by Sahara Kelly
His salty sweat seeped into the small wounds. Shit, that burns… Louis sucked in a breath between his clenched teeth as the sensation made him grimace.
Mabel reached down and grabbed his cock with the glove. It jerked to attention and Louis held his breath knowing that in that instant Mabel had complete control.
Maxine stood in front of Louis and licked her red lips, obviously craving his cock. She stared as it protruded toward her. Louis could see that her pussy was extremely wet, her body primed and ready for sex. “Mmm. I want to fuck that so bad.” Her mouth uttered the words Louis wanted to hear.
Maxine handed the leather stick to Mabel, pushed the chair in front of him and turned it so the seat faced him. Her eyes looked approvingly over his body, stopping at the glisten of anticipation on the head of his cock. Leaning over, she put one hand on the chair for balance, and then flicked her tongue across the swollen head. Louis groaned as his cock throbbed with desire.
Turning around, she pressed her back against his chest, molding into his frame. They were a perfect fit. The aroma of lust filled the air. Louis watched as Maxine knelt on the seat, positioning herself so that her smoldering pussy was only inches away from the head of his cock.
A swift, excruciating pain sliced over him. Mabel had slapped him low on his buttocks with the leather stick.
“Can’t you see? She’s offering herself to you. Look at that sweet pussy, begging you to fuck it. Now do as she asks.” Mabel reached her arm back and swung the stick again, sending a shooting jolt of pain through his spine.
Louis’s arms were aching from holding his body up for so long and he didn’t need any more pain. Straining, he found his voice. “You fuckin’ bitch, that hurts.”
Mabel stepped closer and smacked Louis across the cheek with the black glove. “Nobody calls me a bitch. Nobody.” She wrinkled her nose. “What’s wrong, honey? Too much for you?”
Moving purposefully behind Louis, Mabel reached her hand around him, grabbing his cock. She pointed the head downward directly at Maxine’s eager sex and moved her hand, pulling up and down on his shaft.
Louis could see his cock diving between Maxine’s pussy lips. He wanted to sink into her so badly, he whimpered. “Oh, God. Let me fuck her. Come on, please—I’m sorry for what I said. I can’t handle much more of this.” He couldn’t awaken from his dream, and wouldn’t have even if given the chance. He was in a strange kind of erotically incredible tortured ecstasy.
Maxine’s head turned toward him and he desperately shook the sweat from his face. She leaned her ass back and sighed—a joyful sound that matched what Louis was feeling—the thickness of his cock sinking within her walls. Walls that hugged him and clenched at him as Maxine experimented with her inner muscles.
Louis moaned feeling the tightness surround his cock with velvety smoothness. He pulled his ass back, letting his cock glide back out of Maxine’s pussy.
Mabel reached her arm back and struck his ass again, making him grit his teeth. He knew what she wanted now—to dictate the sex between them. Obediently, he sank his cock back into Maxine.
Maxine’s hair hung down, covering her face. Even though her expressions were hidden, her body language made it clear that her only concern was the man behind her plunging his firm, thick cock into her awaiting pussy. She reached one hand between her legs and began to massage her clit. The juices from her excitement coated Louis’s cock and dripped from her pussy.
Each time Louis pulled back, Mabel would smack his ass with the stick, silently telling him to fuck Maxine harder and faster. Mabel was fingering her pussy as she watched Louis fuck her sister. He risked a glance at her and saw her pleasure as she released her own frustrations.
Louis began to pant and gasp. He couldn’t hold back the oncoming urge to let loose. He was being whipped by one naked woman and fucking another. Everything a man craved was being fulfilled.
Maxine bared her teeth in a snarl of lust. “Oh, I’m gonna come. I’m so close. Just a few more strokes—”
Mabel knelt beside them slipping the leather toy between her own legs. Louis pulled back and as she furiously fucked herself, she reached up for Louis’s cock, searching beneath it for his balls. Her fingers found him and she moaned—a sound of need and craving.
Maxine wiggled her ass, an invitation for Louis to return.
Mabel fondled his balls, nuzzling them and licking them.
Louis swore she could’ve swallowed them if she’d tried any harder.
Finally, she released his sac and pushed him back into Maxine. “Fuck—Maxine he’s gonna come. Fuck him, chère. Fuck him dry. Take it all, girl.”
Louis began to hammer back into Maxine. The boards above him creaked in protest against his powerful tugs as he fought to swing hard against Maxine’s ass.
Mabel crawled behind him once more and raked his legs with the black glove. Louis leaned back and as he did so Mabel slid something between his ass cheeks and into his anus. It was slick and warm and he realized it was the leather stick.
Louis locked his muscles, gasped and began to shiver. Violated by the stick, the rush of excitement to his cock made him swear the engorged head would blow off any second now. With a loud groan, he looked blindly skyward.
Maxine began to shake and the inner walls of her pussy convulsed against Louis’s hard cock. His heart pounded hard and fast in his chest. Teeth clenched, trying to prolong his release, Louis lost the battle. With a long, plunging thrust he let go. His seed gushed from his tightened balls, the spasms continuing for what seemed like an eternity.
Lost deep in his orgasm, he cried out—and woke himself up.
“By God, boy. Dat must’ve been a good ‘un.” A cackle of laughter sounded right next to his ear.
Louis was disoriented, still shuddering from his climax and startled out of his wits. He jumped, forgetting he was in a hammock. It swiveled and spun, reacting to his jerky movements, and promptly dumped him upside down on the hardwood porch floor.
“Fucking son of a…” He winced and shook tears of pain from his eyes as his head met wood with a solid thunk.
“You all right, boy?”
A wizened face peered beneath the limp hammock, staring interestedly at him. Bright eyes creased into a grin and two teeth shone brightly in the dark face smiling at him. “You done hit dat head of yours one God-almighty crack.”
“No shit.” Louis closed his eyes for a moment and checked his skull for blood.
“Don’ be a baby. You’ll live. Git your ass out from under dere and lemme look at you.” The old woman straightened up with a grunt. She had something very colorful wrapped all over her in bits and pieces, held together with odd sparkling pins and jewelry. Even in the twilight she looked like an odd little blackbird dressed up for a night on the town.
“So you de new owner. Monsewer Louieeee.”
“Louis. Louis Beekman. And you are?” He tried to be polite. It wasn’t easy since his vision was still a bit blurred from the incident with the hammock and the floor, not to mention one hellaciously fine orgasm and a pair of cutoffs that felt like they were lined with liquid detergent.
“Damn impressed, boy. You one mighty fine looker all right. No wonder Claudine’s gals got to you.” She laughed, proudly showing those two shiny teeth. Louis wondered if she had any more at home.
Then what she’d just said sank into his muddled brains. “Wait a minute here.” His skin chilled in spite of the humid evening air. “Claudine’s gals? I mean… girls?”
“Sho’ nuf, sweet thing. Dey always did have an eye for de hard ones.” Her eyes dropped to his lap where he was trying to nonchalantly hide a damp patch of denim. “An’ dey always knew how to get him off, too.”
Louis took a breath. This was freaking him out. Big-time. “Okay. Who the hell are you? And how do you know who was in my dream?”
The woman turned away. “I’m Zulee. Ever’body knows ol’ crazy Zulee. Don’ pay me no mind, boy.” She walked toward the steps. “I’ll be ‘round some.�
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“Er, okay. Well. Nice to meet you, Zulee. But aren’t you gonna tell me how…”
She stopped him with a movement of her hand. It was the oddest thing. For a brief moment she seemed taller and younger and Louis’s voice died in his throat. Then she cackled again and he blinked, seeing only the old woman in the wild clothes. “Here, young ‘un.” She tossed something toward him. “When you ready, you call. She come. You need her, but you don’ know it yet.”
The floor creaked slightly under her bare feet as she left the porch and headed into the growing shadows of the Alley. “You don’ know it yet—but you will.”
Louis sighed. This was one damn weird load of shit. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was still dreaming. But there were no blondes anywhere, naked or otherwise, and his head was starting to ache where he’d hit it on the floor.
His shorts were beginning to stick to him in uncomfortably personal places and his stomach rumbled reminding him that soda was no substitute for solid food. He stood awkwardly and something fluttered to the floor.
He picked it up and carried it inside where he turned on one of the lights in the kitchen.
It was a business card. “Cory Lavalle. Experienced Psychic Consultant. Discretion assured, results guaranteed.” The announcement was followed by a telephone number, New Orleans by the looks of it, and an address that was unfamiliar to Louis.
He snorted. Like a hot dream about two blonde babes was gonna freak him out. He’d been working too hard, was probably low on electrolytes with all the humidity and the sweating he was doing, and frickin’ horny as hell.
Plus he was working in a place that used to be a whorehouse. It wasn’t surprising he was experiencing some crazy sex fantasies. If he could get enough juice wired in for a halfway decent air conditioner, all this crap would probably evaporate along with the heat.
Louis shrugged and stuck the card up on the wall next to the cable company number and the utilities listings. He probably wouldn’t use it, but it was polite to at least keep the damn thing. Plus that creepy old woman might come back, and she looked like just the type who’d check to see if he’d still got it.
As he locked up the house later that night, he realized he was completely exhausted from a day that had been a roller-coaster ride of sex and craziness. It certainly wasn’t what he was used to, but would he have changed things if he could?
He looked around him as he switched off the lights and headed up the stairs to his makeshift bedroom.
Hell, no.
Chapter Six
Within a few short days, Louis was starting to rethink his optimistic attitude about Love Alley and everything that went along with it.
“Fucking piece of goddamned—lousy worthless—motherfucking son of a—” The oaths flew fast and furious from his mouth as yet another power tool refused to work. First his circular saw had quit on him, chewing through wood rather than making a neat slice. He’d been reduced to his trusty old handsaw, which fortunately required no power other than that within his shoulders.
Which got sore pretty damn quick.
His chop saw had followed, along with any number of the modern gizmos that he’d had shipped to Love Alley for the renovation project. The power wasn’t solely to blame, either, although he’d already ordered enough replacement fuses to power half of New Orleans, and used up nearly all of ‘em.
They blew out on a regular basis whenever he plugged in anything resembling a useful piece of equipment. Sometimes they blew out when the little fridge clicked on, and sometimes they blew out just for the hell of it.
He’d managed to get his “bedroom”—for want of a better word—into almost habitable condition, and there were now mesh screens over the tall windows. He was hoping they would allow him a night’s rest undisturbed by mosquitoes. The shutters had been repaired, so in the event of a bad storm, he could protect what little furniture he had.
In a fit of energy, he’d broken through a wall from his room to the bathroom next door, so he had the beginnings of a master suite well underway. They would have been even more well underway if his frickin’ tools had worked.
Louis sighed as the eighth drill bit snapped like chalk. Sure, this old cedar was hard wood. It had to be to withstand Louisiana weather. But shit, it was like goddamned iron sometimes. He was working on a lovely piece of molding he’d found dumped in an empty room. Miraculously it was unbroken and he was attempting to place it over where the bed would be.
He reached into his tool belt and pulled out his trusty standby—a very basic screwdriver and a couple of wood screws. Perhaps there was enough of a starter hole pre-drilled…
He held the molding in place and spent a moment or two lost in admiration of whoever had painstakingly carved the acanthus leaves and dogwoods that intertwined throughout the heavy decoration. “Shit. You’re a beauty all right.” He shoved a screw between his lips, put the other one where he’d tried to drill a hole and started tightening it.
Apparently the gods of carpentry approved. The screws sank silently home and the piece graced the wall above where his bed would eventually stand.
“Perfect, chèr. Quite lovely.”
“It is, isn’t it? Nothing like a good screw to…” Louis automatically turned around to answer the comment that had echoed the exact thought in his brain.
There was nobody there.
“Jesus H. I am losing my mind, that’s for sure.” Louis shook his head and moved on to his next chore. Bad enough that he was struggling every day with annoying problems—he didn’t need to start hearing voices on top of it.
A thunderstorm the following afternoon revealed two places where the roof leaked. No real surprise, but something Louis could have done without. One leak was in the center of the living room, the other above his bed. A wet night that turned his mattress into a sponge.
He really could have done without a toolbox that seemed to prefer the porch.
He damn well knew he’d taken the thing into the kitchen, but when he looked for it later, was it there? Noooo. It was out on the fucking porch. The tools stayed with him, but the box? It was like it had other ideas.
Louis couldn’t help but notice the whole frickin’ house seemed to have its own ideas. If he found something that clearly belonged to a certain room it would refuse to be installed anywhere but where the house wanted it—in that certain room. This wasn’t a bad thing, since he was doing his best to restore the original beauty to this charming old lady.
But it could be fucking annoying at times.
The weather was unpredictable but hot. Always hot. Lung-strangling, soakingly humid and hot. Louis got used to sticking a few of his T-shirts in a bucket of cool water and then slipping them on during the day to keep his body temperature semi-stable, but even this didn’t work on the worst days.
That’s when he was forced into less physical pursuits, like going through some of the ancient chests that had lain untouched in a storage area under the eaves. He’d rescued them from an imminent soaking and tugged them to a dry area, eventually bringing one or two downstairs where it was cooler and he could spend a restful hour or so checking them out.
The first two were full of junk, and mostly unusable junk at that. There was a pot and a couple of spoons that might be of interest to local historians, and some faded and stained pieces of fabric. Used to saving things for historical society types, Louis already had a neat pile of artifacts that would go to the local authorities if they wanted any of them.
He enjoyed touching the past like this, but every time he did that annoying itch came back and several times he actually glanced over his shoulder. He just knew somebody was watching—but as always there was nobody there.
Louis was a practical man. He loved working with his hands and building things. He had little time for fairy tales, had never read a ghost story and if anybody had asked him he’d probably have dismissed the whole idea of the psychic world as something that was directly related to the quality of the bourbon a pers
on was drinking at the time. But as the days lingered on and his problems compounded themselves, he was forced to rethink that assessment.
And he didn’t like it one little bit.
The last straw came unexpectedly when he was enjoying a quiet read of Architect’s Weekly in his bathroom. Being a male, and in full possession of the “don’t bother to change the roll until it’s empty” gene, he reached for the toilet paper only to discover that yes, it was indeed, empty.
He sighed. His supplies were on the other side of the bathroom next to the almost-ready claw-footed tub he was plumbing in.
Folding his magazine he was about to do the only thing he could do, when a voice sounded in the silence. “Here you go, chèr.” A fresh roll of toilet paper toppled from the stack and quietly tumbled over itself to come to rest at Louis’s feet.
It could’ve been the wind.
It could’ve been a small earthquake.
It could’ve been some enormous barge causing a wake on the river that traveled up into the bayou.
Louis knew, with a horrible certainty, that it wasn’t any of these things.
“Oh fuck.” With trembling hands, Louis finished up his bathroom business and rushed downstairs to the kitchen. Yep—it was still there. The card with that psychic’s number on it.
He stared at it, not knowing who else to call, or what else to do. Explaining that he had a haunted bathroom with self-delivering toilet paper wasn’t gonna cut it with any city agency he could think of.
His cell phone was on the counter and he reached for it, turning it on. There was barely enough power for a signal, but Louis figured he should be able to get one call out before recharging it. He dialed the psychic’s number.
“Hi. You’ve reached my answering machine. I’m a damn good psychic, but even I can’t tell why you’re calling—you’ll have to do that. Leave the usual stuff, and I’ll get back to you? Thanks.”
