Sensation

by Thea Devine

  Shit. No. A dream. No. She was real, as real as hot bare skin and real hot money could make her, and she was six inches away from him on the platform and ready and willing to go. Why not him?

  "Give me a minute," he said brusquely because she didn't want mercy or pity. Not from someone like him. Or the someone she thought he was,

  "I shouldn't think you'd need a minute," she said, goading him. "You're all there. Just get it in and get it over with." She eased down onto the fur. "I believe I lie like this, spread my legs, and you—"

  This dream could not be better ... Why was he resisting it? His penis wasn't. It had already thickened to a jutting hardness in response to her nudity and to her words, and it was just aching for penetration.

  He climbed over her prone body. "It will hurt."

  "I don't care."

  Defiant, too. What was this about? Did he care? A beautiful innocent wanted him to take her virginity, and he was rationaliz­ing reasons why he shouldn't or she shouldn't? Some dream.

  He braced himself on one arm and looked down at her. God, she was beautiful, her eyes wide open and glazed with fear and behind that, a glittering expectation. Her mouth, her chin, her neck, her breasts, her—

  A body made for ramping and nothing more. She was a young, bored, wealthy virgin who wanted to spend her money on the thrill of a male whore's penis spending inside her while he took her in­nocence.

  That was all it was, pure and simple.

  She didn't want to be coaxed. She wanted cocking. She didn't want a judge. She wanted jism. She wanted jam.

  Or was it some kind of game?

  Whichever it was, she'd come to the right man. He spread her legs farther apart. "Brace yourself." She grabbed the edges of the platform as he positioned himself between her legs. Her pubic hair was thick, dark, mysterious, and he nosed his penis directly into her hairy bush, and into her slit, and she bucked.

  Virgin territory. For real. No games here. She had never been touched, never been plumbed. Never been ... all of her ... never— His excitement escalated in spite of his determination to keep this on the most impersonal level possible. Ram and bam. That was what he meant to do, and collect his two thousand dollahs for the fastest, easiest fuck of his life.

  "Not there yet," he murmured, holding himself and stroking her labia with the tip of his penis.

  She made a sound. He kept stroking, watching her face as she accommodated her body to the unaccustomed sensations of a penis pushing and stroking her between her legs.

  "That's better." It was a mere whisper. Her body was reacting, moistening just a little. She was stiff and wary. So beautiful. Too innocent. How had this happened?

  It was a dream, he could and would pretend it was a dream,

  and he was not getting involved. Five minutes he'd give her, and over. It was about all he had in him anyway, and he couldn't re­ally take the time to soften her body, to make her ripe and ready to receive him.

  This was a business deal, right down to the bones. He had what she wanted, she was willing to pay, and he was going to give it to her.

  Except—he was not that merciless. He had some sympathy for her, and for whatever the reason was she was taking this desper­ate step.

  He wanted to know—he didn't want to know ... Damn ... hell and blast and back ...

  "Why are you doing this?" He had to ask because he was cer­tain as the night that she'd find someone else to do it if he didn't. It was Solomon's choice for him— Or maybe not. Maybe it just was.

  Angilee looked up at that cool, calm face above her. Looked down at the intersecting line of their naked bodies with his penis nosed in between her legs, rooting, seeking, pushing as he shim­mied his hips bit by bit against all her barriers. Couldn't believe she was lying naked with a man's penis between her legs and not in utter hysterics. Couldn't believe her courage or her insanity ... and didn't know what to answer this man who was a paid penis and wanted to know too much.

  "I want control over my own virtue," she said finally, her voice neutral, emotionless. "And that's all you need to know."

  He pushed again, a little deeper, and she writhed at the sensa­tion of him filling, stretching her just a little more. "You are so tight."

  "Too tight for you?" she whispered a little breathlessly. It wasn't such an unpleasant thing to have a man's penis forcing its way into the center of your being. Not yet anyway. She didn't feel over­whelmed, not yet. And he wasn't being coarse about it, or contemp­tuous.

  It would be fine. Maybe it would be ... fine . .. "For you," he said, rearing back and driving a little deeper. "OH!" Her whole body seized up in response. Now he was re­ally there, his penis head butting up against her precious barrier;

  she could feel it pressuring her, pushing her, and she wanted to scramble out from under the suddenly overpowering invasion of her body by this huge, hot filling thing.

  Mutely, she pushed frantically against him, and he pushed more forcefully inside of her.

  "Yes or no?" Kyger asked plainly.

  She caught her breath. It was as if he didn't care one way or another. Why should he?

  What was she doing?

  She was escaping the carnal possession of the pig was what, and that superseded every fear, all propriety, and what would happen tomorrow.

  "Yes," she whispered. Her body was shaking; she could barely get out the word.

  "Are you sure?"

  She wasn't sure of anything except she did not want to be sold to the pig. "Yes."

  "Hold on then..."

  At least he warned her, but nothing could have prepared her for the ultimate moment: that scary tearing drive deep into her body with that one forceful, hard, unbending part of him.

  He reared back, and he took her, took her maidenhead and her innocence, and gave her back control of her life.

  Chapter Two

  So now she knew.

  What did she know?

  Losing one's virginity was incredibly painful.

  The dark invasion and the heft of man's penis not only occu­pied a woman's body but her mind, too, taking over every inch of space in her consciousness and her thoughts.

  There was an awful lot of sticky fluid seeping out between her legs.

  And, a man's body, after it was spent, was damned heavy.

  And with that, she understood she knew nothing.

  She had to get back to the hotel.. . time was flying. Her father would return in the wee hours, expecting to find her in bed.

  She was in bed. Was this a bed?

  A wave of panic suffused her bruised body. Oh God—dear God—what had she done? No, no. Calm down. It was almost over. And it didn't matter now; it was done, it hadn't taken all that long to accomplish really, and the pig would have to with­draw his offer to marry her, and she would finally be free of all constraints—for now.

  It was worth every last dollar she had spent.

  / Tbea Devine

  He was spent, this second son of a diamond miner with his quesrions and his strange attempt to steer her from her course.

  Well, no one told Angilee Rosslyn what to do. The loss of that hidden part of her body was a minor thing compared to the end result of a disastrous marriage to the pig.

  No one would ever have seen her maidenhead anyway. No one would ever know, except Zabel, when she triumphantly an­nounced his defeat.

  Good. She was feeling so much better already just thinking about that. She'd won. She'd outmaneuvered her father and van­quished the pig.

  , So, the next thing was to get out from under the hired penis and get out of this place.

  And the rest she'd think about later.

  It was a dream. Sometime, deep in the night, when he awak­ened from a deep luxurious sleep, Kyger found her gone.

  If she'd ever existed anyway.

  Except that there were drops of the evidence on the platform. There was a stack of American dollars on the floor.

  But for that, he would have fully believed it really had been a dream.<
br />
  She'd chosen well, he thought mordantly. She'd found the exact fool who could get it up one last time, and who ultimately was so milked of all his energy and will that he had collapsed into un­consciousness after he'd done the deed, and allowed her to get away.

  Perfect. No strings. No connections, WHAT??

  What was that last thought? Allowed her .,. ??

  It struck him suddenly that in the forty-five minutes between his agreeing to host her and his falling asleep, he hadn't once thought about Jancie.

  Not think about Jancie? Unthinkable.

  And yet, there it was. His whole focus had been on the edible virgin who had now gone forth into the world to allow any num­ber of indiscriminate, hungry men to devour her, occupy her.

  Shit.

  Time to get out of this place. It must be morning. God, he

  hoped it was morning—he couldn't face another night of mind­less, formless fornication.

  There was something about the taking of a virgin ... he couldn't get her out of his mind. Who the hell was she? How many Americans were in London anyway? Hundreds ... it was goddamned invasion ... Shit all over again.

  It was time to see Wyland. Wyland made sense, even if he was a. friend of Lujan's. It actually went against the grain to think Lujan had any friends among men of sense, intellect and discrim­ination. Men in important government posts who seemed not to regard him as a screw-up and who made it their business to be in­terested in mysterious things like the death of Tony Venable.

  And that, in fact, was the one thing that had roused him from the torpor of depression and boredom that had engulfed him on his return to England after two years of aimless wandering around the world.

  Anthony Venable. Possibly the most mourned and lamented death in the recent history of the country. You couldn't avoid him: thousands had attended the funeral, weeping, wailing, col­lapsing, rending their clothes in ostentatious displays of grief, and then visited his grave and wept on his tombstone after he was fi­nally laid to rest.

  Wherever you turned in the weeks following the burial, there would be something about Venable's death. The sensational cir­cumstances. The shock of it. How young he was. How admired, adored, feared, loved, trusted, maligned he'd been.

  The loss. The waste. The unfairness. The utter bleak finality of it all.

  There was something about this man that roused all those pas­sions in the common man, and not one of them could stop talking about it, in newspapers, on street corners, in pubs, or even in churches.

  Or at Waybury. It was the first thing Lujan had said to him when he walked in the door on his unexpected, unannounced re­turn. Not even a hello. Not even surprise at seeing him. Merely, "Did you hear? Venable's dead."

  "Who the hell was he?" He'd thumped his suitcase on the floor and shaken Lujan's hand.

  "Big up and comer, Tony Venable. Deep into socialist politics. Said to be on track for prime minister. It's like the whole coun­try's in mourning. You wouldn't think the thing would raise such a row after a couple of weeks, but they won't let it go." He led the way into the parlor. "Jancie's on a walk with the tot. Oh, how are you anyway, baby brother? Nice to see you."

  He rang for tea.

  "God, you're domesticated."

  "I'm happy," Lujan said, motioning to a chair. "Really, how are you?"

  "Confused by the furor over Venable," Kyger admitted. "It's ail over Town. You can't move an inch one way or the other with­out hearing about it."

  "Ummm. Ah. Here's our new man—Phillips. Set out tea, will you? And something for the tot as well."

  Phillips withdrew, and Lujan took a long hard look at Kyger. "Too thin, brother mine. I'm thinking this time away hasn't been all that beneficial."

  "I didn't find anything if that's what you mean. Saw a lot of the world and wound up back where I started, which is as good as anywhere else, I suppose, but doesn't seem to have much of a future."

  "So you'll stay here for a few days."

  Kyger shook off that suggestion. "Not wise. Nothing's changed."

  Lujan's eyebrows shot up. "Really. Well, we need to find you something to play with."

  "Or someone," Kyger said dourly.

  Phillips entered, carrying the tea tray.

  "Right there—" Lujan indicated a table beside Kyger's chair. "Phillips, this my brother—my young brother—Kyger. Have Mrs. Ancrum make up a room just in case he'll be staying."

  Mrs. Ancrum. Still faithful and loyal to Lujan. No, to Jancie. Who wouldn't be loyal to Jancie? Wasn't he, still?

  "As you wish, Mr. Lujan." Phillips bowed in Kyger's direc­tion. "Pleased to meet you, sir." He was so correct. Kyger's lips actually quirked as he watched Phillips leave the room.

  "We are ever so proper now," he murmured. "Such changes." "Who would have thought?" Lujan said whimsically, as he reached over the table and poured. "But then—there's Jancie."

  "Exactly," Kyger said, taking a sip from the delicate cup that Lujan had handed him. He looked around the room. There had been a happy hand at work in this room and, he would wager, all over the house. All traces of what had happened here, all the echoes of deaths, confessions and recriminations were gone. Every­thing was new, fresh, light, comfortable, more reflective of Jancie, it was obvious, than his brother.

  And, he thought, if it had been him with Jancie at his side, he could have been happy here, too.

  Mrrrrrrow. And here came Emily, Jancie's cat, pacing into the room curiously, nosing around him and rubbing against him as if she remembered him, warning him, with that ferocious tone, that his thoughts and needs were to be contained, constrained, and forever his own.

  He reached down to pet her. Qwww. Approval. Maybe.

  "She keeps us all in line," Lujan murmured. "I married that cat as well as Jancie, it turns out."

  "I don't doubt it." Kyger rubbed her ears, and she nudged her nose up into his palm.

  "When you're here at Waybury," Lujan said with an unaccus­tomed reflectiveness, "it's as if the outside world doesn't exist."

  "Is that good or bad?" Emily had jumped up onto Kyger's lap, and he ran his hand down her arched back.

  Lujan sent him a look. "I don't think I need to answer that, old son. But still the Venable thing invades everything, even here. The servants. The farmers. It's amazing. But then, by all accounts, he was amazing."

  "Or not, depending on who you talk to, and what you read."

  "True enough."

  A silence fell. The thing they hadn't yet talked about was as palpable in the room as the mystery of Tony Venable's death.

  Jancie. It was as if they were both waiting to hear her step. Her voice.

  Maybe, Kyger thought, he was waiting to see some sign that Lujan was mistreating her, that she was unhappy, that he could comfort her and hold her hand.

  Sweep her up and take her away ...

  "Kyger!!!!" He heard the joyous shriek behind him, and he bolted out of his chair just as Jancie threw herself into his arms.

  "Oh, my God, oh, my God, where did you come from? How did you get here, how long can you stay ... ?"

  Kyger swung her around. The world tipped up on its axis, and everything suddenly made sense. "Momma—?"

  Oh, that tentative, heartbreaking little boy voice ... Kyger set Jancie down, and there was Gaunt. A little over a year old, standing on wobbly legs and reaching for his mother, who was disentangling herself from some strange man's arms.

  Gaunt. Not his own little brother Gaunt, dead by the hand of his rapacious and amoral father; no, Lujan's Gaunt, born of his love for and redemption by Jancie.

  Jancie bent down and picked him up, and he promptly buried his head shyly in her shoulder. She looked at Kyger, her eyes sud­denly damp. "This is Gaunt, your nephew."

  Kyger nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He reached out and touched Gaunt's dark curly hair. He was as real as the baby brother they'd lost, and every bit as precious. Not a replace­ment. Just a little boy with a soul all his own.

  A boy
that could have been his son, bad Jancie fallen in love with him.

  "I'll put him down for his nap now," Jancie said, aware of his rampant emotions. "You—are staying with us for the time being. Don't say no," She was gone in an instant, and Kyger turned to Lujan, whose expression was still bemused, as if he couldn't yet believe he bad this extraordinary wife and beautiful child.

  It had only been two years.

  "Madonna," Kyger said.

  "Close to," Lujan whispered. "She's a damned saint." He seemed lost in some netherworld of thought, and tben suddenly he shook himself. "I have an idea."

  "Oh, God—no ideas, big brother ..."

  "No—this is a good idea."

  "Never in your life have you ever—"

  "I swear to God, old son, this is a damned good idea. You'll thank me."

  "I'll probably curse you before I thank you, brother mine. What's the idea?" "Wyland."

  "Hell, what's a wyland?"

  "It's a top level government official who's been looking for a way to tone down the furor of Tony Venable's death without call­ing attention to the fact they're doing it."

  "I'm sorry—would you like to repeat that?"

  "Which part?"

  "The top level government official part."

  Lujan let out a deep, appreciative laugh. "This is a great idea. What else have you got to do anyway?"

  "How the hell do you have anything to do with top level gov­ernment officials?"

  Lujan laughed again. "My dear boy, don't be naive. A man's a man, no matter what his position in life. You find them in the strangest, most unlikely places."

  "Obviously," Kyger said dryly. "Like on their knees in a brothel, I presume."

  Lujan laughed again. "My lips are sealed, baby brother. But trust me, this is a truly great idea."

  What it was, Kyger decided later, was the confluence of need, his and Wyland's, overlaid with Lujan's desire to get him away from Waybury as quickly as he could.

  He hadn't thought fifty miles would be distance enough, but after this dreamlike night with the delectable virgin, he wasn't so sure.

  Because he now had something to think about rather than Jancie. He had a mission that was meaningful and, although this simmered deep beneath the surface, he had a quest all his own.