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What Never Dies

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Tedia, Goddess of Boredom
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Like a Brother
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An Early Winter Train
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You Belong to Me

By Cervo
An Evening At...
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Are You Kidding?
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Nikki Didn't Like It
Size Matters

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Kiss of Peace

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First Love, Last Romance
Judgement Day
Snow White
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This Desolate Eden
You Like It Like That...

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Going Viral
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Over the Rainbow
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Virtual Love
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Highway 69
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A Small Favor
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He Sends His Regrets
The Mentor

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Use Me
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johnny's jackoff journal
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In Praise of Pussy
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Dutch Masters
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Both Hands
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Color Less Ordinary
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The Last Taboo
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By Nan Andrews
At Rest
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By Nikki Isaak
A Rathskeller Jar
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Eat Your Veggies
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I Am Not A Scorpion
Innocent Flower
Maybe You Can Go...
The Vow Part I
The Vow Part II - Fiend in Need
What Would Aristippus Think

By Raziel Moore
Invisible Lines (Novella)

An Evening At Katzenspieler's
© 2003 by Cervo

Her heart thudded inside her chest and then skipped a beat as she lifted the phone.  In her free hand Patsy held her very own copy of Empress Theodora's wine goblet over the mirrored surface of the reproduction Venetian table.  There in the glass appeared the number of Katzenspieler's.  It was etched upside down into the metal of the goblet so that only she could decipher the ten digits of the phone number.  These she tapped into the phone.  After the first ring, her vision was getting blurry from the need to hear Nera's velvet, cool voice.

The phone rang and rang.  Her nipples started to ache.  The torment of uncertainty would continue until someone picked her up.  Katzenspieler's still refused to have an answering machine or voice mail of any kind.  At last she heard Nera's voice murmuring hello.  Then she was almost able to exhale.

"Oh you ARE open?," trying for disingenuous and wanting to be casual.  The flutter in her voice gave her away.

"Yes." Then a pause followed by, "Are we ever closed?" Katzenspieler's did not close.  Someone was always there ready to serve.  Sometimes the whole staff was totally booked and no one answered the phones.  When Nera traveled, she left the place to her staff who were not averse to letting the phone ring twenty times before they answered.  She knew about waiting for an answer from them.  Now and then the phone company simply cut you off.  Then you had to start ringing again until someone finally picked up the receiver.  They were always polite, quick, and distant.  Their manner hurt her feelings, but she kept calling even more often.

Recognizing her voice, Nera asked, "Do you want someone, Patsy, in particular?" It sounded too direct, a little gauche.  Patsy thought herself clever by turning the question aside.  She heard a piano and the sound of light laughter after a pause.  Nera played the piano sometimes all by herself in the music room.  Then she realized that Nera had answered on a speaker phone.

"Nera, can you send the Packard?" she asked.  She thought she would faint.  Her thighs were hot and the little ridge between her puss and her anus had started to itch.  She could hear the sound of low, female laughter in the background.  Crystal glassware struck metal somewhere.  Lately it seemed she could think of nothing but pressing her face into the bodies of others.

Voices chatted quietly.  She thought of skirts and trousers wrapping around thighs.  Other, more complicated sounds came to her.  She felt the warmth between her legs grow and then a spreading, buttery moisture came between her own legs.  She would soon be there among them.  She would be laughing, close, and again a part of their evening.  But first she needed special attention.  Her fingers gripped the phone so hard they became cold.

"The Packard?," repeated Nera ,"Some of the other girls asked for that.  Are you willing to share?"

"No," Patsy snapped.  She knew that Nera had three matching limousines from the 1940s all restored to a deep hunter green with brass fittings inside and out.  They all had the same long, thick snouts.  Their perfect antique engines grumbled when they were made to sit still like restless, petulant lions.  All three had been specially fitted in the backseat to accommodate Katzenspieler's clients.  But Nera would admit to owning only one so that she could be generous or stingy as the whim came upon her.  Tonight she teased.

"No?" sounding a little taken aback.  She made herself seem defensive with a dash of mock surprise.

"No, please.  I don't want to share.  I want the car to myself and I want.  I want Cosimo again, please." It was not meant to sound like a plea.

"Cosimo? Really? Well well.  I'll see if he can be had." This meant that Nera would disappear from her end of the conversation for half an hour even if Cosimo were standing nearby her.  She waited for Nera's voice, but her other hand could not avoid leaving the goblet and trailing across her thigh in search of the division in her robe.

She started to pant in short waves when the phone came back to life.

"I can send Cosimo.  And do you want his special kit?"

"Um .yes.  yes please.  I do." Of course she did and Nera knew it.  Nera broke the connection.  Patsy hung up her phone and rolled onto her side to calm her breathing.

Madame Nera cut off the other woman's voice and then dialed Junker, the chauffeur.  They spoke briefly after which Junker got out two black alligator leather cases.  One was much heavier than the other.  He swung them about like toy balloons with his enormous arms and chest.  He had spent all his free time lifting weights since the age of ten.  It gave him a gnarled look despite his pale skin and bald head.

His long arms and legs added to his powerful stance.  The only truly peculiar thing were his enormous, rippling buttocks.  His hips were of average width but the cheeks of his ass were nearly eight inches in depth and stood out like boulders.  He had once nearly suffocated a male client who was trapped between their powerful grip during a "sitting."

Junker opened the empty suitcase and hefted the other next to it in the back seat.  Then he took a silver canister of warm water and placed it on the floor in front of the backseat.  Following this he went to a small apartment at the back of the garage which faced out onto a tiny lanai.  The apartment door stood open and the room was in near darkness except for the light of a single candle.  Through the glass doors to the garden, Junker could see that the plants in the tiny garden were covered with snow.

He tapped twice on the open door, "Cosimo, we have an appointment."

A small gravelly voice replied, "I know.  She wants me again.  Nera called.  I'm ready," and the door glided further open to reveal a dwarf of about three feet in height with one arm wearing a heavy silk kimono, a satin shirt, and tailored slacks all in shades of light gray.  Cosimo's one remaining hand had only three tiny fingers, and yet the man was a neat bundle of tightly connected muscle.  The front of his small trousers bulged tenaciously.

"Indeed you are," said Junker who took care of Cosimo's equipment with Germanic zeal, sucking and bending to the smaller man's whims whenever time permitted.  Cosimo always had a pronounced hard-on.  It was no longer a matter of humor between them.  Junker was reverently impressed by the thickness of the dwarf's member.  His mouth watered.

"You are always ready," he said.

Cosimo smiled at him. "These people we serve are shopkeepers who got lucky, Junker.  They create nothing.  They just move money around.  I am an artist.  So are you."

"You are? What do you create?"

"Dreams, Junker.  I create illusions.  Most of all I create hope."

"And me, Cosimo? What do I create?"

Cosimo smiled up into Junker's huge face.  Then he reached out and stroked the larger man's cock.  Finally he patted his enormous bottom and said, "a place for them to dream, a saddle for their thoughts, my dear friend.  A coach and four, an ocean liner at sunset, a magic carpet, a Packard on a country road.  In short you give them the clichés they love best and are too lazy to find for themselves.  They are cruel but full of fear.  They mince along their dark inner roads.  You give them their clichés.  I am their secret deformity made real."

When they got to the car, Junker waited and then closed Cosimo into the open suitcase.  In this way his clients could know he was nestled nearby without causing them embarrassment.  Junker lifted the plush covered panel in the center of the rear seat.  He spat into his handkerchief and ran it around the mother of pearl seat of the bidet to brighten the shine.  With a light whisking, the spun aluminum bowl and drain beneath the seat reflected his shadowy face to his satisfaction.

He pressed a small button centered in front of the bidet seat and felt warm ionized air blow up into his face from the circle of tiny jets.  The ionization made their pubic hair glossy when dried.  Then he tested a small electric pump that whirred beneath the seat.  A warm fountain of scented water spouted about two feet in the air when the on switch was fully depressed.  Finally he tested that the gold inlaid lid of the bidet closed with the firm snap of fine workmanship.  Her put six small squares of finished ecru silk in a small compartment in the back of the front seat in case the lady wanted to wipe herself.

"Many costly asses and cunts have been washed there, eh my friend?" chuckled Cosimo.  Junker kept his face set in stone as befits a chauffeur.  He made sure a small silver box of tampons was in its place concealed within the armrest on the passenger side.  Each had an engraved silver applicator.  A bottle of Krug was chilling in the ice chest of the drinks console.

After a twenty minute drive through the snowy darkness, Junker opened the door of the rear seat for his passenger.  Light perfume filled the interior cabin of the car as Patsy climbed in and sat down.  He could smell the light urine scent of her pussy and the heat of her body through the perfume.  Her hand flew to the surface of the cases next to her on the seat, but Junker took her shoulder gently to restrain her.

"Soon," was all he said.  He let his fingers crush her skin against bone, but not enough to bruise.  She winced and let go of the case.  She sat like a lamb with her heart in her throat as they pulled away from her house.

They drove toward the park at the center of the city.  As they neared the park, the snow stopped.  When the reached the gardens at that center, the Packard's special tires bit through the virgin white without pause until they were alone in an open circular plane of snow.  It surrounded a winged statue.  The blue moonlight of evening touched every frozen surface.  The woman took a small silver egg from under her left breast and thumbed it open.  From within she took a large white pill which, though its taste was bitter, gave her a measure of temporary calm.  She took it with champagne.  She had eaten nothing but boiled eggs for two days.  Her heart slowed a little, and the ache between her legs seemed to ease.  Her nipples burned.  The moisture increased as she started to relax and drift a little.

She could make out the winged statue of Venus in the center of the circular garden.  One stone knee was lifted and the wings spread as though she was just landing on her pedestal from some joyous flight.  Patsy thought Venus might have come to be with her.  The goddess was poised with snow resting on her prominent nipples and even the crest of her belly.  She wished this divine cunt would take her in her great stone arms and crush their breasts together as they kissed.

Half of the stone face was rendered secret by the snow.  In the same way, the woman felt half of herself to have disappeared in the life she lived now.  She was a slave to the place between her legs.  If only Venus would call, she saw herself making tiny footprints in the snow or perhaps gliding over it to embrace the statue in flight.  She could let her hand trail over the Goddess's broad, firm, round bottom and reach down between the cheeks for the touch of her pussy.  Then she would make those hard stone thighs yield to her touch by applying her fingers and tongue to her divine sex.

The fantasy distressed her.  She had never made love to a woman before she met Nera.  She had never even tried when it was offered by her friends.  She was sure she would do it wrong.  Now she longed to lick the goddess or any woman.  She shuddered when she realized she wanted to be at the mercy of Venus or Nera, to do their bidding, to defile herself at their command.  She wanted to be free to prove her submission to a woman, a man, anyone who would take control of her.  She wanted to feel human, but the statue did not move.  Venus was impervious to her desires.  Patsy's thighs burned as though she had a rash, and yet the goddess showed no mercy.

Instead, Junker opened the rear door letting in a blast of cold air.  She shrank back from the shock as his huge shoulders thrust into the rear cabin.  Her nipples bit her in protest of the sudden cold.  Junker snapped open the near case, withdrew and closed the door.  He then walked off toward the line of trees to smoke a short, fat, black cigar.

Cosimo unfolded his small body slowly from inside the suitcase like a magician being his own rabbit.  Then he rose to his feet and opened the second case.  He stripped off his shirt to reveal his muscled chest and horribly scarred shoulder.  His olive skin was otherwise flawless, and so he was handsome despite his stature and the mark where his arm had been.

"I will remind you that my arm was torn off in a tragic golfing accident.  Therefore, I must ask your assistance in one thing.  Please remove your underpants." This abbreviated tale, though true, was told thus incompletely to all the ladies who 'used' Cosimo.  They longed for a fuller explanation but were never granted it.  He made a point of referring to their handmade under garments as though they were army issue.  Being demeaned made them feel the experience was personal for him.  His caustic style in referring to his cruel fate on the links only added to his mysterious appeal.  She had one erotic dream of him threatening her with a wedgie as she lay staked out in a sand trap.

While she removed her stockings and panties, he opened the second case which contained a finely wrought silver pump with two articulated hoses.  One he attached to the silver tank on the floor noting that the gold and silver rampant eagle at the top had been polished to a rich, dull shine.  The other he inserted into an ivory dildo with a series of small holes running up each side.  It had been buttered with olive oil for the evening's use.

Cosimo restacked the cases to make room, and invited the lady to shift to the center of the rear seat so that she would now occupy the bidet at its center.  He flicked on the warm air so that her ass and pussy would remain cozy while he inserted the douche.  He opened the small drain that vented into the snow beneath the car.  The water would form an odd block of ice in the frigid snow.  He wondered if dogs would find it interesting and lick it.

Then he knelt between her thighs and started to massage her pussy as he made low happy sounds in his throat.  His three fingered hand found her clit and began to amaze it.  Then he applied his tongue, and his fingers located the slick opening of her vagina.  He was frigging her with his whole hand.  Once confident that she was ready, he inserted the fat ivory dildo into her pussy and flicked on the pump on the button next to the air jet.  Soon warm water was flowing into her and dribbling with a pleasant tinkling sound into the bowl beneath her.

He shut off the lights and checked his palm pilot for her musical preferences.  The strains of Tristan and Isolde began to rise from the eight speakers in the Packard.  She lay back against the gray green plush upholstery of the back seat as pint after pint of warm fluid flowed into and out of her pussy.  He licked her clit firmly as his face grew soggy.  When she was fully relaxed, Cosimo eased back the cuff of his one sleeve with his teeth exposing his forearm.

"And now it is time to behave," he said.  He reached between the seats where Junker had left a small plastic tub of Lube.  It was the color of bubble gum and smelled of a heavy sweetness.  He plunged in his three tiny fingers up to the middle of his forearm and waited for the goo to soften and penetrate his skin.  Then he removed his hand from the bucket and started to invade her anus.  She squealed and tried to pull back, but not from his mouth which was sealed to her cunt again.

She whimpered and wiggled, but at last the hard wrinkles of her anus began to relent and slowly her ass opened to his assault.  She felt she should resist but his tongue on her clit would not allow it.  When all three of his fingers were inside her she knew that this time his whole hand and wrist would follow.  She eased drew up her legs so as to fully expose and open her ass to his authority.  Slowly he screwed his fist into her and continued to twist it within her until it was halfway to his tiny elbow.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her body gave way again and again.  Sighs came from her.  She stared at the dark stone goddess leaping in the endless darkness.  Her chest felt as though a great anvil of sorrow rested on it.  She wanted the love of that cold hard thing.  She was powerless against her desires.  What had she become? What would she become now?

Her sighs turned to moans and then short barks as she was overtaken by cascading spasms.  Pushing and then pulling his fist in her ass, Cosimo watched her melt impaled on his arm.  Then he took out his greasy, stained hand and found her nipples through the thin fabric of her dress.  He bit her clit as he did so again and again just as her body rose and fell from one precipice to the next.

After forty minutes, Junker stamped his cigar butt into the snow and headed back to the close heat of the Packard.  By then the bidet was closed, the cases were again shut and Cosimo was nowhere to be seen.  He was in fact taking a leak in the snow.  In the car the heavy camembert sweetness of cunt hung in the air.  Between the heat and the pussy smell, Junker became a little dizzy.

The woman lay curled in the dark as the Wagner neared its end.  She was nearly naked except for the rags of her dress in the hot car.  He would give her another dress sent along by Nera.  She was turned away from him on her side with her face toward the corner of the seat and her legs drawn up to her.  The crack in her round, white ass glistened with gobbets of shiny grease.  He would have to wipe her to protect the Packard from stains.  Was she ill? Sad? Nuts? It seemed odd to Junker that she might be so withdrawn.  Don't they do this for pleasure, he wondered.  It costs them enough.  He found a linen towel and wondered how to approach the subject of wiping her ass.

Patsy felt a surge of nausea from the stale cigar smell which came into the hot cabin of the car with Junker.  It was like the steam-heated bathroom at school on days when they had all sauerkraut for lunch.  Then she thought again.  No.  It was like discovering fresh dogshit on one's shoe, and the idea made her queasy.  She wanted to roll down a window and wondered if that would be allowed.  Then she remembered who was paying here.  She sat up and grabbed the towel from Junker.  Then she wiped at her behind a little and sat on the towel in the far corner.  Junker decided that would have to do.  She did not look ready to discuss her ass with him.

There was also a deeper funk around Patsy's nose that lingered under the other smells that made her wonder if perhaps Cosimo had secretly come while frigging her.  He had only one hand.  Could he do that? Had it been a spontaneous reaction to her? Passion? Was she pleased or horrified at that idea? Why did it matter to her? She gave a short laugh.  She was sure he had no hand free to help himself.  She liked that idea.  It meant that he was subject to her weaknesses.  It made them companions in pleasure.  That might be somehow comforting.  But she did not like him thinking he was entitled to take the liberty of pleasure in her presence without permission.  His pleasure should be a gratuity, not a presumption.  She liked this thought.  Its construction made her feel safe.

Junker found his sandwich under the driver's seat.  It was his snack that he carried when he drove in case he had to wait for some reason.  The pecorino cheese in it had gotten quite warm from the heater blasting away in the car.  The salty, pungent smell in the front seat was quite pronounced.  He supposed the reek of pussy overwhelmed it in the back.  He discretely ditched the sandwich in the snow dispelling the odor from the car.  He was not hungry at the moment anyway.  Cosimo was again next to him in the front seat.  He stroked his perpetual hard-on thoughtfully through his trousers.  Junker smiled.

Soon the Packard swept under the portico of Katzenspieler's.  Patsy's panties were greasy and stained, but it did not seem to matter.  She left them on the floor of the car.  She put on the dress Nera had provided and the fur coat she had worn that evening.  Her cunt was sore and her ass was on fire.  She released one silent, experimental fart.  It burned unpleasantly but then what could one expect?

A greasy slickness radiated out from her anus and down her thighs.  She felt drippy.  It was not nice, and she wanted to wash a little.  Once inside she was greeted by Nera who pressed two tall flutes of champagne on her one right after the other.  A small spoonful of white powder cleared her nose and her thoughts.  Nera understood completely that Patsy would need to take a shower and a short lie down before joining the party.

Patsy could see into the emerald party room.  At once she felt strangely forgiven like a little girl after a severe punishment who is again allowed to be among her family.  She felt at home.  She could relent here to those things that made her what she was.  She could be as nature intended her—fulfilled, happy, at one with herself.  She wondered if Cosimo was again available.

Small indirect lights in the party room beyond revealed three women.  They stood relaxed and happy in a small circle of warmth.  They were caning a young man with a beautiful slender body using a long, slender leather-clad rod with brass studs.  He was tied with brocade ribbon over the end of a chaise lounge which bent him over sharply.  Three peacock feathers emerged from a thick wooden plug jammed between his buttocks.  An older woman had snaked her hand beneath him in search of his cock which she now pinched forcing him to rise up on his toes and tighten his muscles.  The cane bit violently into his thighs.

Laughter rose as more stripes were applied to the young man's body.  They were already evident from his shoulders to his calves.  Nera turned Patsy away and climbed the broad marble stairs.  With the last of her strength Patsy tottered down a corridor toward her usual room.  It faced the sea to the east.  In the darkened gloom of the corridor, she suddenly found herself staring into the naked ass of a young girl.  The ass seemed inches away like a cake on a shelf in a bakery.  The girl had been tied face down to a steel truss so securely that she was held motionless.  Her dress was thrown up to expose her ass and hips.  Her panties had been yanked to her knees.

Nera tried to steer her along, but she resisted.  She recognized a friend from her garden club with whom she played cards.  The friend was standing next to the girl's ass with a heavy rubber strap in her hand.  Sweat covered the card player's face and her eyes were large with rage.  Her lips were drawn back from her teeth in a rictus of loathing.  Her nose flared above her gritted teeth.  Her face was contorted within the frame of her salon-blackened hair.  She clearly did not want the spanking interrupted.

"I will teach you not to return hearts to no trump with six points!" The rubber strap slapped fiercely over the girl's bottom.  The girl with the beaten ass clenched her strapped, raw buttocks and moaned.

"Do you play cards?" asked Nera.  She let her hand brush down Patsy back to her hip and come to rest with authority.

"Yes," she said.

"Perhaps you can take the girl's place next time." Nera giggled having seen in Patsy what Patsy did not see in herself.  Then the strap landed with a hard, loud crack on the girl's ass and Patsy's cunt twitched.

Wide, dark, purple welts covered the girl's cheeks.  Patsy wanted to feel that last terrible spank.  The rubber punctuated its point with blood blisters and torn spots in the flesh.  She looked at the card player with the strap.  The image of their last bridge game flashed across her mind.  She remembered how badly the bridge player took the slightest mistake in bidding or play.  She looked at the player's hand gripping the rubber strap with white knuckles.  The player's tight anger made her body start to flow again.

"Get out!" screeched the card player.  Patsy wondered how much of a beating would satisfy the woman.  Her cunt reacted as though a tiny jolt of electricity had touched it.  She pictured her own pale ass tied to that iron monstrosity.  She saw her the ropes just above and below her plump ass cheeks.  They would be holding her completely still as the girl was, totally vulnerable to the spanking, and without escape.  She felt the shrieks that would come from her own mouth during a punishment like that.  She felt her cunt go warmly damp and wished Nera would do something about her.

The sharp crack of the rubber hit the girl's bottom again.  Nera leaned into her and whispered, "That girl knows what she's doing, you know.  She knows how to take a beating.  Would you?" Nera's hand moved over Patsy's ass traveling over the crest of each cheek and pausing there.  She could feel the heat from Nera's touch build in her skin.

She was taken to her room, lay down on the bed, and worked her fingers between her legs until she got off.  She quickly went to sleep hearing the sharp smacking and the pleading squeals of the girl continue.  Loud tears began to interrupt the card player's shouts.  When she woke, the room was dark and silent.  She looked into the hallway which was now softly lit and looking quite normal.  The heavy, iron truss had been removed.  She felt a little disappointed.  Then she saw that the rubber strap tossed there onto one of the brocade chairs that lined the corridor.  Clearly it was meant for her to find.

She used the toilet trying to empty herself as completely.  She wanted her body ready to receive.  Then she sponged herself between her breasts, thighs, and buttocks.  Oily residue remained.  She did not want to shower.  She wanted the scent of the early evening to remain.  Then she swiped hard under her arms which gave off the odor of nervous sweat.  She hated that, but she never wore deodorant at Nera's insistence.  The hot cunt smell she gave off earlier had settled down a little to a mossy undertone, but it was still there.  She slipped into a fresh dress and freshened her makeup.

Finally she slipped a small silver plug from her handbag into her anus.  It was dry, heavy, and cold making it hard to get into herself.  She wondered if someone would oil it later.  She realized then that she rather hoped it would slip out at some embarrassing moment.  She might even be punished for that.  Then she wondered if she cared.  Finally, she hoped she might be punished quite severely.  She moved toward the light at the head of the stairs and the sounds from the gathering below.  Then she headed for the door of the party room.

In his apartment, Junker was kneeling before Cosimo slowly and carefully sucking his thick, hard cock.  In time, Cosimo came to their mutual satisfaction.  Cosimo slipped a tiny cassette from a recorder he kept in his back pocket.  This would be encrypted and transferred to a CD.  He placed it with the others in Junker's collection of Kenny Rogers albums.  Soon it would find its way with two ABBA CDs into a collection that was heading for the northern border.  Names and dates were all there for the record.  It was not the deeds but the embarrassment that mattered.

"Sometimes, my friend, we must do them a favor."


"Yes indeed.  We must turn their dreams into reality.  Their tastes are so gratuitous to our purposes.  We must give them a dose of the real shame they so crave and deserve.  You are a man who understands bad taste, Junker.  Why do you think they need us so, Junker?"

"Because they do awful things."

"Well that's true, but not with us.  No, it's because they think they do awful things with us for which they wish to be punished.  You love Barry Manilow, Junker, but you can be forgiven for that.  It's an honest mistake.  They want to be punished for their whims in order to feel important.  They want their appalling sensibilities to seem significant, so they are.  Its karma you see.  The wheel may be an illusion, but it still turns."

Junker and he prepared flank steaks with mushrooms in cognac.  Afterwards they had a beer and a cigar apiece.  They would leave well before dawn.  Cosimo looked in the mirror.  He was thinking of growing a beard.  He would start it soon when they crossed the northern border for the last time.

© 2003 Cervo.  All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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