Where the Action Is, page 4
part #29 of Cherry Delight Series
At around this point I gave up the blushing virgin game and really got down to serious business. He was, after all, a very gallant gentleman who wore the most delicious shaving lotion, and his pole was a delight. He hugged me tightly around the waist and pumped me up and down while I unbuttoned the top of my dress and fed one of my hot nipples into his mouth. Slobbering all over it like a madman, he touched something behind me and suddenly the seat-belt restraining me was gone.
If I were a lady I would’ve got off him, walked away, but as we all know by now, I’m no lady. I went on my tiptoes so that only the tip of his pole was in my meat pie, and then I worked my powerful labial muscles rhythmically, and Captain Smiley’s eyes rolled up into his head. Slowly settling myself down onto him, I went up again, and then down, all the while squeezing him with my labia, a feat which has never failed to make them come back for more.
“I love you, Cherry Delight!” he cried, nearly delirious. “Please marry me, because I’ll never be able to go back to ordinary women!”
“I want you to apologize for raping me, you dirty man.”
“I apologize! I’ll do anything you say!”
“Anything?”
“ANYTHING!”
I stood on my tiptoes, picked up my dress with one hand, and pulled his head to me with the other. “Kiss me,” I said.
It was delicious and incredible, not an ordinary piece of ass at all. Maybe it was the altitude. The altitude?
“Hey captain!” I shouted. “Have you by any chance forgotten that we’re in an airplane high over North America and you’re supposed to be the pilot?”
He moved his head away for a moment. “We’re okay until the radar starts bleeping.”
“Are you sure we’ll be able to hear it.”
“Stop worrying and please go back to doing what you were doing.”
But I took advantage of the lull to change into a new and exciting position, the good old missionary position, which sometimes a girl wants to do when she’s already done everything else. I leapt on top of Captain Smiley, kissed his pretty lips, hugged him tight, and rolled over onto my back, pointing my legs high in the air. He was on top of me now and he knew exactly what to do. Taking his pole in hand, he stuck it in me and pinned me to the floor.
I nearly fainted from ecstasy as dear Captain Smiley pumped me like a pile-driver What he lacked in inches (one inch, actually) he made up for in ardor. There’s nothing like a passionate madman with which to pass time on a long journey. And I gave him one for one, let me tell you. I’m not one of those passive simpering bitches that you read about in magazines, but I guess you know that already. I guess some people might think I’m a disgusting pig, but if Mother Nature didn’t want me to do these things she wouldn’t have made me this way. I wrapped my legs around him and wiggled like the Queen of Sheba. I kissed his mouth like it was an ice cream cone.
He bellowed like Tarzan of the apes and his hips jerked spasmodically. He was out of control now, completely in the throes of orgasm, and the sight of him freaking out like that blew the top off my cookies. I melted like butter in his arms, became one with him, felt his sweet masculine soul, exulted in it, and he was kissing me and telling me how wonderful I was while I was screaming like a cat in heat and bouncing on the floor like a tennis ball.
However no matter how out of my mind I might be at any given moment, there’s always a little part of me that’s completely aware of what’s happening, and at that particular moment my awareness was focused sharply between my legs, and was making my lower lips flare in and out like the wings of a bird. Then I made those powerful lips give his candy stick a big squeeze, and working my hips back and forth, I began to milk the son of a bitch.
He arched his back and hollered like Tarzan again, and it was really a good thing that we weren’t in a hotel room because the police would come and arrest us for disturbing the peace.
“You’re so wonderful!” he jabbered. “YOU’RE THE BEST OF MY LIFE!”
Men were always telling me that, and the poor deluded fools didn’t seem to realize that I was doing it for myself, not them. Well, that’s not exactly true—I do like to show the boys a good time, but I work hard and I need some pleasure too, and I know what gives me pleasure because I’ve studied the subject and have had a few good teachers.
By milking him I got all sweet and juicy inside, and was able to feel his candy pole all the more intensely. Swinging my hips back and froth, slamming against him like the sex degenerate everybody says I am, I came again, and this time like an Amtrak Express.
My orgasm smashed me all to pieces, and every piece of me was quivering with the pure essence of joy. I trembled and cried and laughed and spoke in tongues. I almost chewed Captain Smiley’s ear off. The man must have been an athlete because he kept right on going.
I’m in pretty good physical condition myself so I kept going to.
We were headed for number three, and if he was still up to it afterwards, we’d go for number four. And five. I’d have the bastard begging for mercy. How dare he try to rape me!
As he maneuvered me into the doggie position and loaded it into me, that part of my psyche that stays aware told me we were probably over Topeka Kansas.
And something else told me we’d be in Las Vegas in about another hour.
If I knew what’d be facing me there I would’ve been in back of the plane doing yoga and taking vitamin pills.
No I wouldn’t. I’d be right where I was fucking my brains out with Captain Smiley.
Life is short, and we must make honey whenever we can. An old lover of mine told me that once, and I’ve never forgotten it.
Chapter Four
We landed at McCarran International Airport at four o’clock in the morning, and the limousine was waiting for me behind the hangar used by the various intelligence services in the area. I was wearing a little something I’d picked up on the Rue Faubourg in Paris, having showered and cleaned up on the plane. Captain Smiley had done the same and was wearing a neatly pressed uniform.
“Well, so long, Captain,” I said to him under the wing. “It was a helluva ride.”
“It’s been nice having you aboard,” he replied with a gallant bow.
I turned to walk away, then stopped myself. “By the way, I think there’s something I ought to tell you. I’m certified to fly everything up to the Boeing 747 and Douglas DC 10, so while you were playing games giving me flying lessons, I was playing a game of my own.”
The captain’s knees got a little wobbly. I winked and turned toward the limousine.
That ought to scramble his brains for awhile.
The limousine driver, a little Chinese man, ran behind me carrying my luggage to the car. I was stronger than he and could’ve carried it more easily, but men are so sensitive about those things.
We got in the limousine and he drove me off. The sun was just peeping over the mountains at the rim of the desert; the day was beginning. I needed some sleep. I wonder how many gamblers were crawling into their beds just then.
“What’s going on in Las Vegas these days?” I asked the driver in an effort to stay awake.
“Gubishov,” he replied without hesitation.
“Who’s he?”
“Very big gambler. Wins all the time. Pretty soon he’s going to own Las Vegas. They say he can look at you and strike you dead right on the spot.”
“You ever see him?”
“Sure—he rented this limousine one night. Very nice feller. Gave me a big tip. His girl friend is very spaced off, if you know what I mean. Either she’s very stupid or she’s in a magic spell.”
“Where did you take him?”
“We went to the Moondust Hotel. The next day in the papers I read he won five million dollars.”
“No wonder he gave you a big tip. Where did you take him after he left the hotel?”
“He’s bought a house out in the Maranga Canyon—it’s east of here near Lake Mead.”
“Does he live alone with his girlfriend out there?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t invite me in. But people say they’ve seen strange things out there. Like ghosts and vampires and things, and people in goldy robes. Sometimes it’s light out there when everything else is night, and sometimes it’s dark there when it’s light everywhere else. People say the mountains out there have been moved around. Some people have seen little men four feet tall doing dances around fires. They drink the blood of wild animals and have sex orgies afterwards. This is what they say.”
The limousine glided under the canopy of the Wild West Hotel. A doorman dressed like Roy Rogers was standing there and he sprang to attention when the limousine stopped. When I got out of the back seat I gave him a shot of my honey thighs and the poor son of a bitch almost dropped his pistol. He managed to pull himself together and carry my luggage to the front desk.
A guy dressed like Tex Ritter checked me in, and a bellboy dressed like the Lone Ranger took me to my room.
After I tipped him and he’d gone, I peeled off my dress, kicked off my shoes, and flopped into bed.
I awoke four hours later, fully rested. In D.U.E. Training School they teach us how to do that. It’s merely a matter of relaxing your mind with a mantra and falling into a state four times deeper than deep sleep. So actually I’d slept for the equivalent of sixteen hours. Wild-ass sex can sure burn a girl out.
The first thing I did was call the front desk to get Las Vegas time. It was ten in the morning. The second thing I did was call Tony Vanello and tell him I was there. He said to come right down to his office. I told him I wasn’t ready to come down, but would be there in forty-five minutes.
“And have breakfast waiting for me,” I told him. “Steak and eggs, and I like my steak bloody rare. And black coffee.”
Vanello was silent for a few seconds, then he exploded. “Hey, what do you think I am—room service?”
“I don’t care what you are,” I told him. “Just have breakfast waiting for me.”
I took a hot shower and a nice refreshing douche. I brushed my teeth and shampooed my robust flaming hair. On the underside of my left boob I found a sucker bite left by that crazy depraved pilot whose name I forget already. They always like to leave a trademark, the bastards.
For my morning ensemble, I selected a jumpsuit made of white silky material. I designed it myself with the help of a seamstress I know in Hong Kong. It fits me like a second skin, and when the light hits me just right, the illusion is presented that I’m naked. It’s a real mind-boggler in public places.
Next I checked my equipment. For basic all-purpose protection I decided to take my good old Luger along. There may be better guns with more modern features, but there’s never been a pistol with the style of a Luger. I think it goes well with my voluptuous figure. I dropped it into my red lame shoulder bag.
Another nice item to have along is my little jar of lip gloss that really isn’t lip gloss but a deadly poison. You just put a little on your fingernail, scratch the person you want out of the way, and one-half second later he’s deader than yesterday’s racing form.
Standard equipment for all D.U.E. agents is a laser gun in the guise of a fountain pen. It’ll cut through six inches of steel, and I don’t have to tell you what’ll happen if you point it at a person.
They also issue us various talismans, amulets, relics from the tombs of saints, and stuff like that to ward off evil spirits and the like. I grabbed a handful of the junk and dropped it into my shoulder bag just in case.
Now I was ready for action. I took one last look at myself in the mirror, and decided too much of my boobs were showing. There might be some old men in the hotel and I didn’t want to cause any heart attacks. I pulled the zipper of my jumpsuit up a few inches and left my room.
I took the elevator down to the main lobby, and headed for Vanello’s office. A lot of gambler types in flashy clothes were hanging out in the lobby, and I saw them checking me out. Just for the hell of it I gave my ass that special little wiggle that fucks up men’s minds. Sure enough one of them came out of the woodwork and made his way toward me. He looked like a meatball who had a good barber and a colorblind tailor, because his clothes looked like the flag of some bizarre little country in Eastern Europe.
“Hiya baby,” he said out the corner of his mouth, winking at me like the asshole he had to be.
“What do you say, sport,” I replied, not slackening my pace.
He fell in step beside me. “Going my way?”
“What way is that?”
“Upstairs to my motherfucking bedroom,” he grinned.
“Sorry, but I’m not going that way.”
“Would you consider a hundred dollars?”
“Get serious.”
“A thousand?”
“No.”
“Five thousand?”
“Forget it.”
He held out the palms of his hands. “How much?”
“You don’t understand. I’m not a whore.”
“C’mon, every woman in this town’s a whore. And the divorcees who’re here are the biggest whores of all. Every one of you has got a price, and you’re no different from the rest. Maybe your price isn’t money, but you got a price.”
I shrugged, because I don’t like to put these poor pathetic characters down too hard. “When I find out what my price is, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that, baby.”
I saw the sign that said MAIN OFFICE. Opening the door, there was a secretary sitting at a desk. “I’m here to see Tony Vanello,” I told her.
“You must be Cherry Delight.”
“I am.”
She stood up. “He’s in the conference room with the other gentlemen. I’ll take you there.”
We went down a long corridor and off it was another corridor. In that corridor there were lots of doors. The secretary opened one of them and I walked into the conference room.
There was a long table in the center of the room, and around it were sitting a conglomeration of men in suits. They had Mafia stamped all over them but they were good boys now and trying to be honest upstanding businessmen, although I must confess that to my mind all business is fraudulent and all businessmen are thieves. Still, a girl had to do her job to the best of her ability.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” I said. “I’m Cherry Delight and I believe you’re expecting me.”
They all looked me over, weighed me, measured me, undressed me, and maybe fucked me a few times. It was okay with me—I didn’t feel a thing.
One of them, a dark good-looking Italian type, came forward. “I’m Tony Vanello,” he said, “and these gentlemen here represent every hotel and casino in town.”
I nodded my head to them. “How do you do.”
“I’ll introduce you around.”
I smiled pertly. “I know everybody’s name here already, and everybody here knows mine, so let’s not waste time. I just got in a few hours ago on a flight from Istanbul and I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’ve got to have some food.”
“Your breakfast is right here, Miss Delight,” Vanello said, leading me to a chair at the table. Before it were plates covered with aluminum warmers.
“Call me Cherry and I’ll call you Tony, all right? There’s no need to be formal.”
“Okay Cherry,” he replied, forcing a smile. He didn’t seem very friendly. None of them did. It looked like I’d have to play the Winning Them Over to My Side Game again. What a drag.
I sat down, took the covers off the food, and looked up. “While I’m having breakfast, I’d like you gentlemen to fill me in on latest developments in this Gubishov situation.”
Everyone looked at Vanello, who looked at me slicing into my steak. Evidently he was the spokesman. He stood up as I chewed the steak, which was first class by the way. It made me think of my favorite steakhouse on West 52nd Street, and I longed for my little five room apartment.
“Well,” said Vanello, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Al Pacino the actor, “there’s not much new to say. Gubishov is winning a few million dollars every day and slowly he’s breaking our balls, if you’ll pardon the expression. Today will be his sixth day in town. Unless he’s stopped, Las Vegas will cease to exist the day after tomorrow…”
I nodded, wolfing down steak and eggs. Opening my shoulder bag, I took out my vitamin pills for the day. Mega-doses of everything washed down with orange juice. Especially lots of vitamin E, the sex vitamin. Got to replenish the hormones because you never know when Mister Right might come along.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Nothing I can think of.”
“I’m interested in the people he has with him. Who are they?”
“There’s just the girl and a couple of servants.”
“Anybody have a lead on the servants?”
“Nobody’s ever seen them before.”
“How does Gubishov get his food?”
“He has it flown in from L.A.”
“Anybody ever try to poison him?”
Vanello threw up his hands. “We’ve tried everything. There’s no way to get him.”
I polished off the steak and lay my knife and fork neatly on the place. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go to work.”
Laughter erupted from the far end of the table. A stout bald man smoking a cigar stood up and looked at the other men. “You guys gotta be jerking yourselves off if you think this broad’s gonna do something,” he said. “I mean, she’s a pretty girl and all, but what’s she gonna do? Fuck him to death?”
The other men laughed sardonically. The bastards were trying to turn me into a dirty joke. I’d been through more shit in my life that all of them put together, but they were putting me down anyway because I was just a woman. When I handed them Gubishov’s ass in a sling, then they’d sing a different tune.
I wiped my mouth with the napkin, and stood up. “If none of you gentlemen has anything constructive to say, I guess I might as well be on my merry way.”
The stout man winked and tossed me a little salute. “If you ever want a job as a showgirl, baby, just come see me at the Silver Spur.”
