the girth of his cock swollen
inside her.
   Round and around he moved, rotating her thighs from her
knees, now her ankles, and he held her ankles up high and
pulled her entire body suddenly up and in to his cock. She
groaned.
   From behind he could hear admiring commentary: "I haven't
seen that move in ten years," a woman's voice said. Larry felt
proud, and pressed on, and in, grinding pubis against pubis,
yanking her pelvis in the direction that seemed right.
   The air itself was swollen with the smells of fucking, the
odor of lust. Everyone had only one main theme in their minds:
sex. Larry could only join in, and it seemed to make him more
perceptive a lover. He could read her perfectly, gauging the
everchanging desires of her cunt and modifying his technique
accordingly. Pressing down to achieve the right angle. Canting
his hips to rub the right side, at the right pace. The Duchess
was beginning to writhe.
   The woman on his right watched from close up, a foot away,
sighing, watching, breathing on the joinings of their bodies.
The Duchess, whose tight clothes pushed hard against her skin,
began gutteral thrums in her throat timed to her writhes. A low
call to the reaches, the distance, the wilderness of orgasm.
Larry listened and was amazed.
   He knew precisely what moves to make, felt in complete
control because he'd mastered the connection. He rode in low,
crushing the membrane between cunt and tube, aiming for atop
the cervix with his tip. Bearing sideways to stroke the dark
chamber behind her cervix, which exists just for man. Rising up
as he drew out of her, to stretch out the labia tightly. And the
Duchess was lost in the sensations.
   Beside him, between them, the woman breathed, and now began
to lap at skin, paint shafts of cold evaporation up their
flesh, touch and soothe and pinch. "Fuck, yes, oh fuck, you
two fuck each other, slam in there, move around, yesss... yes
you do it so well, keep on fucking, fucking, it is so
beautiful, so good, fucking each other...."
   And around them, the audience, the other couples fucking, the
hands in snatches and tongues in mouths. The sounds of group
arousal. The scent of cooze and semen, sweat, and pants. Larry
was amazed. "Fuck, yes, up now, up high in her snatch, and you,
fuck him back, yes, twist those hips, writhe, baby, writhe..."
and the Duchess' rumbles were turning to a roar, and the
woman's voice was rising in pitch to breathless screams, "yes
come, baby, come, come hard, go on over, let it go, come you
bitch, come you slut, don't you love it, let it go, feel like
that whore, let that harlot come out and fuck him back, fuck
him back, take in, take it all in..."
   And his cock felt terrific. Incredibly tight, strong,
sensitive, and in control. The pleasure was lasting. He could
relish it without having to fight against coming. The pleasure
just rolled on and on, and he felt free.
   Then he looked up, over the bucking woman beneath him, over
the woman whispering diamonds from the gutter, over the large
woman with her hand in her cunt, thumb and all, then over the
pair of lovelies enwrapped in themselves, all lips and tits and
legs; over them all, he matched eyes with Sophia. The wild
woman. The dark woman. The vampiress, and he saw her eyes
flashing blazing crashing down through him and he flashed the
power right back at her, and then they understood somehow, made
a pact, and then they were done.
   Larry reached under the Duchess' arched back and jammed his
cock deep into her. She was just to the edge, and so he pulled
back and rammed into her again, and then again, gradually
accellerating, picking up speed and power, till his hammer was
pounding as fast as he possibly could, and the Duchess began to
shout with every other thrust, the tempo building to a
tremendous gutteral roar.... then she went limp, her chest
heaving, a smile of satisfied delight on her face. Her eyes
fluttered, and then she smiled again.
   Larry's cock was still hard. He looked up to Sophia.
   "Hey, Isabella," the woman beneath him panted, "this cock of
yours is choice. Do you rent him out?"
   Larry watched Sophia's face shift into a smile; their eyes
lanced again. "No," she said, "He's an independent contractor.
But you'll still have to talk to me. Brett, put that cock away.
We have elsewhere to go."