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Ciudad Paraiso
- Thread starter Boccaccio
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Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 6 { In which Tanya is late for her assignation with our three friends. They are not amused}
But Sheik Abdul also looked puzzled. "But, Colonel, if you don’t think the girl is going to submit to us willingly, why did we bother to record the video of her with Don Roberto’s daughter? And by the way, could you make me a copy of that video. I’d like to have it … as a keepsake.
Colonel Chao, visibly angered by Tanya’s lateness, peered through his glasses at the ornate wall clock again. The look on his face convinced his companions that their invitee would be given good cause to regret her insolent rudeness. Chao had gently pushed the door of the cabinet shut, but the sight of the whips and canes hanging within had been firmly etched into their memory.
The colonel smiled at the sheik almost as if he were a child. "The video, I am confident, will prevent our tawny tigress from telling Don Roberto what we have done to her. If he were to learn that we have disrespected the code of the bracelets, he will be greatly incensed. That is the risk we are taking. If you think the prize is not worth the risk, it is still not too late to back out."
While the sheik pondered those words, Julius Baraka joined him at the bay window which overlooked the plaza below. "I see her now!" he said over his shoulder excitedly, reaching for the field glasses. "She is approaching the entrance to El Castillo now. Some men seem to be following her. She looks very agitated." Baraka turned toward his companions. "And indescribably desirable!"
But a wave of indecision must have swept over Tanya Spencer as she crossed the lobby of El Castillo, because another minute passed with no ring at the doorbell of the suite, and then a second and a third.
By 9:15 an angry mask of fury had settled across Colonel Chao's face. When the doorbell finally rang, he rose to his feet with a determined look on his face, his eyes reduced to thin slits.
After striding swiftly toward the foyer, Chao opened the door to an apprehensive Tanya Spencer.
"So it WAS you on the phone!" she gasped upon seeing him, recognizing the gaunt, bespectactled Chinese from their brief midday encounter in the plaza. "I thought I recognized your voice. Why have you called me here?"
"You are late, Miss Spencer," the colonel snapped icily. "Come inside. Quickly!"
"But tell me why …"
"Inside! Now!!" The colonel's voice cut through the air-conditioned entryway like a cutlass.
Tanya entered the foyer hesitantly and trembled when she heard the lock of the door click shut behind her.
"Come! My guests are most anxious to see you," Chao said in clipped tones.
Tanya stared at him fearfully and lifted her hand to brush her golden hair away from her face, making sure that the colonel could not help but see the gold bracelet on her wrist. But Colonel Chao paid no heed to her gesture and pointed her toward the salon of the magnificent suite.
Tanya stepped nervously into the large room only to find Sheik Abdul, clad once again in a flowing robe belted with an ornate braided rope, and Julius Baraka, attired in an expensive pin-striped suit, seated in plush armchairs. The two men rose to greet her, the African wincing noticeably as he put pressure on his bad knee. There was a fire in their eyes that warned Tanya that their gesture was born of carnal instinct, not courtesy.
For Tanya Spencer was wearing only a cropped white T-shirt emblazoned with a burgundy and gold collegiate logo, and a pair of ragged-hemmed cut-off blue jeans that could not possibly have been shorter or tighter.
Neither the encounter in the plaza nor the erotic scene on the sun-deck, had quite prepared the three men for the superb conditioning of Tanya's body. All of the women of Ciudad Paraiso, even the unfortunate wearers of copper bracelets who were recovering from a grueling and painful night, were obliged to spend two hours each morning putting their young bodies through a most demanding series of physical workouts in the huge gymnasium on the second floor of The Convent. Strength, stamina, and flexibility were the objects of these work-outs which were overseen by a cadre of stern coaches of both sexes. The gain of a single pound of body fat was punishable by fifty laps around the circumference of the gym. A second such offense earned the culprit a run through a forty-woman gauntlet of her peers, all armed with wet towels that had just been removed from the near-boiling water of the gymnasium's hard-working laundry machines. By the time the nude ne'er-do-well had made it to the end of the gauntlet every inch of her body would sting from the crack of the wet towels.
To enforce attendance, an unexcused absence from the daily work-outs was made grounds for demotion to bronze bracelet status. An absence by a woman who was already a wearer of the unlucky bronze, earned that unfortunate a long and comprehensive 'training session' with three or four of Don Roberto's thugs. In all the sordid history of Ciudad Paraiso, no bronze bracelet wearer had ever missed a second workout.
As Tanya moved forward hesitantly, the three men marveled at the muscle tone of her limbs. Her legs had been hidden by the toreador pants she had worn earlier in the day and the sky camera that had recorded her tete-a-tete with Letitia had not quite done them justice. The trainers of the Gymnasium Paraiso clearly knew how to mould the female body to the peak of athletic trimness without compromising its shapeliness, for Tanya Spencer had the well-toned thighs and flat belly of a beach volleyball player. In fact Tanya looked for all the world as if she had just come from such a competition. Her golden thighs were sleek with perspiration and her short, sweat-dampened T-shirt clung to her voluptuous bra-less breasts like wet tissue paper. The gold insignia on her shirt brought out the burnished gold of her hair, and the wine-red lettering on her skimpy top was of the same shade of burgundy as the brief bikini she had worn on her sun deck earlier.
"Allah be praised," the Sheik blasphemed in a hoarse whisper as he ogled the contours of Tanya's superb breasts, her half-erect nipples clearly outlined against the bleached cotton. Baraka's moist tongue moved across his African lips as his eyes slid downward from Tanya's ripe-nippled globes, lingering for a moment on the fetching eight-inch wide swath of golden belly beneath the uneven cropping of the shirt. He lowered his ravenous eyes further still, to her deliciously skin-tight shorts, envisioning the sweet bulge at the base of her buttocks that would meld so tantalizingly into the tops of her long, athletic legs.
But while his guests feasted their eyes on Tanya's scanty attire and her obvious charms, Colonel Chao ran his eyes over her face, figure, and costume as if he were staring at a ghost. He eyed the block letters on her sweat-damp shirt, whose straight lines were bowed by the sumptuous curves of her breasts disbelievingly. He spat out the syllables, "USC," in a hushed voice edged with malice. "The University of Southern California."
"Y-yes," Tanya stammered nervously, trying to ingratiate herself with these three men whose dark eyes were sunk in stony faces. "I went there for two years until…"
"Why are you late?" Chao interrupted her curtly, as he crossed the room in the direction of the mahogany cabinet. "You have embarrassed me in front of my guests."
"I… I'm very sorry, sir," Tanya said timorously and then suddenly fell silent.
For the khaki-clad colonel had swung open the door of the mahogany cabinet. Tanya gasped and recoiled in horror as he removed an evil-looking cane-switch. The business end of the cane was a pencil-thick switch, studded on all sides with irregular gnarls and nubs; the handle of the cane was smooth and perfectly contoured to fit into a man's hand.
Colonel Chao gently closed the door of the cabinet, leaving the key hanging in the lock. Then he swept the cane-switch through the air, once, twice, three times.
The resulting whoosh of air caused Tanya to feel weak at the knees. Alert now to her danger, she glanced over her shoulder and cursed under her breath when she saw that the looming presence of Julius Baraka, who had been ogling her backside with unconcealed salaciousness, had blocked her pathway to the only exit.
“Why were you late?” Chao hissed again.
More conscious than ever of her scanty attire, Tanya began edging her way toward the center of the room, hoping to create an angle of retreat that would open a path to the door. "I … I was very nervous about … about coming here. I … went out for a jog about ninety minutes ago, hoping that it would calm my nerves."
The colonel snapped the switch down against the arm of a heavily upholstered chair, nodding with grim satisfaction at the explosive sound of the impact. "Is it your usual custom to show up for an appointment with an honored guest of Don Roberto in such unbecoming attire? Your hair in disarray, without make-up, your body covered with perspiration?"
Julius Baraka had to choke back a smirk at the Colonel's words. Tanya Spencer may have been dressed hyper-casually, but her outfit was hardly unbecoming. It would have been difficult to imagine a costume which displayed her evenly-tanned flesh or her hourglass figure to better advantage.
"N-no, of course not."
"Then explain, please."
"I – I went out for a run, as I said, but just before I got back to the Plaza Roberto a group of men stopped me."
Knowing smiles creased the corners of the mouths of her three admirers. It was a time-honored custom of Ciudad Paraiso for male patrons to work together to undermine the protections afforded by Don Roberto's bracelets. The men who delayed Tanya were not permitted to harm a bearer of the golden bracelet. But by delaying her, by making her late for an assignation, they could ensnare even a possessor of a golden bracelet in an awkward predicament. By threatening to reveal her tardiness to Don Roberto – an action which could easily strip her of her hard-won 'golden' status, an opportunistic client was sometimes in a position to extort forbidden pleasures, even from wearers of the coveted gold and silver bracelets.
"Did you not tell them you had an appointment?"
"Yes, but …" Still moving nonchalantly to her left, hoping to create a pathway to the exit, she glanced at the men pleadingly.
"Well, then …?"
"But surely you know that even a wearer of a golden bracelet can be stopped by any of the patrons?"
The three men knew this very well, but continued to glare at Tanya doubtfully.
"They … they blocked my path and told me that if I was in need of exercise, that I should do push-ups. Fifty of them. On top of one of the picnic tables at the far end of the plaza."
"I – I had no choice," Tanya continued. "A crowd gathered, and as I began they began to bet amongst themselves whether I could do the required number."
Sheik Abdul smirked at these words. It was hardly surprising that a crowd would have gathered to watch a scantily-clad Tanya Spencer do push-ups on a platform in the plaza. To see the rivulets of sweat running down her bare arms and tanned legs. To see the pendulous peaks of her firm young breasts kissing the table half a hundred times, to see those denim-encased buttocks pistoning up and down again and again and again. The very thought of such a sight sent a thrill of pleasure through his hairy testicles.
"I saw that crowd in the distance through the window," Colonel Chao said severely. But they dispersed ten or twelve minutes ago. Baraka saw you enter the lobby of El Castillo a full five minutes before your arrival at my door. I might have pardoned one delay," Chao lied, "but surely not a second."
"But it wasn't my fault! You have to believe me," Tanya pleaded, her voice growing more desperate by the moment. "Three men who had lost money betting against me, followed me into the hotel. They caught up to me just as I got into the elevator."
"And?" Colonel Chao intoned in a voice that was in no mood to brook further excuses.
" They stopped the elevator in between floors and one of them demanded that I take off my sports bra and give it to him. As a souvenir to make up for the money he had lost, I suppose." Tanya looked at the three men glumly. "You don't think I make it a habit to jog dressed like this do you?" she added, glancing demurely downward at her bra-less breasts.
Julius Baraka's fingers began to twitch as he stared at Tanya's pleasure-mounds with undisguised lust. He could hardly wait to rip Tanya's thin, sweat-damp tee-shirt to rags and to take those succulent proud-nippled melons in his black hands. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the sheik, too, had edged his way around behind Tanya, also with the aim of partially obstructing her path to the door. But his new position also afforded him a splendid view of her superb derriere. The corpulent Arab stared at Tanya's rounded bottom as if transfixed
But Sheik Abdul also looked puzzled. "But, Colonel, if you don’t think the girl is going to submit to us willingly, why did we bother to record the video of her with Don Roberto’s daughter? And by the way, could you make me a copy of that video. I’d like to have it … as a keepsake.
Colonel Chao, visibly angered by Tanya’s lateness, peered through his glasses at the ornate wall clock again. The look on his face convinced his companions that their invitee would be given good cause to regret her insolent rudeness. Chao had gently pushed the door of the cabinet shut, but the sight of the whips and canes hanging within had been firmly etched into their memory.
The colonel smiled at the sheik almost as if he were a child. "The video, I am confident, will prevent our tawny tigress from telling Don Roberto what we have done to her. If he were to learn that we have disrespected the code of the bracelets, he will be greatly incensed. That is the risk we are taking. If you think the prize is not worth the risk, it is still not too late to back out."
While the sheik pondered those words, Julius Baraka joined him at the bay window which overlooked the plaza below. "I see her now!" he said over his shoulder excitedly, reaching for the field glasses. "She is approaching the entrance to El Castillo now. Some men seem to be following her. She looks very agitated." Baraka turned toward his companions. "And indescribably desirable!"
But a wave of indecision must have swept over Tanya Spencer as she crossed the lobby of El Castillo, because another minute passed with no ring at the doorbell of the suite, and then a second and a third.
By 9:15 an angry mask of fury had settled across Colonel Chao's face. When the doorbell finally rang, he rose to his feet with a determined look on his face, his eyes reduced to thin slits.
After striding swiftly toward the foyer, Chao opened the door to an apprehensive Tanya Spencer.
"So it WAS you on the phone!" she gasped upon seeing him, recognizing the gaunt, bespectactled Chinese from their brief midday encounter in the plaza. "I thought I recognized your voice. Why have you called me here?"
"You are late, Miss Spencer," the colonel snapped icily. "Come inside. Quickly!"
"But tell me why …"
"Inside! Now!!" The colonel's voice cut through the air-conditioned entryway like a cutlass.
Tanya entered the foyer hesitantly and trembled when she heard the lock of the door click shut behind her.
"Come! My guests are most anxious to see you," Chao said in clipped tones.
Tanya stared at him fearfully and lifted her hand to brush her golden hair away from her face, making sure that the colonel could not help but see the gold bracelet on her wrist. But Colonel Chao paid no heed to her gesture and pointed her toward the salon of the magnificent suite.
Tanya stepped nervously into the large room only to find Sheik Abdul, clad once again in a flowing robe belted with an ornate braided rope, and Julius Baraka, attired in an expensive pin-striped suit, seated in plush armchairs. The two men rose to greet her, the African wincing noticeably as he put pressure on his bad knee. There was a fire in their eyes that warned Tanya that their gesture was born of carnal instinct, not courtesy.
For Tanya Spencer was wearing only a cropped white T-shirt emblazoned with a burgundy and gold collegiate logo, and a pair of ragged-hemmed cut-off blue jeans that could not possibly have been shorter or tighter.
Neither the encounter in the plaza nor the erotic scene on the sun-deck, had quite prepared the three men for the superb conditioning of Tanya's body. All of the women of Ciudad Paraiso, even the unfortunate wearers of copper bracelets who were recovering from a grueling and painful night, were obliged to spend two hours each morning putting their young bodies through a most demanding series of physical workouts in the huge gymnasium on the second floor of The Convent. Strength, stamina, and flexibility were the objects of these work-outs which were overseen by a cadre of stern coaches of both sexes. The gain of a single pound of body fat was punishable by fifty laps around the circumference of the gym. A second such offense earned the culprit a run through a forty-woman gauntlet of her peers, all armed with wet towels that had just been removed from the near-boiling water of the gymnasium's hard-working laundry machines. By the time the nude ne'er-do-well had made it to the end of the gauntlet every inch of her body would sting from the crack of the wet towels.
To enforce attendance, an unexcused absence from the daily work-outs was made grounds for demotion to bronze bracelet status. An absence by a woman who was already a wearer of the unlucky bronze, earned that unfortunate a long and comprehensive 'training session' with three or four of Don Roberto's thugs. In all the sordid history of Ciudad Paraiso, no bronze bracelet wearer had ever missed a second workout.
As Tanya moved forward hesitantly, the three men marveled at the muscle tone of her limbs. Her legs had been hidden by the toreador pants she had worn earlier in the day and the sky camera that had recorded her tete-a-tete with Letitia had not quite done them justice. The trainers of the Gymnasium Paraiso clearly knew how to mould the female body to the peak of athletic trimness without compromising its shapeliness, for Tanya Spencer had the well-toned thighs and flat belly of a beach volleyball player. In fact Tanya looked for all the world as if she had just come from such a competition. Her golden thighs were sleek with perspiration and her short, sweat-dampened T-shirt clung to her voluptuous bra-less breasts like wet tissue paper. The gold insignia on her shirt brought out the burnished gold of her hair, and the wine-red lettering on her skimpy top was of the same shade of burgundy as the brief bikini she had worn on her sun deck earlier.
"Allah be praised," the Sheik blasphemed in a hoarse whisper as he ogled the contours of Tanya's superb breasts, her half-erect nipples clearly outlined against the bleached cotton. Baraka's moist tongue moved across his African lips as his eyes slid downward from Tanya's ripe-nippled globes, lingering for a moment on the fetching eight-inch wide swath of golden belly beneath the uneven cropping of the shirt. He lowered his ravenous eyes further still, to her deliciously skin-tight shorts, envisioning the sweet bulge at the base of her buttocks that would meld so tantalizingly into the tops of her long, athletic legs.
But while his guests feasted their eyes on Tanya's scanty attire and her obvious charms, Colonel Chao ran his eyes over her face, figure, and costume as if he were staring at a ghost. He eyed the block letters on her sweat-damp shirt, whose straight lines were bowed by the sumptuous curves of her breasts disbelievingly. He spat out the syllables, "USC," in a hushed voice edged with malice. "The University of Southern California."
"Y-yes," Tanya stammered nervously, trying to ingratiate herself with these three men whose dark eyes were sunk in stony faces. "I went there for two years until…"
"Why are you late?" Chao interrupted her curtly, as he crossed the room in the direction of the mahogany cabinet. "You have embarrassed me in front of my guests."
"I… I'm very sorry, sir," Tanya said timorously and then suddenly fell silent.
For the khaki-clad colonel had swung open the door of the mahogany cabinet. Tanya gasped and recoiled in horror as he removed an evil-looking cane-switch. The business end of the cane was a pencil-thick switch, studded on all sides with irregular gnarls and nubs; the handle of the cane was smooth and perfectly contoured to fit into a man's hand.
Colonel Chao gently closed the door of the cabinet, leaving the key hanging in the lock. Then he swept the cane-switch through the air, once, twice, three times.
The resulting whoosh of air caused Tanya to feel weak at the knees. Alert now to her danger, she glanced over her shoulder and cursed under her breath when she saw that the looming presence of Julius Baraka, who had been ogling her backside with unconcealed salaciousness, had blocked her pathway to the only exit.
“Why were you late?” Chao hissed again.
More conscious than ever of her scanty attire, Tanya began edging her way toward the center of the room, hoping to create an angle of retreat that would open a path to the door. "I … I was very nervous about … about coming here. I … went out for a jog about ninety minutes ago, hoping that it would calm my nerves."
The colonel snapped the switch down against the arm of a heavily upholstered chair, nodding with grim satisfaction at the explosive sound of the impact. "Is it your usual custom to show up for an appointment with an honored guest of Don Roberto in such unbecoming attire? Your hair in disarray, without make-up, your body covered with perspiration?"
Julius Baraka had to choke back a smirk at the Colonel's words. Tanya Spencer may have been dressed hyper-casually, but her outfit was hardly unbecoming. It would have been difficult to imagine a costume which displayed her evenly-tanned flesh or her hourglass figure to better advantage.
"N-no, of course not."
"Then explain, please."
"I – I went out for a run, as I said, but just before I got back to the Plaza Roberto a group of men stopped me."
Knowing smiles creased the corners of the mouths of her three admirers. It was a time-honored custom of Ciudad Paraiso for male patrons to work together to undermine the protections afforded by Don Roberto's bracelets. The men who delayed Tanya were not permitted to harm a bearer of the golden bracelet. But by delaying her, by making her late for an assignation, they could ensnare even a possessor of a golden bracelet in an awkward predicament. By threatening to reveal her tardiness to Don Roberto – an action which could easily strip her of her hard-won 'golden' status, an opportunistic client was sometimes in a position to extort forbidden pleasures, even from wearers of the coveted gold and silver bracelets.
"Did you not tell them you had an appointment?"
"Yes, but …" Still moving nonchalantly to her left, hoping to create a pathway to the exit, she glanced at the men pleadingly.
"Well, then …?"
"But surely you know that even a wearer of a golden bracelet can be stopped by any of the patrons?"
The three men knew this very well, but continued to glare at Tanya doubtfully.
"They … they blocked my path and told me that if I was in need of exercise, that I should do push-ups. Fifty of them. On top of one of the picnic tables at the far end of the plaza."
"I – I had no choice," Tanya continued. "A crowd gathered, and as I began they began to bet amongst themselves whether I could do the required number."
Sheik Abdul smirked at these words. It was hardly surprising that a crowd would have gathered to watch a scantily-clad Tanya Spencer do push-ups on a platform in the plaza. To see the rivulets of sweat running down her bare arms and tanned legs. To see the pendulous peaks of her firm young breasts kissing the table half a hundred times, to see those denim-encased buttocks pistoning up and down again and again and again. The very thought of such a sight sent a thrill of pleasure through his hairy testicles.
"I saw that crowd in the distance through the window," Colonel Chao said severely. But they dispersed ten or twelve minutes ago. Baraka saw you enter the lobby of El Castillo a full five minutes before your arrival at my door. I might have pardoned one delay," Chao lied, "but surely not a second."
"But it wasn't my fault! You have to believe me," Tanya pleaded, her voice growing more desperate by the moment. "Three men who had lost money betting against me, followed me into the hotel. They caught up to me just as I got into the elevator."
"And?" Colonel Chao intoned in a voice that was in no mood to brook further excuses.
" They stopped the elevator in between floors and one of them demanded that I take off my sports bra and give it to him. As a souvenir to make up for the money he had lost, I suppose." Tanya looked at the three men glumly. "You don't think I make it a habit to jog dressed like this do you?" she added, glancing demurely downward at her bra-less breasts.
Julius Baraka's fingers began to twitch as he stared at Tanya's pleasure-mounds with undisguised lust. He could hardly wait to rip Tanya's thin, sweat-damp tee-shirt to rags and to take those succulent proud-nippled melons in his black hands. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that the sheik, too, had edged his way around behind Tanya, also with the aim of partially obstructing her path to the door. But his new position also afforded him a splendid view of her superb derriere. The corpulent Arab stared at Tanya's rounded bottom as if transfixed
Marcius
Tribune
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 7 {In which the three gentlemen attempt to subdue their guest and a violent struggle ensues
For the first time Tanya was almost thankful for the punitive physical training she had undergone after incurring Don Roberto’s wrath. Her body was as fit as it had ever been and her stamina was not in question. Her trainers had made her run and swim and bike to the point of exhaustion. She had done push-ups and sit-ups and pull-ups until her body ached and she was sure that she could do no more. Until the sting of the trainer’s lash had forced her to do more. But the one athletic discipline that none of the young women of Ciudad Paraiso had not been schooled in was self-defense. Courage, not experience, would be her only defense, if the three men who had summoned her decided to attack her.
Feeling their eyes raking her scantily clad body, Tanya turned to Colonel Chao nervously, hoping against hope to bring this nerve-wracking appointment to a swift conclusion. "Why did you call me this afternoon? You said, 'Only I can protect you.' "
"My dear," said Chao, as his thin-slitted eyes drifted down Tanya Spencer's magnificent body and then back up again. "It is quite simple. I summoned you here because my colleagues and I find you the most desirable creature in Ciudad Paraiso. And we intend to have you. In every conceivable way."
"Well, think again, buster!" Tanya bristled angrily, brandishing her golden bracelet. "If you dare to lay a hand on me …"
"Oh, we'll lay our hands on you, Miss Spencer. And much more than our hands," Chao snarled as he lashed out left-handedly with the cane, THWICKKing Tanya smartly on her right thigh.
"Ooww! You're crazy," Tanya hissed in an agitated voice, as she slowly backed away. "You'll never get away with this! Don Roberto will crush you like grasshoppers beneath his feet!"
"Perhaps," muttered the colonel. "But first my colleagues and I shall have the pleasure of crushing you. Get her!" he cried to his partners.
"You bastard!" Tanya shrieked and turned toward the door only to find that the bearded Arab was blocking her path. With remarkable agility Tanya snatched up a priceless Tiffany table lamp, jerked its cord out of the wall socket, threw it at Sheik Abdul's head and made a bolt for the door.
"Accursed whore!" roared the sheik as he raised an arm defensively, but the edge of the lamp smashed into the side of his head before crashing to the floor and shattering. Tanya's body followed closely behind the lamp, and she flew at the heavy-set Arab, her arms flailing, trying to knock him out of her path.
The sheik's squat physique was well-suited to doorway blocking however, and he held his ground resolutely, defending his bloodied face from Tanya's clawing hands until Julius Baraka's long arm reached out and grabbed her by the nape of her tee-shirt. The African spun her around with such force that he tore a large gash in the back of her shirt. Tanya pulled free and launched a heavy ashtray at Baraka, striking him painfully in the chest, and then, remembering how he had favored one leg upon rising to greet her, aimed a violent kick at his bad kneecap.
The African stepped back quickly in an attempt at evasion, and Tanya's foot struck only a glancing blow, but even so he felt waves of pain ripping through his knee joint. "You fucking cunt!" he roared. “You’re going to pay for that!”
THWICKK!! The colonel joined the fray, cracking the rod across Tanya's bare upper thigh, just below the ragged hem of her shorts.
"Owwww!!” Tanya yelled again, grimacing in pain as she reached for her burning leg. That slight delay proved her undoing for the burly, bloodied sheik threw himself on her from behind, driving her thighs into the side panel of a massive sofa. With a lusty growl, the fat-bellied Arab clawed at the waistband of Tanya's cut-offs. His greedy hands quickly went to work, yanking her tight-fitting shorts and wispy white panties halfway down the sumptuous curves of her buttocks.
Kicking at him furiously, the Arab’s athletic prey broke free again and hurdled the sofa only to find that a limping Julius Baraka had armed himself with a short-handled whip from the mahogany cabinet.
WHAPPPP!! The giant African swept the six tails of the whip across Tanya's bare midriff with a ferocious backhand.
"Aaaaggghhh!!' Tanya cried out, bending over in pain as the six leather tails with their four and twenty hardened knots bit into her belly flesh. The force of the blow spun her sideways giving the colonel a clear shot at the two or three inches of newly-bared butt-flesh and he brought the cane down violently on Tanya's tempting behind.
THWICKK!!
Ouww!
Tanya yelped in pain again and sprang at the colonel, targeting his seemingly useless right arm, only to feel the thongs of Baraka's whip ripping into her breasts with such force that the front of the logoed tee shirt was all but destroyed. The circular collar of the tee hung from her neck by a few frayed threads, but both of her breasts were now exposed, deliciously vulnerable to further attacks.
As she screamed, the former basketballer’s s long left arm reached out and seized what was left of the shirt and ripped it from her body with a powerful jerk of his arm. Tanya spun away again, but stumbled over an end table, allowing the towering African to scald the back of her thighs with the knotted whip. A moment later the bulky, bearded Arab blocked her path and spun her around so that Baraka could target her mouthwatering breasts.
CRACKKK!! The tails of the whip raked Tanya’s nude treasures with fiery tongues.
“Owwww!” You fucking bastard!” she screamed, spinning sideways in agony. She tried to take a step toward the door, toward possible safety, but Colonel Chao quickly moved to block her path. In a panic she tried again to change her course, but not before the Chinese intelligence officer had lashed his cane across the summits of her breasts, finding one nipple and barely missing the other, opening a thin crimson gash on her left aureole.
THWICKK!!
“AGHHHH!!’” Tanya’s tender breasts exploded with pain.
“That was for being late, Miss Spencer, Chao snarled. “Perhaps the next time I summon you, my dear, you will be on time.”
“Fuck you!” Tanya screamed. But despite her pain she managed to bend down and upturn a glass coffee table with a resounding crash, thereby slowing Chao’s advance.
“Shut up, whore!” Sheik Abdul, his swarthy features contorted by rage, drove a massive fist into Tanya's unprotected mid-section, stopping her in her tracks.
"Unnnnngghhh!" Tanya groaned, doubling up in pain and staggering backward, only to feel the wicked knots of Baraka's whip raking across the tawny flesh of her bare back.
CRACCK!!
“Aghhh!”
Tanya fell to her hands and knees, but still she did not surrender. Hampered by the fact that her cut-offs were halfway down her backside, she scuttled away from the sheik. She failed to see the approach of Julius Baraka and the gut-churning kick to her mid-section that the African oil minister delivered with his good leg.
THWUCKK!! The size 15 Italian wingtip cannoned viciously into her bare belly, sucking the air from of her lungs.
Wobbly now, and gasping for oxygen, Tanya staggered back to her feet, but her effort was rewarded with an upsweeping left-handed cane stroke into the sensitive undercurves of her sweat-sheened breasts.
THWICK!!
Aughh!!
Chao felt a jolt of erotic electricity course through his genitals as his weapon bit deep into Tanya’s tit-globes.
When she brought her arms in front of her torso defensively, Baraka lashed the tops of her half-exposed buttocks with a scalding blow.
CRACCKK!!
The African’s lash spun her halfway around again. Waiting for her was Sheik Abdul, his hairy hands clenched in fury. An instant later the corpulent Arab hammered his right fist into Tanya’s left breast, pulverizing her swollen nipple and smearing the trickle of scarlet caused by Chao’s wicked rod.
The bare-breasted blonde’s knees buckled and Sheik Abdul followed up with a punishing left hook to the outer contour of her right breast. A vicious lash of Baraka’s whip across the backs of her supple thighs, and another nipple-searing cane-stroke from Colonel Chao finally brought her down.
“Place her on the couch,” Chao grunted.
The struggle with the blonde co-ed had given Baraka an erection that was as hard as a Kimbereley diamond. If it had been up to him, he would have plunged it into Tanya on the spot. But, cognizant that it had been Chao’s stratagem that had lured Tanya into their clutches, he deferred to the colonel. After all the night was still young.
Baraka wasted no time in picking up their out-of-breath captive and body-slamming her face down onto a broad, brocaded divan. The African planted his big knee in the small of her back, immobilizing her torso.
“Let’s see the rest of that sweet ass!” Sheik Abdul snarled.
For the first time Tanya was almost thankful for the punitive physical training she had undergone after incurring Don Roberto’s wrath. Her body was as fit as it had ever been and her stamina was not in question. Her trainers had made her run and swim and bike to the point of exhaustion. She had done push-ups and sit-ups and pull-ups until her body ached and she was sure that she could do no more. Until the sting of the trainer’s lash had forced her to do more. But the one athletic discipline that none of the young women of Ciudad Paraiso had not been schooled in was self-defense. Courage, not experience, would be her only defense, if the three men who had summoned her decided to attack her.
Feeling their eyes raking her scantily clad body, Tanya turned to Colonel Chao nervously, hoping against hope to bring this nerve-wracking appointment to a swift conclusion. "Why did you call me this afternoon? You said, 'Only I can protect you.' "
"My dear," said Chao, as his thin-slitted eyes drifted down Tanya Spencer's magnificent body and then back up again. "It is quite simple. I summoned you here because my colleagues and I find you the most desirable creature in Ciudad Paraiso. And we intend to have you. In every conceivable way."
"Well, think again, buster!" Tanya bristled angrily, brandishing her golden bracelet. "If you dare to lay a hand on me …"
"Oh, we'll lay our hands on you, Miss Spencer. And much more than our hands," Chao snarled as he lashed out left-handedly with the cane, THWICKKing Tanya smartly on her right thigh.
"Ooww! You're crazy," Tanya hissed in an agitated voice, as she slowly backed away. "You'll never get away with this! Don Roberto will crush you like grasshoppers beneath his feet!"
"Perhaps," muttered the colonel. "But first my colleagues and I shall have the pleasure of crushing you. Get her!" he cried to his partners.
"You bastard!" Tanya shrieked and turned toward the door only to find that the bearded Arab was blocking her path. With remarkable agility Tanya snatched up a priceless Tiffany table lamp, jerked its cord out of the wall socket, threw it at Sheik Abdul's head and made a bolt for the door.
"Accursed whore!" roared the sheik as he raised an arm defensively, but the edge of the lamp smashed into the side of his head before crashing to the floor and shattering. Tanya's body followed closely behind the lamp, and she flew at the heavy-set Arab, her arms flailing, trying to knock him out of her path.
The sheik's squat physique was well-suited to doorway blocking however, and he held his ground resolutely, defending his bloodied face from Tanya's clawing hands until Julius Baraka's long arm reached out and grabbed her by the nape of her tee-shirt. The African spun her around with such force that he tore a large gash in the back of her shirt. Tanya pulled free and launched a heavy ashtray at Baraka, striking him painfully in the chest, and then, remembering how he had favored one leg upon rising to greet her, aimed a violent kick at his bad kneecap.
The African stepped back quickly in an attempt at evasion, and Tanya's foot struck only a glancing blow, but even so he felt waves of pain ripping through his knee joint. "You fucking cunt!" he roared. “You’re going to pay for that!”
THWICKK!! The colonel joined the fray, cracking the rod across Tanya's bare upper thigh, just below the ragged hem of her shorts.
"Owwww!!” Tanya yelled again, grimacing in pain as she reached for her burning leg. That slight delay proved her undoing for the burly, bloodied sheik threw himself on her from behind, driving her thighs into the side panel of a massive sofa. With a lusty growl, the fat-bellied Arab clawed at the waistband of Tanya's cut-offs. His greedy hands quickly went to work, yanking her tight-fitting shorts and wispy white panties halfway down the sumptuous curves of her buttocks.
Kicking at him furiously, the Arab’s athletic prey broke free again and hurdled the sofa only to find that a limping Julius Baraka had armed himself with a short-handled whip from the mahogany cabinet.
WHAPPPP!! The giant African swept the six tails of the whip across Tanya's bare midriff with a ferocious backhand.
"Aaaaggghhh!!' Tanya cried out, bending over in pain as the six leather tails with their four and twenty hardened knots bit into her belly flesh. The force of the blow spun her sideways giving the colonel a clear shot at the two or three inches of newly-bared butt-flesh and he brought the cane down violently on Tanya's tempting behind.
THWICKK!!
Ouww!
Tanya yelped in pain again and sprang at the colonel, targeting his seemingly useless right arm, only to feel the thongs of Baraka's whip ripping into her breasts with such force that the front of the logoed tee shirt was all but destroyed. The circular collar of the tee hung from her neck by a few frayed threads, but both of her breasts were now exposed, deliciously vulnerable to further attacks.
As she screamed, the former basketballer’s s long left arm reached out and seized what was left of the shirt and ripped it from her body with a powerful jerk of his arm. Tanya spun away again, but stumbled over an end table, allowing the towering African to scald the back of her thighs with the knotted whip. A moment later the bulky, bearded Arab blocked her path and spun her around so that Baraka could target her mouthwatering breasts.
CRACKKK!! The tails of the whip raked Tanya’s nude treasures with fiery tongues.
“Owwww!” You fucking bastard!” she screamed, spinning sideways in agony. She tried to take a step toward the door, toward possible safety, but Colonel Chao quickly moved to block her path. In a panic she tried again to change her course, but not before the Chinese intelligence officer had lashed his cane across the summits of her breasts, finding one nipple and barely missing the other, opening a thin crimson gash on her left aureole.
THWICKK!!
“AGHHHH!!’” Tanya’s tender breasts exploded with pain.
“That was for being late, Miss Spencer, Chao snarled. “Perhaps the next time I summon you, my dear, you will be on time.”
“Fuck you!” Tanya screamed. But despite her pain she managed to bend down and upturn a glass coffee table with a resounding crash, thereby slowing Chao’s advance.
“Shut up, whore!” Sheik Abdul, his swarthy features contorted by rage, drove a massive fist into Tanya's unprotected mid-section, stopping her in her tracks.
"Unnnnngghhh!" Tanya groaned, doubling up in pain and staggering backward, only to feel the wicked knots of Baraka's whip raking across the tawny flesh of her bare back.
CRACCK!!
“Aghhh!”
Tanya fell to her hands and knees, but still she did not surrender. Hampered by the fact that her cut-offs were halfway down her backside, she scuttled away from the sheik. She failed to see the approach of Julius Baraka and the gut-churning kick to her mid-section that the African oil minister delivered with his good leg.
THWUCKK!! The size 15 Italian wingtip cannoned viciously into her bare belly, sucking the air from of her lungs.
Wobbly now, and gasping for oxygen, Tanya staggered back to her feet, but her effort was rewarded with an upsweeping left-handed cane stroke into the sensitive undercurves of her sweat-sheened breasts.
THWICK!!
Aughh!!
Chao felt a jolt of erotic electricity course through his genitals as his weapon bit deep into Tanya’s tit-globes.
When she brought her arms in front of her torso defensively, Baraka lashed the tops of her half-exposed buttocks with a scalding blow.
CRACCKK!!
The African’s lash spun her halfway around again. Waiting for her was Sheik Abdul, his hairy hands clenched in fury. An instant later the corpulent Arab hammered his right fist into Tanya’s left breast, pulverizing her swollen nipple and smearing the trickle of scarlet caused by Chao’s wicked rod.
The bare-breasted blonde’s knees buckled and Sheik Abdul followed up with a punishing left hook to the outer contour of her right breast. A vicious lash of Baraka’s whip across the backs of her supple thighs, and another nipple-searing cane-stroke from Colonel Chao finally brought her down.
“Place her on the couch,” Chao grunted.
The struggle with the blonde co-ed had given Baraka an erection that was as hard as a Kimbereley diamond. If it had been up to him, he would have plunged it into Tanya on the spot. But, cognizant that it had been Chao’s stratagem that had lured Tanya into their clutches, he deferred to the colonel. After all the night was still young.
Baraka wasted no time in picking up their out-of-breath captive and body-slamming her face down onto a broad, brocaded divan. The African planted his big knee in the small of her back, immobilizing her torso.
“Let’s see the rest of that sweet ass!” Sheik Abdul snarled.
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 8 {In which Tanya's unfortunate encounter with the three gentlemen goes from bad to worse}
Tanya’s arms and legs flailed away wildly but she unable to prevent a grunting Sheik Abdul from pulling her tight cut-offs down over her squirming bottom-ovals.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Tanya screamed without result. She winced as she felt the raised pattern and metallic threads in the brocade scraping against her cane-ravaged nipples
When the blue denim was halfway down her golden thighs, the colonel said, “That should do nicely. Would you care to have first innings, my friend?” he said with a sardonic smile, offering the cane to the sheik.
As the sheik wiped again at the blood streaming from the side of his face, he growled his assent. “I’ll teach the whore not to attack the son of an emir.”
The sheik wiped his bloody hand on Tanya’s wriggling buttocks. “it’s my turn, now, wench!” he snarled. Then he raised the cane and swept it down onto the base of Tanya’s backside, at the place where the tops of her silken thighs melded into the rounded curves of her bottom.
CRACKK!!
“Agh!”
Tanya’s torso bucked as she felt the searing kiss of the cane, but the big African’s knee easily held her in place.
CRACKK!! A second stroke, perhaps even harder than the first, whistled down across the top of her shuddering nether-globes.
“Aagh!!”
Colonel Chao looked on attentively noting that Sheik Abdul’s ugly visage was contorted into a mask of lust.
The Arab tightened his grip on the cane, and then sawed it back and forth across the midpoint of Tanya’s delicious backside, his gaze fixed on the shadowy cleft between her bottomcheeks, the cheeks that he hoped to spread with eager, clutching fingers before the night was done.
The cane hissed through the air and then bisected the squirming girl’s derriere with yet another stroke.
CRACKKK!!
"Aiaaahh!!"
From his enviable vantage point with his good knee pressing down across Tanya’s spine, Julius Baraka was mesmerized by the whistle of the cane through the air, the cock-stiffening sound of the rod biting deeply into Tanya’s wriggling buttocks, and the almost autumnal graduation of the marks on her backside from white to pink to livid red.
So mesmerized was he, in fact that when he shifted position slightly to ease the stiffness in his good knee, Tanya saw her chance and drove her elbow into his bad knee with all the strength she could muster.
The African screamed in agony as the pain shot through the ACL in the surgically repaired joint and he fell to the floor clutching his leg.
With Baraka off of her, the athletic young blonde sprang to her knees and aimed a fist at the sheik’s swollen crotch, but missed narrowly, her blow landing high on his quadriceps. Even so, he howled in pain and dropped the cane.
Seizing it, Tanya turned to face Chao, who, having offered the cane to Abdul moments earlier, was now unarmed. Tanya swung the cane at him wildly, and he retreated and Tanya tried to make a bolt for the door.
But not only were her quickness and agility impaired by the blows she had endured, her cut-off denims were still at half-mast. She took a moment to tug them up so that the could move freely but the brief delay proved fatal.
An instant later she felt Sheik Abdul wrapping his hairy arms around her from behind in a relentless bear hug, crushing the solar plexus he had earlier smashed with his fist. Tanya raked his arms with her nails. But moment later, with a loud grunt of pleasure, he once again tugged her shorts well down her thighs and fell backward into a plush over-sized armchair, pulling the struggling beauty down onto his lap.
"Let me go!" Tanya protested, realizing by the pressure of his fat cock against her buttocks and thighs that the Sheik had undone the braided cinch that held his robe together and had hiked it up around his waist. But Abdul was not to be denied. His hairy hands encircled Tanya's slender waist and then slid up her bare belly, and then higher still, up over her naked breasts. Giving an ursine growl, Abdul cupped her luscious pleasure-mounds in his pudgy fingers and gave them a predatory squeeze.
Tanya’s arms and legs flailed away wildly but she unable to prevent a grunting Sheik Abdul from pulling her tight cut-offs down over her squirming bottom-ovals.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Tanya screamed without result. She winced as she felt the raised pattern and metallic threads in the brocade scraping against her cane-ravaged nipples
When the blue denim was halfway down her golden thighs, the colonel said, “That should do nicely. Would you care to have first innings, my friend?” he said with a sardonic smile, offering the cane to the sheik.
As the sheik wiped again at the blood streaming from the side of his face, he growled his assent. “I’ll teach the whore not to attack the son of an emir.”
The sheik wiped his bloody hand on Tanya’s wriggling buttocks. “it’s my turn, now, wench!” he snarled. Then he raised the cane and swept it down onto the base of Tanya’s backside, at the place where the tops of her silken thighs melded into the rounded curves of her bottom.
CRACKK!!
“Agh!”
Tanya’s torso bucked as she felt the searing kiss of the cane, but the big African’s knee easily held her in place.
CRACKK!! A second stroke, perhaps even harder than the first, whistled down across the top of her shuddering nether-globes.
“Aagh!!”
Colonel Chao looked on attentively noting that Sheik Abdul’s ugly visage was contorted into a mask of lust.
The Arab tightened his grip on the cane, and then sawed it back and forth across the midpoint of Tanya’s delicious backside, his gaze fixed on the shadowy cleft between her bottomcheeks, the cheeks that he hoped to spread with eager, clutching fingers before the night was done.
The cane hissed through the air and then bisected the squirming girl’s derriere with yet another stroke.
CRACKKK!!
"Aiaaahh!!"
From his enviable vantage point with his good knee pressing down across Tanya’s spine, Julius Baraka was mesmerized by the whistle of the cane through the air, the cock-stiffening sound of the rod biting deeply into Tanya’s wriggling buttocks, and the almost autumnal graduation of the marks on her backside from white to pink to livid red.
So mesmerized was he, in fact that when he shifted position slightly to ease the stiffness in his good knee, Tanya saw her chance and drove her elbow into his bad knee with all the strength she could muster.
The African screamed in agony as the pain shot through the ACL in the surgically repaired joint and he fell to the floor clutching his leg.
With Baraka off of her, the athletic young blonde sprang to her knees and aimed a fist at the sheik’s swollen crotch, but missed narrowly, her blow landing high on his quadriceps. Even so, he howled in pain and dropped the cane.
Seizing it, Tanya turned to face Chao, who, having offered the cane to Abdul moments earlier, was now unarmed. Tanya swung the cane at him wildly, and he retreated and Tanya tried to make a bolt for the door.
But not only were her quickness and agility impaired by the blows she had endured, her cut-off denims were still at half-mast. She took a moment to tug them up so that the could move freely but the brief delay proved fatal.
An instant later she felt Sheik Abdul wrapping his hairy arms around her from behind in a relentless bear hug, crushing the solar plexus he had earlier smashed with his fist. Tanya raked his arms with her nails. But moment later, with a loud grunt of pleasure, he once again tugged her shorts well down her thighs and fell backward into a plush over-sized armchair, pulling the struggling beauty down onto his lap.
"Let me go!" Tanya protested, realizing by the pressure of his fat cock against her buttocks and thighs that the Sheik had undone the braided cinch that held his robe together and had hiked it up around his waist. But Abdul was not to be denied. His hairy hands encircled Tanya's slender waist and then slid up her bare belly, and then higher still, up over her naked breasts. Giving an ursine growl, Abdul cupped her luscious pleasure-mounds in his pudgy fingers and gave them a predatory squeeze.
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 9 { In which the three gentlemen finally overcome the brave young beauty, and Colonel Chao begins to retrace in his mind the long, strange journey that had led him to Ciudad Paraiso. }
"Aaaaahhh! Let me up!" Tanya cried out again, flailing away with her arms and catching the sheik's cheek with a wild swing of her elbow.
"Ow!" he cried out in pain. "You'll pay for that, you American slut!"
"Seize her arms my friend," Chao muttered, as he swished his cane-switch in the air. "I'll put an end to her rebelliousness."
"N-no!" Tanya stammered, still struggling, feeling the sheik's erection thick and menacing against her naked buttocks. But Abdul easily imprisoned her arms behind her.
Colonel Chao edged closer to the armchair into which Sheik Abdul had fallen, his voluminous robes gathered around his hips, while clutching Tanya around the waist from behind. Don Roberto’s golden girl was truly a delicious sight, with her brief cut-off denims dragged down to mid-thigh. As she struggled to free herself from the sheik’s ursine embrace, her splendid young breasts, already sporting several red stripes, wobbled deliciously practically begging for more.
“Please … no …" Tanya whimpered, as the colonel approached, positioning himself on her right, his left hand holding the cane, his right hand, as always, limp at his side. His eyes were menacing and merciless eyes as he slid the cane under her perspiring breasts, lifting them gently as if in offering. Then he let them fall back into place, and slid the cane up to the tips of her breasts. He sawed the whippy rod back and forth across Tanya's swollen nipples for a moment, reminding her of its hardness, its solidity.
"No … for God's sake …"
THWICKK!!! Colonel Chao's left arm flashed down and slashed the nubby switch across the tops of Tanya's breasts.
"Aaghhhh!!" Tanya cried out in agony as a lightning bolt of pain surged through her treasures.
THWICKKK!!! The cane flashed down again, harder this time, cutting deep into Tanya's tawny thigh-flesh.
"Eaghh!!" she shrieked again. Looking down she saw a thin streak of blood on her honey-gold thigh where the blow had broken the tanned skin.
"Cardinal and gold," Chao muttered vengefully. The trail of crimson on her well-tanned thigh, seemed to echo the emblem on the USC tee-shirt Baraka had ripped from her body.. "I never thought I'd enjoy the sight of those colors."
"Let me go! Let me go!" Tanya fumed, as Abdul applied crushing pressure to her arms and lifted her upward slightly so that he could position her above the gleaming knob of his erection. But when he used his left hand to position his cock under Tanya's vaginal lips, the bare-breasted beauty threw another elbow at him, striking him on the bony orb just above his left eye.
The shriek grunted in pain, but continued his assault, maneuvering her all-but-naked body into place.
"Unggghhh, you bastard" Tanya groaned as the pressure of his grasp forced her hips downward onto his wet-tipped erection. Meanwhile, Colonel Chao waited until the sheik had once again wrapped up Tanya's arms before whipping the switch downward again.
THWICCKKK!!!! The colonel's genitals throbbed with virile pleasure as he once again sliced the cane down at the tops of Tanya's glorious breasts. The slender rod sank deep into her soft, yielding pleasure-globes before terminating its vicious arc an eyelash north of her tempting nipples.
Tanya let out another loud gasp of pain as her golden hair swung from side to side across her face.
"Why don't you shut our little songbird up, Mr.Baraka?" the colonel whispered venomously, seeing that the African had undid his fly and liberated his imposing member. Chao stepped to one side allowing Baraka to limp closer.
"With pleasure," Julius grinned darkly. His knee was still throbbing and so was his erection. His bright white teeth seemed to sparkle with anticipation as he gave his dark phallus a long pleasurable stroke. "Open up, sweetie!"
Tanya stared at the prodigious cock, which was proportionate to his towering height, in horror.
"It’s my turn now, bitch? " Baraka growled in anger, as he reached for her pinkish-brown nipples. His strangely pale fingertips traced circles around her quivering roseates, nudging her teasing nipples to erection, while his manhood pulsed and twitched as if had a life of its own, scant inches from her soft lips.
"Move that sweet ass!" barked Abdul as he buried his thick wet tongue in Tanya's left ear and thrust with his powerful hips, impaling her deeper on his thick Arabian spear. "Enjoying the party so far, Miss California? Oh, the things we're going to do to you tonight!"
Tanya, shuddering at both the touch of his tongue and the dire import of his words, turned her face away from the dark tube of man-cock pressing against her lips.
"Take it, whore!" Baraka snarled, his fingertips closing on the tips of Tanya's breasts. He tugged them gently at first, but when she still refused to open her mouth, he dug his nails into her tender lust-nuggets and began pulling them away from her body.
"Aaahhh!" Tanya gasped in pain, as she watched her rounded treasures being stretched into elliptical orbs. Julius Baraka seized that moment to release her distended nipples and put his huge black hands on the back of her blonde head forcing it downward as he thrust the tip of his cock into her open mouth.
"How's it taste, blondie?" Abdul gloated as he lifted her body slightly and moved his massive hips forward on the chair forcing Tanya to take more of the African's manhood into her mouth. He snaked his slimy tongue even deeper into her ear, reveling in the feel of her soft buttocks against his hairy thighs and the milking action of her warm pussy around his swollen member.
"This is just an appetizer, Miss California. All night long, baby," the Arab taunted her as Baraka tightened his grip on her hair. "We're going to party all night long." Abdul maneuvered his body so that his massive chest kept Tanya's arms imprisoned behind her, freeing his hands. He reached around slid his hairy paws in between Baraka's powerful thighs and Tanya's opulent breasts and seized her sweat-slick tits in his hands yet again.
From a few feet away, as his conspirators drove their rampant erections into Tanya Spencer's helpless body he let his mind wander, reflecting on the strange chain of events that had led him to this place at this time….
"Aaaaahhh! Let me up!" Tanya cried out again, flailing away with her arms and catching the sheik's cheek with a wild swing of her elbow.
"Ow!" he cried out in pain. "You'll pay for that, you American slut!"
"Seize her arms my friend," Chao muttered, as he swished his cane-switch in the air. "I'll put an end to her rebelliousness."
"N-no!" Tanya stammered, still struggling, feeling the sheik's erection thick and menacing against her naked buttocks. But Abdul easily imprisoned her arms behind her.
Colonel Chao edged closer to the armchair into which Sheik Abdul had fallen, his voluminous robes gathered around his hips, while clutching Tanya around the waist from behind. Don Roberto’s golden girl was truly a delicious sight, with her brief cut-off denims dragged down to mid-thigh. As she struggled to free herself from the sheik’s ursine embrace, her splendid young breasts, already sporting several red stripes, wobbled deliciously practically begging for more.
“Please … no …" Tanya whimpered, as the colonel approached, positioning himself on her right, his left hand holding the cane, his right hand, as always, limp at his side. His eyes were menacing and merciless eyes as he slid the cane under her perspiring breasts, lifting them gently as if in offering. Then he let them fall back into place, and slid the cane up to the tips of her breasts. He sawed the whippy rod back and forth across Tanya's swollen nipples for a moment, reminding her of its hardness, its solidity.
"No … for God's sake …"
THWICKK!!! Colonel Chao's left arm flashed down and slashed the nubby switch across the tops of Tanya's breasts.
"Aaghhhh!!" Tanya cried out in agony as a lightning bolt of pain surged through her treasures.
THWICKKK!!! The cane flashed down again, harder this time, cutting deep into Tanya's tawny thigh-flesh.
"Eaghh!!" she shrieked again. Looking down she saw a thin streak of blood on her honey-gold thigh where the blow had broken the tanned skin.
"Cardinal and gold," Chao muttered vengefully. The trail of crimson on her well-tanned thigh, seemed to echo the emblem on the USC tee-shirt Baraka had ripped from her body.. "I never thought I'd enjoy the sight of those colors."
"Let me go! Let me go!" Tanya fumed, as Abdul applied crushing pressure to her arms and lifted her upward slightly so that he could position her above the gleaming knob of his erection. But when he used his left hand to position his cock under Tanya's vaginal lips, the bare-breasted beauty threw another elbow at him, striking him on the bony orb just above his left eye.
The shriek grunted in pain, but continued his assault, maneuvering her all-but-naked body into place.
"Unggghhh, you bastard" Tanya groaned as the pressure of his grasp forced her hips downward onto his wet-tipped erection. Meanwhile, Colonel Chao waited until the sheik had once again wrapped up Tanya's arms before whipping the switch downward again.
THWICCKKK!!!! The colonel's genitals throbbed with virile pleasure as he once again sliced the cane down at the tops of Tanya's glorious breasts. The slender rod sank deep into her soft, yielding pleasure-globes before terminating its vicious arc an eyelash north of her tempting nipples.
Tanya let out another loud gasp of pain as her golden hair swung from side to side across her face.
"Why don't you shut our little songbird up, Mr.Baraka?" the colonel whispered venomously, seeing that the African had undid his fly and liberated his imposing member. Chao stepped to one side allowing Baraka to limp closer.
"With pleasure," Julius grinned darkly. His knee was still throbbing and so was his erection. His bright white teeth seemed to sparkle with anticipation as he gave his dark phallus a long pleasurable stroke. "Open up, sweetie!"
Tanya stared at the prodigious cock, which was proportionate to his towering height, in horror.
"It’s my turn now, bitch? " Baraka growled in anger, as he reached for her pinkish-brown nipples. His strangely pale fingertips traced circles around her quivering roseates, nudging her teasing nipples to erection, while his manhood pulsed and twitched as if had a life of its own, scant inches from her soft lips.
"Move that sweet ass!" barked Abdul as he buried his thick wet tongue in Tanya's left ear and thrust with his powerful hips, impaling her deeper on his thick Arabian spear. "Enjoying the party so far, Miss California? Oh, the things we're going to do to you tonight!"
Tanya, shuddering at both the touch of his tongue and the dire import of his words, turned her face away from the dark tube of man-cock pressing against her lips.
"Take it, whore!" Baraka snarled, his fingertips closing on the tips of Tanya's breasts. He tugged them gently at first, but when she still refused to open her mouth, he dug his nails into her tender lust-nuggets and began pulling them away from her body.
"Aaahhh!" Tanya gasped in pain, as she watched her rounded treasures being stretched into elliptical orbs. Julius Baraka seized that moment to release her distended nipples and put his huge black hands on the back of her blonde head forcing it downward as he thrust the tip of his cock into her open mouth.
"How's it taste, blondie?" Abdul gloated as he lifted her body slightly and moved his massive hips forward on the chair forcing Tanya to take more of the African's manhood into her mouth. He snaked his slimy tongue even deeper into her ear, reveling in the feel of her soft buttocks against his hairy thighs and the milking action of her warm pussy around his swollen member.
"This is just an appetizer, Miss California. All night long, baby," the Arab taunted her as Baraka tightened his grip on her hair. "We're going to party all night long." Abdul maneuvered his body so that his massive chest kept Tanya's arms imprisoned behind her, freeing his hands. He reached around slid his hairy paws in between Baraka's powerful thighs and Tanya's opulent breasts and seized her sweat-slick tits in his hands yet again.
From a few feet away, as his conspirators drove their rampant erections into Tanya Spencer's helpless body he let his mind wander, reflecting on the strange chain of events that had led him to this place at this time….
windar
Teller of Tales
I liked that fight scene. It's a bit unusual in these types of stories, where, typically, the young woman is subdued very quickly. Nice variety.
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 10 { In which we go back more than twenty years in time and begin the intriguing story of the young manhood of the mysterious Colonel Chao}
CHAPTER IV 1981 Coming to America
Tall, slender Chao Lin-Feng had come to the United States as a student, and Americanized his name to 'David' nearly a quarter of a century earlier, a dozen or so years after the Cultural Revolution had claimed the life of his parents. David's paternal grandfather had been born in 1900, the year of the Boxer Rebellion, and had been imbued with the bold spark of rebelliousness characteristic of that revolutionary epoch. As a young man David's adventurous grandfather had gone to Russia to see at first hand the wonders to which the October Revolution would assuredly lead. There, he had fallen in love with and married a sylphlike young Russian beauty who had dreamed of being a dancer as a little girl, but whose sudden spurt of growth during adolescence had ruled out such a career. It was from that grandmother, David had always believed, that he had gotten his unusual height.
After Stalin came to power, the brutalities perpetrated by his regime eventually drove David's grandfather and his wife back to a China fractured by the internal strife of the early 1930's. David's father, Chao Zhen, had been born a few years later, during the Japanese occupation, and had miraculously survived the privations that had eventually claimed the lives of David's grandfather and his Russian wife.
Raised by distant relatives, the half-Chinese Chao Zhen had been a brilliant student, had eventually taken a pretty young Chinese wife and gone on to become a chemist of national renown. But in the late 1960's Chao Zhen had fallen afoul of the Red Guards, the enforcers of the sweeping Cultural Revolution emanating from Beijing, partly because of his mixed heritage and partly because he was reluctant to work on rocket fuels, preferring instead to study medicines to help the hundreds of millions of Chinese who lived in poverty.
It was in those late 1960's, when Colonel Chao Lin Feng had still been only a small boy, that his parents were spirited away to a labor camp from which they never returned, their fate providing a presumed deterrent to other Chinese scientists who might harbor 'westernized' thoughts.
Having no other recourse, the schoolboy, an orphan as his father had once been, thrust himself into his studies. Years later, having been blessed with his father's industry as well as his intelligence, he had wangled a mathematics and physics scholarship to the California Institute of Technology. Cal Tech was in Pasadena California, and it was there that David found himself a decade or so after Nixon's historic visit to China had eased relations between the two great powers.
Nearly penniless save for his grant-in-aid that covered his expenses at Cal Tech, the future colonel had taken the name 'David', and had found a tiny room in a seedy block of downtown Pasadena, above an old pool hall. During his first months in the city, his job options were severely limited by his pride, his very poor English, and his lack of transportation. Alone and having little confidence in his ability to find better part-time employment, he took a night-time job in the run-down pool hall, brushing the felt tables, sweeping floors, emptying ashtrays, removing beer bottles and the like, in return for a substantial discount on his rent.
From his first night at the pool hall, David Chao was attracted by the captivating geometry of the game -- the relationship between the triangular rack, the spherical balls, and the long rectangular table which offered an infinite number of angles for the brightly-colored balls. The physics of the game seduced him as well. Calculating the use of topspin and sidespin to make the cueball follow the desired trajectory to the rail; using the precise amount of force to impart the necessary velocity to bring the pale sphere to a halt at the desired point on the broad expanse of green felt; he found the numberless combinations of spin and speed to be supremely challenging and endlessly diverting.
With the consent of the owner, Cebu Sam, a good-natured Filipino with a bristling mustache and a belly grown round from thousands of frothy San Miguels, David Chao made it his habit to practice the game into the wee hours. Each night after closing, peering intently through his thick glasses, David attempted hundreds of shots, the only sound in the deserted billiard room the squeaky sound of chalk against cue tip and the mellifluous clicking of cue ball striking object ball and driving it squarely into the ragged leather pockets. After the long hours of classes, the endless hours in the library and lab, the midnight hours at Sam's pool hall were the reclusive David Chao's sole recreation.
His sole recreation save one.
A few blocks west of the pool hall stood a seedy adult bookstore, manned by a wizened old man who chewed endlessly on an unlit cigar while he pored over the day's racing form. Early one Saturday morning David, looking nervously over his shoulder to see if anyone was watchim him, summoned up the nerve to duck into enter the tiny store for the first time. As he proceeded further inside the store his pulse raced at the sight of long racks of glossy magazines. Scores of well-endowed cover girls promised untold delights if he were only to fork over $10 to the proprietor, retreat to his tiny room above the pool hall, and strip off the fimsy plastic wrapper that defended the doubtful virtue of the shapely and accommodating beauties on the cover.
But, having precious little money to spare, David could not possibly afford such pricey publications. After a few minutes his eye was drawn to a rack of paperbacks with lurid covers. He scanned their covers breathlessly, wondering at the strange delights, some of which he had never imagined, contained within. The illustrations on the covers, along with the salacious descriptions, only parts of which his limited English could penetrate, promised stories of cheerleaders and motorcycle gangs, sexy young schoolteachers and basketball teams. There were stories about women with women, about women with pets, about women with priests, about women with fathers and uncles and teenage sons in a dizzying panorama of promiscuity.
But his eyes lingered longest on one facade of the revolving paperback rack – a panel offering stories of slavery, bondage, and cruelty. One after another he picked up the books, "Cheerleader in Chains," "Roped and Raped Housewife," "Buccaneer Bondage," "Lust Prisoner of the Barbarians," "Plantation Slave". His heart pounding, young David devoured the lurid covers of these books with his eyes, taking in every detail of taut-stretched limbs, of ripe breasts and rounded buttocks bared for the lash. But as he looked at the prices -- $4.95, $5.95, he knew that they, too, were beyond his current means.
CHAPTER IV 1981 Coming to America
Tall, slender Chao Lin-Feng had come to the United States as a student, and Americanized his name to 'David' nearly a quarter of a century earlier, a dozen or so years after the Cultural Revolution had claimed the life of his parents. David's paternal grandfather had been born in 1900, the year of the Boxer Rebellion, and had been imbued with the bold spark of rebelliousness characteristic of that revolutionary epoch. As a young man David's adventurous grandfather had gone to Russia to see at first hand the wonders to which the October Revolution would assuredly lead. There, he had fallen in love with and married a sylphlike young Russian beauty who had dreamed of being a dancer as a little girl, but whose sudden spurt of growth during adolescence had ruled out such a career. It was from that grandmother, David had always believed, that he had gotten his unusual height.
After Stalin came to power, the brutalities perpetrated by his regime eventually drove David's grandfather and his wife back to a China fractured by the internal strife of the early 1930's. David's father, Chao Zhen, had been born a few years later, during the Japanese occupation, and had miraculously survived the privations that had eventually claimed the lives of David's grandfather and his Russian wife.
Raised by distant relatives, the half-Chinese Chao Zhen had been a brilliant student, had eventually taken a pretty young Chinese wife and gone on to become a chemist of national renown. But in the late 1960's Chao Zhen had fallen afoul of the Red Guards, the enforcers of the sweeping Cultural Revolution emanating from Beijing, partly because of his mixed heritage and partly because he was reluctant to work on rocket fuels, preferring instead to study medicines to help the hundreds of millions of Chinese who lived in poverty.
It was in those late 1960's, when Colonel Chao Lin Feng had still been only a small boy, that his parents were spirited away to a labor camp from which they never returned, their fate providing a presumed deterrent to other Chinese scientists who might harbor 'westernized' thoughts.
Having no other recourse, the schoolboy, an orphan as his father had once been, thrust himself into his studies. Years later, having been blessed with his father's industry as well as his intelligence, he had wangled a mathematics and physics scholarship to the California Institute of Technology. Cal Tech was in Pasadena California, and it was there that David found himself a decade or so after Nixon's historic visit to China had eased relations between the two great powers.
Nearly penniless save for his grant-in-aid that covered his expenses at Cal Tech, the future colonel had taken the name 'David', and had found a tiny room in a seedy block of downtown Pasadena, above an old pool hall. During his first months in the city, his job options were severely limited by his pride, his very poor English, and his lack of transportation. Alone and having little confidence in his ability to find better part-time employment, he took a night-time job in the run-down pool hall, brushing the felt tables, sweeping floors, emptying ashtrays, removing beer bottles and the like, in return for a substantial discount on his rent.
From his first night at the pool hall, David Chao was attracted by the captivating geometry of the game -- the relationship between the triangular rack, the spherical balls, and the long rectangular table which offered an infinite number of angles for the brightly-colored balls. The physics of the game seduced him as well. Calculating the use of topspin and sidespin to make the cueball follow the desired trajectory to the rail; using the precise amount of force to impart the necessary velocity to bring the pale sphere to a halt at the desired point on the broad expanse of green felt; he found the numberless combinations of spin and speed to be supremely challenging and endlessly diverting.
With the consent of the owner, Cebu Sam, a good-natured Filipino with a bristling mustache and a belly grown round from thousands of frothy San Miguels, David Chao made it his habit to practice the game into the wee hours. Each night after closing, peering intently through his thick glasses, David attempted hundreds of shots, the only sound in the deserted billiard room the squeaky sound of chalk against cue tip and the mellifluous clicking of cue ball striking object ball and driving it squarely into the ragged leather pockets. After the long hours of classes, the endless hours in the library and lab, the midnight hours at Sam's pool hall were the reclusive David Chao's sole recreation.
His sole recreation save one.
A few blocks west of the pool hall stood a seedy adult bookstore, manned by a wizened old man who chewed endlessly on an unlit cigar while he pored over the day's racing form. Early one Saturday morning David, looking nervously over his shoulder to see if anyone was watchim him, summoned up the nerve to duck into enter the tiny store for the first time. As he proceeded further inside the store his pulse raced at the sight of long racks of glossy magazines. Scores of well-endowed cover girls promised untold delights if he were only to fork over $10 to the proprietor, retreat to his tiny room above the pool hall, and strip off the fimsy plastic wrapper that defended the doubtful virtue of the shapely and accommodating beauties on the cover.
But, having precious little money to spare, David could not possibly afford such pricey publications. After a few minutes his eye was drawn to a rack of paperbacks with lurid covers. He scanned their covers breathlessly, wondering at the strange delights, some of which he had never imagined, contained within. The illustrations on the covers, along with the salacious descriptions, only parts of which his limited English could penetrate, promised stories of cheerleaders and motorcycle gangs, sexy young schoolteachers and basketball teams. There were stories about women with women, about women with pets, about women with priests, about women with fathers and uncles and teenage sons in a dizzying panorama of promiscuity.
But his eyes lingered longest on one facade of the revolving paperback rack – a panel offering stories of slavery, bondage, and cruelty. One after another he picked up the books, "Cheerleader in Chains," "Roped and Raped Housewife," "Buccaneer Bondage," "Lust Prisoner of the Barbarians," "Plantation Slave". His heart pounding, young David devoured the lurid covers of these books with his eyes, taking in every detail of taut-stretched limbs, of ripe breasts and rounded buttocks bared for the lash. But as he looked at the prices -- $4.95, $5.95, he knew that they, too, were beyond his current means.
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
Ah, the joys of studenthood with very little money but expensive tastes. I seem to remember a 'good' magazine was about £5, and my weekly rent was £5. A trip to the bookshop was usually a treat, especially when I had money for a birthday, "And what did you spend your birthday money on, son?" "Books, mummy dear."
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 11 {In which young David Chao is first enthralled by his first exposure to sado-eroticism}
David was reading the tantalizing publisher’s blurb on the back cover of one of these sagas of rape and torture, when he heard a woman's voice cry out. Startled, he dropped the book he was looking at, earning an angry glance from the proprietor who pointed sternly at a sign reading,
THIS IS NOT A LIBRARY – PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY.
Blushing furiously, David had fumblingly returned "Tortured by the Inquisition" to its place on the rack, when he heard another disembodied female voice. But this one sounded like a gasp of pleasure from a woman poised on the precipice of desire.
Turning toward the sound David saw a curtained-off alcove adjacent to a display of what proved to be video box covers. A garish sign above the display read
MOVIES! 25 cents EIGHT BOOTHS 25 cents MOVIES!
ORAL SEX! – ANAL SEX ! -- GAY SEX ! -- BONDAGE!
25 cents BUY TOKENS FROM CASHIER 25 cents
David Chao's eyes raced feverishly across the photographs on the boxes. "Cum-Drinking Starlets" "Annie Takes it in the Ass" "Fraternity Initiation". But his eyes were drawn to a box titled "Bondage Classics" as if by an unseen magnet. There were several small photographs, each showing a different woman, all of them nude or nearly so, bound in various positions. Now sporting an embarrassingly large erection, David glanced at the sign again – 25 cents, it read. Only 25 cents to see a film with naked women struggling with the ropes and chains with which their cruel masters had burdened them? Could it be possible?
Wondering what a 'token' was, he waited for a moment hoping that his erection would subside. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the women of "Bondage Classics" and his ardor never wavered. Shrugging his shoulders, David tried to conceal his sexual excitement as he walked toward the man manning the cash register. He reached into his pocket for a quarter and placed it on the counter in front of the man.
“Could I have a token, please?
"First time, eh, kid?" the man chuckled as he set aside his marked-up racing form. "Aw, what the fuck, here you go," he said as he handed David a round metal disc. "But next time, kid, you gotta buy four – that's the minimum."
David nodded, puzzling over why anyone would want to watch four movies, turned the quarter-size disc over in his sweaty hands as he headed toward the dark alcove, wondering at the purpose of the disc and wondering how there could possibly be a cinema in the back of the tiny bookstore.
As he stepped through the curtain, he found no theater, but only a dingy, dimly lit hallway, and a variety of rank odors that fought with the smell of disinfectant for supremacy. In the dim light he saw a series of closed doors on either side of him. Wondering where it led, he turned the knob of the first door on his left.
"Occupied, asshole!!" a gruff voice barked, and David quickly scurried further down the hallway, hearing a strange symphony of cinematic moans and grunts as he passed the various rooms, until he noticed that one door was ajar. Peeking into it cautiously before entering, he soon found himself in a small booth, equipped with a videoscreen, a decrepit plastic chair, and, in the darkest corner, a foul-smelling wastebasket, half full with what looked to be wads of Kleenex.
Below the video screen there were eight numbered buttons and a coin slot which matched the size of his disc. Trying to remember whether "Bondage Classics" had been film 3 or film 5 or film 8 in the window display, David Chao inserted the coin into the slot and pushed button #3.
A moment later the screen burst into life with a scene of a woman stroking a man's erect penis. Not wanting to cheat the proprietor by watching a movie which he had not paid for, David hurriedly punched button after button, quickly bypassing all manner of coupling couples, until at last after punching button 8, he found it!
Settling into the chair David saw a pair of female hands stretched high in the air, trying to free herself from the chains which bound her to some unseen overhead device. Although no sound accompanied the film, he could almost hear the chains clinking in time with his pounding heart as the camera, from a distance of about five yards, slowly panned down the woman's taut-stretched arms to her face.
The woman in the film had the curly black hair and the flashing eyes of a Latina. She was no longer in the full bloom of youth, but her face was both sultry and expressive. Her eyes gave evidence of her discomfort, and her mouth seemed to be imploring mercy of some unseen tormentor.
David pulled the rickety chair closer as the camera continued its slow descent, past the Latina's pretty, pouting mouth and her bare shoulders and her upper chest. Finally, perhaps thirty seconds or so after David had pushed button number eight, the camera trained its eye, from a distance, on the woman's pleasingly full breasts. Almost overcome with sexual longing, David held his breath as the cameraman began a slow zoom in for a close-up of her tempting mounds.
Sweating profusely, David Chao had gotten only a fleeting glimpse of the silver clamps gripping the taut pinkish-brown nipples of the actress's lovely breasts when the screen suddenly went dark.
"No!" he cried out in disbelief, and shook the screen. He pushed each of the buttons again, but the screen remained dark.
Crushed with disappointment, he left the booth, and rushed past the other doors, behind which he could hear the liquid sounds of lust and the covert rustle of rearranged clothing. "The film I was watching stopped," he implored the store manager. "Could … could you start it again?"
"What the fuck you expect for a quarter?" the grizzled old man replied through his well-chewed cigar, not bothering to lift his eyes from his perusal of that day's hopefuls at Santa Anita. "Ninety seconds for a quarter, kid, take it or leave it. Hell, some joints only give you seventy-five. Hell, in Hollywood some of ‘em only give you sixty. Here a buck'll buy you six minutes. Best deal in town."
Turning away in disappointment, David Chao could still picture in his mind's eye the actress' tempting breasts, lifted high and proud on her chest by the manacles on her wrists, subjected to the cruel bite of the spring-loaded clamps. But he had only enough money to do his laundry and buy rice and tea and a few other staples to tide him over until his next grant check arrived.
As he retraced his steps to the entrance, past rows upon rows of videos and various curious-looking objects dubbed 'marital aids', a disconsolate David Chao saw yet another sign:
Private Viewing Room – Any video $5.00.
David Chao didn't know much about adult films. But he knew math. A dollar for six minutes meant that watching an hour-long video a token at a time would cost $10.00. For $5.00 – a sum that had seemed impossibly large relative to his meager budget twenty minutes earlier, but which he now felt compelled to beg, borrow, or steal, he could see the whole of the film which would haunt his nights for the next week.
The following week's classes seemed endless. Professors whose lectures he had found riveting only a few days before seemed to him now as tedious as a leaky faucet. He daydreamed constantly of the dark-haired woman with the lovely breasts. Had she taken part in the film willingly? Was the fear in her eyes real or feigned? Did the clamps affixed to her puffy nipples bite with the ferocity he had imagined? It had all happened so fast, that he was hardly sure what was real and what was not. He only knew that he had to see more.
For a week David Chao did not pick up a cue stick after he had performed his nightly chores, choosing instead to return to his room and lie there in the darkness reliving those gripping thirty seconds of celluloid over and over again. He had never before taken much satisfaction in pleasuring himself, but during those six hot summer nights he was a slave to his own desires.
How would the film proceed, he wondered, as he stroked himself. Would a man (or a woman) come forward to take advantage of the hapless heroine, to flog her back and buttocks as on the covers of those paperbacks whose exciting artwork he had gawked at in disbelief? Would a man or men rape her where she stood, driving their cocks into a pussy he had not yet seen and could only imagine? Would a masked brute tighten those silvery screw-clamps even more, while his seductive heroine begged him with her eyes to stop? Or would he rip them from her body making her breasts more available for other forms of pleasure and pain?
The glossy cover of "Corregidor Captives", one of the paperbacks in the store which had caught his eye, had depicted a voluptuous honey-blonde nurse on her knees in a jungle clearing, surrounded by three leering Japanese soldiers. The caricaturish villains had wrapped strand after strand of a thin tropical vine around the bases of their prisoner's jutting, ripe-nippled breasts. Their leader stood behind her, with bamboo cane upraised, preparing to sweep it across her naked shoulders. Such a stroke would inevitably have driven the ripe curves of her bulging breasts into the points of the bayonets a pair of wild-eyed underlings had pressed against her swollen globes,. Was it remotely possible, David Chao wondered with a shudder of dark pleasure, that some such horrific fate might be in store for the dark-haired beauty of "Bondage Classics"?
Finally, after several days of almost sleepless nights, David's grant check came, and after cashing it, he made a beeline for the dingy bookstore.
"I…I'd like to see a video," he stammered to the man with the cigar.
"What happened, kid? Did your folks raise your allowance?" The clerk put down his racing form upon seeing David, who was no nervous that he had brushed against the rack of paperbacks upon entering the store, and just managed to catch it before it toppled over.
"My … my parents are dead," David whispered through lips dry with anxiety. He pulled a five out of his wallet and laid it on the counter.
The clerk snatched it up and deposited it an ancient cash register. "Aw, sorry about that, kid. The videos are over there. Pick out any one you want and bring it up here."
A moment later, David deposited the box containing "Bondage Classics" on the counter with trembling hands.
As the clerk slid the video into one of a mountain of VCR's stacked behind the counter, he mumbled, "All the way in the back, kid. The door on your right. Enjoy the show."
And David did indeed enjoy the show, even though his feverish expectations went largely unfulfilled, as they were almost always to do during his years of collegiate poverty, in those days before he was able to afford the pleasures of the flesh offered by living, breathing women.
The dark-haired Latina was neither flogged, nor raped, nor did a mysterious masked villain rake the nipple clamps from her tender breasts in order to subject her lovely pleasure-gourds to even sterner torments. The Latina's vignette occupied only about ten minutes of the anthology film he had selected. Throughout that entire span the lucky but unimaginative cameraman did little more than pan his lens up and down her admirably taut-stretched body.
The other clips in the anthology were much the same, as were the brief trailers of other films produced by the same company. Each of the films teased, but did not fulfill, David's newly discovered darker passions.
David was reading the tantalizing publisher’s blurb on the back cover of one of these sagas of rape and torture, when he heard a woman's voice cry out. Startled, he dropped the book he was looking at, earning an angry glance from the proprietor who pointed sternly at a sign reading,
THIS IS NOT A LIBRARY – PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY.
Blushing furiously, David had fumblingly returned "Tortured by the Inquisition" to its place on the rack, when he heard another disembodied female voice. But this one sounded like a gasp of pleasure from a woman poised on the precipice of desire.
Turning toward the sound David saw a curtained-off alcove adjacent to a display of what proved to be video box covers. A garish sign above the display read
MOVIES! 25 cents EIGHT BOOTHS 25 cents MOVIES!
ORAL SEX! – ANAL SEX ! -- GAY SEX ! -- BONDAGE!
25 cents BUY TOKENS FROM CASHIER 25 cents
David Chao's eyes raced feverishly across the photographs on the boxes. "Cum-Drinking Starlets" "Annie Takes it in the Ass" "Fraternity Initiation". But his eyes were drawn to a box titled "Bondage Classics" as if by an unseen magnet. There were several small photographs, each showing a different woman, all of them nude or nearly so, bound in various positions. Now sporting an embarrassingly large erection, David glanced at the sign again – 25 cents, it read. Only 25 cents to see a film with naked women struggling with the ropes and chains with which their cruel masters had burdened them? Could it be possible?
Wondering what a 'token' was, he waited for a moment hoping that his erection would subside. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the women of "Bondage Classics" and his ardor never wavered. Shrugging his shoulders, David tried to conceal his sexual excitement as he walked toward the man manning the cash register. He reached into his pocket for a quarter and placed it on the counter in front of the man.
“Could I have a token, please?
"First time, eh, kid?" the man chuckled as he set aside his marked-up racing form. "Aw, what the fuck, here you go," he said as he handed David a round metal disc. "But next time, kid, you gotta buy four – that's the minimum."
David nodded, puzzling over why anyone would want to watch four movies, turned the quarter-size disc over in his sweaty hands as he headed toward the dark alcove, wondering at the purpose of the disc and wondering how there could possibly be a cinema in the back of the tiny bookstore.
As he stepped through the curtain, he found no theater, but only a dingy, dimly lit hallway, and a variety of rank odors that fought with the smell of disinfectant for supremacy. In the dim light he saw a series of closed doors on either side of him. Wondering where it led, he turned the knob of the first door on his left.
"Occupied, asshole!!" a gruff voice barked, and David quickly scurried further down the hallway, hearing a strange symphony of cinematic moans and grunts as he passed the various rooms, until he noticed that one door was ajar. Peeking into it cautiously before entering, he soon found himself in a small booth, equipped with a videoscreen, a decrepit plastic chair, and, in the darkest corner, a foul-smelling wastebasket, half full with what looked to be wads of Kleenex.
Below the video screen there were eight numbered buttons and a coin slot which matched the size of his disc. Trying to remember whether "Bondage Classics" had been film 3 or film 5 or film 8 in the window display, David Chao inserted the coin into the slot and pushed button #3.
A moment later the screen burst into life with a scene of a woman stroking a man's erect penis. Not wanting to cheat the proprietor by watching a movie which he had not paid for, David hurriedly punched button after button, quickly bypassing all manner of coupling couples, until at last after punching button 8, he found it!
Settling into the chair David saw a pair of female hands stretched high in the air, trying to free herself from the chains which bound her to some unseen overhead device. Although no sound accompanied the film, he could almost hear the chains clinking in time with his pounding heart as the camera, from a distance of about five yards, slowly panned down the woman's taut-stretched arms to her face.
The woman in the film had the curly black hair and the flashing eyes of a Latina. She was no longer in the full bloom of youth, but her face was both sultry and expressive. Her eyes gave evidence of her discomfort, and her mouth seemed to be imploring mercy of some unseen tormentor.
David pulled the rickety chair closer as the camera continued its slow descent, past the Latina's pretty, pouting mouth and her bare shoulders and her upper chest. Finally, perhaps thirty seconds or so after David had pushed button number eight, the camera trained its eye, from a distance, on the woman's pleasingly full breasts. Almost overcome with sexual longing, David held his breath as the cameraman began a slow zoom in for a close-up of her tempting mounds.
Sweating profusely, David Chao had gotten only a fleeting glimpse of the silver clamps gripping the taut pinkish-brown nipples of the actress's lovely breasts when the screen suddenly went dark.
"No!" he cried out in disbelief, and shook the screen. He pushed each of the buttons again, but the screen remained dark.
Crushed with disappointment, he left the booth, and rushed past the other doors, behind which he could hear the liquid sounds of lust and the covert rustle of rearranged clothing. "The film I was watching stopped," he implored the store manager. "Could … could you start it again?"
"What the fuck you expect for a quarter?" the grizzled old man replied through his well-chewed cigar, not bothering to lift his eyes from his perusal of that day's hopefuls at Santa Anita. "Ninety seconds for a quarter, kid, take it or leave it. Hell, some joints only give you seventy-five. Hell, in Hollywood some of ‘em only give you sixty. Here a buck'll buy you six minutes. Best deal in town."
Turning away in disappointment, David Chao could still picture in his mind's eye the actress' tempting breasts, lifted high and proud on her chest by the manacles on her wrists, subjected to the cruel bite of the spring-loaded clamps. But he had only enough money to do his laundry and buy rice and tea and a few other staples to tide him over until his next grant check arrived.
As he retraced his steps to the entrance, past rows upon rows of videos and various curious-looking objects dubbed 'marital aids', a disconsolate David Chao saw yet another sign:
Private Viewing Room – Any video $5.00.
David Chao didn't know much about adult films. But he knew math. A dollar for six minutes meant that watching an hour-long video a token at a time would cost $10.00. For $5.00 – a sum that had seemed impossibly large relative to his meager budget twenty minutes earlier, but which he now felt compelled to beg, borrow, or steal, he could see the whole of the film which would haunt his nights for the next week.
The following week's classes seemed endless. Professors whose lectures he had found riveting only a few days before seemed to him now as tedious as a leaky faucet. He daydreamed constantly of the dark-haired woman with the lovely breasts. Had she taken part in the film willingly? Was the fear in her eyes real or feigned? Did the clamps affixed to her puffy nipples bite with the ferocity he had imagined? It had all happened so fast, that he was hardly sure what was real and what was not. He only knew that he had to see more.
For a week David Chao did not pick up a cue stick after he had performed his nightly chores, choosing instead to return to his room and lie there in the darkness reliving those gripping thirty seconds of celluloid over and over again. He had never before taken much satisfaction in pleasuring himself, but during those six hot summer nights he was a slave to his own desires.
How would the film proceed, he wondered, as he stroked himself. Would a man (or a woman) come forward to take advantage of the hapless heroine, to flog her back and buttocks as on the covers of those paperbacks whose exciting artwork he had gawked at in disbelief? Would a man or men rape her where she stood, driving their cocks into a pussy he had not yet seen and could only imagine? Would a masked brute tighten those silvery screw-clamps even more, while his seductive heroine begged him with her eyes to stop? Or would he rip them from her body making her breasts more available for other forms of pleasure and pain?
The glossy cover of "Corregidor Captives", one of the paperbacks in the store which had caught his eye, had depicted a voluptuous honey-blonde nurse on her knees in a jungle clearing, surrounded by three leering Japanese soldiers. The caricaturish villains had wrapped strand after strand of a thin tropical vine around the bases of their prisoner's jutting, ripe-nippled breasts. Their leader stood behind her, with bamboo cane upraised, preparing to sweep it across her naked shoulders. Such a stroke would inevitably have driven the ripe curves of her bulging breasts into the points of the bayonets a pair of wild-eyed underlings had pressed against her swollen globes,. Was it remotely possible, David Chao wondered with a shudder of dark pleasure, that some such horrific fate might be in store for the dark-haired beauty of "Bondage Classics"?
Finally, after several days of almost sleepless nights, David's grant check came, and after cashing it, he made a beeline for the dingy bookstore.
"I…I'd like to see a video," he stammered to the man with the cigar.
"What happened, kid? Did your folks raise your allowance?" The clerk put down his racing form upon seeing David, who was no nervous that he had brushed against the rack of paperbacks upon entering the store, and just managed to catch it before it toppled over.
"My … my parents are dead," David whispered through lips dry with anxiety. He pulled a five out of his wallet and laid it on the counter.
The clerk snatched it up and deposited it an ancient cash register. "Aw, sorry about that, kid. The videos are over there. Pick out any one you want and bring it up here."
A moment later, David deposited the box containing "Bondage Classics" on the counter with trembling hands.
As the clerk slid the video into one of a mountain of VCR's stacked behind the counter, he mumbled, "All the way in the back, kid. The door on your right. Enjoy the show."
And David did indeed enjoy the show, even though his feverish expectations went largely unfulfilled, as they were almost always to do during his years of collegiate poverty, in those days before he was able to afford the pleasures of the flesh offered by living, breathing women.
The dark-haired Latina was neither flogged, nor raped, nor did a mysterious masked villain rake the nipple clamps from her tender breasts in order to subject her lovely pleasure-gourds to even sterner torments. The Latina's vignette occupied only about ten minutes of the anthology film he had selected. Throughout that entire span the lucky but unimaginative cameraman did little more than pan his lens up and down her admirably taut-stretched body.
The other clips in the anthology were much the same, as were the brief trailers of other films produced by the same company. Each of the films teased, but did not fulfill, David's newly discovered darker passions.
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 12 {In which young David Chao seeks part-time work as we continue our flashback, and in which we are treated to a very brief update of Tanya's ghastly predicament}
Chapter V The Summer of '82 : Amalie
By the time the following spring rolled around David Chao, although still living in poverty, felt that his English had improved enough that he could make some money from his real talents – math and science. Hoping to tutor struggling students, he placed a card advertising his talents and listing his name and phone number on the bulletin board at Cal Tech, but soon found that students at that august institution are rarely in need of special assistance.
After a week or two he decided that he would have to cast his net on a wider academic sea, and he posted similar flyers at the Trojan Bookstore and other public places on the campus of the University of Southern California, located just a few blocks south and west of downtown LA, and hence considerably closer to his humble Pasadena lodgings than the UCLA campus in Westwood.
His efforts were soon rewarded with a couple of short-term jobs helping students preparing for difficult mid-terms. But it was in April of 1982 that the still painfully shy David Chao was to meet Amalie Desjardins, the woman who was to change his life forever.
********
Colonel Chao was aroused from his reverie by a muffled cry of pain, as his accomplices changed position. The sheik was still sitting in the great chair, but he had now stripped off the robe and his body was visible in all of its hairy corpulence. Meanwhile Julius Baraka's powerful arms had lifted Tanya Spencer's thighs so that her body, nude save for the blue shorts and pale panties that dangled limply from one elevated foot, was positioned roughly parallel to the floor, her head facing downward and poised above sheik Abdul's meaty phallus.
"My turn for some cock-sucking, you little whore," the swarthy Arab growled, reaching out for Tanya's ripe breasts and using them as handles to steer her mouth to his erection. "And if I so much as feel the edge of a tooth, by the beard of the prophet, I'll rip your tits off!" With those words the sheik tightened his grip on Tanya's tender pleasure-mounds, as if he needed to reassure himself yet again that her superb breasts were indeed the gifts of some priapic god of lust and not the man-made masterpieces of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon.
With a grunt of virile pleasure the pot-bellied Arab pulled Tanya's face down on his member. His hairy hands pumped each of her pendulous breasts in turn as he leaned back in the chair groaning ecstatically as Tanya's warm mouth encircled his cock. Meanwhile Baraka had positioned his dark, semen-tipped ramrod at the entrance to Tanya's moist labia, and with a great lunge, he drove it into her, drawing the gasp of pain that David Chao had heard.
The violence of his thrust caused Tanya's cut-offs and panties, which until that moment had clung tenaciously to one ankle as if trying to spare her the humiliation of utter nakedness, to drift to the ground in final abject surrender.
Her mouth and vagina once again plugged by throbbing cocks, a choking Tanya Spenser could do little more than groan in shame and despair as her tormentors manhandled her beautiful body at will….
********
The piercing ring of a phone call woke David Chao from a sound sleep an hour or so after he had returned to his room after his nightly routine of sweeping and practicing at Cebu Sam's pool hall. He cursed and reached for the phone, knocking his bulky physics text from the wobbly night table in the process. "Hello!" he barked angrily into the mouthpiece.
"Is this David Chao?" the voice on the other end of the line was young, female, breathy.
"Yes. Do you have any idea what time it is?" David grumbled sleepily, as he put on his glasses and squinted at his alarm clock. The little hand was well past the two.
"Yes, I'm very sorry, David, but I have been trying to reach you for days."
"I'm sorry too. Perhaps I should buy an answering machine so that you would find it easier to reach me," he snapped rudely. And then he sighed, angry with himself. Between the hours of classes, labwork, three hours a night at the Cal Tech library, the long cross-town bus ride and his late nights at the pool hall, he was not the easiest man in the world to reach.
"Forgive me, please," he continued quickly. "I'm a bit out of sorts when I first wake up.
"No shit! I guess I shouldn't have called."
"No, please," David implored, now alert and hoping against hope that the soft voice on the other end of the line had called about tutoring. "I'm sorry. Why did you call?"
"My name is Amalie Desjardins," the breathy voice continued. "I'm a freshman at USC. My dad's a honcho at JPL and he made me take this stupid chemistry class, and I – I'm just lost."
"JPL?" David Chao's ears perked. Jet Propulsion Laboratories, in northwest Pasadena, Cal Tech's tie-in with NASA, was one of the most famous research facilities in the world. It was the dream of every physics student to work at JPL. "Your father works at JPL?"
"Yeah, something to do with mixtures of rocket fuels or something. Very hush hush. He's a real brain. I guess I take after my mom," she giggled. "She had trouble making pancake batter." It was a nice giggle, warm and inviting.
"I have a very good background in chemistry," David said. "But my English is not so good."
"Oh, you seem to do OK. When can we meet?"
"I only have weekends free."
"Saturday morning, OK? 10:00? The Doheny?"
"The Doheny?"
"Yeah, the main library. It's right on campus.
"I'll find it. How will I know you? I'm Chinese, 6' 1" 140 lbs, wire-rimmed glasses…"
"Oh, you won't have any trouble recognizing me; I'll be coming straight from practice. I'll be the girl with the pom-poms -- and the cheerleader uni," she added with a naughty chuckle.
"OK. 10:00, Saturday, Doheny Library. See you then."
Chapter V The Summer of '82 : Amalie
By the time the following spring rolled around David Chao, although still living in poverty, felt that his English had improved enough that he could make some money from his real talents – math and science. Hoping to tutor struggling students, he placed a card advertising his talents and listing his name and phone number on the bulletin board at Cal Tech, but soon found that students at that august institution are rarely in need of special assistance.
After a week or two he decided that he would have to cast his net on a wider academic sea, and he posted similar flyers at the Trojan Bookstore and other public places on the campus of the University of Southern California, located just a few blocks south and west of downtown LA, and hence considerably closer to his humble Pasadena lodgings than the UCLA campus in Westwood.
His efforts were soon rewarded with a couple of short-term jobs helping students preparing for difficult mid-terms. But it was in April of 1982 that the still painfully shy David Chao was to meet Amalie Desjardins, the woman who was to change his life forever.
********
Colonel Chao was aroused from his reverie by a muffled cry of pain, as his accomplices changed position. The sheik was still sitting in the great chair, but he had now stripped off the robe and his body was visible in all of its hairy corpulence. Meanwhile Julius Baraka's powerful arms had lifted Tanya Spencer's thighs so that her body, nude save for the blue shorts and pale panties that dangled limply from one elevated foot, was positioned roughly parallel to the floor, her head facing downward and poised above sheik Abdul's meaty phallus.
"My turn for some cock-sucking, you little whore," the swarthy Arab growled, reaching out for Tanya's ripe breasts and using them as handles to steer her mouth to his erection. "And if I so much as feel the edge of a tooth, by the beard of the prophet, I'll rip your tits off!" With those words the sheik tightened his grip on Tanya's tender pleasure-mounds, as if he needed to reassure himself yet again that her superb breasts were indeed the gifts of some priapic god of lust and not the man-made masterpieces of a Beverly Hills plastic surgeon.
With a grunt of virile pleasure the pot-bellied Arab pulled Tanya's face down on his member. His hairy hands pumped each of her pendulous breasts in turn as he leaned back in the chair groaning ecstatically as Tanya's warm mouth encircled his cock. Meanwhile Baraka had positioned his dark, semen-tipped ramrod at the entrance to Tanya's moist labia, and with a great lunge, he drove it into her, drawing the gasp of pain that David Chao had heard.
The violence of his thrust caused Tanya's cut-offs and panties, which until that moment had clung tenaciously to one ankle as if trying to spare her the humiliation of utter nakedness, to drift to the ground in final abject surrender.
Her mouth and vagina once again plugged by throbbing cocks, a choking Tanya Spenser could do little more than groan in shame and despair as her tormentors manhandled her beautiful body at will….
********
The piercing ring of a phone call woke David Chao from a sound sleep an hour or so after he had returned to his room after his nightly routine of sweeping and practicing at Cebu Sam's pool hall. He cursed and reached for the phone, knocking his bulky physics text from the wobbly night table in the process. "Hello!" he barked angrily into the mouthpiece.
"Is this David Chao?" the voice on the other end of the line was young, female, breathy.
"Yes. Do you have any idea what time it is?" David grumbled sleepily, as he put on his glasses and squinted at his alarm clock. The little hand was well past the two.
"Yes, I'm very sorry, David, but I have been trying to reach you for days."
"I'm sorry too. Perhaps I should buy an answering machine so that you would find it easier to reach me," he snapped rudely. And then he sighed, angry with himself. Between the hours of classes, labwork, three hours a night at the Cal Tech library, the long cross-town bus ride and his late nights at the pool hall, he was not the easiest man in the world to reach.
"Forgive me, please," he continued quickly. "I'm a bit out of sorts when I first wake up.
"No shit! I guess I shouldn't have called."
"No, please," David implored, now alert and hoping against hope that the soft voice on the other end of the line had called about tutoring. "I'm sorry. Why did you call?"
"My name is Amalie Desjardins," the breathy voice continued. "I'm a freshman at USC. My dad's a honcho at JPL and he made me take this stupid chemistry class, and I – I'm just lost."
"JPL?" David Chao's ears perked. Jet Propulsion Laboratories, in northwest Pasadena, Cal Tech's tie-in with NASA, was one of the most famous research facilities in the world. It was the dream of every physics student to work at JPL. "Your father works at JPL?"
"Yeah, something to do with mixtures of rocket fuels or something. Very hush hush. He's a real brain. I guess I take after my mom," she giggled. "She had trouble making pancake batter." It was a nice giggle, warm and inviting.
"I have a very good background in chemistry," David said. "But my English is not so good."
"Oh, you seem to do OK. When can we meet?"
"I only have weekends free."
"Saturday morning, OK? 10:00? The Doheny?"
"The Doheny?"
"Yeah, the main library. It's right on campus.
"I'll find it. How will I know you? I'm Chinese, 6' 1" 140 lbs, wire-rimmed glasses…"
"Oh, you won't have any trouble recognizing me; I'll be coming straight from practice. I'll be the girl with the pom-poms -- and the cheerleader uni," she added with a naughty chuckle.
"OK. 10:00, Saturday, Doheny Library. See you then."
Last edited by a moderator:
windar
Teller of Tales
That was a really good chapter. I think you caught the atmosphere of such places from the pre-internet era. Not that I would know, never having entered one of the places. Honest, I swear. But a friend of mine in grad school actually worked in one of those on Times Square back before that area became Disney World north. He had quiet some stories.
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 13 {In which young David Chao first meets Amalie Desjardins, a beautiful cheerleader at the University of Southern California, who needs help with her chemistry}
It was a beautiful spring morning the following Saturday when David Chao arrived at the USC campus well before the appointed time. He strolled around Exposition Park for a bit, enjoying the beautiful rose gardens and making a note to revisit the Museum of Science and Industry once he had received his next grant check. He was immediately struck by the attractiveness of many of the young coeds. The vast majority of his classmates at Cal Tech were young men, and most of the few female students, while undeniably brilliant and capable, were as bookish and bohemian as he.
But the USC campus was a frothy confection of feminine delights – some solitary, some in boy-girl couples, some in cheerful chatty groups of three or four. As he walked toward the library, his eyes darting covertly in every direction, he saw no fewer than a dozen coeds whose bright young faces and trim figures were more than a match for the model-actresses in the films to which he had become addicted. Younger, prettier, more vivacious, more alive.
David Chao relished the sight of the sleek thighs of the girls wearing shorts, and the tempting young breasts encased in tight-fitting T-shirts and low-cut tank tops. He sat for a moment on a park bench, watching out of the corner of his eye as a laughing, bra-less redhead in stylishly ragged jeans ran across a grassy area, the half-erect nipples of her young breasts faintly outlined against her shirt, while a strapping young man in athletic shorts followed her in hot pursuit .
When he caught up to her the young man tackled her from behind and wrestled her to the soft turf, playfully straddling her waist with his muscular thighs while he pinned her hands to the ground. Then he released her hands and slid his fingers under her shirt so that he could tickle her bare belly. He teased her unmercifully, slowly nudging the shirt higher and higher so that his fingers could play along the gentle indentations of her rib cage. Half giggling, half sobbing, the redhead squirmed beneath him as if she were on the brink of an orgasm, her thighs thrashing, her breasts bobbing under her shirt like ripe fruit. Finally the boy relented and bent to kiss her, and she returned the kiss enthusiastically before rolling over and straddling him in turn, the nipples of her deliciously bra-less breasts now fully aroused and dancing against the white fabric, scant inches from her boyfriend's eyes and mouth.
Reluctant to abandon his voyeuristic vantage point, but on the verge of being late, David Chao glanced at his watch and rose to his feet, giving the redhead's tightly denimed buttocks a fond final glance before setting off once again for the Doheny Library.
********
Amalie Desjardins was about fifteen minutes late, as was to prove her custom, but she was well worth the wait. She was breathtakingly attractive, with soft brown eyes, modeled cheekbones and the full, pouting lips whose Gallic perfection David was not to see again until he was to stroll along the sandy beaches of St Tropez eyeing its naughty demoiselles many years later. Amalie's long, straw-blonde hair was cinched in a ribbon of that deep shade of wine-dark red that the Trojan faithful call 'cardinal'. Half a foot shorter than David's angular 6' 1", Amalie's peaches-and-cream complexion was just beginning to darken into a springtime tan. Her cheerleader sweater was of a sparkling white, interrupted by the three stenciled cardinal red letters, U, S, and C, whose lower edges just kissed the upper curves of her pleasingly opulent breasts. Her short skirt was pleated and of the same white, trimmed along the hem with three half-inch wide stripes – cardinal, gold, cardinal.
David, almost stammering with nervousness, introduced himself and offered to take her bookbag. Amalie, in bubbling good spirits, handed it to him and said, "We just got our new uni's!"
When David looked at her blankly, she explained. "Uniforms! For next fall. Do you like it?" She pirouetted for him, letting the short skirt fly high on her tanned, shapely legs, drawing appreciative glances from all the males milling around the arched entranceway to the library. "Oops!" she blushed, covering her mouth coquettishly. "But I can't help it. I'm so excited." Then she added in a more serious voice, "But if I don't pass this damn chemistry class, I may not even be here next fall! God, how I hate all those atoms and molecules!"
"Ah, but chemistry is much more than that. It is a great and noble science. Your name – it is a French name, yes?"
Amalie Desjardins nodded. "Yes, my father's father was a wine-grower in Normandy; his mother was from Paris."
"Do you know who Antoine Lavoisier was?"
Amalie looked at David blankly.
"He is considered the father of modern chemistry. He, too was born in Paris. A great scientist, and a great citizen of France, who did much to help the lives of the common people. But he was denounced in the madness of the Reign of Terror and was sent to the guillotine."
"Really?"
David Chao smiled. It was good to see the spark of curiosity in Amalie's beautiful brown eyes.
"Yes – did you say your grandfather was from Normandy?"
"Oui," replied Amalie with a glowing smile.
David nodded, his nervousness dissipating as he spoke. "So was Pierre Laplace – chemist – mathematician - physicist – astronomer. He was so learned and famous that Napoleon made him a count of the Empire."
"I … I did not know."
"So, you see there is much more to chemistry and science than atoms and molecules."
"My goodness, David. "Where did you learn so much? You don't look much older than me."
"In buildings such as this," David said, gesturing toward the imposing edifice behind them. "Come, let's get started."
"OK, but I'm warning you. That professor's got me so confused with atomic weights and atomic numbers and isotopes …" Amalie shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. "I's a dope, I guess," she added, smiling at her little joke.
"Well, let's see if we can't do something about that," David added hopefully. They quickly came to an agreement as to his hourly tutorial fee, which he set quite low, given his inexperience in that regard and his reluctance to risk losing such a fetching client. That done, David said, "OK, then. Let's find someplace quiet to study."
A few minutes later the two of them were ensconced in a study cubicle, sitting side by side at a small desk. Already bewitched by the feminine fragrance of her body and the healthy glow of her skin, David began by leafing through her chemistry text quickly, noting the material he needed to cover. Now and then he asked a question about whether her professor had spent much time on this topic or that, judging by the nature of Amalie's responses what she had learned so far, and where she needed the most help.
"Tell you what," he said, upon concluding his mini-survey. "Let’s begin at the beginning, with the Periodic Chart."
And he began to talk, expertly tailoring his comments to her level. Amalie, he soon found, was clearly intelligent, but rather unmotivated and without much experience at the type of systematic thinking necessary for an understanding of the physical sciences.
It was a beautiful spring morning the following Saturday when David Chao arrived at the USC campus well before the appointed time. He strolled around Exposition Park for a bit, enjoying the beautiful rose gardens and making a note to revisit the Museum of Science and Industry once he had received his next grant check. He was immediately struck by the attractiveness of many of the young coeds. The vast majority of his classmates at Cal Tech were young men, and most of the few female students, while undeniably brilliant and capable, were as bookish and bohemian as he.
But the USC campus was a frothy confection of feminine delights – some solitary, some in boy-girl couples, some in cheerful chatty groups of three or four. As he walked toward the library, his eyes darting covertly in every direction, he saw no fewer than a dozen coeds whose bright young faces and trim figures were more than a match for the model-actresses in the films to which he had become addicted. Younger, prettier, more vivacious, more alive.
David Chao relished the sight of the sleek thighs of the girls wearing shorts, and the tempting young breasts encased in tight-fitting T-shirts and low-cut tank tops. He sat for a moment on a park bench, watching out of the corner of his eye as a laughing, bra-less redhead in stylishly ragged jeans ran across a grassy area, the half-erect nipples of her young breasts faintly outlined against her shirt, while a strapping young man in athletic shorts followed her in hot pursuit .
When he caught up to her the young man tackled her from behind and wrestled her to the soft turf, playfully straddling her waist with his muscular thighs while he pinned her hands to the ground. Then he released her hands and slid his fingers under her shirt so that he could tickle her bare belly. He teased her unmercifully, slowly nudging the shirt higher and higher so that his fingers could play along the gentle indentations of her rib cage. Half giggling, half sobbing, the redhead squirmed beneath him as if she were on the brink of an orgasm, her thighs thrashing, her breasts bobbing under her shirt like ripe fruit. Finally the boy relented and bent to kiss her, and she returned the kiss enthusiastically before rolling over and straddling him in turn, the nipples of her deliciously bra-less breasts now fully aroused and dancing against the white fabric, scant inches from her boyfriend's eyes and mouth.
Reluctant to abandon his voyeuristic vantage point, but on the verge of being late, David Chao glanced at his watch and rose to his feet, giving the redhead's tightly denimed buttocks a fond final glance before setting off once again for the Doheny Library.
********
Amalie Desjardins was about fifteen minutes late, as was to prove her custom, but she was well worth the wait. She was breathtakingly attractive, with soft brown eyes, modeled cheekbones and the full, pouting lips whose Gallic perfection David was not to see again until he was to stroll along the sandy beaches of St Tropez eyeing its naughty demoiselles many years later. Amalie's long, straw-blonde hair was cinched in a ribbon of that deep shade of wine-dark red that the Trojan faithful call 'cardinal'. Half a foot shorter than David's angular 6' 1", Amalie's peaches-and-cream complexion was just beginning to darken into a springtime tan. Her cheerleader sweater was of a sparkling white, interrupted by the three stenciled cardinal red letters, U, S, and C, whose lower edges just kissed the upper curves of her pleasingly opulent breasts. Her short skirt was pleated and of the same white, trimmed along the hem with three half-inch wide stripes – cardinal, gold, cardinal.
David, almost stammering with nervousness, introduced himself and offered to take her bookbag. Amalie, in bubbling good spirits, handed it to him and said, "We just got our new uni's!"
When David looked at her blankly, she explained. "Uniforms! For next fall. Do you like it?" She pirouetted for him, letting the short skirt fly high on her tanned, shapely legs, drawing appreciative glances from all the males milling around the arched entranceway to the library. "Oops!" she blushed, covering her mouth coquettishly. "But I can't help it. I'm so excited." Then she added in a more serious voice, "But if I don't pass this damn chemistry class, I may not even be here next fall! God, how I hate all those atoms and molecules!"
"Ah, but chemistry is much more than that. It is a great and noble science. Your name – it is a French name, yes?"
Amalie Desjardins nodded. "Yes, my father's father was a wine-grower in Normandy; his mother was from Paris."
"Do you know who Antoine Lavoisier was?"
Amalie looked at David blankly.
"He is considered the father of modern chemistry. He, too was born in Paris. A great scientist, and a great citizen of France, who did much to help the lives of the common people. But he was denounced in the madness of the Reign of Terror and was sent to the guillotine."
"Really?"
David Chao smiled. It was good to see the spark of curiosity in Amalie's beautiful brown eyes.
"Yes – did you say your grandfather was from Normandy?"
"Oui," replied Amalie with a glowing smile.
David nodded, his nervousness dissipating as he spoke. "So was Pierre Laplace – chemist – mathematician - physicist – astronomer. He was so learned and famous that Napoleon made him a count of the Empire."
"I … I did not know."
"So, you see there is much more to chemistry and science than atoms and molecules."
"My goodness, David. "Where did you learn so much? You don't look much older than me."
"In buildings such as this," David said, gesturing toward the imposing edifice behind them. "Come, let's get started."
"OK, but I'm warning you. That professor's got me so confused with atomic weights and atomic numbers and isotopes …" Amalie shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. "I's a dope, I guess," she added, smiling at her little joke.
"Well, let's see if we can't do something about that," David added hopefully. They quickly came to an agreement as to his hourly tutorial fee, which he set quite low, given his inexperience in that regard and his reluctance to risk losing such a fetching client. That done, David said, "OK, then. Let's find someplace quiet to study."
A few minutes later the two of them were ensconced in a study cubicle, sitting side by side at a small desk. Already bewitched by the feminine fragrance of her body and the healthy glow of her skin, David began by leafing through her chemistry text quickly, noting the material he needed to cover. Now and then he asked a question about whether her professor had spent much time on this topic or that, judging by the nature of Amalie's responses what she had learned so far, and where she needed the most help.
"Tell you what," he said, upon concluding his mini-survey. "Let’s begin at the beginning, with the Periodic Chart."
And he began to talk, expertly tailoring his comments to her level. Amalie, he soon found, was clearly intelligent, but rather unmotivated and without much experience at the type of systematic thinking necessary for an understanding of the physical sciences.
Boccaccio
Governor
Yes, such places did exist, but AFAIK, the coming ubiquity of the internet, and its access to endless oceans of pornography for the lonely and/or obsessed, was their death knell. In my area a few of the old 'adult book stores' did survive, and did so by cleaning up and becoming 'erotic boutiques.' primarily offering products to enhance the pleasure of couples, regardless of sexual persuasion. In my very slight exposure to them in the last couple of decades, my impression is that the clerk is as likely to be a friendly and helpful salesgirl as a gruff cigar-chomping old man.
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 14 {In which Amalie begins to study chemistry ... and David begins to study Amalie}
And so their relationship between David and Amalie began, with weekly two hour Saturday morning study sessions. During a short break in their third session, Amalie explained that, although she lived in Malibu, she had enrolled at USC, rather than the much nearer, and nicer, campus at UCLA, because of its film school. Her father, a widower, was spending the spring and summer commuting back and forth between the Johnson Space Center in Houston and the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral. It was he who had insisted that she get a firm grounding in the arts and sciences before embarking on a career so frivolous and fraught with risk as film school.
"Film school?" David had replied, hardly aware that there was such a thing.
"Yes. I want to be an actress. Do you think I'm pretty enough to be an actress, David?" With her back to the door of the study cubicle, Amalie posed for him coquettishly, her head tilted slightly to one side, her hands on her hips, one long leg extended suggestively. "Tony thinks I'm pretty."
"Tony?" David mumbled trying not to focus his thick-lensed glasses too obviously on the enticing swell of Amalie's breasts against her thin tank-top or the expanse of thigh extending from her short denim skirt.
"Sure, Tony Cannizzaro. My boyfriend."
"I – I'm sorry. Should I know him?"
"You don't know Tony 'the Cannon' Cannizzaro? He's our quarterback, silly! Second team All-America last year as a junior. You need to get out more, David."
"I – I'm sure you right."
"You never answered me," Amalie pouted. "Do you think I'm pretty enough to be an actress?" This time she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt as if the were on the verge of easing it down over her saucy hips. "Or maybe a model?"
"Y-yes," David choked out. "Of course. You are the prettiest girl I have ever met," he stammered truthfully.
Amalie turned so that she could see her reflection in the glass-paneled enclosure. "Tony says my boobs are too big for me to be a fashion model." Then she turned and faced David once again. "What do you think, David?"
"Fashion model? I … I don't …"
"You know, those tall skinny girls you see on the cover of Vogue. You DO know what Vogue is, don't you?"
"Uh, I don't think …"
"But maybe I could be a swimsuit model. You know – like they have in Sports Illustrated. Tony says I look a little like Christie Brinkley. What do you think, David?" Amalie asked, giving him a dazzling Brinkleyesque smile? Do you think I'm pretty enough to be in the swimsuit issue some day?"
"The swimsuit issue? I'm sorry, Amalie, I …
"Christ, David," Amalie grumbled irritably. "Don't you ever think about anything but chemistry and physics and that stuff?"
"Sure, I do," replied David truthfully, thinking about the hours he had lain awake at night picturing Amalie Desjardins in his mind's eye. Could her breasts really be as soft and rounded as he imagined them in his reveries? Her nipples as taut and pink and tasty? Her legs as smooth and silky? Her bottom as round and spankable?
David smiled softly to himself. He wondered what this teasing little minx would say if she knew how many times he had torn her pretty cheerleading sweater from her body in his dreams. How many times he had bent her over the very desk at which they studied, lifted her short pleated skirt and pulled her pretty white panties down over her heart-shaped buttocks. How many times he had spanked and paddled and applied his leather belt to her squirming bottom to punish her for teasing him to the brink of despair. How many times, in his dreams, he had buried his cock in the soft, sweet place between her legs, while the tears from her flogging were still streaming down her face.
"But," he added. "It's time to get back to work if you're going to pass that quiz on valences and electron shells next week."
"Oh, all right," Amalie grumbled sinking into her chair alongside him. But this time, for the first time, he felt the soft pressure of her thigh, warm and firm against his own. Accident, he wondered? Or invitation?
********
As the weeks passed, Amalie made good progress with her class. Early on the Saturday morning of their sixth week, she called David and said, "I got a B+ on my test, David! I'm so happy! Don't be late, because I'm bringing you a present."
It was an unseasonably rainy morning and a few hours later, Amalie, running late as always, joined him in the study cubicle they had come to think of their own, dressed in a dark raincoat that reached all the way down to her black boots. She unfolded her dripping umbrella and leaned it against a corner of the room.
"Congratulations on your test," David said encouragingly, although he was a bit annoyed by her habitual lateness. "Let's get started and see if we can't turn that B into an A.
"Don't you want your present?" Amalie asked him teasingly, sticking her tongue out flirtatiously.
"Well, of course, but you …." David faltered, for Amalie was empty- handed save for her chemistry text.
"Well, here it is!" Amalie exclaimed, throwing off the raincoat with a flourish.
David stared at her, dumfounded.
"It's my new Daisy Duke outfit! Don't you jus' love it, Davey-boy?" she teased in a seductive Southern drawl
"Your what?" David Chao was speechless. Amalie's 'Daisy Duke' outfit consisted of a long-sleeved Western shirt knotted just below an expanse of mouth-watering cleavage whose width and depth obviated any possibility that she was wearing a brassiere. Most of her belly was bare, and riding precariously low on her hips was a pair of blue jeans that had been cut breathtakingly short. David thought that he caught an exciting glimpse of a paper thin sliver of buttcheek above the backs of Amalie's tanner-by-the-week thighs when Amalie spun around on the toes of her shiny new cowboy boots.
"Daisy Duke, of course. Don't you ever watch TV?"
"I don't even have a TV, Amalie. Or an automobile."
Amalie stared at him as if he were from another planet.
"Actually, I'm glad this came up," David went on. "I've been meaning to ask you when you were going to pay me. It's been six weeks now."
"Well, heavens, David, of course I'm going to pay you. But I haven't gotten my check from Daddy yet. I think it's that Nadja woman. She doesn't like me.
"Nadja?"
"Yes, after my mother died a few years ago, Daddy lived like a monk for a long time."
David nodded, understanding perfectly.
"But about a year ago he met Nadja at a charity tennis tournament or something, and he fell for her hard. Why wouldn't he?" Amaliee added despondently. "She's not much more than half his age, and she looks like a million bucks. Anyway, that long-legged witch has got him wrapped around her little finger now. She talked him into taking her along on this trip. And I think that's why Daddy's checks are so slow in coming." A sudden thought seemed to seize Amalie. "Wait! Did you just say that you don't have a car?!? In LA?"
"I'm a student, just like you. Unfortunately I don't live in Daddy's house and I don't drive a car daddy gave me and I won't get Daddy's check, either."
"Well, it's not my fault the damn thing is late. Hey, if you don't want to tutor me any more, it's a free country."
David Chao had to bite his lip to keep from telling Amalie Desjardins that she'd almost certainly run up a larger charge on her credit card for her undeniably fetching ensemble than she owed him. But despite her annoying lack of punctuality and her Little Miss Rich Girl attitude, he looked forward to the hours he spent in her company. To the scent of her hair, the silvery sparkle of her voice, and most of all to the warm pressure of her thigh against his own, while they reviewed the properties of the rare earth elements, or examined the intricacies of oxidation-reduction equations.
"No, I didn't mean it that way," he said at last. C'mon, Daisy, he said with a grin, "Give me that Christie Brinkley smile and let's hit the books."
And so their relationship between David and Amalie began, with weekly two hour Saturday morning study sessions. During a short break in their third session, Amalie explained that, although she lived in Malibu, she had enrolled at USC, rather than the much nearer, and nicer, campus at UCLA, because of its film school. Her father, a widower, was spending the spring and summer commuting back and forth between the Johnson Space Center in Houston and the Kennedy Space Center in Cape Canaveral. It was he who had insisted that she get a firm grounding in the arts and sciences before embarking on a career so frivolous and fraught with risk as film school.
"Film school?" David had replied, hardly aware that there was such a thing.
"Yes. I want to be an actress. Do you think I'm pretty enough to be an actress, David?" With her back to the door of the study cubicle, Amalie posed for him coquettishly, her head tilted slightly to one side, her hands on her hips, one long leg extended suggestively. "Tony thinks I'm pretty."
"Tony?" David mumbled trying not to focus his thick-lensed glasses too obviously on the enticing swell of Amalie's breasts against her thin tank-top or the expanse of thigh extending from her short denim skirt.
"Sure, Tony Cannizzaro. My boyfriend."
"I – I'm sorry. Should I know him?"
"You don't know Tony 'the Cannon' Cannizzaro? He's our quarterback, silly! Second team All-America last year as a junior. You need to get out more, David."
"I – I'm sure you right."
"You never answered me," Amalie pouted. "Do you think I'm pretty enough to be an actress?" This time she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt as if the were on the verge of easing it down over her saucy hips. "Or maybe a model?"
"Y-yes," David choked out. "Of course. You are the prettiest girl I have ever met," he stammered truthfully.
Amalie turned so that she could see her reflection in the glass-paneled enclosure. "Tony says my boobs are too big for me to be a fashion model." Then she turned and faced David once again. "What do you think, David?"
"Fashion model? I … I don't …"
"You know, those tall skinny girls you see on the cover of Vogue. You DO know what Vogue is, don't you?"
"Uh, I don't think …"
"But maybe I could be a swimsuit model. You know – like they have in Sports Illustrated. Tony says I look a little like Christie Brinkley. What do you think, David?" Amalie asked, giving him a dazzling Brinkleyesque smile? Do you think I'm pretty enough to be in the swimsuit issue some day?"
"The swimsuit issue? I'm sorry, Amalie, I …
"Christ, David," Amalie grumbled irritably. "Don't you ever think about anything but chemistry and physics and that stuff?"
"Sure, I do," replied David truthfully, thinking about the hours he had lain awake at night picturing Amalie Desjardins in his mind's eye. Could her breasts really be as soft and rounded as he imagined them in his reveries? Her nipples as taut and pink and tasty? Her legs as smooth and silky? Her bottom as round and spankable?
David smiled softly to himself. He wondered what this teasing little minx would say if she knew how many times he had torn her pretty cheerleading sweater from her body in his dreams. How many times he had bent her over the very desk at which they studied, lifted her short pleated skirt and pulled her pretty white panties down over her heart-shaped buttocks. How many times he had spanked and paddled and applied his leather belt to her squirming bottom to punish her for teasing him to the brink of despair. How many times, in his dreams, he had buried his cock in the soft, sweet place between her legs, while the tears from her flogging were still streaming down her face.
"But," he added. "It's time to get back to work if you're going to pass that quiz on valences and electron shells next week."
"Oh, all right," Amalie grumbled sinking into her chair alongside him. But this time, for the first time, he felt the soft pressure of her thigh, warm and firm against his own. Accident, he wondered? Or invitation?
********
As the weeks passed, Amalie made good progress with her class. Early on the Saturday morning of their sixth week, she called David and said, "I got a B+ on my test, David! I'm so happy! Don't be late, because I'm bringing you a present."
It was an unseasonably rainy morning and a few hours later, Amalie, running late as always, joined him in the study cubicle they had come to think of their own, dressed in a dark raincoat that reached all the way down to her black boots. She unfolded her dripping umbrella and leaned it against a corner of the room.
"Congratulations on your test," David said encouragingly, although he was a bit annoyed by her habitual lateness. "Let's get started and see if we can't turn that B into an A.
"Don't you want your present?" Amalie asked him teasingly, sticking her tongue out flirtatiously.
"Well, of course, but you …." David faltered, for Amalie was empty- handed save for her chemistry text.
"Well, here it is!" Amalie exclaimed, throwing off the raincoat with a flourish.
David stared at her, dumfounded.
"It's my new Daisy Duke outfit! Don't you jus' love it, Davey-boy?" she teased in a seductive Southern drawl
"Your what?" David Chao was speechless. Amalie's 'Daisy Duke' outfit consisted of a long-sleeved Western shirt knotted just below an expanse of mouth-watering cleavage whose width and depth obviated any possibility that she was wearing a brassiere. Most of her belly was bare, and riding precariously low on her hips was a pair of blue jeans that had been cut breathtakingly short. David thought that he caught an exciting glimpse of a paper thin sliver of buttcheek above the backs of Amalie's tanner-by-the-week thighs when Amalie spun around on the toes of her shiny new cowboy boots.
"Daisy Duke, of course. Don't you ever watch TV?"
"I don't even have a TV, Amalie. Or an automobile."
Amalie stared at him as if he were from another planet.
"Actually, I'm glad this came up," David went on. "I've been meaning to ask you when you were going to pay me. It's been six weeks now."
"Well, heavens, David, of course I'm going to pay you. But I haven't gotten my check from Daddy yet. I think it's that Nadja woman. She doesn't like me.
"Nadja?"
"Yes, after my mother died a few years ago, Daddy lived like a monk for a long time."
David nodded, understanding perfectly.
"But about a year ago he met Nadja at a charity tennis tournament or something, and he fell for her hard. Why wouldn't he?" Amaliee added despondently. "She's not much more than half his age, and she looks like a million bucks. Anyway, that long-legged witch has got him wrapped around her little finger now. She talked him into taking her along on this trip. And I think that's why Daddy's checks are so slow in coming." A sudden thought seemed to seize Amalie. "Wait! Did you just say that you don't have a car?!? In LA?"
"I'm a student, just like you. Unfortunately I don't live in Daddy's house and I don't drive a car daddy gave me and I won't get Daddy's check, either."
"Well, it's not my fault the damn thing is late. Hey, if you don't want to tutor me any more, it's a free country."
David Chao had to bite his lip to keep from telling Amalie Desjardins that she'd almost certainly run up a larger charge on her credit card for her undeniably fetching ensemble than she owed him. But despite her annoying lack of punctuality and her Little Miss Rich Girl attitude, he looked forward to the hours he spent in her company. To the scent of her hair, the silvery sparkle of her voice, and most of all to the warm pressure of her thigh against his own, while they reviewed the properties of the rare earth elements, or examined the intricacies of oxidation-reduction equations.
"No, I didn't mean it that way," he said at last. C'mon, Daisy, he said with a grin, "Give me that Christie Brinkley smile and let's hit the books."
Boccaccio
Governor
Installmant 15 {In which tutor and student take the beautiful drive to Amalie's home in Malibu}
A few weeks later, with Finals week approaching, Amalie asked David if he could come out to her house on Malibu on the following Friday afternoon, so that they could spend most of Friday evening and Saturday preparing for her final.
He hesitated briefly, not sure how to ask the question. "Will we, um, be alone?"
"No, of course not. I've told you about my brother Skip, haven't I? And Tony will probably be around too."
"Oh, right." David vaguely remembered Amalie mentioning her older brother Skip once or twice before. And who could forget Tony the Cannon, the quarterback boyfriend she seemed to have a crush on. But still, a weekend in Malibu, a posh beach enclave thirty-odd miles to the west whose wealthy ambience and natural splendor was as foreign to him as Jupiter, sounded a lot better than another lonely weekend above the pool hall. And 'The Prince of San Miguel,' as he affectionately thought of the corpulent Filipino who owned the building that housed both the pool hall and his apartment, could surely spare his custodial services for one night.
"So," Amalie concluded – can we meet at the library after my last class – about 4:15?
David thought for a moment. His last class on Friday concluded at 2:00. Although by car the trip to USC was only about fifteen miles, it would take him a couple of hours, and two or three bus transfers to get there. But two and a quarter hours should be enough.
"Sounds OK. I might be a little late, though. You know Friday night traffic.
"Tell me!" Amalie sighed. "The coast highway takes forever at rush hour. But it's a pretty drive. You'll love it out there. You'll see.
********
David endured three bone-rattling bus rides en route to USC, and arrived there, breathless, about five minutes before the appointed hour. But it was forty minutes later before an ear-piercing squeal of brakes announced Amalie's arrival in front of the library at the wheel of a shiny, two-seated convertible.
"Sorry I'm late, David," Amalie purred. "Jenny, one of the other cheerleaders, just got engaged, and we were all looking at her ring! Do you like my car?" she continued, taking her right arm from the steering wheel and presenting the expensive sports car with the sweeping gesture of a model at a boat show. "Daddy bought it for me just before he left for Houston. Hop in!"
"It's a beautiful car," David was forced to admit, as he folded his angular frame into one of the low seats and threw his humble excuse for an overnight bag into the back seat.
"Well, off we go, then!" said Amalie, as she pulled away from the curb and onto a surface street.
After brief hellos, David, never one to waste time, began going over the properties of halogens, while Amalie listened intently, occasionally interrupting him to ask a question. They made their way north to the Santa Monica Freeway on-ramp quickly, and for the next two or three minutes the convertible flew west at freeway speed, with Amalie's blonde ponytail streaming in the wind behind her and her short cardinal-red sundress riding high on her tawny thighs. The two spaghetti-thin straps which were constantly jostled by the rush of air through the convertible were all that kept the V-necked sundress from sliding off of her tanned shoulders and baring the braless breasts that contended with the flimsy fabric. The sound of the air rushing past them forced David to shout to be heard, and David soon abandoned trying to talk chemistry. But within minutes they became bogged down in rush hour traffic and he was able to begin again.
The sun, which had begun its downward arc into the Pacific, was blinding, and having no sunglasses, David had little choice but to turn slightly toward Amalie as he concluded his remarks on fluorine and took up chlorine. The same sun which had almost blinded him, seemed to make love to Amalie's bare skin. Her arms, her shoulders, her intermittently bare legs had all been kissed by the golden rays, a moist kiss that left her flesh so sleek, sensuous, and vibrant that it was difficult for David to maintain his concentration.
In Santa Monica the freeway took its great northern bend and emptied into the Pacific Coast Highway, Amalie interrupted his discourse on the medicinal properties of iodine, and turned to him and asked, "Are you up for Gladstone's?"
"Gladstone's?" David asked, picturing the dignified Victorian Prime Minister.
"Yes, Gladstone's-4-Fish. Corner of Sunset, just a few minutes from here. Best seafood in town, David. They've got king crab to die for."
"I … I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting … I didn't bring a lot of …"
Amalie held up a slender hand. "It's on me, Teach," she said, giving him a radiant smile.
********
Ninety minutes later they pulled out of the beachfront parking lot and set off in the convertible again and rejoined the slow-moving traffic which wound north and west in a great arc. A succession of sandy beaches lined the route on their left, and the Pacific Palisades, a series of lofty cliffs studded here and there with the homes of the wealthy, towered above them on their right.
David Chao's spirits were as light as his stomach was heavy. The dinner had been splendid – crisp salad, freshly baked bread, a baked potato so immense that he could not have finished had it been his entire meal, and heaping mounds of orange-red legs and claws of giant Alaskan crabs. Amalie had giggled as he wrestled awkwardly with the implements that Gladstone's had provided to extricate the delectable crabmeat from its horny shell, but he took her amusement with good grace.
The wine, too, had been splendid, although David would not have known a chablis from a cabernet. Amalie had chosen a chardonnay from a boutique winery in Sonoma County, and laughingly shown him how to swirl the wine gently in his glass and inhale its fresh bouquet before raising the glass to his lips.
Not being a drinker, the single glass of wine had given David a mellowness of spirit quite foreign to him, and during the forty-minute ride from the restaurant to Amalie's Malibu home, he had told her of some of the colorful characters in science – of Archimedes, the Greek who discovered the laws of displacement while getting into his bath. He told her of Tycho Brahe, the Danish astronomer who had lost his nose in a duel and replaced it with one of metal and he recounted the story of Galileo confronting the Inquisition. As the northerly stretch of coast highway once again bent toward the west, he told her of how so many of the great discoveries of science had been the result of accident rather than genius or inspiration.
When at last they pulled into the drive of a spectacular home overlooking the south coast of Malibu, a red Mustang and a cream-colored BMW were already parked in the driveway.
"Oh, Tony's here!" Amalie said excitedly as she brought her car to a stop and opened the door. "He drives the Mustang; Chip, my brother, drives the Beamer. Chip's in his last year of business school and he wants to be a sports agent. So he's been kissing up to Tony for months. But I can't blame him – they say Tony's got a shot at the Heisman this year, and should be a sure first-round draft choice."
David, a bit befuddled by this talk of beamers and Heismans and draft choices, remained in the passenger's seat for a moment, admiring the magnificence of the house at the end of the driveway, his eye quickly calculating its footprint at upwards of 3500 square feet. The Desjardins had not stinted on landscaping either; the house was wreathed with greenery. A talented gardener had enclosed the house within a verdant network of shrubs and hedges and ground-hugging succulents, all encircled by a row of fragrant flowering myrtles.
"Well, c'mon, David. Let's go inside. You can meet them."
A few weeks later, with Finals week approaching, Amalie asked David if he could come out to her house on Malibu on the following Friday afternoon, so that they could spend most of Friday evening and Saturday preparing for her final.
He hesitated briefly, not sure how to ask the question. "Will we, um, be alone?"
"No, of course not. I've told you about my brother Skip, haven't I? And Tony will probably be around too."
"Oh, right." David vaguely remembered Amalie mentioning her older brother Skip once or twice before. And who could forget Tony the Cannon, the quarterback boyfriend she seemed to have a crush on. But still, a weekend in Malibu, a posh beach enclave thirty-odd miles to the west whose wealthy ambience and natural splendor was as foreign to him as Jupiter, sounded a lot better than another lonely weekend above the pool hall. And 'The Prince of San Miguel,' as he affectionately thought of the corpulent Filipino who owned the building that housed both the pool hall and his apartment, could surely spare his custodial services for one night.
"So," Amalie concluded – can we meet at the library after my last class – about 4:15?
David thought for a moment. His last class on Friday concluded at 2:00. Although by car the trip to USC was only about fifteen miles, it would take him a couple of hours, and two or three bus transfers to get there. But two and a quarter hours should be enough.
"Sounds OK. I might be a little late, though. You know Friday night traffic.
"Tell me!" Amalie sighed. "The coast highway takes forever at rush hour. But it's a pretty drive. You'll love it out there. You'll see.
********
David endured three bone-rattling bus rides en route to USC, and arrived there, breathless, about five minutes before the appointed hour. But it was forty minutes later before an ear-piercing squeal of brakes announced Amalie's arrival in front of the library at the wheel of a shiny, two-seated convertible.
"Sorry I'm late, David," Amalie purred. "Jenny, one of the other cheerleaders, just got engaged, and we were all looking at her ring! Do you like my car?" she continued, taking her right arm from the steering wheel and presenting the expensive sports car with the sweeping gesture of a model at a boat show. "Daddy bought it for me just before he left for Houston. Hop in!"
"It's a beautiful car," David was forced to admit, as he folded his angular frame into one of the low seats and threw his humble excuse for an overnight bag into the back seat.
"Well, off we go, then!" said Amalie, as she pulled away from the curb and onto a surface street.
After brief hellos, David, never one to waste time, began going over the properties of halogens, while Amalie listened intently, occasionally interrupting him to ask a question. They made their way north to the Santa Monica Freeway on-ramp quickly, and for the next two or three minutes the convertible flew west at freeway speed, with Amalie's blonde ponytail streaming in the wind behind her and her short cardinal-red sundress riding high on her tawny thighs. The two spaghetti-thin straps which were constantly jostled by the rush of air through the convertible were all that kept the V-necked sundress from sliding off of her tanned shoulders and baring the braless breasts that contended with the flimsy fabric. The sound of the air rushing past them forced David to shout to be heard, and David soon abandoned trying to talk chemistry. But within minutes they became bogged down in rush hour traffic and he was able to begin again.
The sun, which had begun its downward arc into the Pacific, was blinding, and having no sunglasses, David had little choice but to turn slightly toward Amalie as he concluded his remarks on fluorine and took up chlorine. The same sun which had almost blinded him, seemed to make love to Amalie's bare skin. Her arms, her shoulders, her intermittently bare legs had all been kissed by the golden rays, a moist kiss that left her flesh so sleek, sensuous, and vibrant that it was difficult for David to maintain his concentration.
In Santa Monica the freeway took its great northern bend and emptied into the Pacific Coast Highway, Amalie interrupted his discourse on the medicinal properties of iodine, and turned to him and asked, "Are you up for Gladstone's?"
"Gladstone's?" David asked, picturing the dignified Victorian Prime Minister.
"Yes, Gladstone's-4-Fish. Corner of Sunset, just a few minutes from here. Best seafood in town, David. They've got king crab to die for."
"I … I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting … I didn't bring a lot of …"
Amalie held up a slender hand. "It's on me, Teach," she said, giving him a radiant smile.
********
Ninety minutes later they pulled out of the beachfront parking lot and set off in the convertible again and rejoined the slow-moving traffic which wound north and west in a great arc. A succession of sandy beaches lined the route on their left, and the Pacific Palisades, a series of lofty cliffs studded here and there with the homes of the wealthy, towered above them on their right.
David Chao's spirits were as light as his stomach was heavy. The dinner had been splendid – crisp salad, freshly baked bread, a baked potato so immense that he could not have finished had it been his entire meal, and heaping mounds of orange-red legs and claws of giant Alaskan crabs. Amalie had giggled as he wrestled awkwardly with the implements that Gladstone's had provided to extricate the delectable crabmeat from its horny shell, but he took her amusement with good grace.
The wine, too, had been splendid, although David would not have known a chablis from a cabernet. Amalie had chosen a chardonnay from a boutique winery in Sonoma County, and laughingly shown him how to swirl the wine gently in his glass and inhale its fresh bouquet before raising the glass to his lips.
Not being a drinker, the single glass of wine had given David a mellowness of spirit quite foreign to him, and during the forty-minute ride from the restaurant to Amalie's Malibu home, he had told her of some of the colorful characters in science – of Archimedes, the Greek who discovered the laws of displacement while getting into his bath. He told her of Tycho Brahe, the Danish astronomer who had lost his nose in a duel and replaced it with one of metal and he recounted the story of Galileo confronting the Inquisition. As the northerly stretch of coast highway once again bent toward the west, he told her of how so many of the great discoveries of science had been the result of accident rather than genius or inspiration.
When at last they pulled into the drive of a spectacular home overlooking the south coast of Malibu, a red Mustang and a cream-colored BMW were already parked in the driveway.
"Oh, Tony's here!" Amalie said excitedly as she brought her car to a stop and opened the door. "He drives the Mustang; Chip, my brother, drives the Beamer. Chip's in his last year of business school and he wants to be a sports agent. So he's been kissing up to Tony for months. But I can't blame him – they say Tony's got a shot at the Heisman this year, and should be a sure first-round draft choice."
David, a bit befuddled by this talk of beamers and Heismans and draft choices, remained in the passenger's seat for a moment, admiring the magnificence of the house at the end of the driveway, his eye quickly calculating its footprint at upwards of 3500 square feet. The Desjardins had not stinted on landscaping either; the house was wreathed with greenery. A talented gardener had enclosed the house within a verdant network of shrubs and hedges and ground-hugging succulents, all encircled by a row of fragrant flowering myrtles.
"Well, c'mon, David. Let's go inside. You can meet them."
Boccaccio
Governor
Installment 16 { In which David Chao first meets Tony 'the Cannon' Cannizzaro, Amalie's arrogant lout of a boyfriend}
Grabbing his bag, David followed Amalie into the house, his eye taking in the richness of its furnishings, especially the exotic Persian rug that covered much of the living room floor. He could hear the faint sound of rock music floating toward them from a distant room. A football, no doubt the property of Tony the Cannon, sat incongruously on a velvet-covered armchair alongside a USC letter-jacket of the kind awarded to stand-out athletes. David picked the football up and gripped it awkwardly, savoring the smell and the texture of the brown leather.
"They must be in the rec room. Follow me!"
David set the football back down in the chair and started after Amalie, pausing at a knickknack shelf to straighten an overturned picture frame. He righted the frame and as he did so he saw that it contained a picture of a sober-looking sixty-ish man with his arm around a brunette in a short skirt that showed off her excellent legs. No doubt the infamous Nadja, who Amalie suspected had sunk her acquisitive hooks deep into her father's libido.
David silently replaced the frame as he had found it and followed Amalie down a hallway, his eyes glued to the sensuous roll of her saucy buttocks beneath the thin fabric of her wine-red sundress. As they neared the end of the hallway, David's ears perked up as he heard the unmistakable click of cue ball against object ball and, a split-second later the sound of the ball plopping into a pocket.
As they entered the 'rec room', which was larger than David's spartan apartment, Amalie cheerily announced, "Tony, Chip! This is David. I've told you about him – he's the guy who's been helping me with my chemistry class."
Frowning, Tony Cannizzaro straightened up from his position addressing the cue ball. Making no move to step toward David to take his out-stretched hand, he frowned, muttered a perfunctory, "Hey," and bent over the cueball once again. Tony 'the Cannon' Cannizzaro was tall and well-built with long, wavy black hair and an olive complexion. David had little trouble believing that this muscular and handsome John Travolta was both a star athlete and Amalie's beau.
"Baby, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times – don't interrupt me when I'm lining up a shot." His elbow swinging like a pendulum, Tony made a few practice strokes, and then cued the white ball crisply into the six-ball, driving the green ball cleanly into the side pocket.
"Nice shot, Tony! Hey, how you doing, David?" Chip Desjardins stepped forward and took David's hand, but there was something in his handshake, and in his demeanor, that gave David the impression that his smile and greeting were as genuine as those of a used car salesman.
David let his eyes wander around the room, somewhat awed by its affluence. There was a bar in one corner of the room, equipped with counter and stools and a sparkling assortment of liquor bottles. An elegant wine rack filled part of one wall and a long, comfortable-looking couch, positioned so that it faced a huge video screen, occupied much of the opposite wall. At the far end of the room was rack which held a dozen or more well-polished billiard cues. But Tony Cannizzaro had chosen none of these generic cues; the leather case which had held his own expensive cue was draped over one of the barstools.
"Seven ball, corner." Tony stroked the cueball again, driving it into the seven ball which was tucked against a rail, kissing it thinly and send it skidding along the cushion, until the ball, whose color echoed Amalie's sexy sundress, found the corner pocket.
"Eight ball, corner." David had noticed upon first seeing the table that the absence of any striped balls save for the yellow-striped nine made it a virtual certainty that the two men were playing nine ball, a version of pool played with only the balls numbered one through nine. In nine ball the players must pocket the balls in numerical sequence, with the maker of the nine ball winning the game and the stake. It was not customary to call ball and pocket as Tony had done; David guessed that the rangy quarterback had done so merely to show off to the new arrivals.
The eight ball was quite near the corner pocket, and Tony drilled it firmly, with the cue ball following after it and striking three rails before coming to rest at some distance from the nine ball.
"Nine ball, corner," Tony's elbow swung back and forth four or five times and then he sent the cue ball hurtling down the table where it struck the yellow and white striped ball at the precise angle needed to drive it into the corner pocket.
"And game," Tony said cockily. "That's thirty bills you owe me, Chip."
"Ooh, nice shot, Tony," Amalie purred. "Let me go freshen up, while you boys get to know each other."
********
"So, you're the genius, she's always going on about, eh?" Tony said rudely as soon as Amalie was out of sight. "You don't look like a genius to me, One-ball."
"One-ball?" As Chip scooped the balls out of the pockets, and let them trickle across the table toward the rack-end of the table, the yellow one ball had never looked yellower to David Chao.
"You heard me, One-ball. I tell you, Chip, the chinks are takin' over this town. I got off the freeway in Garden Grove a coupla weeks ago – it looks like Viet-fucking-nam down there any more. First we had Chinatown, then Little Tokyo. Now we got fucking Koreatown over there south of Wilshire, and Boat-peopleville down in OC. You watch, Chip. This time next year, they won't need a dog pound in Orange County."
David Chao took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. There seemed little point in debating a bigot so stunningly obtuse that he not only lumped all east Asians together, but he further assumed that the canine population of southern California was at culinary risk due to the influx of Asian immigrants. He glanced at Chip, hoping that Amalie's brother would do or say something to ease the situation, but Tony's toady continued to circle the table emptying the pockets, unwilling to acknowledge David's inquiring glance.
"Rack 'em up Chipper," Tony exclaimed. "I'll give you a chance to get even."
"Sure thing, Ton'," Chip muttered obsequiously as he re-racked the nine balls in a diamond-shaped rack, the one ball at the apex of the diamond, the nine ball, the money ball, tucked away in the center of the diamond.
Tony sent the balls caroming around the table with a thunderous break shot, sinking the orange five-ball, but leaving himself a difficult shot on the one-ball, with which he would have to begin his sequential run of the table. He chalked his cue carefully, as after every shot, and then made a difficult cut to pocket the one ball, and followed with another table-length shot on the blue two ball.
"Wow, great shot, Tony!" Chip observed, as Tony followed the cue ball down the table and lined up another long shot on the three, which he proceeded to miss, leaving Chip an easy shot at the three. The four ball was hanging in a corner and Chip pocketed it easily enough but then missed a tricky shot on the six ball.
David studied Tony's play carefully as the quarterback ran the last four balls making a series of moderately difficult shots. There was no question that the star athlete had a good eye and a steady stroke, but David's analytical eye also observed that Tony's game was much too flashy. He played with a pocket-rattling flair that no doubt impressed novices and intermediate players (and attractive co-eds!), but he showed little grasp of position play. Time and again, Tony hit the cue ball too hard, drilling the object balls firmly into the desired pocket, but without sufficient forethought as to where to leave his cue ball so that the next shot, and the one after that, would pose few problems.
During his long, lonely hours practicing at Cebu Sam's, David had trained himself to assess the entire table of balls after a break and to plan the entire rack before taking the first shot. Sometimes, of course, the random spacing of the balls after the break posed problems that were impossible to overcome, but increasingly in recent months he had been able to both foresee and execute a series of nine shots. Planning, for example, before he so much as lined up his shot on the one-ball, to eventually pocket the six in the left hand side pocket, the seven at the far left corner, the eight in the far right corner, and then, having creating the proper angle on the eight, he would employ top left English to bring the cueball back to the other end of the table for the nine ball. It was clear from Tony's hasty, ad hoc style, that while he had the stroke and eye of a strong player, he lacked the sure grasp of position play that distinguishes the true expert.
"Hey, One-ball! You've been watching me like a hawk. Amalie tells me you're a real brain. You ever play a man's game like this, or do you pretty much stick to Chinese Checkers?"
Chip snorted amusedly at Tony's comment as he racked the balls again.
Bristling inside, David once again pretended not to understand the one- ball insult. "Why would you think that I play Chinese checkers?" He had seen the unfamiliar board game in a store once, had been puzzled by its name and had checked out its history.
"There's a mirror in the bathroom above the sink, One-ball. Check it out!"
David was finding it difficult to suppress his anger at this crude, overbearing jerk. Where, he wondered, was Amalie. "Oh, I see. You think I play Chinese Checkers because I am Chinese. But surely you know that Chinese Checkers are neither Chinese, nor checkers. It's based on an old German game called Halma. Any fool knows that."
Tony set his cue down loudly on the table and took a menacing step toward David. "You calling me a fool, one-ball?"
David was trembling inside, but held his ground. "There is no need to call you a fool." The subtlety of his retort and his slight emphasis on the word 'call' went over Tony's head, as he hoped, but drew a slight smile from Chip, who erased it quickly when he sensed that that Tony was glaring at him.
"Well, a brain like you oughta be good at pool, don't you think, Chip? All them angles and everything. How about a game, One-ball? Or did you forget your protractor?" Tony chuckled at his own gibe, and glanced at Chip to make sure that his pal contributed a snort of derision.
"I came to help Amalie with her studies." Where "was" she? he wondered.
"Well, she's still powdering her pretty nose," Tony goaded him. "Hell, she might be an hour. C'mon, we got time. Besides, when Big Tony plays, games don't usually take too long. Do they, Chip?"
"That's for sure, Ton'!" Chip replied deferentially.
"C'mon, One-ball. I'll teach you how to play a man's game."
"If you insist," David relented, walking toward the cue-rack.
"Me and Chip was playing for ten bills a game. That OK with you, one-ball?"
David Chao had twelve dollars in his wallet and his next grant check was a week away. Despite the fact that she had picked up the check at Gladstone's, Amalie had given no indication that she was intending to pay him the money she owed him this weekend. He eyed the beautiful green felt table and the rack of well-polished cues. He was confident in his skill, but anything could happen in a single game. Tony was certainly capable of breaking and running the rack without even allowing David a chance to shoot. But, perhaps because of the Dutch courage the wine had given him, perhaps because of his irritation with Tony's insulting manner, he said, "Fine. Flip for the break?"
"Sorry, One-ball. I won the last game. I get to break."
David fumed inwardly. Having the break was a significant advantage in a high-level nine ball game. At the very highest levels the person who broke probably won as much as two-thirds of the time. It was indeed customary for the winner of a game to claim the right to break the following rack, but only if the next game was being played against the same opponent. Which here was not the case. But there was nothing to be done for it.
"Whatever you say," David replied, praying that Tony wouldn't run the rack straight off.
A moment later Tony broke the rack with a booming break shot that send the multi-colored balls flying randomly across the expanse of green felt. The four ball and eight ball found their way into a pocket and David was disconsolate when he saw that Tony had a routine shot at the one ball, that the two was hanging near a corner pocket and that the three ball was in the middle of the table. But he brightened when he noticed that the five ball was kissing the six ball not far from the rail at the rack end of the table. At the other end of the table the nine ball stood flush against the rail, obstructing the approach to the seven ball, which was about two inches nearer to the pocket; it would take clever play to manufacture shots at those awkwardly placed balls.
Tony pocketed the one ball easily, and followed with a crisp shot at the two. With the three at mid-table, it was easily accessible, but it was only after Tony pocketed the two that he realized that his shot at the three offered no real possibilities to break up the five-six combination. But he rattled the three ball in confidently and then paused to study his now insuperable predicament.
"Fuck! Just my fucking luck!" he cursed, and then drove the cue ball forcefully into the five ball hoping against hope that one of the two balls might drop in somewhere.
But they didn't, and Tony's extra-hard shot resulted in the orange five caroming around the table until it came to rest not far from the cue ball.
"Look at the chink's luck!" Tony fumed. "Straight fucking in!"
David eyed the remaining balls carefully. The shot on the five was easy enough, but would require just the right amount of speed to position the cue ball at the proper angle to cut the six into the far corner. That shot, skillfully handled with a bit of top right english, would hopefully tap the nine ball just hard enough to nudge it off the rail, and yet leave the cue ball poised for an easy shot at the seven.
David leaned over the cue ball and grooved his stroke three or four times, trying to feel the right amount of pace to put on the cue ball, in order to leave it in the three by five inch rectangle of green felt which would give him the desired angle on the six ball. He struck the cue ball a little to the left of center, cutting the five cleanly into the corner pocket, and then watched as the cue ball hit the rail, took the spin he had imparted, and drifted slowly across the table to within an inch of the optimal location.
From there the cut on the six was routine; the critical part of the shot was its last six inches as the cue ball trickled toward the nine. On its last revolution, the white ball clipped the nine ever so gently, leaving the cue ball perfectly positioned for the seven, with an easy follow-up on the nine.
"Look at that Chinese luck!" Tony snarled as David lined up the now-easy seven ball. "The bastard couldn't do that again in a hundred years." He reached angrily for his wallet, the sinking of the last two balls being a mere formality.
"Yes. I was fortunate that game," David acknowledged, after sinking the nine ball and pocketing the ten Tony had thrown on the table. Fortunate to be playing against a muscle-headed loudmouth, he thought to himself.
Grabbing his bag, David followed Amalie into the house, his eye taking in the richness of its furnishings, especially the exotic Persian rug that covered much of the living room floor. He could hear the faint sound of rock music floating toward them from a distant room. A football, no doubt the property of Tony the Cannon, sat incongruously on a velvet-covered armchair alongside a USC letter-jacket of the kind awarded to stand-out athletes. David picked the football up and gripped it awkwardly, savoring the smell and the texture of the brown leather.
"They must be in the rec room. Follow me!"
David set the football back down in the chair and started after Amalie, pausing at a knickknack shelf to straighten an overturned picture frame. He righted the frame and as he did so he saw that it contained a picture of a sober-looking sixty-ish man with his arm around a brunette in a short skirt that showed off her excellent legs. No doubt the infamous Nadja, who Amalie suspected had sunk her acquisitive hooks deep into her father's libido.
David silently replaced the frame as he had found it and followed Amalie down a hallway, his eyes glued to the sensuous roll of her saucy buttocks beneath the thin fabric of her wine-red sundress. As they neared the end of the hallway, David's ears perked up as he heard the unmistakable click of cue ball against object ball and, a split-second later the sound of the ball plopping into a pocket.
As they entered the 'rec room', which was larger than David's spartan apartment, Amalie cheerily announced, "Tony, Chip! This is David. I've told you about him – he's the guy who's been helping me with my chemistry class."
Frowning, Tony Cannizzaro straightened up from his position addressing the cue ball. Making no move to step toward David to take his out-stretched hand, he frowned, muttered a perfunctory, "Hey," and bent over the cueball once again. Tony 'the Cannon' Cannizzaro was tall and well-built with long, wavy black hair and an olive complexion. David had little trouble believing that this muscular and handsome John Travolta was both a star athlete and Amalie's beau.
"Baby, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times – don't interrupt me when I'm lining up a shot." His elbow swinging like a pendulum, Tony made a few practice strokes, and then cued the white ball crisply into the six-ball, driving the green ball cleanly into the side pocket.
"Nice shot, Tony! Hey, how you doing, David?" Chip Desjardins stepped forward and took David's hand, but there was something in his handshake, and in his demeanor, that gave David the impression that his smile and greeting were as genuine as those of a used car salesman.
David let his eyes wander around the room, somewhat awed by its affluence. There was a bar in one corner of the room, equipped with counter and stools and a sparkling assortment of liquor bottles. An elegant wine rack filled part of one wall and a long, comfortable-looking couch, positioned so that it faced a huge video screen, occupied much of the opposite wall. At the far end of the room was rack which held a dozen or more well-polished billiard cues. But Tony Cannizzaro had chosen none of these generic cues; the leather case which had held his own expensive cue was draped over one of the barstools.
"Seven ball, corner." Tony stroked the cueball again, driving it into the seven ball which was tucked against a rail, kissing it thinly and send it skidding along the cushion, until the ball, whose color echoed Amalie's sexy sundress, found the corner pocket.
"Eight ball, corner." David had noticed upon first seeing the table that the absence of any striped balls save for the yellow-striped nine made it a virtual certainty that the two men were playing nine ball, a version of pool played with only the balls numbered one through nine. In nine ball the players must pocket the balls in numerical sequence, with the maker of the nine ball winning the game and the stake. It was not customary to call ball and pocket as Tony had done; David guessed that the rangy quarterback had done so merely to show off to the new arrivals.
The eight ball was quite near the corner pocket, and Tony drilled it firmly, with the cue ball following after it and striking three rails before coming to rest at some distance from the nine ball.
"Nine ball, corner," Tony's elbow swung back and forth four or five times and then he sent the cue ball hurtling down the table where it struck the yellow and white striped ball at the precise angle needed to drive it into the corner pocket.
"And game," Tony said cockily. "That's thirty bills you owe me, Chip."
"Ooh, nice shot, Tony," Amalie purred. "Let me go freshen up, while you boys get to know each other."
********
"So, you're the genius, she's always going on about, eh?" Tony said rudely as soon as Amalie was out of sight. "You don't look like a genius to me, One-ball."
"One-ball?" As Chip scooped the balls out of the pockets, and let them trickle across the table toward the rack-end of the table, the yellow one ball had never looked yellower to David Chao.
"You heard me, One-ball. I tell you, Chip, the chinks are takin' over this town. I got off the freeway in Garden Grove a coupla weeks ago – it looks like Viet-fucking-nam down there any more. First we had Chinatown, then Little Tokyo. Now we got fucking Koreatown over there south of Wilshire, and Boat-peopleville down in OC. You watch, Chip. This time next year, they won't need a dog pound in Orange County."
David Chao took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. There seemed little point in debating a bigot so stunningly obtuse that he not only lumped all east Asians together, but he further assumed that the canine population of southern California was at culinary risk due to the influx of Asian immigrants. He glanced at Chip, hoping that Amalie's brother would do or say something to ease the situation, but Tony's toady continued to circle the table emptying the pockets, unwilling to acknowledge David's inquiring glance.
"Rack 'em up Chipper," Tony exclaimed. "I'll give you a chance to get even."
"Sure thing, Ton'," Chip muttered obsequiously as he re-racked the nine balls in a diamond-shaped rack, the one ball at the apex of the diamond, the nine ball, the money ball, tucked away in the center of the diamond.
Tony sent the balls caroming around the table with a thunderous break shot, sinking the orange five-ball, but leaving himself a difficult shot on the one-ball, with which he would have to begin his sequential run of the table. He chalked his cue carefully, as after every shot, and then made a difficult cut to pocket the one ball, and followed with another table-length shot on the blue two ball.
"Wow, great shot, Tony!" Chip observed, as Tony followed the cue ball down the table and lined up another long shot on the three, which he proceeded to miss, leaving Chip an easy shot at the three. The four ball was hanging in a corner and Chip pocketed it easily enough but then missed a tricky shot on the six ball.
David studied Tony's play carefully as the quarterback ran the last four balls making a series of moderately difficult shots. There was no question that the star athlete had a good eye and a steady stroke, but David's analytical eye also observed that Tony's game was much too flashy. He played with a pocket-rattling flair that no doubt impressed novices and intermediate players (and attractive co-eds!), but he showed little grasp of position play. Time and again, Tony hit the cue ball too hard, drilling the object balls firmly into the desired pocket, but without sufficient forethought as to where to leave his cue ball so that the next shot, and the one after that, would pose few problems.
During his long, lonely hours practicing at Cebu Sam's, David had trained himself to assess the entire table of balls after a break and to plan the entire rack before taking the first shot. Sometimes, of course, the random spacing of the balls after the break posed problems that were impossible to overcome, but increasingly in recent months he had been able to both foresee and execute a series of nine shots. Planning, for example, before he so much as lined up his shot on the one-ball, to eventually pocket the six in the left hand side pocket, the seven at the far left corner, the eight in the far right corner, and then, having creating the proper angle on the eight, he would employ top left English to bring the cueball back to the other end of the table for the nine ball. It was clear from Tony's hasty, ad hoc style, that while he had the stroke and eye of a strong player, he lacked the sure grasp of position play that distinguishes the true expert.
"Hey, One-ball! You've been watching me like a hawk. Amalie tells me you're a real brain. You ever play a man's game like this, or do you pretty much stick to Chinese Checkers?"
Chip snorted amusedly at Tony's comment as he racked the balls again.
Bristling inside, David once again pretended not to understand the one- ball insult. "Why would you think that I play Chinese checkers?" He had seen the unfamiliar board game in a store once, had been puzzled by its name and had checked out its history.
"There's a mirror in the bathroom above the sink, One-ball. Check it out!"
David was finding it difficult to suppress his anger at this crude, overbearing jerk. Where, he wondered, was Amalie. "Oh, I see. You think I play Chinese Checkers because I am Chinese. But surely you know that Chinese Checkers are neither Chinese, nor checkers. It's based on an old German game called Halma. Any fool knows that."
Tony set his cue down loudly on the table and took a menacing step toward David. "You calling me a fool, one-ball?"
David was trembling inside, but held his ground. "There is no need to call you a fool." The subtlety of his retort and his slight emphasis on the word 'call' went over Tony's head, as he hoped, but drew a slight smile from Chip, who erased it quickly when he sensed that that Tony was glaring at him.
"Well, a brain like you oughta be good at pool, don't you think, Chip? All them angles and everything. How about a game, One-ball? Or did you forget your protractor?" Tony chuckled at his own gibe, and glanced at Chip to make sure that his pal contributed a snort of derision.
"I came to help Amalie with her studies." Where "was" she? he wondered.
"Well, she's still powdering her pretty nose," Tony goaded him. "Hell, she might be an hour. C'mon, we got time. Besides, when Big Tony plays, games don't usually take too long. Do they, Chip?"
"That's for sure, Ton'!" Chip replied deferentially.
"C'mon, One-ball. I'll teach you how to play a man's game."
"If you insist," David relented, walking toward the cue-rack.
"Me and Chip was playing for ten bills a game. That OK with you, one-ball?"
David Chao had twelve dollars in his wallet and his next grant check was a week away. Despite the fact that she had picked up the check at Gladstone's, Amalie had given no indication that she was intending to pay him the money she owed him this weekend. He eyed the beautiful green felt table and the rack of well-polished cues. He was confident in his skill, but anything could happen in a single game. Tony was certainly capable of breaking and running the rack without even allowing David a chance to shoot. But, perhaps because of the Dutch courage the wine had given him, perhaps because of his irritation with Tony's insulting manner, he said, "Fine. Flip for the break?"
"Sorry, One-ball. I won the last game. I get to break."
David fumed inwardly. Having the break was a significant advantage in a high-level nine ball game. At the very highest levels the person who broke probably won as much as two-thirds of the time. It was indeed customary for the winner of a game to claim the right to break the following rack, but only if the next game was being played against the same opponent. Which here was not the case. But there was nothing to be done for it.
"Whatever you say," David replied, praying that Tony wouldn't run the rack straight off.
A moment later Tony broke the rack with a booming break shot that send the multi-colored balls flying randomly across the expanse of green felt. The four ball and eight ball found their way into a pocket and David was disconsolate when he saw that Tony had a routine shot at the one ball, that the two was hanging near a corner pocket and that the three ball was in the middle of the table. But he brightened when he noticed that the five ball was kissing the six ball not far from the rail at the rack end of the table. At the other end of the table the nine ball stood flush against the rail, obstructing the approach to the seven ball, which was about two inches nearer to the pocket; it would take clever play to manufacture shots at those awkwardly placed balls.
Tony pocketed the one ball easily, and followed with a crisp shot at the two. With the three at mid-table, it was easily accessible, but it was only after Tony pocketed the two that he realized that his shot at the three offered no real possibilities to break up the five-six combination. But he rattled the three ball in confidently and then paused to study his now insuperable predicament.
"Fuck! Just my fucking luck!" he cursed, and then drove the cue ball forcefully into the five ball hoping against hope that one of the two balls might drop in somewhere.
But they didn't, and Tony's extra-hard shot resulted in the orange five caroming around the table until it came to rest not far from the cue ball.
"Look at the chink's luck!" Tony fumed. "Straight fucking in!"
David eyed the remaining balls carefully. The shot on the five was easy enough, but would require just the right amount of speed to position the cue ball at the proper angle to cut the six into the far corner. That shot, skillfully handled with a bit of top right english, would hopefully tap the nine ball just hard enough to nudge it off the rail, and yet leave the cue ball poised for an easy shot at the seven.
David leaned over the cue ball and grooved his stroke three or four times, trying to feel the right amount of pace to put on the cue ball, in order to leave it in the three by five inch rectangle of green felt which would give him the desired angle on the six ball. He struck the cue ball a little to the left of center, cutting the five cleanly into the corner pocket, and then watched as the cue ball hit the rail, took the spin he had imparted, and drifted slowly across the table to within an inch of the optimal location.
From there the cut on the six was routine; the critical part of the shot was its last six inches as the cue ball trickled toward the nine. On its last revolution, the white ball clipped the nine ever so gently, leaving the cue ball perfectly positioned for the seven, with an easy follow-up on the nine.
"Look at that Chinese luck!" Tony snarled as David lined up the now-easy seven ball. "The bastard couldn't do that again in a hundred years." He reached angrily for his wallet, the sinking of the last two balls being a mere formality.
"Yes. I was fortunate that game," David acknowledged, after sinking the nine ball and pocketing the ten Tony had thrown on the table. Fortunate to be playing against a muscle-headed loudmouth, he thought to himself.
My sister lives in LA and I have been there more than a few times. You capture it beautifully. I hope you did well with the rains...
Boccaccio
Governor
Thank you.
"Los Angeles gives one the feeling of the future more strongly than any city I know of. A bad future, too, like something out of Fritz Lang's feeble imagination.
Henry {Tropic of Cancer} Miller made that observation many decades ago, and the first sentence still holds true. There are many who believe the second sentence is even more apt, but I am not among them.
I live in the lowlands with my fellow peasants. Aside from some minor street flooding, there were no serious problems in my immediate area.
The very well-to-do of the Los Angeles area tend to live in the majestic hills and canyons to the north and they sometimes have to contend with wildfires during the dry and windy seasons, and then again when the rains fall on the 'burn areas' and sometimes wash away entire hillsides and the houses upon them. We've been experiencing drought conditions in southern California for a number of years and the substantial snowfall in the northern part of the state this year has almost got the reservoirs back to normal.
There remains great concern about the Oroville Dam in the central part of the state, which has been seriously damaged by the rains. If the storms keep coming, there could be a real calamity in that vicinity.