The Final Veil: Who had kidnapped America's favorite belly dancer?

by Pat Powers

  The weather was eerily similar to the weather of the day I'd first driven out to the Furnsome estate. Hot, 95 degrees, but not sultry, a dry, humming heat that sapped the nerves and the brain, both at the same time. Even the insects were laying low in this heat.

  Inside the mansion it was cool and dry and the effect was bracing. The maid, or personal assistant or whatever she was to Furnsome, who greeted me was as cool and dry as the air around her.

  Furnsome herself greeted me in a tone that was relaxed and almost friendly.

  "It's so nice to see you again," said Furnsome. "I've been reading all about your exploits on the Web and I've seen accounts on TV as well. You certainly found us out fast."

  "Us?" I asked.

  "Sure, us," Furnsome said cheerily. "No harm in telling all now that it's all over," said Furnsome. "Of course you understand, I would never admit to any of what I'm about to say in court or anywhere else in public. It's for your ears only. You may of course relay what I've said to anyone you choose, but I think you will have precious little luck convincing anyone else that I said it."

  "Fair enough," I said. "My charter was always to just rescue April, not to bring anyone to justice."

  "As I suspected," said Furnsome. "You've probably figured out a lot of what I'm about to tell you, anyway. In fact, why don't you tell me what you've figured out, and I'll fill you in on what you've missed."

  "Sure," I said. Ordinarily I did not like to spill to suspects, except in small quantities designed to get more responses. But the case was about over and I didn't think I knew much that Furnsome didn't. If spilling to her got me so much as a single additional fact, it was all to the good.

  "What I think happened was, somebody high in the CIA is a Mopus Deim member in extra good standing," I said. "Mopus Deim, from what I gather, is very culturally conservative and has been unhappy for some time over the direction American culture seems to be going in. And to some of you, apparently, April Dancer represented much of what is wrong with American culture, especially sexual culture -- a young, beautiful, sexy dancer who is a self-confessed sex slave and generally wild woman who is also enormously popular in the media. She must be quite a burr under Mopus Diem's saddle, though she's hardly the only one, I imagine. In any event, you somehow managed to rope a group of lesbian feminist bellydancers into your plan -- that would be Sandy Wrathbottom's group. I'm betting you reached her through your contacts with the lesbian retirement home you run. Now, she was your contact with the group, but I don't know that she was the leader -- doesn't seem like much of a leader type. Then again, bellydancer troupes seem to have a peculiar form of groupthink, so I might be off base here. In any event, whether you hatched the plan yourself, you were the key contact -- the CIA Mopus Diem type -- possibly the woman we caught about to kill April in the house in Tennessee -- was your handler, but you were the contact with Sandy Wrathbottom among the feminist bellydancers. All roads seem to lead to you, Miss Furnsome."

  "Damn, I knew you were good, but you really ARE good!" said Furnsome. "You got most of it right. Let me explain it to you the long way around. The last time we cultural conservatives scored any advances in American society was way back in the 1980s. That was because feminists led by Andrea Dworkin sided with us against pornographers who glorified the degradation of women. It got some laws passed that did some good, we felt, but it didn't last. Pornography remains unpopular with some feminists, but the majority felt that censorship went too far and that focusing on porn when there were more serious issues affecting women was a mistake. Plus there are an awful lot of irreligious people who like pornography. Now the feminist firebands and some of us are haring after whores … totally useless, whores just don't go away.”

  “Maybe it's the thought that counts, for them,” said Bowman. He knew what Furnsome meant. Vice squads were notoriously useless unless you considered getting bribes and raping whores a useful activity, public safety-wise.

  "We saw April Dancer as a way of regaining the support of the mainstream," said Furnsome, "leading to more successes for moral conservatism in the culture in general. Some feminists may have balked at censorship, but they all hate the whole sex slave thing, when the woman is the slave and the man is the master, anyway. So we decided, and of course I won't be telling you who "we" were, April Dancer was a perfect opportunity. A woman who makes her living dancing half naked for the base pleasures of men, who is also an admitted sex slave living in sin with a man and another woman who is also an admitted sex slave. The mainstream would not be identifying with her, however fascinated they were with her."

  "I see your point," I said. "The perfect target of opportunity for your group.” So long as Furnsome was dishing, I would be agreeable.

  "Yes, and an opportunity like April doesn't come along very often," said Furnsome. "We figured if we could get some debate about April's appropriateness as a role model ... did you know that they already have an April Dancer doll under development, and an April Dancer comic book? ... we might get some traction with mainstream culture about whether or not this is a good idea. Of course, we think it's a bad idea. But how to convince the mainstream? April is an especial problem for us because she has such a wholesome persona."

  "Could that be because, despite her differences with your organization as far as lifestyle, she is an essentially wholesome person?" I asked. "That's the impression I get of her."

  "No, she's not, though I grant you she may appear to be," said Furnsome. "Women like April may appear wholesome, but it is always because they take no account of the toll they exact on society. Oh, their dancing or their behavior may inspire a dozen or a hundred or maybe in the case of someone like April, thousands of men to leave their wives. But they don't care, it is not their concern."

  "I think a fair case could be fact that it is in fact not their concern and should not be," I said. "Sexy women and pretty women have always existed, it's wrong to cast the moral opprobrium on them for the bad behavior some men feel free to engage in because of them. Let the bad actors have the opprobrium, not the pretty women. Put it where it belongs."

  "Well, what you say may be fair from a particular point of view," said Furnsome, "but the fact is that a married man, however badly he may act, is an asset to his family and to society in general, and that an unmarried woman, especially one who puts families at risk with their behavior, is basically a liability, and that's ignoring the Biblical injunctions about not lusting after women who are not your wife.”

  “I see,” said Bowman. “Are you married?”

  “I was married throughout my child-bearing years,” said Furnsome, “to my job. I was not a danger to any families.”

  “I'm sure you turned a few heads when you were younger,” said Bowman politely, though in fact it was easy to see she had been pretty when she was younger.

  “Yes, I did,” Furnsome replied matter-of-factly.

  “Well I am not hear to argue the politics or ethics of your kidnapping of April,” said Bowman. “I have some evidence that could tie you into it, I think, but as I said, I'm not charged with bringing anyone to justice. Everybody got out alive and unmaimed, that works for me.”

  “Then what ARE you here for?” Furnsome asked.

  “To tell you that if you make any other passes at April at all, I WILL give all the evidence I have to some agencies and news sources,” said Bowman. “I may not be able to get you jailed, but I can get you tried in the court of public opinion.”

  “I'm not really that worried about public opinion,” said Furnsome.

  “Fine,” I said. “I just want you know, any more passes at April will not be free passes. They'll be as costly as I can make them.”

  “Well, to be honest, it would be very foolish of us to make any more passes at April, considering how badly the last one went,” Furnsome said wryly. “I wouldn't worry about if I were you, Mr. Bowman. Blackmailing me would never have worked, though. I do what I think best, always.”

  “I am very glad to hear it,” I said sincer
ely, and shortly thereafter I left Furnsome's place. I was confident she would never bother April again. They might make a pass at some other woman who was pushing the culture in a direction that they did not approve of, but perhaps not. The people who had run the April Dancer operation could only regard it as a debacle. I was pretty sure I had spiked the Mopus Diem agent at the CIA, and I suspected that Furnsome's counsel would not have the weight it had once had at Mopus Diem.

  As for the Sisters of the Sand, who had been set up to take the fall for kidnapping April, well, the winds of time and circumstance had blown, and the footprints of the Sisters of the Sand had been blown away.

  Epilogue

  Some Months Later

  With Astra, taking the night off was exciting, something it hadn't been before ... ever, in the way it was with Astra.

  There was a knock, it was Astra. She opened the door immediately after knocking, as I had requested her to.

  Astra was wearing her usual post-class wear, a belly-dance outfit covered by a flowing robe that to the casual eye looked like a dress. Astra could put the coat on in a moment and she could go anywhere in it, though she might look formally dressed for a visit to the convenience store.

  She didn't generally wear her belly dance outfit in public unless she felt like getting hit on a lot. Not that she minded men being attracted to her, she loved that, she had assured me. It was just that the most common form of hitting on her involved asking about her belly dance outfit which involved explaining about it and that could take forever especially if the guy really was intent on getting a phone number or a date out of her. If she just needed to pick up tabbouleh for lunch, it was simpler to wear the robe.

  "Well, c'mon," I had said. "Look at that outfit you teach in. It's basically a thong bikini with bangles. Of course guys are gonna hit on you. Hell, I'm surprised YOU haven't been kidnapped if you go around in public wearing it."

  "There were some who I think might have kidnapped me if they thought they could get away with it, master" Astra laughed. "And you are right, it is a very skimpily cut outfit, even for most raks sharki outfits. I dress this way when I teach dance for a reason, however -- I want the dancers to understand that the dance celebrates their bodies, and that they are not to be shy about their bodies or conceal them, even my older students who have put on the pounds. And who would believe me about such things if I danced in one of those tribal fusion ragheaps that reveal nothing but one's face and hands? No, if my teaching is to be received as truth, I must demonstrate its truth, and if that means I must continue doing the thing I have always enjoyed most in life -- dancing around more or less butt naked -- well so be it!"

  "Hey, you're getting no complaints from me," I said.

  Upon entering my office and closing the door, Astra immediately removed her robe and prostrated herself before me, her hands extended before her, palms up, her butt hiked in the air. She was wearing coin belt around her midriff and slid up around her waist, the coins splayed across her back, with the string of her thong, a soft, stretchy fabric that had been cleverly designed to look like gold braid disappearing between the twin mounds of her tawny buttocks.

  I found the sight overwhelmingly erotic. It was partly the sheer beauty of it, and partly knowing what those twin mounds of butt could do and would do if given half a chance. They had the power to milk the sperm right out of my dick, seemingly without the involvement of any other part of Astra's body.

  "Your slave astra is thrilled to be in your presence, master," said astra to the carpet. "She awaits your command."

  "Well, I'm pleased to see you, too," I said. "I would like a nice slave kiss from you, to start with. From barakana position."

  "Slave astra obeys," said Astra. She pushed her upper torso up in a smooth, flowing motion so that she was on her hands and knees, and then she crawled forward in a slinky, catlike way until her face was almost touching my stomach. She crossed her arms behind her back and raised them in the air, bringing them up toward her shoulders as she did so.

  Astra was a flexible as most dancers half her age, and much more practiced. She made this maneuver, which could easily have looked very clumsy, a matter of flowing grace.

  Astra wore two bracelets at all times. Their colors and materials varied to match her outfits. Tonight she was wearing a pair of sturdy brass bracelets with intricately carved designs chasing about. At the bottom of each bracelet was a single round chain link. One one of the links was a tiny meal stub, so small that it was almost unnoticeable unless you examined the link closely.

  I seized Astra's proferred left wrist and fingered the link with the tiny stub. With some difficulty I pulled the tiny stub back, and it slid back to reveal a gap in the ring. I slid the link from the bracelet on Astra's right wrist into the gap. The gap was just large enough to admit the link. I let go of the stub after the link was in place, and the gap disappeared.

  I released Astra's wrists, she let them fall behind her, cuffed in place by her now linked bracelets.

  I had seen how Astra used her hands in dance, they were marvelously expressive with the fingers assuming intricate poses that exactly complemented the motion of her arms. But like many slavegirls, Astra liked to be bound when she served her master.

  Astra rocked back on her heels, now kneeling before me. But of course her face was not right up in my lap and that wouldn't do for any self-respecting slavegirl, so she crawled forward on her knees, once again with marvelous grace, until her face was right in my lap.

  And there was the matter of the slave kiss. Astra's lips were half open, her eyes were half closed. She rose on her knees, offering her face to me as if it were a rose.

  I bent forward and gently seized Astra's face in my hands and drew her to me. I invaded her open mouth with my tongue, and she responded softly, but eagerly. It was a long, passionate kiss and when I pulled my face away, Astra's face was flush. I knew her nipples would be erect inside her bra.

  I released his grip on Astra's face and she sank back to her knees, and as she did so her eyes were half closed, her face downcast. In point of fact her eyes were focused on the point on my lap where my erect cock was tenting my trousers.

  "Cock gag," Bowman ordered. I understood Jeff's comment that a good master was one who figured out what his slavegirl wanted to do, and ordered her to do it.

  "Astra obeys," Astra said huskily. My trousers were fastened, but she had my belt open and my zipper down in seconds using only her tongue, which was fully as supple and strong and her hands, it seemed.

  Astra pulled my boxers down with her tongue and engulfed my cock with her mouth. Her tongue worked its magic on my cock as she knelt before me. She had once told me that when she sucked on my cock, she liked to focus on it to the exclusion of all else, how it felt in her mouth, how to tease it with her tongue, the way I smelled, everything, it turned her on much more intensely when she did that.

  It turned me on, too, because her tongue was expert as teasing my cock. Was it focus, or practice? I didn't know, and didn't much care, given the sheer silken pleasure that roiled up from my cock to my brain as she worked it.

  “Your mouth is where it belongs,” I said. “Thanks me for allowing you to suck my cock.”

  “Fank oo, maffah,” came Astra's muffled reply. We had a rule, once she had my cock in her mouth, it stayed there until I pulled it out, or ordered her to retreat. It was a rule she enjoyed obeying.

  For a few moments, there was silence, save for Astra's panting and the occasional wet sucking sounds as she focused on my cock and it became rock hard.

  “Enough, slave!” I growled eventually, pushing Astra away. She knelt back on her knees, licking her lips and smiling knowingly up at me, saying “yes, master,” in a low, husky voice. She knew exactly what effect she had had on me. And I had a pretty good idea what effect it had had on her.

  I leaned forward and unhooked her bra, letting her ripe breasts spill out, enjoying the way they swayed and dangled. I slapped them smartly, to make them sway, elicitin
g a happy little gasp from Astra. Then I rolled and played with her nipples a bit as she knelt there, still bound, in a posture that was pure submission and pure pleasure, her eyes luminous with desire.

  “Are your needs much upon you, slave?” I asked. I knew damn well they were, but it was fun to make her say so.

  “Yes, Master,” she whispered, her voice almost choked with lust.

  “Then you must want to be used,” I observed.

  “Yes, Master, I do want you to use me,” Astra responded.

  “Then beg for use, slave,” I ordered. This was VERY much a case of ordering Astra to do what she wanted to do anyway.

  “Slave astra begs the honor of being allowed to serve her Master,” Astra said. “Please, Master, use me as your beast.”

  “Well, since you put it so nicely,” I said. I had trouble taking the master/slave thing as seriously as most Goreans did, but Astra understood. “Life is a work in progress, always,” she once said.

  “Kneel across my lap and spread your legs, mine,” I ordered.

  “Yes, Master,” Astra said happily. She gracefully rose to her feet … few human beings could have moved so gracefully even without their hands tied behind their backs, as Astra's were … and laid herself across my lap, her butt centered there, invitingly raised, her pussy exposed by her spread legs. She kept it shaved clean and smooth as a billiard ball. “It feels good that way, Master,” she said, “but I will grow the hair back out again if you like.”

  I did not like. Truth to tell, however Astra liked her pubic hair trimmed was all right with me. I liked the bald look and feel better, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a molehill on a mountain. In this case, a pink, glistening molehill adored with silky soft fringes of labia.

  I gave one of the tawny globes of flesh a casual swat and then began playing the butt bongoes on her ass, just enough to redden her cheeks a bit, while astra squirmed and moaned with pleasure. She did love to be spanked.