Clete laughed and began to stroke his giant, black shaft, watching a drop of viscous lubricant exude from the ample hole in the end and grow to a long, swinging string reaching for the floor.
With the dinner guests ranged around the room in comfortable Louis XIV chairs, DesirЋe adjusted the piano seat beneath her voluptuous buttocks and touched the keys, lightly, tentatively. She hated this, playing all alone, without any accompaniment but herself, without a microphone to make singing less of an effort. Singing opera songs in Italian and playing complex runs and arpeggios was something one learned to do easily with time, and DesirЋe was still young. They would all hear her slightest mistake and one of the songs Buchanan had requested she had not sung for two years, and she was unsure of the words.
DesirЋe's fingers felt stiff, but, to her surprise, played the opening run of notes flawlessly. By accident, she thought as her mouth opened and her clear, bell-like soprano glided across the air of the conservatory. She smiled, her eyes filling with tears as her lips remembered the Italian words even though her brain could not. As she relaxed, her playing became smoother and the lilting melody her voice delivered caressed the ear of the listeners. Her eyes found Mark's and the look on his face told her that he still loved her, that he was forgetting that time just a few nights ago when Lobo had had his way with her and she had responded mindlessly, before his gaping eyes, in a very unladylike manner.
The second and third songs, following on the audience's rapt applause, were much easier, and by the end of her performance, she felt that she had completely made up for her imprudent outburst earlier. Mark's eyes were glowing, and she berated herself at noticing that her first thought was that he would be fucking – yes, fucking – her tonight. She could see the bulge in his trousers as he sat there, sipping the drink that the waiter had just brought him.
Mark was dazzled anew by the talent and beauty of the girl he had married, and he wondered that he could ever have allowed his feelings for her to be diverted by the unfortunate event of last week. Of course, it was terrible, but it had been done to her. One could hardly blame her too much for responding in her innocent inexperienced way. She was only human after all.
Mark looked at the drink the waiter had brought him unbidden. It had a sweet taste, but by the way his head felt, it must be very strong. He felt distinctly dizzy. Damnit, this was no time to keel over drunk and disgusting! As DesirЋe stood up and gave a tiny bow, Mark stood and she walked over to him. Taking her hand, he said, "I think it's time we turned in, my friends."
There was agreement all around. It was past two o'clock and they were all tired. Even so, the butler forced a glass of sherry into DesirЋe's hand and she drank it gratefully to soothe her dry throat. Sid Buchanan sidled up to them and took her hand.
"That was brilliant, DesirЋe," he said smoothly, his eyes boring into her. "As long as you stick to music and stay away from politics, you'll do just fine."
DesirЋe held her tongue. She wanted to be with Mark tonight, intimately, and she didn't want her big mouth to get in the way of that. Escorted by the butler, she went with Mark to their room, noting that his walk was increasingly unsteady. Darn! She hoped he wasn't going to be too drunk to do it tonight. She wanted him to do it to her!
As the phone rang, Clete put down the bar and picked up a towel, running it across his sweaty chest.
"Sheriff Anderson," he said quietly, wiping his damp scrotum with the huge, swollen balls swinging heavily inside.
"Nice move, Clete," Priscilla said bitterly into his ear. "I always like to be outsmarted by muscle-brained Afros with six-shooters."
"Glad to oblige," Clete said smoothly.
"So now what?" Priscilla shot back. "I'd got plans for that video tape, and, what the fuck, I don't have it."
"There's a good reason for that," Clete said. "It's because I've got it. Now what did you have in mind?"
"That's my business."
"Mine, too, little lady. It's my black dick that's reaming her." Clete tossed the towel down and stroked his cock a few times. "No, the reason I took the tape was that I figured out what you were into, and it doesn't fit in with my plans. Not having Mark Denning and DesirЋe's father after my black ass. At this point I don't need that. You wanted to break up her marriage, but that won't work for me, because then I'll never see her again."
"Again? You stupid fucker! You're in love with her, aren't you?"
Clete clenched his jaws and grimaced, saying nothing. He didn't like his emotions exposed, not by anyone. Breaking up the Denning marriage didn't fit in with his plans just now. Clete had his own ideas. He wanted to carry on a long affair with DesirЋe, behind Mark's back, until she became pregnant. Then it would be difficult for Thurston to alienate his grandchild away from its own real biological father. The idea of enslaving DesirЋe to his powerful prick, so that her feelings for him changed for the better, and then disgracing Mark Denning with a black baby, would deliver the angel-faced, sweet-bodied little music teacher, and a piece of her father's fortune, into his hands.
"That's it, isn't it?" Priscilla drove on. "You're in love with the little bitch. That's fine with me. I want Mark. I want to destroy him, I want his balls for my door chimes. Still, I want to go to Washington with that two-timing bastard. Can you understand that? He's on his way up and I want the fun of being there with him. I don't want that twat mucking up my action. So we're going to have to clear her off. You can have her, that's fine with me. But I've got to have that tape."
Clete took a long time to reply. Then: "Come on over. We'll talk about it."
Mark was truly groggy when they got to their room, even though DesirЋe was wildly aroused. Her pussy was itching fiercely, her entire crotch. Her anus twitched with a desire that seemed purely physical. Carefully, she helped Mark undress and get into bed. She watched him frustratedly as his head lolled around on the pillow. She didn't understand it. He had had two glasses of wine at dinner, just as she had, and the after-dinner drink in the conservatory. Other than a nagging desire for sex, she felt pretty well. So what was wrong with her dear Mark?
Dejectedly, she began to undress. She was so turned on, for some reason, yet there was Mark, comatose, paralytic, on the bed, his beloved penis lying soft and slack against his left thigh. Sitting on the bed, she reached out and touched his silky, soft, circumcized cock, and she felt a pulse. Had it stirred? Was Mark coming awake? In a seizure of wanton desire, she bent forward and, without a tiny tinge of revulsion, lovingly kissed the head of his penis. She shivered at the thought of what she was doing. She had never had her mouth near his cock before, nor had his mouth been near her pussy. A few days ago, yes, she had experienced oral sex, but she cringingly admitted that that had not been Mark, nor even any other human male, but Lobo himself, helping himself to her charms. And yes – though she didn't remember clearly – she had enjoyed it with Priscilla at the orgy captured on the video tape with which she feared she would soon be blackmailed in some way and which she had promptly destroyed.