by Len Levinson
“Oh, Butler, let’s do it sometime.”
“Do you really want to?”
“I do—I do.”
“When we get out of here, you’ll change your mind.”
“No I won’t.”
“You’ll start to play the proper little lady again.”
“I could never be that way with you again.”
“Bullshit.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Bullshit.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“No.”
“I’ll prove it to you—you’ll see.”
“I don’t believe you, but right now I’m going to prove something to you.”
Butler began pumping her slowly, moving all the way in and all the way out, holding her by the waist. She gripped him by the shoulders, raising her knees up, meeting him stroke for stroke.
“Oh, that’s so good,” she whispered.
“Your body is perfect—just the right size.”
“Oh,” she said. “Oh.”
“Ah.”
They kissed and touched tongues, the warm breath from their nostrils rushing against each other. She moved her hands down and gripped the cheeks of his ass, and he held her waist, increasing his tempo.
“It’s getting bigger,” she sighed.
“You’re dreaming.”
“It is—it is.”
“I wish I had another one and four more hands, because I want to do more to you.”
“You’re insatiable, you beast.”
“You make me that way.”
“Where did you learn to do it like this?” she inquired.
“You’re teaching me right now.”
“Oh, Butler.” She bounced about on the bed, scratching his back, breathing hard into his ear. Wrapping her legs around him, she tightened her vaginal muscles around his cock and milked it down.
“Oh,” he said, his eyes rolling up into his head.
“What’s the matter?”
“Don’t do what, Wilma.”
“Why not?”
“The pleasure—the sensation—it’s just more than I can bear.”
“Aha!” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Now I’ve got you where I want you, you dog.”
“Don’t Wilma!”
“Beg, you swine!”
“Please don’t!”
She laughed and squeezed his dick with her vaginal muscles as she rocked against him. Butler felt the world spinning around him, his knees became jelly and his lips trembled. He’d wanted to keep screwing her until she passed out so she’d know who was boss, but now she’d turned the tables and he was afraid he’d start screaming, for the ecstasy was that intense. There was a maddening itch in his testicles, and he knew what that meant. It meant he was going to come, and he didn’t want to come yet.
“Stop it!”
But she held him tighter and worked him more vigorously. His balls exploded and he went into convulsions as the hot cream burst out of him. Still she held onto him like a little monkey, milking him dry with her vaginal muscles. He moaned and stuttered. He drove deep and hard into her while at the same time he tried to get away. He didn’t know who he was or where he was. He was weak as a kitten and mighty as a lion.
She turned him loose and pushed him off her. He fell onto his back, and dazedly wondered what do to next, when she fell on him and stuffed his oozing penis into her mouth. She held its root with her little fist and pressed the palm of her other hand against his quivering stomach as she sucked him off. She nibbled its head and then pushed it deep into her throat. He reached around and put his four fingers into her steaming hole.
She moved her lips up and down his cock and sucked him dry. Then, when they were exhausted totally, they collapsed into each other’s arms and fell immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Butler opened his eyes and saw sunlight streaming through the ragged curtains of the hotel room. He looked at his watch and saw only a blank stretch of his wrist. Then he remembered that he’d used his watch to set off the explosions in the Abdul Faheem Munitions Plant, and that there was film underneath the mattress that he had to get to the nearest Institute office without delay.
He rolled over and saw Wilma B. Willoughby looking at him.
“Bastard,” she said.
“Get your clothes on. We’ve got to get going.”
“I hope you don’t think I’m in love with you or anything like that because of what happened last night.”
“Shut your yap and get your clothes on.”
They rolled out of the creaking bed that was creaking a lot worse this morning than it was last night. Wilma stretched and yawned while Butler fetched their clothes and the film from under the mattress. They dressed, putting on their American clothes first and the Arab robes last. Butler stored the film cassettes in his pants pockets and jabbed his Colt .45 into his belt. He put on his burnoose and folded the material so that it covered most of his face.
“You ready?” Butler asked.
She was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the veil over her face. “In a minute.”
“Hurry up.”
She looked at herself in the mirror and frowned. Whenever she screwed all night she looked like hell in the morning. That was one of the reasons she hated to screw all night.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Let’s go.”
They left the room, walked down the corridor, and descended the stairs. The lobby was brighter in daylight, but not much. Arab men sat around reading newspapers and the same clerk was behind the counter.
“You sleep well?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Wilma.
“Have you heard what happened last night?”
“What?”
“Israeli spies set off explosions in the Abdul Faheem Munitions Factory. It was a cowardly act, so typical of them.”
“The dogs.”
“But we’ll catch them—don’t worry about it.”
“Of course we’ll catch them.”
“In fact, we’ve probably already caught them.”
“Probably.”
Butler and Wilma left the hotel and walked out of the Casbah to the downtown area where the Institute maintained its offices in one of the modern new buildings. They passed parks, bazaars, and squads of armed soldiers on street corners, but they kept moving along, a humble Arab couple. The sun was shining as they crossed a public square and came upon a man sitting on a blanket selling oranges. Wilma bought two, gave one to Butler, and they continued on their way, sucking oranges.
Finally they reached the downtown area. The streets were congested with buses, taxis, and private cars. Businessmen raced along the sidewalks with briefcases in hand, while in the shadows humble peasants were slinking along, dreaming of date trees and Allah. The building where the Institute had its offices was one of the largest in Damascus, just down the street from the fashionable Fawzi Hotel.
Butler and Wilma entered the building and walked to the elevator. Businessmen looked at them, wondering what the peasants were doing in the fancy building. They got on the elevator and rode up to the twenty-fifth floor, where the Institute’s offices were. They got off the elevator and entered the reception room of the Institute.
An Arab receptionist sitting behind the desk looked up at them and smiled. “May I help you?” she asked in Arabic.
“We’d like to see Mr. Harper, please.”
The receptionist looked at them and narrowed her eyes. “Butler and Willoughby?”
They nodded.
“He’s expecting you. I’ll take you back to him.”
She got up and led them down the twisting corridors lined with offices, where Institute employees looked with curiosity at the strange Arab couple, Finally they came to the corner office of the director. The receptionist muttered a few words to the secretary, then Butler and Wilma were invited to enter the office.
Butler opened the door and motioned for Wilma t
o go first. They went inside, and sitting behind the desk was Harper in a gray suit with white shirt and black tie. Farouk was sitting in a chair against the wall, smoking an Egyptian cigarette.
Harper arose and smiled. “I’m so glad you made it. We were getting worried about you.”
“What time is it?” Butler asked.
“One o’clock in the afternoon. What took you so long?”
Butler looked at Wilma and tried to think fast. “We decided to leave later when the streets were more crowded, to avoid detection.”
“You have the film with you?”
“Yes.” Butler lifted his robes and emptied his pockets onto the desk.
Harper scooped up the tiny film cassettes and looked at them as though he had a handful of jewels. “I’ll have these developed right away, and then we’ll transmit the wire photos to Headquarters. Stay here—I’ll be right back.”
Harper walked quickly out of the office, while Butler and Wilma dropped into chairs in front of the desk.
“You got a cigarette?” Butler asked Farouk.
“Here,” Farouk replied, holding out his pack.
Butler took a cigarette and accepted a light from Farouk. He inhaled deeply, got a little dizzy, and blew out the smoke.
“You have any trouble getting back?” Butler asked him.
“There were a lot of police and soldiers, but none of them stopped me.”
“That’s about the way it was with us.”
Farouk leered at them. “Did you two sleep well?”
“Terrible,” Butler said.
“Awful,” Wilma agreed.
Farouk snorted. “I bet.”
Wilma’s eyes shot sparks. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing.”
“You don’t think that I’d let this sonofabitch animal touch me, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“I Didn’t, Damnit!”
“Okay, okay,” Farouk said. “Don’t get mad.”
Harper returned to the office, smiling jovially. “Good work, all of you,” he said as he sat behind his desk. “Those photos will be in Big Sur in about an hour or so, and I’ve just transmitted a brief message to let them know that your mission was accomplished. It was a most difficult mission and I don’t mind admitting that I had my doubts that you could bring it off, but you did. I am most impressed. Of course we have to admit that perhaps the mission wasn’t as necessary as we thought it was, since the Israelis obtained the Doom Machine plans on their own, and doubtless would have made them available to the United States, for they have a reciprocal spy agreement. But anyway, you did it, and masterfully, if you don’t mind me saying so.” Harper glanced at his watch. “Well, I imagine you’re all anxious to get out of here. We’ll fix you up with appropriate clothing and papers, and you can all leave on one of the evening flights. You’ll be back in California before you know it.”
“Marvelous,” Butler replied, puffing his cigarette. “I can’t wait to get back to California.
“I can,” Wilma said snootily. “I think I’ll stick around Damascus for awhile and then leave on a later flight.”
“I think I will too,” Farouk said.
Harper looked surprised. “How about you, Butler? Do you want to stick around too?”
“Hell, no. I want to get out of here as quickly as I can.”
“Good. Well, that’s all. I’ll have my staff make all the travel arrangements.”
Wilma leaned forward in her chair. “There’s one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Harper asked.
“I’d like you to mention in your report that I don’t want to be assigned to a mission with Mr. Butler ever again.”
Harper frowned. “I see. Well. I’ll mention that of course, if you want me to, but you’ll have to make your own request to our personnel department.”
“You can be sure I’ll do that,” Wilma replied, giving Butler a dirty look. She stood up. “Well, if there’s nothing further to discuss, I think I’ll be going. I assume the Institute will have quarters for me someplace?”
“Speak to my secretary.”
Farouk stood. “I think I’ll be going too.”
Harper rose and shook their hands. “Well, good luck, and my congratulations again.”
“Thank you.”
Farouk shook hands formally with Butler, then Farouk and Wilma left the office. Wilma didn’t look at Butler or say anything to him on her way out. The door was closed behind them, leaving Harper and Butler alone.
Harper picked a pencil off his desk and began playing with it. “Have trouble on the mission, Butler?”
“Not particularly.”
“It’s most unusual to get requests such as Ms. Willoughby just made. Evidently she didn’t like you very much.”
“Evidently.”
“You didn’t try anything with her, did you?”
“Like what?”
Harper smiled and shrugged. “You know.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you have a certain reputation in the Institute, Butler. You’re always trying to seduce the ladies.”
“I think I should be judged on the results of my missions, not on nasty, unfounded rumors.”
“I’m not so sure they’re so unfounded. Ms. Willoughby seems most hostile to you, and there must be a reason.”
“You should have asked her why.”
“I’m sure she’d be too much of a lady to denounce you for trying to seduce her on an important mission like this one.”
“I don’t think you should let your erotic imagination run away with you.”
Harper shuffled some papers on his desk. “Well, I guess that will be all, Butler. Have a nice trip back, and my congratulations once again.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They shook hands, then Butler turned and left the office.
PICCADILLY PUBLISHING
To visit our website, click here
To visit our blog, click here
To follow us on Facebook click here
