Her long blue skirt was hitched up around her waist so naked legs could wrap around and link at socked ankles.
Their faces were locked together in an intense tongue battle royale.
Maria whistled. “Lance Fincher and Heather Margold.” She remembered Heather was once the featured actress in a WGT production of “Wait Until Friday”, a musical about a war-widow that still held hope her husband would come home. Lance had been an assistant stage director.
Maria had been unaware the two were an item…until now…
January 14, 1957
Lance’s hands squeezed Heather’s ass, holding her up against the back wall. “I want in that pussy.”
“I want you in this pussy, baby,” she responded and promptly nipped his earlobe with her teeth.
An erection poked at her from beneath and was the lone bit of flesh escaping from the open fly of his jeans. With a quick maneuver of his hands and her pussy, that very erection began to slip into her. Together they rocked back against the wall, thrusting at each other while struggling to hold balance.
Heather started moaning feeling the first tugs as Lance grabbed her hair and pulled. The moaning was exaggerated more for Lance’s benefit than her actually getting anything else out of the experience.
Tugging the hair hard enough to expose her neck, Lance leaned forward for a bite.
Heather’s moan became a scream as the bite was a bit too hard and she would require turtlenecks for a few days.
A few quick thrusts and ass smacks were all it took Lance to get her scream back to the realm of moaning.
The moaning was real now, and her orgasm approached fast and ferociously. She bucked against him with her hands hammering on his back until her lungs hit a soprano note.
Feeling her go limp on him, Lance pulled out and set her down.
Heather stumbled with a giggle. “Wow, baby, that was…”
“On your knees,” he commanded.
She hesitated.
“On your knees, now!”
“Yes, sir.” She lowered until she was face-to-cock. Hands held the member upright as her tongue fell from her mouth to lick it from balls to tip before opening her mouth to sheath it between her lips. Eyes looked up at him as she sucked and stroked. No longer needing hands to assist with her devouring him, they shifted to tickle his balls.
After a few moments, Lance tugged her hair again to pull her mouth off. His right hand stroked his erection hard and fast.
Patiently, Heather sat back on her knees and waited for the warm tart taste she knew would follow.
The first stream of white leaped from the tip of his cock and landed in a trail along the side of her face. The next convulsion hit her open mouth but left a trail down her chin and neck. The third made certain that her blouse would require laundering before wearing it again.
Heather grinned, leaned forward and kissed the tip. Unable to resist, she opened her mouth for one last long suck. Her eyes back on his, she smiled widely and rubbed cum off her chin. “Thank you, sir.”
November 16, 2013
Both of the ghostly couple turned to look at Maria.
Still sitting on the stage, Maria was surprised to find her hand working between her legs. With the denim fabric dulling any real sensation beyond teasing, it was surprising feeling how damp the crotch had become and, like Heather’s blouse, there was laundry in this garment’s near future. This would have to be dealt with once back up in her room.
Outside the wind whistled its cold tune.
Standing up, she allowed herself one more glance.
Lance gave a light salute while Heather sucked his flaccid cock back into her mouth. Then they were gone.
No puff of smoke.
No fade to black.
Just gone.
January 15, 1957
Printed in morning edition of The Herald
Actress Heather Margold was found dead in her apartment last night in what appears to be a double-murder suicide. Initial reports suggest her husband, Markus Margold, shot her and an as-of-yet unidentified man before taking his own life.
V
Darwin’s Sword
February 21, 2018
It took Zed a moment to register the fact that the story was finished. “Please continue.”
Gerald imagined that, if that white blob that was Zed had a face, it would be staring, transfixed at him right now. “First, I need a drink, so let me…”
A brown long necked bottle appeared over his shoulder.
Looking up, Savannah grinned at him. “I want more, too.”
Gerald sighed and took the bottle. “You could just read them. I know they’re in the database on the ship.”
Savannah slid into a bridge chair close to him. “I like hearing you tell them.”
VI
Lost In the Snow
November 24, 2013
The new upholstered folding chairs now filled the auditorium. Red fabrics had been chosen and looked like velvet when seen from the stage. Due to larger seat sizes being ordered, the WGT audience capacity was now cut to two hundred and seventy from the original three hundred and seven.
Maria, from her usual centre stage spot, watched the last of the installation workmen walk up the middle aisle and out the door. An audible metallic click followed, confirming that the door was shut and locked behind him. Her smile widened with thoughts of how close the theatre was to being ready. Two weeks of hard work and still two more before the first production would move in.
There was still work to be done, but generally on a much smaller scale. Most of the heavy lifting was complete…with one exception. The crew to refinish the stage floor would be on site tomorrow.
Marie performed a quick spin and stamp of her feet with arms raised to the cheering crowd in her head. This action was repeated a number of times per day and had to stop once actual performers were in the theatre. A further quarter turn, and she made her way off between the wings to the backstage area. Pushing through the back door, she entered the prop, warehouse and office area.
Wind and rain pounded the large garage door, or so it sounded. The first snowstorm of the winter season was to be a wet one; heavy snow, ice pellets, and rain. Rush hour was never an easy ride home for the commuters, and tonight would be particularly harsh. The masochistic weatherman was calling for 10 to 15 inches of the white stuff by midnight.
Knowing all of this, Maria held little hope that the stage would be refinished on schedule. She also wondered how many colourful adjectives were being expelled from the worker that had just left the theatre.
None of this mattered, though.
Her commute was of no concern at all. As part of getting this theatre, she had a bachelor apartment on the fourth floor. The move in had been the night she had signed the contract, and she would have moved in ahead of that were it at all possible. It was any easy move with only a few small belongings and the apartment already furnished with a bed.
It had been seven years since Harry had left her. He had stayed until Maria had come out of her coma, and all seemed right at first. He had been happy that the flipping of the car had not taken her life. Even with all the plastic surgery leaving her looking like a completely different women, he still seemed fine. It quickly became apparent that Harry would not put up with her newfound ghosts.
She shook the memory off and went about locking the place down for the evening. It was early, but the storm had her wanting to curl up under her duvet with a book. A sweep of the props area brought more smiles as she thought of the actual set pieces that would soon fill the place.
Outside, Mother Nature took a break from beating the metal door and, now in the hush, a scratching sound came from behind the door of the main office.
Maria turned to the noise and followed it. Her eyes found lights on through the crack in the door. A glance at the panel beside the door proved that those lights in the office were, in fact, turned off. Gently she pushed and the door, agreeably, swung open.
The f
igures glowed enough that the scene around them appeared lit.
Betty Parker, whom Maria immediately recognized, was on the desk with her brunette Betty Boop-haircut and pale legs spread open. Her red skirt was around her hips and white blouse was torn open with popped buttons scattered across the desktop and down on the floor. Though the man’s face was hidden, Maria knew it must be Fred Gentry that was kneeling between Betty’s legs with his mouth hoovering her right thigh. His white shirt was still neatly pressed and pinstripe black slacks perfectly creased.
October 31, 1919
Betty leaned back, knocking the bottle of rum over onto its side. She screamed and followed that with a giggle, mostly as what would have spilled from that bottle was already making its way through her body. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
“Of course, we should,” Fred disagreed and licked her more, adding fingers into the play.
“What if we get caught?”
This time, he did stop and gave her an eye-roll stare. “Who is going to catch us? I’ve locked the place up.”
“Well the cops, I was thinking.”
“Oh, you’re more worried about the booze. O’Malley knows it is here, and I paid him off.” He laughed and went back to licking.
“How did you pay him off? You aren’t paid that much.” Not really looking for an answer, her hand went to the back of his head as she thrust her hips at his mouth.
Stopping again with his moustache soaked in her juices, he answered, “I gave him a bottle for himself.”
“Okay, that’s my boy.”
For a few minutes, the only sound was the wind and rain pounding against the side of the building. It was obviously heavy as it easily drowned out Fred’s licks and Betty’s moans. It also drowned out the click of the door from the outside into the warehouse unlatching and then slowly opening.
November 24, 2013
Maria stepped back in horror. She was used to seeing these scenes play out, but she never saw why the spirits were still around. This time she saw the man in the black hooded coat carrying the axe. Her attempt to turn away failed as she watched him use the axe on the couple.
…as the snow and rain pounded harder, now covering up the screams of Betty, Fred, and Maria.
November 1, 1919
Printed in morning edition of The Herald
Actress Betty Parker and theatre manager Fred Gentry were found dead at The Waldorf Garden Theatre late last night. Officer Harold O’Malley was taken into custody on two counts of murder, one count of breaking and entering, and one count of possession of illegal substances. It is speculated that Officer O’Malley, a friend of Mr. Gentry, broke into the theatre in an attempt to steal illegal alcohol that he knew to be on premises…
VII
Darwin’s Sword
February 21, 2018
Zed was speechless, this time.
Savannah shook her head and looked out the view screen.
Gerald grinned and sipped from his bottle. “Wherever we end up, they better figure out how to make beer.”
“Beer is good,” Zed agreed and floated from the bridge chair. “Would you like another?”
Gerald shrugged, “Why not? Not like I’m driving.”
“Me too, Zed,” Savannah agreed.
Zed floated to a back console and called for three of the bottles. Three tentacles picked them up floated back to the front, handing off one each to Gerald and Savannah. “Please continue.”
“I need a break, but…”
Savannah interrupted, “Just one more. Then go rest.”
Gerald looked at her smile. The smile was genuine, and he wondered if she even realized she was doing it. “Okay, last one for now.”
VIII
Flying Through the Wind
December 1, 2013
Maria tugged on a rope and, as she had hoped, the curtain began to rise. The tiny brunette pulled harder and made it go up faster.
“There you go,” Charlie said with a big smile. She pushed her auburn hair over her left shoulder. “You’re a natural.”
Pulling the rope, gloved hand-over-gloved hand to keep the curtain rising, she answered between breaths, “Not my first time doing this. Just had to figure out which ropes here did which.”
“Will they be flying in the…um…what’s the first show?”
“It’s called ‘The Stolen Car’ and based on a song by Sting. Luckily, other than opening and closing the curtain, no flying will be involved for that one.”
“I think you’d be fine if there were anyway. This won’t take you long at all.” Charlie stood with her gloved hands on hips. She was a full head taller than Maria and much more muscular.
Maria smiled, and her face froze as she saw them.
The couple was at center stage.
With how the last time she had seen the theatre spirits ended, Maria felt a shiver go through her and let the rope go. She recognized the couple as Phyllis Mays and Victor Rogers…
April 4, 1974
Phyllis was suspended right over the middle of the stage; she had been flown in to test the new rigging above. Her muscled legs were kicking out and pulling in, as though on a swing set. It somehow seemed natural that she was completely naked.
Victor, of course, in charge of the rigging she was dangling from, walked towards her with not a stitch of clothing on and his erection being held in his right hand.
“So, Vick? Is that a banana in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Victor got close enough that, with his left hand, he could reach behind her head and pull on her hair to expose her neck. “I’m very happy to see you.”
Outside, thunder rumbled across.
Phyllis lay back on her rigging so that anyone watching would think she was levitating. “Well, you’ve got me tied up and no place to go.”
“Perfect.” For what Victor wanted, she was at the perfect height. He laid his erection atop her pelvic bone and dragged it through her public hair, then the tip opened her pussy and teased along her lips without going in. He could feel her wetness on him before he finally thrust in.
More thunder but, this time, it was more like a roar as metal and steel above seemed to complain.
Both looked upward with some concern in their eyes.
The roof of the theatre lifted off, taking the rigging up with it.
The fact that Victor’s cock was no longer in her seemed minor as Phyllis began to truly fly upward. She screamed as soon she felt her world spinning.
December 1, 2013
Charlie grabbed onto the rope and kept the curtain from slamming onto the stage. “What the hell?”
Maria stood, mystified, as she watched the ghostly form of Phyllis fly out through the roof and into the tornado. “Sorry, Phyllis, but this isn’t Kansas anymore.”
“Who the hell is Phyllis?” Charlie asked.
April 5, 1974
Printed in morning edition of The Herald
In what officials are calling a “Super Outbreak”, more than 140 tornadoes ripped through the Midwestern United States and South-Western Ontario, Canada over a 48 hour period. If accurate, this would mark the most severe recorded weather period in North American history. At this time, casualty numbers and damage estimates are unknown…
IX
Darwin’s Sword
February 21, 2018
“I need a rest.” Gerald put the second beer bottle on the console beside the first one. “Have this place cleaned up when I get back.”
“Yes, sir.” Savannah gave him a mock salute.
“Why did you wave at him?” Zed asked.
Gerald chuckled and pulled his wheelchair back from the console. It was slow going as he was still only six days into this legless existence. By his logic, he should be in a hospital somewhere, but the alien technology on this ship had cleaned him up. Too bad that tech couldn’t help him learn quicker how to use a wheelchair.
Savannah and Zed watched him.
Gerald knew Savannah would help him if he
asked, but he needed to struggle through this. Reaching the door, he pushed the button, and it slid open so he could enter.
It slid closed behind him.
Zed turned green. “When are you going to tell him?”
“Tell him what? He has to learn…”
Zed made a sound like a clucking tongue to interrupt her. “If Quelver can regrow his legs, he does not need to learn that at all.”
Savannah sighed and finished off her beer. “True, but we have to get in contact with Quelver first.”
X
February 26, 2018
“Pluto?” Gerald shook his head as he looked at the ball on the screen. “Fuckin’ Pluto.”
If Zed had shoulders, they would have shrugged. “Your own scholars had a long-standing debate over whether it is even a planet. It isn’t much.”
Savannah laughed behind them.
“Nothing much?” Gerald turned his wheelchair to face Zed. His prowess with the chair was showing improvement. “How many human beings have been this close to Pluto?”
Zed turned a light brown. “Perhaps I misspoke. It is a big deal.”
Gerald turned back to the screen. “I need a beer.”
“You realize we’re well past it.” Savannah stood and walked up to the front. “You were sleeping while we went by, but I thought you’d want to see these.”
“Beer is good,” Zed agreed.
Savannah smacked one of Zed’s tentacles as if clipping the back of a head.
Darwin's Sword: Savannah - Book Two Page 6
