Image of the Beast and Blown (13 page)

that they were not on the same road he had traveled on
the way up.

"I'm taking the longer, no less scenic, route," she
said, as if she had read his mind. "I hope you don't
mind. I feel that I just have to talk to somebody. You
don't have to listen to me, of course, there's no reason
why you should."

"Pour it on me," he said. "I like to hear your voice."

They passed through the gateway of the inner wall.
She drove slowly, in first gear, as she talked, and once
she put her hand on his leg. He did not move. She took
her hand off after a minute when she had to stop the
car. They had driven off the road onto a narrow stone-
covered path which led through a break in the trees to a
clearing. A small summerhouse, a round wooden struc-
ture on a high round cement base, stood there. Its open
sides were partially covered with vines, so that its interior
was dark. A flight of cement steps led up to the wide
entrance.

"I get very lonely," she said, "although the baron is
charming and does talk a lot. But he's not interested in
me in the way some employers are in their female
employees."

He did not have to ask her what she meant by that.
She had put her hand on his leg again, seemingly as
accidentally or unself-consciously as before. He said,
"Are there wolves out here, too? Or are they all inside the
inner wall?"

She was leaning closer now, and her perfume was so
strong that it seemed to soak into his pores. He felt his
penis swelling and he took her hand and moved it so that
it was on his penis. She did not try to take her hand
away.

He reached over and ran a finger down along the curve
of the left breast and down the cleavage into the breast.
His hand went on down and slid between the cloth and
breast and rubbed over the nipple. The nipple swelled,
and she shuddered. He kissed her with many slidings of
his tongue along hers and over her teeth. She fumbled
along his zipper, found it, pulled it slowly down, and
then probed through the opening of his jockey shorts.
He unbuttoned the front of her dress and quickly verified
what he had suspected. She wore nothing beneath the

dress except for a narrow garter belt. The breasts were
small but shapely. He bent over and took a nipple in his
mouth and began sucking. She was breathing as hard as
he.

"Let's go in the summerhouse," she said softly.
"There's a couch in there."

"All right," he said. "But before we go any further,
you should know I'm unprepared. I don't have any
rubbers."

He would not have been surprised if she said that she
had some in her handbag. It wouldn't have been the first
time that this had happened to him.

But she said, "Never mind. I won't get pregnant."

Shakily, he followed her out of the car, sliding past
the wheel. She turned and slid the dress off her shoulders.
The moonlight gleamed on the whitest flesh possible, on
dark wet nipples, and dark triangle of pubic hairs under
the garter belt. She kicked her shoes off and, clad only
in belt and stockings, swayed towards the summerhouse.

He followed her, but he was not so excited that he did
not wonder about cameras and sound devices in the sum-
merhouse. He knew that he was good-looking, but he was
not, after all, a god who swept all women before him
on a tide of desire. If Magda Holyani seduced him on
such short acquaintance, she either was very hard-up or
had a motive that he might not like if he knew. Or, pos-
sibly, both. She did not seem to be faking her passion.

If, for some reason, she thought she could lead him so
far, turn him on and then turn him off, she was going to
be surprised. He had suffered a good part of yesterday
with a painful ball-ache because of his unfinished love-
making with Sybil, and he did not intend to suffer again.

Inside the house, he looked around. There could be
no cameras hidden here. If there were any, they'd have to
be attached to the trees on the edge of the clearing, and
he could not see how they would be able to film much,
even if they were equipped with black-light devices. The
vines and their supports would bar anything except
patches of skin and an occasional glimpse of a head or
limb. Besides, what did he have to lose? Blackmail could
not be the object of such a game.

Magda yanked off the blanket acting as a dust cover
for the sofa. She turned then, the moonlight falling

through the vines dappling her pale skin. Childe took her
in his arms and kissed her again, ran his hands down her
back—she had the muscle tone of a young puma—the
inward fall of the waist and the outward fall of the hips.
The garter belt annoyed him, so he sank to his knees and
unfastened the stockings and pulled them down and then
pulled down on the garter belt. She kicked them to one
side and put her hands on the back of his head and pulled
him towards her cunt. He allowed her to press his face
against the hairs, and he ran his tongue out and inserted
it just below the opening of the lips and tickled the clitoris
with its tip. She moaned and clutched him tighter.

But he stood up, sliding his tongue up from her cunt
and along her belly and up to her nipple, which he began
to suck again. He stepped backwards until she fell on
the sofa, her legs sticking out, her heels resting on the
floor. Then he got down on his knees again and licked
her clitoris once more and then slid down and thrust his
tongue again and again into her vagina. She began to
twist her hips a little, but he reached up and pressed down
on her belly to indicate that she should hold still.

Her cunt tasted as sweet as Sybil's and the hairs
seemed to be softer. He put one finger inside her cunt
and another finger of the same hand up her anus and
then, working the hand slowly in and out, rubbed his
tongue back and forth over her clitoris and then later
tongue-fucked her while his fingers increased the speed
of their in-and-outs into her cunt and anus.

She came with a scream and a sudden tightening of
thighs about his head. The grip was so strong that he
could not move his fingers.

He could stand it no longer. He had had no emissions
for two weeks because of involvement in a case which he
had wound up just before Colben disappeared. He had
been busy night and day and when he managed to snatch
some sleep even his unconscious had been too tired to
whip up a sexual dream. Then the frustration with Sybil
had made him hypersensitive. In a minute, he was going
to come, whether he was in Magda or the air.

"I can't wait," he said. "It's been too long."

He started to get down beside her and to help her
scoot up on the sofa so she could lie full length. But
she said, "You're ready to come?"

"It's been too long. I'm full to bursting," he groaned.

She pushed him down and ran her tongue along his
belly and wet his pubic hairs with her saliva and tongue
and then closed her lips upon the head of his cock. She
slid it back and forth in her lips twice, and with a
scream that matched hers of a moment ago, he burst in
her mouth.

He lay there, feeling as if a tide inside him were with-
drawing to some far-off horizon. He did not say any-
thing; he expected her to get up and spit out the stuff,
as Sybil always did. Sybil also always immediately
brushed her teeth and gargled with Listerine. Not that he
blamed her, certainly. He could understand that, once
the excitement was gone, the thick ropy stuff could be-
come disgusting. He knew how it tasted. When he had
been fourteen, he and his fifteen year old brother had
gone through a period of about six months when they
had sucked each other off. And then, by mutual and
silent consent, they had quit and that had been the last
of his homosexual experiences and, as far as he knew,
of his brother's. Certainly, his brother, who was such a
cocksman that he must be a compulsive, hated fairies,
and once, many years later, when Childe had referred
to their experimentations, his brother had not known
what he was talking about. He was either too ashamed
of it now to admit it or else had actually buried it so deep
that he did not remember.

But Magda did not leave him. She audibly swallowed
several times and then renewed her sucking. He sat up
and bent over so he could cup her breasts in his hands
while she was mouthing his glans. And then, just as his
penis was at almost full erection, he thought of Colben
and the iron teeth. This woman could be the actress in
that movie.

She looked up at him suddenly and said, "What's
wrong?"

"Listen," he said, "and don't get mad. Or laugh. But
do you have false teeth?"

She sat up and said, "What?" Her voice was thick
with fluid.

"Do you have false teeth?"

"Why do you want to know?" Then she laughed and
said, "You want me to take them out?"

"If you have false teeth."

"Do I look that old?"

"I've known several nineteen-year-olds who had false
choppers," he said.

"Kiss me and I'll tell you," she said.

"Certainly."

He held her tightly while he probed her mouth with his
tongue. He sniffed in the wild-beast odor of his own
semen and tasted the thick-oil gluey-seeming product of
his own body. Far from being unpleasant, it excited him.
She had her hand on his cock, and, feeling it swell, im-
mediately withdrew from his arms and went down on him
again. Evidently, she did not intend for him to find out
if she did have false teeth or perhaps she thought that
his tongue would have determined that.

Whatever her reasons, she would not tell him, unless
he were to use force, he was sure of that. He leaned back
and let her work on him. And after a while he rolled her
over and she opened her legs and took his penis gently
in her fingers and guided him in. He had no sooner sunk
in to the hairs than she squeezed down on his cock with
her muscles and continued to squeeze as if she had a
hand inside her cunt. And then, once again, thinking of
the film, he became soft. He remembered that bulge be-
hind the G-string of the woman in the film.

"For God's sake," she said. "What's the matter now?"

"I thought I saw somebody in the shadows," he said,
the only excuse he could grasp at the moment. "Glam?"

"It had better not be," she said. "I'll kill him if it is.
So will the baron."

She stood up on the sofa and called, "Glam? Glam? If
you're there, you asshole, you better start running and
fast. Otherwise, it's the other end of the wolf for you."

There was no answer. Childe said, "The other end of
the wolf? What do you mean?"

"I'll tell you later," she said. "He's not out there; if he
is, he isn't going to bother us. Come on, please. I'm ready
to explode."

Instead of reaching for him, she got down off the sofa
and crossed the summerhouse to a small cabinet on a
stand in the shadows. She came back with a bottle with a
squat body and a long narrow neck with a wide mouth.
It was half-full. She drank some, swished some in her

mouth, and still, holding it, pressed her lips against his
and squirted the liquid into his mouth. It was hot and
thick and slightly tart. He swallowed some and immedi-
ately felt his anxieties draining off.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a liqueur made in Igescu's native province," she
said. "It's supposed to have an aphrodisiac effect. I under-
stand that there isn't any true aphrodisiac, but this stuff
does one thing. It burns away the inhibitions. Not that I
thought I'd ever have to use it on you."

"I won't need any more of it," he said. His penis was
rising as if it were a balloon being filled for a trans-
atlantic voyage. A beam of moonlight fell on it, and
Magda, seeing it, squealed with delight.

"Oh, you beauty! You great big beauty!"

She lay down and raised her legs and he entered
again and then, for a long long time, said nothing. It was
a peculiarity of his that if he were blown at the beginning,
he took a long time coming the second time. Magda
seemed to have an almost unbroken series of orgasms
during this time and when he finally came she clawed his
back until the blood ran off. He did not mind at the
time, but later he cursed her. It was a theory of his that
women who clawed your back when they came were
actually attempting to prove how passionate they were,
but he was willing to admit that he could be wrong.

They lay there for some time by each other, not saying
a word. They were sheathed in sweat and would have
been grateful for a breeze. But the air was as still as
before.

Finally, he said, "There's no use your playing with it.
Not for some time. I'm shot out. I could stay and be all
right within an hour, but I have to go pretty soon."

He was thinking that he was supposed to have called
Mustanoja by now.

"I'm not unsatisfied, baby," she said, "but I could be
whipped up into enthusiasm again and I'd like to be.
You don't know how long it's been for me!"

She reached for the bottle, which was on the floor
by the sofa.

"Let's have another drink and see what happens."
He watched her to make sure that she drank again
out of the bottle before he drank. He took a small swal-