CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It wasn't a bad scream. It was a good scream. It was, in fact, a scream of ecstasy. Sinclair's "ladyfriends"? Try harem.
It didn't take long to find the room, even in a palace like this. I just followed the gasps and groans. By now I was pretty sure whoever had screamed wasn't in trouble, but I was curious. And annoyed-if I was such a vampiric big shit, how come Sinclair the Fink was keeping me waiting?
I opened the door at the end of the hall and saw Tina standing before a large window. She turned and saw me, and spread her hands in apology. "They're very busy," she said. "I didn't have much luck getting his attention. It should only be a few more minutes. "
Curious, I walked over and stood beside her. The window was clear-it was like one of those rooms-within-a-room you saw in police stations. And through the window I could see Sinclair and two-whoops, there was another set of tits-three women. They were writhing and groaning and purring in the middle of a bed that was, if possible, bigger than king-sized. I mean, that bed looked like a satin-covered acre.
It was a four-poster, and each poster was as big around as a tree trunk. The bed was covered in chocolate-covered satin sheets (well, at least they weren't red. . . soooooo Cosmo), but the pillows-all nine-had been knocked to the floor.
Sinclair looked happy. He was almost smiling! And he ought to be, in the middle of a brunette nest like he was. The three women all had elbow-length dark hair and sturdy limbs. . . no anorexic models for this guy. One of them even had a gently rounded belly. Two of them were fair-skinned, and the third was the color of milk chocolate, with the high cheekbones of an Egyptian queen.
They were human. I was a little surprised at how easily I could tell. They had a glow, a vitality that Sinclair and Tina and I lacked. Maybe it was because their hearts had to beat so much faster, they had to take so many breaths.
I coughed. "Uh. . . should we be, like, spying on them?"
Tina looked surprised. "They can't hear us. That room is soundproofed, and this glass is three inches thick. Besides, Sinclair doesn't mind. This room usually has a watcher. "
"That's sick!"
"No, that's cautious. Do you know how many men of power have been killed between the sheets?"
"I can safely say that I have no idea. "
"Well, it's a lot. I told you he was a careful man. Well, he never lets his guard down. Not even during times like these. "
I was silent. That was one of the worst things I'd ever heard. If you couldn't relax during sex-particularly during a Penthouse-inspired fantasy like this-well, that didn't sound like much of a life. Being careful was one thing. Being buried alive was something else.
One of the women squealed, and I glanced back in time to see Sinclair roll over her and shove. His buttocks flexed as he thrust into her; her legs came up and encircled his waist. I could see the muscles in his back working as he fucked her and, though it pained me on several levels to admit it, the man had the best ass I had ever seen. Taut, muscular, and sweetly rounded in exactly the right places. Yum.
"How come we can hear them?" I rasped, and realized just how dry my mouth was.
Tina pointed wordlessly to our left; I looked and saw the speaker on the wall. "That's sick," I said again, and looked back at the scene to assure myself that the depravity was continuing. I mean, somebody had to pay attention to this stuff, be aware of just what a pig Sinclair was.
"They're so beautiful," Tina said softly. She rested her hand on the glass, palm down. "So alive and fresh and young. "
Young? Tina was right, not a single woman in that room was hard on the eyes, but they were in their late thirties, early forties, at the least. They were beautiful but they looked like real women: soft bellies, heavy thighs, laugh lines. No nineteen year olds for Sinclair.
I sort of liked him for it.
While Sinclair was busy with the one, the other two hadn't exactly taken a number to wait their turn. One of them-the one with the strawberry-shaped birthmark on her shoulder-was kissing Sinclair hard on the mouth. The other-the one who looked like an Egyptian queen--was sucking on Strawberry's nipples, darting from one to the other, sucking and licking, her tongue flashing over the firm, rose-colored peaks.
Queen groaned around a mouthful of flesh; Sinclair's hands had strayed and he was fingering the sweet slit between her legs. Stroking and teasing. . . then two of his fingers disappeared to the knuckle and Queen bucked against his hand. Meanwhile, the one he was fucking shrieked like a firebell; her legs tightened around his waist hard enough to make me wince, and then she relaxed.
Sinclair pulled away, bent, and said something to her too low for me to hear. She gifted him with a sated smile and her eyes slipped to half-mast. He turned away, pulled Queen close, and nipped at her lower lip. She squealed playfully, and then he was turning her over, stroking the globes of her ass, then shoving into her from behind. Queen squealed again, much louder, and rocked back to meet him.
Meanwhile, Strawberry had crawled around the couple and had lain down beside the first woman, pillowing her head on the sleepy woman's breast. Obviously Strawberry had been first-the scream I had heard.
It was really something to watch. Part of me was ordering myself to leave the room, give them some privacy (tho' Sinclair didn't want privacy). I mean, in life I didn't even like watching porn, much less real people doing the sweaty mambo.
But it was hard to look away from. For one thing, it was really hot-unbelievably hot. Part of it was Sinclair's stamina, but another was his three companions. There was no jealousy, no cattiness; they were happy just to be there, to take turns. To play with each other while waiting for Sinclair's attention. It was unlike anything I'd ever imagined. I figured in a menage a-shit, what was the French word for four? Well, anyway, I figured in any sort of menage there'd bound to be hurt feelings. Not in this harem, obviously.
Strawberry was slowly stroking the other woman's breasts, occasionally flicking her nails across the nipples, occasionally tweaking, then going back to languorous strokes. They both watched Sinclair fucking Queen. Who was, I might add, enjoying herself immensely, if the gasps and groans were any indication. Her big round butt jiggled and wiggled as she met Sinclair's thrusts, and he could hardly keep his hands off it, kept kneading the flesh almost ceaselessly.
"You've got the best ass in a hundred years," Sinclair said. He wasn't out of breath. In fact, he sounded amused; his tone instantly made my hackles rise. It wasn't like he was detached; it was more like any three women could have been in there with him. Any three at all.
"You bet I do, baby," Queen grunted.
"A thousand years!" Strawberry called, and the three women giggled in unison.
Sinclair snorted and pulled out. I saw his cock for the first time, shining with juices, and gasped. I don't know why I was surprised. Sinclair was huge-big, broad shoulders, powerful arms and legs-well over six feet, easily two hundred pounds, and not a scrap of flab on him. I should have expected him to be gigantic. All the same, I couldn't help being shocked. Gigantic scarcely did it justice. His cock was as almost long as my arm from wrist to elbow, and as fat around as the bottom of a drinking glass. It sprang out from a lush nest of deep black pubic hair. It wasn't dark red-it wouldn't be, seeing as how he was dead-but it was a lively pink, and the tip, so like a plum, gleamed.
"Jesus Christ," I said. "No wonder he doesn't go for the nineteen year-olds!" If some little club bunny saw that coming at her, she'd go for the whip and chair. My club days were behind me, and I wasn't sure I wouldn't lunge for the whip and chair.
"Sinclair prefers older bed partners," Tina said, nodding. "If they're not. . . experienced. . . he could hurt them. He wouldn't mean to, and he'd be sorry later, but they'd be hurt, just the same. "
Meanwhile, back in Sodom, Queen had lunged forward and was gobbling at Sinclair's dick like it was ice cream and she'd been in the desert for a year. Strawberry crawled behind her and started playin
g with her pussy lips, resting one hand lightly on Queen's back while she stroked and tickled and teased and rubbed. Queen started moaning with Sinclair's cock in her mouth, while Sinclair grabbed the first woman-I saw the light winking off her nipple ring-and pulled her toward him. He was gentle enough, but firm; one minute Ring was lying there, almost asleep, and the next Sinclair was gripping her arms, holding her easy, and while Queen sucked on his dick, he bit her on the side of the neck.
She convulsed against him, crying out
"Ah, God, again, again!"
while he drank from her throat, thrusting his hips toward Queen's mouth at the same time. Strawberry's mouth had replaced her fingers, and while her tongue burrowed into Queen, her fingers-three of them-pushed up inside the darker woman's asshole. Queen shrieked around Sinclair's dick and fell back.
Sinclair stopped drinking. A small rill of blood ran down his chin, which he caught with his tongue. His dick wagged in the air, momentarily friendless. "Don't stop," he said. Then, when he saw Queen had to stop, he said, "Someone else. "
Strawberry was instantly kneeling in front of him, but he grabbed her hair and pulled her toward him while Ring crawled around. He pushed Strawberry on her back, leaned in, spread her thighs with his big hands, and bit her in her femoral artery. Meanwhile-I'm not sure how they managed this, and if I'd been reading about it in a book I'd never have believed it-Ring had somehow positioned herself so while Sinclair was drinking from Strawberry's plump thigh, he was also able to thrust into Ring's eager mouth.
"These guys," I commented dryly, "are in great shape. " I tried to sound cool and detached because, the fact was, I'd never been as turned on in my life, not even while Nick was fucking me while I drank from him. I could have watched them all day. Which explained why Tina had been so reluctant to separate them and tell Sinclair he had a visitor.
Strawberry was moaning while Sinclair's mouth was busy on her plump thigh. She was stroking her breasts, squeezing them hard enough to leave white marks in her flesh, pinching and pulling on her nipples, screaming "More, more, more, more!" at the ceiling.
Queen rolled over on her back, gasping for breath. Then she slowly slid to the floor, walked around the bed, and knelt between Ring's thighs. She licked the swollen, fleshy slit, then spread her apart and began kissing and sucking.
"I-I guess we should go. " I said this with a complete lack of conviction. "I mean, they'll finish up soon. "
"Yes, Majesty. "
"And then we can tell Sinclair what happened tonight. "
"Yes. "
"And figure out where to go from there. "
"All right. " Tina said this with all the animation of a store mannequin.
"You okay?"
"It's just that I have to kiss you now. " She turned, pulled me toward her. Her pupils were huge. I looked down at her pretty, pretty face and tried to feel a little more shocked. I'd never kissed a woman in my life. Never even been curious. My stance on homosexuality was exactly the same as my stance on heterosexuality: if you were having sex with a consenting adult, it was none of my business. Just keep it out of my face.
Never mind my complete lack of lesbianism, or the fact that a vampire a head shorter than me was gently muscling me into her embrace, or the fact that four strangers were fucking and sucking six feet away. I felt like being kissed, and that was the truth. And I wasn't talking about on my mouth, either.
"I must beg your indulgence," Tina was saying. She went up-up, up!-on her tiptoes. Her mouth was dark red, with matching lip liner (I approved; clashing lip liners-yech!), and her top lip looked like a little bow. The mouth of an enchantress. . . hopefully a good one. "Just. . . one. . . kiss. " Then her lips were pressing against mine, cool but firm. Her small tongue flicked across my teeth. I could feel her hand sliding up, her fingers on my breast through my shirt, pinching my nipple, hard. . .
"Ow!"
. . . and then her tongue was in my mouth, and her fingers had gentled, were slowly rubbing my now-stiff nipple, and I whimpered and leaned into her. I could feel her sucking on my tongue and was afraid my knees were going to buckle. I thought, say, why are we standing up? We'd be a lot more comfortable on the floor. In fact, we'd be a lot more comfortable in Sinclair's roo-
I pulled back and shoved her away. She let go the second I resisted, so my shove sent her reeling across the room. I'd pushed her away, but even now, I wanted to spread my arms and welcome her to me. "I thought," I said numbly, touching my lips, "you gave that stuff up a hundred years ago. "
"Men," she said, watching me sadly. "I gave up men. I'm very sorry. I couldn't help it. I haven't fed tonight and you're so beautiful. But I'm very sorry. "
"Being dead is one thing, but having to watch Finklair romp in his bed o' babes. . . and then you decide to bring my latent lesbian tendencies to the surface-real latent, by the way, because when I was alive the thought of lip locking with another woman never crossed my mind, and I-I--forget it. Forget it. I'm out of here. "
"Please don't go. It's my fault. All my fault. I'm so sorry. " To my horror, she was sinking to her knees, and actually-was she? She was! She was kissing the toes of my shoes. "Please, Majesty, forgive my impertinence. Please!"
"Stop that!" I hissed, hopping back so her lips weren't touching my shoes, then jerking her to her feet. She wouldn't look at me, was cringing away from my anger. Which made me feel bad. Which made me even angrier. "Don't kiss my shoes ever again! Jesus Christ-" She moaned and flinched away. "-why do vampires have to be so weird about everything? And it's not your fault you kissed me-it's my fault, because I could have told you no. Fuck this weird shit, I've had enough. Do you realize I haven't even been dead a week?" I let go of her arm and stormed out. I practically knocked Donald off the stairs as I stomped toward the main level.
He jumped out of my way in a hurry, which was smart, because I'd have walked right over the top of him, the mood I was in. "What's wrong, Miss Betsy?"
"Nothing. Everything. I gotta go. "
"Please don't!" Tina cried from the top of the stairs. "Please stay! We need you!"
"Well, I don't need you," I said, yanking open the front door. "Thank God. " Tina burst into tears, and I slammed the door on her dry sobs. And I didn't feel bad. Not one bit. Nope. Not at all.
No.