It's Getting Harder All The Time

by Troy Conway

  I rested for a few minutes myself. Then, talking Lin Saong’s miniature transmitter from beneath the false bottom in my suitcase, I slipped outside.

  The highest hill on Douzi’s grounds was only a five-minute walk away. I hurried to the top and transmitted my first message. It was anything but short and to the point.

  “Good evening, Lin Saong,” I said in my best razzle-dazzle disc jockey’s voice, “this is your old buddy, Rod Damon, broadcasting to you from high atop Melody Mountain in good old Belgravia. In a few minutes we’ll have a word from our sponsor, but first here’s a rendition by the Belgravian string quartet. Amendment: in a few minutes we’ll have a word from the Belgravian string quartet, but first here’s a rendition from our sponsor. Nope, that isn’t right either, is it? Well, anyway, you get the message.

  “And speaking of messages, have I got a few for you. Beep-beep, beepety-beep-beep-beep. Flash! President Albert Douzi, chief of state of the Republic of Belgravia, yesterday afternoon entertained nine girls at a king-size orgy in his palace. A good time was had by all. The star of the show was a newcomer to the palace, a sexologist by the name of Rod Damon, who stole the spotlight from stud-in-residence Fidel Superman by balling four chicks in the bathtub after balling one of their colleagues on a marble bench. All of which goes to show you, it sometimes pays to lie down on the job.

  “Beep-beep, beepety-beep-beep-beep. Flash and double flash! The man who came to the palace looking for a certain hiding place didn’t find it. But he found a few other things that interested him—and not all of them were between the legs of pretty girls. More about this development in our next broadcast, folks. Our team of on-the-spot newsmen is working diligently for further details.

  “Beep-beep, beepety-beep-beep-beep. Flash! Yep, just a single flash this time, folks. Don’t want to give you too much of a good thing, heh-heh-heh. As I was saying, flash! More news about that Damon fellow. In an interview this afternoon with certain reporters from this very station, he confessed that he really has the hots for a girl named Lin Saong. He revealed that while playing sex games with two of her subordinates, known only as Girl Number One and Girl Number Two, he noticed that Lin Saong’s breasts were heaving passionately—this despite the fact that she claimed to be totally uninterested in such bourgeois capitalist pursuits as sex. According to Damon, the passionate heaving of her breasts was evidence that she had the hots for him, which in turn gave him the hots for her. All of which leads us to believe that when two of them get together again, there’s going to be a hot time in the old town tonight.

  “And that, folks, is today’s newscast. But don’t leave your trusty receivers, because who knows, we may have more news for you at any moment. Beep-beep, beepety-beep-beep-beep. Testing one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Roger, wilco, over and out.”

  I tucked the transmitter back into its case, then slipped it into my pocket. Then I headed back to my room, pleased as all get-out that Lin Saong would soon receive a message that would leave her doing the slow burn to end all slow burns.

  It wasn’t just that I wanted to annoy her, although, after what she had put me through, the idea of annoying her wasn’t exactly unappealing. But there was a more important method behind my madness. As a matter of fact, there were several important methods behind my madness.

  For one thing, I wanted to get Lin Saong accustomed to receiving rather lengthy transmissions. I knew that Walrus-moustache’s new radioman—if, in fact, there was one—wouldn’t be in Belgravia yet. But when he arrived he wouldn’t be able to find the beacon on which I was transmitting unless I really kept the airwaves burning. If I kept them burning now, when the new man could not possibly be around, Lin Saong would have no reason to become suspicious when I kept them burning later and he very well might be around.

  For another thing, I wanted her to get used to receiving messages which were ninety-nine and forty-four one hundredths per cent gibberish. Only if I did so would I have a change of sneaking into the transmissions which might be intercepted by Walrus-moustache’s man some information about the double-cross which Lin Saong and her Commie pals had in the works.

  For still another, I wanted to persuade her that I was some kind of a nut. If she believed that I was a nut, she’d be likely to believe that the people I was for were also a little screwy. And if she believed they were a little screwy, she might not expect them to do something eminently sensible—like sending a new radioman to replace the one whom she and her people had killed.

  Of course, the practice of sending her long and whacky transmissions was not without its dangers.

  First of all, there was always the possibility that Douzi’s people might zero in on the beacon and trace the transmissions to me. But I was gambling on the hunch that had Douzi suspected me of anything he wouldn’t have let me into his harem in the first place.

  Secondly there was the possibility that Lin Saong might decide that I was too dangerous to have on her team and that I therefore should be eliminated. But only way she could eliminate me would be to send someone into the palace to kill me. And Su Wing’s alleged influence not-withstanding, I was pretty sure CHILLER wouldn’t try go get a second agent into the palace so soon after I’d slipped in. Also, unless CHILLER had really needed me, they wouldn’t have played ball with the United States in the first place. So, right now I was all they had going for them, and whether they liked me or not, they were struck with me.

  Any way I sliced it my transmission were risky, but I was better than halfway convinced that my approach to the problem was the safest approach there was. And safe or not, it was the only hope I had of getting out of the mess alive.

  Back in my room, I slipped the transmitter back into the false bottom of many suitcase. Then, after checking out Mazimba to make sure he was still asleep, I combed the room for hidden microphones. Since all the evidence suggested that Douzi didn’t suspect me of anything, I thought it likely that the room would be bugged. Still, that was where I’d be entertaining the femme physicists who wanted my services, and that was where I’d be trying to persuade them to tell me what they knew about Douzi’s bomb. If he did suspect me, bugging my room would be the logical way to look for confirmation of his suspicions.

  I searched everything from the mattress to the insides of the hollow lampstands on the night table. I found nothing that suggested any bugging had been done.

  Still not entirely sure that I was safe, but as sure as I could hope to be under the circumstances, I set my alarm clock for seven. Then I pulled shut the drapes, plunging the room into darkness, and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I awoke to the fell of a cool, soft hand stroking my manhood.

  Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I peered through the darkness. I had a sneaking suspicion that the hand belonged to my buddy Mazimba, and if I was right, he wasn’t going to be my buddy anymore.

  I was wrong. The hand belonged to a girl. I tried to make out her features, but I couldn’t.

  I glanced at the luminous dial of my wristwatch. It read six forty-five. Whatever my caller was, she was breaking Douzi’s house rules.

  “Vera?” I whispered, reasoning that if anybody would have a reason to sneak into my room, she would.

  The girl’s full, round breasts pressed against my arm, and her moist lips brushed my ear. “No, not Vera,” she whispered back.

  “Nadia?” I guessed.

  “No, not Nadia.”

  “Olga?”

  “Not Olga either.”

  “Then who? Su Wing?”

  “No, not Su Wing.”

  I hoisted myself up on one elbow. “Then, who are you?”

  Her face pressed gently against my shoulder. “You don’t know me, but I want very much to know you. My name is Tania.”

  I reached across the bed and flicked on the night table lamp. In its dim light I saw a girl with short, raven black hair that fell around her ears in a coiffure reminiscent of Prince Valiant. Her eyes were a sexy ice blue. Her lips were
moist and hot pink. She was the doll who, at the previous afternoon’s orgy, had been wearing a hopsack mini-robe that hung just an inch or two below the underslope of her buttocks, and who had been so hot to trot that she’d almost broken her eunuch’s nose as it pressed into her most womanly places. She now was wearing a starched white lab coat, but she evidently was just as sexed-up as at the orgy. She continued to stroke my manhood with one hand, while with the other she guided my hand between two buttons of the lab coat and over the creamy soft curve of her belly.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, meaning it sincerely. “But don’t you think it’s kind of risky coming to my room like this?”

  A long, bare leg stretched out from beneath the lab coat, and a well-turned ankle rubbed provocatively against my calf.

  “I was careful not to be seen coming here,” she replied. “And I’ll be just as careful leaving.” An expression of concern crossed her pretty face. “But we haven’t much time, so we mustn’t get too involved in conversation.” She began tearing open the buttons of the lab coat, revealing a sumptuous expanse of alabaster-white flesh covered only by the frilly fabric of her lacy red bra and bikini panties. “Quick, Damon,” she said with sudden urgency, “make love to me.”

  I placed a restraining hand on her super-sexy hips. “I’d love to. But what about my eunuch? He’s in the next room.” As if on cue, Mazimba let loose with an elephantine snore.

  She fought her way out of the lab coat, and with frantic fingers unhooked her bra. “He won’t mind. The eunuchs here aren’t at all possessive.”

  I felt desire flare up inside me as the bra fell away, exposing a pair of marvelously round, unbelievably white breasts. Their soft pink rosettes gave way to a pair of tantalizingly taut, proudly upthrust, blood-red nipples. “He might not mind,” I allowed, my resistance rapidly waning. “But he could tell Dr. Douzi. Then you and I would both be in trouble.”

  She arched her hips and feverishly tugged her panties over the sumptuous globes that were her buttocks. “He won’t tell. The eunuchs hate Donzi as much as we girls do.”

  The panties inched over her thighs, and my eyes fixed appreciatively on the triangle of soft black hair covering her Mount of Venus. My desire soared, but the sudden revelation that both the girls and the eunuchs hated Douzi motivated me to curb my natural instincts. “Why do you hate him?” I asked.

  The panties reached her knees. “Make love to me. When we’re through I’ll tell you all about it.”

  “Tell me all about it first. Then I’ll make love to you.”

  Her legs moved in a quick bicycle motion, and the panties fell to her ankles. “Let’s make love first.”

  “Let’s talk first.”

  “NO, let’s make love first.”

  “Better yet, let’s compromise.” I cupped her breast, and my fingers moved teasingly over the tip of her eagerly distended nipples. “Tell me about it while we’re making love.”

  She slipped one foot out of the panties. Then, with the other, she executed a neat little kick that sent them flying across the room. “It’s a deal,” she smiled. Whereupon she spread her legs wide and pulled me into place on top of her.

  I entered her quickly. Her hips pressed hard against me, urging my manhood deep inside her. Then they began moving sideways in exciting counter-rhythm to my front-and-back thrusts. “Ah, Damon,” she moaned, “that feels so good!”

  It felt good for me too. In fact, it felt so good that I wanted nothing more than to prolong the feeling. But I remembered my mission. “We made a deal,” I reminded her. “Start talking.”

  Her hip-tempo quickened. “In a moment, darling. Let’s enjoy this for a while first.”

  I forced myself to stop thrusting “Let’s enjoy it while we’re talking,” I said sternly. “Now, why do you hate Douzi?”

  She did a couple of quick bumps and grinds that evidently were designed to take my mind off the subject. Then, when I remained motionless, she resumed her former pace. “We hate Douzi,” she said, “because he’s a tyrant. He claims that he wants only to keep us happy, but he makes us work eight and ten hours a day, seven days a week, and he constantly berates us for not being more efficient. He abuses the eunuchs horribly, and he abuses everyone else on his staff too. He keeps us locked up in this place like prisoners, and he—he—oh, Damon, do we have to talk about it now? What you’re doing feels so good. Let me enjoy it.”

  I resumed thrusting. “Enjoy it, but keep talking. If you hate him so much, why do you continue to work for him? Why don’t you just leave?”

  She gasped at an especially deep thrust, and her sexy sideways movements became more agitated. “We don’t leave because—ah, Damon, that’s so good—because we don’t dare to. If any one of us tried to get out of here, she’d be—oh, Damon, that’s wonderful, so wonderful—she’d be killed. We don’t dare leave. We don’t—oh, that’s beautiful. Damon, that’s marvelous. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop …”

  I stopped. “Do you realize what he plans to do with the bomb you’re developing for him?”

  “He—he—the bomb? What do you know about the bomb?” She stopped moving also.

  “I know a great deal about it, but I want to know a great deal more. I want to know where he stores the bombs that have been built already. And I want to know how close you are to perfecting the bomb you’re working on now.”

  For a moment she said nothing. Then, eyes wide, she asked softly, “Why do you want to know?”

  I couldn’t answer the question without tipping my hand, but judging from the way things had happened between us, she was about the least dangerous person in the place to tip my hand to.

  “In addition to being a sex expert, I’m also a spy for the United Nations Security Council,” I said, bending the truth a little. “The member nations of the Security Council have learned about Douzi’s bomb tests, and I’ve been sent to investigate. One way or another, I’m ultimately going to find out exactly what I want to know. When I do, I’ll relay my findings to the Security Council, and appropriate action will be taken against Douzi’s government. You can choose to cooperate with me—in which case I’ll do everything in my power to see to it that you’re not prosecuted for your role in the matter—or you can refuse to cooperate—in which case I’ll do everything in my power to see to it that you’re prosecuted and convicted.” I paused for effect. Then, slowly resuming my hip movements, I said, “Are you with me or against me?”

  Her ice blue eyes mirrored her consternation. “I—I don’t know what to tell you,” she stammered.

  I lengthened my strokes. Almost involuntarily, her hips ground into action with me. “Just tell me where the bombs are stored and how close you are to perfecting the bomb you’re working on now.”

  She began squirming passionately beneath me. “I—I don’t know where the bombs are stored. And I don’t know how close we are to perfecting the one we’re working on now.”

  I thrust harder, making her squirm all the more fiercely. “I don’t believe you.”

  Her legs coiled tightly around mine. Her fingernails dug into my back. “It’s the truth. None of us girls know where the bombs are stored. And each one of us works on a different aspect of the new bomb’s development, so we don’t know how close it is to perfection.” Her hips started flopping wildly. “But I’ll tell you all about that later. I’m so close to—to—satisfaction. And it feels so good … so good.”

  I stopped moving again. “Tell me now.”

  Her whole body shuddered, and her feet beat at my buttocks as if trying to spur me back into action. “Oh, please start moving again! Please! Ever since I heard you were coming to Belgravia I’ve been dying to meet you. And after I saw you make love to the other girls, I couldn’t wait to make love to you myself. Please start moving again! Please!!!”

  My hips took up a slow, teasing rhythm. “Tell me now,” I repeated.

  “I will!” she gasped. “I will! But, oh, please, let’s make love first. I—I—I wanted desperately to be on
e of the girls in your group at the orgy. I—oh, that feels good! —I— When Douzi assigned me to Superman’s group instead of yours, I was heartbroken. And I worked harder today than I ever worked so I’d get a chance to be one of your first lovers tonight. But when Olga drew up the priority list, I was number eight. That’s why I sneaked to your room early. I knew that if I didn’t get to you now, I might have to wait until very late tomorrow morning. And I couldn’t wait that long, Damon. It’d kill me. It’d—it is killing me! It’s—it’s—oh, Damon, let’s talk later. Please let’s talk later. This is so good, and I—I—”

  I was by no means ready to halt our conversation. But I was willing to interrupt it temporarily. Her hunger for me was gratifying. And so were the rapidly accelerating sideways movements of her hips.

  I began thrusting in earnest. Each stroke sent me far up inside her. She responded by taking up a spiral-like motion that sent shivers of sensation through me.

  I thrust harder.

  A fire of lust threatened to consume me. My manhood strained with excitement, and my pulse began pounding a mile a minute.

  Tania was right up there on Cloud Nine with me. Her legs coiled around mine, and her hips ground feverishly. Her fingernails dug sharply into my back. Her mouth fixed to mine, and she hungrily sucked my tongue inside it.

  We were on a nonstop express. Our bodies drew strength from each other, and each movement drove us closer and closer to the point of no return. My hands closed around her lush buttocks, pressing her against me. My manhood probed deeper and deeper.

  Our timing was perfect. Just as I shot my fire into her, she abandoned herself to the sensations of her own orgasm. Her teeth dug ferociously into my neck. Her fingernails tore at the thick, hard flesh of my back. Her feet flailed wildly at my buttocks.

  It lasted for all of a minute. Then her body went limp beneath me, and her eyes took on a glazed look. “Oh, Damon,” she sighed. “It was beautiful. Just beautiful.”