Scanning Proofreading: CSH
Julio had flopped onto the bed as well, his man-root limp, and Constanza, looking extremely content and happy, was sipping a glass of wine on the rocks.
Julio brushed his fingers over my anus, surrounded by pale red folds, touching Ricardo’s throbbing cunt, and an electrifying numbness quickly rippled through my head. He peeled back the petal-like lips of his large pussy and flicked his tongue around. I gasped sharply and rubbed Ricardo, causing him to moan with pleasure. He jerked more and more violently under my play.
Julio’s tongue dropped to the bud-like bud of flesh between the two labia majora, his fingers played backward with the folds around the anus, intense pleasure and beauty emanating from every hidden spot, the extreme arousal causing me to let out a dying animal-like yelp, accompanied by a continuous stream of motions, as I sobbed and cried out, and as Ricardo ramming in one stroke after the other, his hot, furious cock almost poking through my bottom of my vagina, but he still tried to thrust deeper, his hands raking the roots of my thighs hard so that I could take full advantage of the powerful caresses.
He cried out in pleasure, jerking and stirring as he pleased, like a male dog on a bitch’s back in a series of rapid, purely instinctive movements. Julio’s mouth and tongue licked me, and the renewed arousal made me giggle with pleasure, grabbing Julio by the hair and yanking frantically.
The next day was a refreshingly pleasant day, and I wore a material-textured cloth jacket that apparently mosquitoes couldn’t penetrate.
This is because this cloth will reduce the speed of mosquito bites, giving you enough time to swat them away. Either that, or walk away on your own.
I thought I should put on those beautiful, snazzy rubber boots to go to breakfast and meet the man who was photographing. I’ve been warned that when you roam the rainforest to see monkeys and parrots, it’s essential to keep your body fully armed.
Otherwise, I’m not worried at all. That man is extremely easy to deal with without any props.
By the time I sat down at the tub to sip my sweet, savory coffee with milk, it was eight forty-five.
Whereas at home this look would make me feel sick, here it’s become so cozy.
The grim-faced Olympian had long since arrived, and I stared at him for a long time.
“What’s going on?” He asked angrily.
“I need careful care and cleaning to protect my skin and hair. You should have some good ideas on what to do with your own teeth, for example?” I blurted out.
He was silent for a moment. “It seems you’ve been confused by lust,” he finally spat out the words.
He spied on us?
As I sipped my coffee, a feeling of peace and happiness rippled through me. It seemed to feel like a good place to breed such emotions in Brazil.
The waiter handed over a menu. “What do you want to talk about?” I asked after ordering.
He asked for lavender pork, fried eggs, a potato quiche, and a bunch of slices of toasted bread.
“Have you spoken to Carl about this mission?”
“I’ve already told you that his lower jaw is immobilized by metal wires. Barely even able to blink.
I went to see him but to no avail.”
“Is that all you know?”
I shrugged. The crescent-shaped bread had been brought up, with layers and layers of warmth. “Nothing else,” I replied.
“That’s all I know. In fact, I can’t replace Carl at all, because I can’t accomplish everything he did, and all I can write about is to provide a story about a new and recent event in the rainforest. There is no mourning, Zico Mendez T-shirt is still in the drawer. Mendes T-shirt is still in the drawer.”
Zico Mendez. Mendez was the inventor of the rubber boot, a good guy who was killed by a couple of hateful assholes.
He gazed at me. “Really?” Probed.
I smiled wryly. After a while, he gave up on the answer.
“You’ll have to meet our sponsor, the patron of this operation is a woman.”
“Who is she?” Mike had mentioned this person, but his trickery was not detailed. It was time for me to learn the truth.
“Martha. She’s an extremely wealthy woman and has taken on the entire cost of this operation.”
“What good will it do her?”
He looked at me cautiously. “She loves to travel and takes pleasure in it, and she wants to find out what the cause of all the jungle cries is. Not for lack of reason or impracticality, she spends a lot of money trying to get something of value out of it. She holds the Turner Group of Companies. Sometimes when the Archdiocese of New York can’t afford to buy a copy of a picture, the Turner Group donates it to them. She’s not Carnegie, she’s not Rockefeller, and she’s not Little. Liger.”
“Does she know I’m a famous journalist?”
“Knew it, but she didn’t mind. In other words, she didn’t care about Carl either. She will review the manuscript herself, though. That’s not your business; your editor-in-chief will handle the matter with her.”
Just a photographer, the man seemed a bit arrogant, I guess. The conversation was redundant again.
“You mean if I complain about the heat and all the mosquito bites, she’ll go back and tell my editor-in-chief, right?”
There was a spark in his eyes that was subject to mockery. “She wouldn’t care about something so boring. You can talk to her in person. I called earlier to make an appointment.”
“Why would she look at a London newspaper?” I pressed on. “Is there anything else I haven’t learned?”
“It wasn’t her fancy. It’s just that she thought of Carl, and I was the one who introduced Carl to her, and as far as a writer and an accomplished man is concerned, Carl is a long way from understanding race or the culture and life of a particular country. It was Carl who chose your newspaper, not Martha.” He pushed away the leftover breakfast in front of him, asked for nothing more, and lit a cigarette. “Don’t worry. You know, Carl loves to take matters into his own hands. Maybe he’s planning on multiple submissions.”
“He didn’t want me to come,” I said slowly. “Could I be bad?”
“The point is, she is the only one who has the final say on whether or not you can come along. I’ll take you to her today. You see, Carl knows his role well enough. Just focuses on writing. You, on the other hand, think mostly.”
This is indeed true, so it doesn’t upset me. It was Mike who had made a mess of everything. I stared at the photographer in his special capacity. “Who else is going?”
“Her stepdaughter. A secretary. A male assistant who keeps her safe. And the organizer of this expedition. And two guys who report exclusively to her on the ecology of the moving parts. A former tram driver and cook. And you and me, baby. Writer and photographer.”
“So there are nine.”
“Hey, the count is exactly right.”
“Three women, six men.”
“It was four women and five men. The secretary was a woman.”
I was silent for a moment. Finally looking straight across the room at the older boy. This man who was looking more and more gentle was troubling me. “How are the guys?” I asked, feigning seriousness. “Do I get a free pass?”
He laughed like a crocodile, which practically amounted to a reply. I was just trying to get him excited. “Ma’am, as a contributor, one always expects drastic measures to be taken at the outset. That stepdaughter seems to have very little guts but a hungry exterior, if you get what I mean, and that secretary is very quiet, but that’s the kind of woman I like. She is very beautiful, too.”
“Yo,” I tease. “An ominous pair.”
“I expect them to leave the cook alone. That way you might have a chance.”
I giggled. “When do we get to meet the lady boss?”
“This afternoon. All of us are going to have a meeting together. We’ll know when to leave then.”
I finish the last sip of my coffee. “Where’s the meeting?”
“At Madame’s hotel, the Rio Mansion near the airport. Three o’clock in the afternoon.”
“It will be on time.”
I dare not say that everything I currently know will be useful. Certainly everything seemed unusual to me, but I came to understand Carl’s reasoning for his habit of going it alone, and I guessed I had fallen into a situation he had created without knowing the rules.
It was unbearable. There was no need for Mike to send me so blindly. He had mentioned this Mrs. Martha to me only to make me understand that the trip was primarily for the benefit of the paper. She could take as many short trips as she wanted, unlike me, who was there because of my work. It seems obvious now that it was Carl who planned to go, though I don’t yet know what it was, but my best trick is easy for a woman; to write about all the things I got from there that pleased me. As for mocking the photographer it was simply to add some spice to an unpopular job. From the first meeting, the man’s posturing was the cause of my violent attacks.
It’s a must but also a bit of a shame. He was in good shape and seemed quite intelligent. I just have a hard time with prude men who then hook their fingers at you once you pass them, and he has shown that kind of intent by moving to place my towel.
So I’m looking forward to a meeting so I can meet the guys.
I can’t help but shiver all over. I wish this whole expedition could be a quick one so I could go home. I know it’s a conflicting thought, I didn’t want to go, but here I am ready to take it as best I can. But that’s just one of the reasons. It would have been right for me to refuse the adventure in the first place, and then to agree to take part in it, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it up because I’ve been discouraged by others. To know that I have the power to control my own life.
The strong desire to be dissatisfied with the status quo has been struggling within for a long time.
Night fell and met with Martha and the rest of the group. A startling generalization of understanding has come to mind. I’m a writer for hire, that’s what I’ve always said, and now I’m sniffing around the subject matter of the article. I just can’t go deep enough.
The heat was everywhere, making me dizzy, and I fell asleep in my cool suite, suffocated as if I had sunk into hell, only to be awakened in a trance by someone in the room.
Oh, not myself. I’m not a wimpy woman who’s easy for you to bully. For example, if it were against my will, I’d grit my teeth and put on a knuckle ring to say hello.
I quietly fished the spring-loaded knife out from under my pillow. I wasn’t actually in the habit of being fully armed while traveling, but I had made some preparations in Belen.
“Sidney,” came a soft voice. It was a man’s voice. “Miss Sidney.
”
I slowly moved the knife to my waist holding it tightly. “Who is it?” I asked calmly.
“Don’t be scared. It’s Rory.”
“So it’s Mr. Rory, we’re compatriots. I think you should know better than to knock before entering a lady’s bedroom.”
“Please twist the lights on. I just don’t want to make a lot of noise. You know that American lives next door and I don’t want him to know I’m here.”
I flicked on the bedside lamp and sat up. In Manaus I had found a store specializing in silk and had purchased a number of articles of clothing, all of which had been credited to the newspaper. There was a robe, a blouse, several skirts and coats, and two sets of fashionable silk pajama pants. I’m wearing one of them now, the cream-colored material shimmering softly in the yellow bedside light.
Every girl likes to look better in bed, especially when someone like Lori is in the room.
I thought of Mason, the photographer, a man with a reasonable appearance. Lori was bashing him.
He had railed against many men, except for Masen who seemed a little odd. There was nothing effeminate about his appearance, he was a total man. Reminds me of a young Seth Connor. Conner.
As I said earlier, he is British and joins the expedition as a biology expert. Martha, of course, knew how to choose a candidate.
“I must speak to you alone and do not want others to know.”
He was in the middle of the standing bedroom. Dressed in black pants, a black T-shirt and a pair of rubber-soled sneakers. The sneakers were on his feet to make it easier to sneak into the house. I don’t like to be taken casually as a matter of course, unless a man who looks and acts like Rory might possibly make me drop my preconceptions.
“May I sit down?” He inquired in a soft, public-school-trained, good English policeman’s speaking tone. I, on the other hand, came from Brixton and spoke in a hoarse, raspy voice.
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
He sat down at the end of the bed. I tried to restrain myself as much as I could, but the hairs all over my body still couldn’t stop standing up, and the spring-loaded knife clung to my right leg.
“I’m sorry. You should actually trust me.”
Oh, yeah? Of course, it’s like trusting Dr. Cribbin. I wouldn’t dare say that out loud.
“It really caused quite a shock when Matson brought you in this afternoon. I don’t understand why the paper sent you instead of Carl. I mean, he came on behalf of an individual, not as a newspaper reporter.”
“Go ahead and explain that to my editor-in-chief,” I returned. “Carl is the editor-in-chief, and perhaps he has more latitude to express talent than he actually does. But, in any case, Mr. Lorry, we are all hired to help.”
“Call me Rory.” He moved slowly on the bed. The weight wasn’t light or heavy. “Martha likes you a lot,”
He had a mysterious expression. “Everything else is up to you to be careful.”
I looked at him steadily. “I like her, too. A woman with guts who hasn’t lost any of her will to be rich.”
“That’s right. She is an excellent connoisseur. That still amazes me to this day. This adventure will not be comfortable. Ever been far away before?”
I thought a little. “I have taken it as a visit to Croton once or twice,” replied the
He laughed out loud. “Martha isn’t the only woman with courage,” he said softly.
Then came a silence. My curiosity grew stronger. Sometimes even more than other desires.
“So, why are you here?” I asked.
He stopped pandering immediately. I let out a not-so-normal sigh and tweaked my ears.
“Oh, just wondering how much you know about Carl?” He probed. “I know you guys are coworkers.”
“I’m in charge of the columns,” I said matter-of-factly. “Carl takes care of the travelogues. You might meet in the office once or twice a year.”
Rory’s eyes glowed like a diurnal browbird. “Even though you will be joining this expedition. I still think he chose you out of his own self-interest.”
Sometimes curiosity must be satisfied by exchanging information. “Not exactly correct,” the lie spat through his teeth. It wasn’t always necessary to exchange correct information. “He’s badly injured, Rory. Can’t say much, just give me a generalization.”
“What about?”
Ouch, I thought darkly. The little nostrils are opening and closing like a fierce shrew.
“You must know Carl,” I shrugged my silk-clad shoulders. “The man isn’t very forthcoming.”
Rory leaned forward and put one hand on my blanket-covered thigh. When you’re with someone like him, you want to do that with the lights on. Didn’t want to miss out on the visual treats. As opposed to Matson he had dark hair, a broad forehead, and eyes rich in humor.
“I don’t really know Carl,” he rejoined gently. “That is what troubles me. I have often wondered about Karl, and the thought has given me sleepless nights. And I don’t believe he would get on well with this American photographer.
I had strongly advised Martha not to have them both, but she said he was the best, so I couldn’t say anything more.
”
“Do you think the facts are close to what you think?” I’m one step closer to catching a fish.
“How can I be sure I can trust you?”
“You can’t be sure, of course. But Masson doesn’t like me and always tries to send me back. Does that help?
”
He giggled. “I think Carl is going in response to something. Assuming that this expedition to the Amazon is just to check out one or two tributaries, as well as learn as much as possible about the ecology. Carl seems to be acting a little overzealous, or maybe that’s just me. Martha is a tough, resilient woman, but still has weaknesses in certain areas that are easily knocked down.”
“In what way?” I urged.
“She’s rich. An expensive item.”
I comprehended it at once. Perhaps wise old Carl was counting on Martha being kidnapped. Then he would rescue her, demand repayment, and thus write some exciting stories to the press and to the community.
Carl’s despicable character coincided with my usual judgment. He and I had a small encounter, though nothing serious. The guy was a real pain in the ass when it came to newspaper news.
The sharing of intelligence is the erosion of its value. My eyes widened. “Do you think Martha is in danger?” I gasped a little.
“It’s entirely possible.” The man’s solemnity and the abruptness of his pause were quite tasteful. He also understands that this is much more powerful than detailing it to me.
Over a bit.
“Will the rest of us be in danger too?” I murmured, trying to appear as careless as possible.
Rory slowly tugged at the sheets. “Now that you have a friend, you must believe that.”
“I have my own judgment.” I said distractedly.
He caressingly ruffled the hair that was strewn across my face to the back of my head. After a moment, lips brushed my cheek and stopped between my ears. I shuddered with a rolly, rolly tremor all over my body. What a pleasing way to go.
He whispered in his ear. “You have a very mature mind.”
Oh, this ghost man.
“Can you appreciate what this adventure means to me?” He kept his lips brushing against my cheekbone.
“What’s the point?”
“It is very difficult to make money now. I am not a rich man who is rich and does not need to work. Like you, I was hired to help.”
“Is that so?” I echoed, stretching backward and closing my eyes. Every nerve ending was ruffled by this guy, craving more caresses.
“Martha not only has an energetic mind. It also has a young and exuberant body.”
I kept holding on. He brushed my hair with his nose and carefully licked and sucked on my ear. “I can’t be satisfied with what I have,” he said quietly. “So when Martha trades money for assistance, she always gets everything she needs.”
I stayed silent. What more is there to say when a man for whom you have strong sexual urges confesses to you that he himself is a character who sells himself for money.
“I never minded until you came along. I mean I liked her myself. There’s nothing difficult about it. Not at all. It was a pleasure. But now it has put me in a terrible position.”
I liked his position and frankly loved the way he held me close, kissing my cheeks and gently rubbing the silk pajama pants.
He kissed my eyelids, the color of my lips. “I want to make love to you,” he said as he carefully rubbed my breasts with one hand, rustling my dress. “But once Martha finds out, I’ll be ruined.”
“She’s not going to take you for herself,” I answered in turn. Frankly, I was at a loss, too.
He kissed the outline of my jaw, my throat. “All rich people are extremely possessive,” he said, “it’s a law of nature. Darling, that’s why I must go.”
I was instantly enraged. It turned out to play me. I stared at him, my racing heart slowly calming down.
He looked fit, somber, and erudite. “I won’t always be a company clerk,” he said. “Seriously, in many ways she is a wonderful woman. The reason I must travel with her is because I am sure she is in danger. Will you come alongside me?”
I remained firmly watching him, trying to quell my incited lust as best I could. “I am with myself,” I replied indifferently.
He smiled with his teeth showing. “That’s certainly true, Sidney. What’s good for you in the future is good for me.”
After he left, I ate so much that I almost had indigestion. Then I got out of bed again and paced the room. I didn’t pay any attention to anything except putting out the bedside lamp. The trouble with beautiful women is that they don’t take care of everything. Take, for instance, having a dog and objecting to its barking. If I were a beautiful woman, I’d do the same thing. But as an extra weapon in my arsenal, I’d make the most of it.
All in all, although Luo Rui this guy is a little flashy, good at camping, attacking the heart, may not be wrong. Only this is his method, as eating, drinking each person has his own way.
Anyway, why fabricate such a lie? I don’t think it would be very helpful at all. Of course ever since my brief encounter with Masson, I had a feeling that something else was going to happen.
Should we tell Lori everything? If Matson and Carl are in cahoots, then Carl’s absence is bound to undo the plans they’ve been secretly plotting. I certainly don’t believe Carl had nothing to do with it, but he’s not a bad guy.
Quite simply, I know that he loves intricacies, revels in living on a knife edge, is an obnoxiously good writer, and that he has a rather fond appreciation of other people’s pain. But it’s also completely unbelievable to suggest that he’s going to plot against anyone.
Would Masson have accomplished this if he had lost the help of his past associates? He’s not at all like any photographer I know. They are usually quiet, observing the world through a Nikon lens so as to ostracize fellow men. They are prone to sadness, a tendency to misbehave, and a narrow perspective on the world that has led them to develop two extremely arbitrary scales of seeing things.
Matson shows no signs of this at all. His outbursts and vigor are really suspicious.
Just as he thought of this he heard a sound. Since Lori already knew that the walls of the hotel were not very soundproof. Then what I heard now must have been the movement of the door of the next room. Then I heard the distinct sound of a door lock opening. I quickly flashed to the door of my own room. The key was slowly turning, this time the sound was extremely slight, and then footsteps gradually faded away in the corridor.
I cautiously opened the door to the unlocked room and peered outside, where Matson had just disappeared by the security ladder.
I slipped on my sneakers, yanked a linen jacket over my pajama pants, grabbed my room key and some money, and ran out right behind me.
I ran down the concrete stairs as fast as I could and carefully slipped into the hall to observe.
It’s three o’clock in the morning. There was little that was out of the ordinary here, dimly lit, and all was quiet. I quickly crossed the hall and ran out into the street.
I saw him walking briskly, some distance from the hotel door.
I am now located in Plaza, the center of the city. Mason is walking as fast as he can in the direction of the pier.
I had to jog along to keep an eye on him, but he didn’t look back once. We soon left the modern high-rise area and entered the old, low-rise, stuccoed civilian neighborhood. Here, Masson slowed down a bit, and I crept closer with the rubber soles of my shoes, always ready to duck into a doorway or a narrow alley.
There was a smell of rotting and dead grass, and many bats scurried out of houses and bushes at once. We passed through a bazaar that must have been bustling with activity during the day. Again we entered a still stale urban area. Washed clothes hung from hidden ropes between all the dwellings.
So I had to stay closer to see in front of me, but he never looked back.
Suddenly he turned into an archway. I followed him, and found myself in a courtyard with an overgrown, long-dried-up fountain that had been used for decoration. It was nearly four o’clock, and the sound of music still drifted from somewhere, and I looked up to see one or two balconies glimmering faintly through shuttered windows.
The air smelled of cat urine, and the muggy night sky resembled a damp, moldy blanket.
Mason is gone. I quickly searched for the darkened gate. It was the credenza that led through the complex to the communal staircase. A square lamp was lit at one of the porches, and voices were faintly heard.
I peered in through a high bay window. The most striking thing I saw in a filthy room was a large sheet of fly trap paper embedded in the ceiling with thousands of dead black flies stuck to it.
I looked around and found a wooden slatted and nailed box in a pile of trash. Moved it under the window and stood up, secretly praying that no one would ever come in. After all, I was at the main entrance, even though it was late at night. Or perhaps it was early morning. All those who work in journalism know that one should look at things from both sides. One of them is probably right.
Saw Matson, yes, was staying very seriously with a short man. The little man was wearing a dark blue cotton shirt with white dots on it, shiny, and black pants. The shirt was open at the collar, and he wore a string of, at least, three gold chains intertwined and dangling a large pendant tag.
The short fellow was rather unkempt, with a mouthful of horrible teeth. I didn’t understand a word he said because he and Masson both spoke in Portuguese.
The little man put something in his bag. Masson wants to see it. A heated argument breaks out between the two, and Matson becomes so dangerous that the short man actually draws a knife.
I clutched the spring-loaded knife in my jacket pocket, for I was a woman who had neither an entourage nor liked to wander the streets freely. I pondered whether Masson needed help, and if so, whether he was obliged to help. Had I been able to understand what they were saying, I might have been cheering for Shorty.
Masson held up his hands, apparently making peace with the surly dwarf. It evidently worked, for I saw that the knife was gone, and the dwarf reluctantly handed over the bag.
Masson opened the dirty paper wrapped around the outside. He brought the object close to his face and scrutinized it. The dwarf kept jumping up and down.
Finally Masson reached into his own pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills.
A pain that tore through my lungs in my head followed, and in my daze I felt myself slowly falling off the box. At the last moment of unconsciousness, I thought my pajama pants would be covered in blood.
I slowly awoke with a rush of heart. Someone held me up to make me ungainly vomit all the contents of my stomach. The throbbing in my head was being controlled. A bill wiped my face and then I lay back down. Something cold and wet was placed on the back of my head. I began to wail helplessly.
“Shut up,” said a familiar voice. “I know you’ve run into trouble,” the voice added.
“You scumbag,” I shot back, the sound coming out dull and low because my mouth was against the pillow.
“Looks like you’re feeling better.” A tone of satisfaction laced his voice. And allowed me to sit up.
Eyes stung as if someone had stepped over them. Teeth are also a little loose. The back of the head burned like fire. Even my eyelashes were involved. My eyes blurred as I looked at Mason, who was sitting beside me, and it turned out that I was leaning on my bed. “What’s going on?” I asked, crying.
“You don’t remember?”
“Someone snuck into your room, probably to steal something, because he knew there was definitely no man in your bed.
You must have woken up with a start and been attacked.”
“Where’s the doctor? Where’s the police?”
“Don’t howl, ma’am, it’s only a bump. If you need to, you can call for the doctor and the police; I wouldn’t have done it anyway. For this expedition, Mrs. Turner doesn’t want to attract outside attention yet. She will compensate you for the damage.”
“My health.”
“By morning, everything will be fine.”
“How much longer?”
“Just a couple hours.”
The back of my head was wet from the ice pack he had placed on it. I carefully lay down flat. I’m sure they viewed it as the source of the pain. In fact, while my head was hot, my whole body had been very sore.
“Give me a couple aspirin,” I whimpered.
“No. Just a quiet sleep will solve the problem. If you’re sure your health is turning around, you can take the aspirin again tomorrow.”
“I hate you.”
“I don’t like you.”
I lay on the bed with my eyes tightly closed. He cleaned up the room that I had messed up earlier. Soon I was snoring myself to sleep and never woke up.
By morning felt better, though not yet healed. Masson was not in the house, but I had the feeling that he was but temporarily away. The air smelled of cigar smoke, and the ones in the ashtray seemed to be still hot.
I turned off the air conditioning, and while you may find it hard to imagine being cold in Brazil, at this point I was shivering with cold.
I dialed the number for room service and asked for coffee. Swollen eyes scanned the room absently, seeing no sign of a burglar coming in.
I greedily drank the sweet and savory coffee with milk that had just been brought in. Then went back for a soothing shower.
It was at this moment that Masson returned.
“Where are you, Sidney?” He asked loudly through the door.
“Go away,” I replied feebly.
He came in anyway. I lay submerged in a massive bubble of body wash and stared at him.
He began to snicker in a low voice. “You look horrible,” he said. “Like an angry albino.” Side to side, he sat down on the edge of the tub.
“I’m so scared. You know what? I got my ass kicked.”
“Exactly. Thanks to you meeting a lousy next door neighbor. I was up almost all night trying to clean your horrible vomit.”
“Are you asking me to thank you?” I gasped in disbelief.
“Hey, honey, I’m the one who scared that bad man away and saved your personal property. At least that’s what I think. They didn’t do anything to me. Then I put you on the floor for first aid and did the vomit-inducing work that only a servant would do. And yes, I do want you to say thank you.”
“Thank you,” I said breathlessly.
He reached into the bath soap bubble with one hand. “Remember him?” Inquired absently.
“No. What does he look like?”
“Mid-twenties, skinny, broken nose, tight jeans, shirt with a parrot graphic reflected on it, like a speedster.” He paid attention to my expression for a moment. “And look at that lump.”
I obediently sat forward, resting my forehead against my knees. Gentle fingers probed the back of my head carefully. I couldn’t help but wince when the fingers tweaked too intimately.
“It’s scabbed over,” he finally concluded. “A blow like that would be enough to kill a little man. Against you, however, it barely hurts the skin.”
“How long will it be before I don’t have to sleep on an ice pillow?” I asked as I blew soap bubbles.
He dragged hard on my shoulders so that I slumped backward into the tub. Naked, wet breasts dripping with foam.
“Ten minutes will do. No more than that. Otherwise I’ll call the doctor.”
I sank my breasts under the water and didn’t move a muscle. After a moment, he stroked the breast closest to him, his thumb lightly tracing the nipple, and I didn’t say a word. “All in all, not a bad body.” He said.
“What do you mean in a nutshell?”
“You’re a werewolf and someone who doesn’t want to change the past.” He bent down and kissed my chest.
My face must have been red as a turkey in this heat and steam. The water in the tub was as hot as I could stand it. As he kissed my second erogenous zone, I gazed at the top of his long brown-haired head.
Did he think I believed him? Now the yellow square light came back to my mind, as real as if I had seen it with my own eyes last night. He must have carried me back to the hotel. This is such a lawless town.
I must have been unconscious for a while. At least he stayed until I regained consciousness while making sure I was neither dead nor remembering anything.
In fact, I didn’t make any mistakes. I mean I clearly remember handling the situation quite soundly and taking into account the possibility that he could come out at any time and that it would be best to get off the box and hide myself. Then came the attack. I can no longer recall if there was a time lapse between the two events though.
In other words, who actually invaded me? If my memory is correct, it couldn’t have been Masson. Because I was watching him at the same time it happened. But still, I wasn’t sure. I thought of hiding, of course, and perhaps did, and it is possible that Masson recognized me at the window, snuck out, and gave me a hard time.
To kill me? That’s not going to happen. He could have carried me to the dock and left me there. But instead of doing that, he not only brought me back, he resuscitated me. I remembered something else.
What would he do if I admitted to remembering everything? Hit me hard again? Had he already made up a lie? He had plenty of time to make up a story anyway.
The thought that the man in question was licking and kissing my breasts was incredible. His hair tickled his nose and the. He tilted his head up and we were almost nose to nose.
“If I keep my eyes tightly shut, I think I’ll grow to like you,” he said softly.
“It always makes me happy when a guy says he likes me.” I stared.
“Looks like I’ll have to plug my ears.”
He bent forward and carefully kissed my lips. I responded appropriately. The kiss was searing and sensual, meaningfully sucked in.
I wrapped my wet arms around his neck and yanked.
He fell into the tub with a splash and a mess. He mouthed curses and struggled as I gloated and laughed on the sidelines, and couldn’t help but groan once my head hurt a little more from the stimulation. He finally got out of his predicament, eyes looking down at me, and lunged.
Lots of water and foam gushed out. My naked body was in full view.
“Gee, your jacket is dirty.” I said.
He tried to speak and then stopped. Trying once again to say something, he unfortunately only spat out a short sentence. “Oh, what a pain in the ass,” he said, addressing the clothes off his body.
He turned me around and wrapped his arms around me from behind. If you’re well-versed in this, you know that there aren’t a lot of comforting ways to make love in the tub. His man-root, wet and covered with foam, slipped unconsciously into my soft, engorged, swollen, juicy pussy and stabbed in, jerking violently with a mixture of irritation and lust.
It’s hard to say why I even agreed to it. Part of it was revenge. I was aroused by that Rory guy last night, and I still remembered his tender, affectionate kisses in my mind. He made me feel like a real woman and created some desires that most men can’t achieve, especially when they explain to me that I can’t do that.
It was a cruel thing for a man to do, to use his body to satisfy his own sexual desires aroused by another man, but sometimes we all seem callous, and of course they treat us no differently, and should Mason anger me in the near future, I’d be likely to tell him the truth about what’s going on right now.
At the same time, having my cunt stuffed with a thick, regularly quivering prick felt overpowering, and knowing full well that this man didn’t really like me, I didn’t put much of a damper on it. The Queen’s love-filled pussy muscles continued to squeeze and pinch the King’s thick, stiff manhood. His genitals caused my libido to soar, experiencing the ultimate in earthly pleasure.
He then sat down and made me sit down facing him as well, with water everywhere around me. He kissed me, making the kissing a bit of a chore due to the amount of energy expended. “We’ll have to declare a truce,” he said. “We’re going to leave tomorrow and hit the road proper.”
“I like that,” I said seriously. While lightly stroking his cock with my hand. “You’re good at that shit.” An idea should come to mind. If I couldn’t stop flattering him, maybe he wouldn’t be suspicious.
“You’re a terrible woman.”
“I feel very weak due to the concussion. I think I will have to stay in bed all day today.”
“Good idea, it’ll help you get well soon.”
“Ah. But it was in bed that I was assassinated.” I said, feigning ignorance.
“This won’t happen again. Shall I bring some food?”
“Oh. An excellent dish of turtle heads.”
“You remind me of someone,” he uttered a low, deep sigh, “and I daresay Salome would have been conscious of her gratitude without any inquiry when she was rescued.”
Being rescued, huh.
His manhood hangs floating up with droplets of water. Have you ever noticed how the loaded draft line on a man’s body changes with the firmness of the shaft?
I stood up and he bowed forward, nibbling at my soft, wet, dripping bulge.
Then there was a slight rubbing of the nose, licking and sucking to the point where my knees felt a sudden wave of weakness.
“Hey,” I said breathlessly. “I have to dry off and lie down on the balcony in the sun. It would be more pleasant with some crescent-shaped bread and coffee.”
I stepped out of the tub and grabbed a towel. Wiping my body carefully. The truth was, I didn’t feel too good.
He brought me breakfast and then left. Before he left he said he wanted to take some snapshots of the town before he left tomorrow.
That’s really good. I was hoping he would leave the hotel soon. I’ve long been tempted to break into his room in order to find the package I bought from Shorty last night. I’ll have a closer look. The whole thing seems a bit of a continuous dream these days. I’m going to get myself in the right frame of mind before I go. What a nosy man.
What does a man who carries a camera on an expedition to the Amazon River want in connection with such an event? What is so unusual and what is the reason for it? A man like him might smuggle something and deliver it at a predetermined place. Is it worth knocking me out just to see him buying contraband?
Where did that package come from? Why was the short man holding it? How did Masson know about it? Could the conspiracy I’d half suspected come to fruition without Carl’s help?
Does Martha know about this?
What the hell is that thing? Well, the dim light at the time was accompanied by the pain of my head being split, and I tried my best to recognize that it was a mask.
A mask.
So what harm can come from a piece like this?