Amorous Goods: The Pendulum
A demon-haunted pendulum guides a man into a life of vice.
Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.
Prologue:
A lifelong collector of goods and objects from far and wide has passed and left the entire collection and the business built around them to the only remaining relative, a niece on a career path of her own. Vikki has taken on the task of administering the estate and liquidating the business and collection. However, she has come to find out that many of the goods have been cursed or enchanted with amorous powers that affect those who encounter them. This 18 part series is devoted to many of the stories of those encounters with objects found at Amorous Goods.
The dreams had been getting intense since Jack returned from Canada. He always awoke with flashes of imagery: torchlight against stone pillars, the reek of incense smoke, a pair of inhuman green eyes. Also, a word ringing in his ears: "Rozrael".
Jack didn't immediately make the connection between his dreams and the obsidian pendulum he bought from a store in Toronto.
It was the weirdest pawn shop he had ever seen: a red brick mansion that seemed curiously out of place within the shopping district. It was called Amorous Goods, which sounded like a sex shop.
When he entered, it looked more like a shabby antiques store. Its items were a curious mix of the mundane and erotic. Lamps and pill-boxes sat beside bizarre pieces of erotic artwork; statues of nude women, early twentieth century paintings of orgies.
Jack really wanted the antique erotic art, but he couldn't afford it. The owner didn't seem open to haggling. But he had to get a memento of the weirdest shop in Canada.
So, he picked up this obsidian pendulum, with a metal chain. It was cheap and interesting. The pendulum looked like a pyramid with a hexagonal base. He paid for it, chucked it in his satchel and left. The owner looked like he couldn't wait to see the back of him.
Days later, he was back in the UK, and the life from which he had fled for a week. He returned on Saturday night, and was expected back in the office on Monday.
Jack wondered if the money spent on the flight should have gone into something that could have improved his career prospects. Or if he should have spent that time doing something to get out of that job.
But he had been down that path too long, and it led him straight back to where he was now; in his thirties, doing data entry, and living with his parents. He needed that holiday.
Sunday night, the dreams came again. The exotic, torch lit temple. And that word: "Rozrael".
He woke to see the pendulum, previously in his satchel, now on his bedside table beside his alarm clock.
"The fuck!"
He jolted upwards. Did he put it there? He was tired last night, maybe he forgot. He looked over at his satchel, which was still in the corner of his bedroom where he dumped it yesterday.
Sitting on the bed, he picked up the pendulum, examining it in his hands.
"Take me with you."
Jack dropped the pendulum. He heard a voice. A female voice. Was he dreaming?
He wondered if this was a side-effect of jetlag. He put the pendulum back on the table, took out a notepad and biro and wrote down "Rozrael".
Amorous Goods, Toronto. One year later.
Dylan entered the shop floor holding a ledger open in front of him. Behind the counter was a young woman with red shoulder-length hair, peering at a laptop.
"Vikki, look at this."
"Umm hmm?"
"You know anything about a pendulum that uncle sold?"
"Ask Marshall,' she replied, 'he knows about this stuff."
"This one might be tricky," said Dylan.
"What do you mean?"
"Uncle sold it to someone in England."
"England?" asked Vikki. "Someone came all the way from England to shop here?"
"Ever heard of tourism?"
Vikki slammed the laptop shut.
"Goddamn it," she exclaimed. "Does this mean we'll have to pay for a flight to fucking England to get this thing back?"
"Hey, relax," said Dylan. "This thing was just a cheap trinket. Could be nothing."
"I hope so."
They turned to see a middle-aged man with a stack of papers under his arm. Marshall seemed unremarkable in khaki chinos and a button-down shirt. He was big-built, but had developed a paunch with age. Once, he would have been physically intimidating, but he still moved with youthful energy.
"I heard my name," said Marshall.
"You know anything about this pendulum in the ledger?" Dylan asked.
"Oh, the pendulum of Rozrael? That item has quite a history behind it."
"I knew it," exclaimed Vikki. "It's cursed, isn't it?"
"You could say that," said Marshall. "It houses a powerful demon."
"Okay, tell us about this demon," said Dylan.
Plymouth, UK.
Jack had a whole morning to kill before work. He wanted to see if this pendulum was an antique, if it was worth anything. He sat before his PC with a coffee.
First, he wanted to google this word he kept hearing for the past two days.
Google turned up results, but they were scarce. All he could find was the name of a demon from some grimoire called Liber Virtute. There was an online archive of historical grimoires, scanned from public and private libraries across the world.
This demon seemed to be on the lower end of a demonic hierarchy, nothing else to be red besides a name and a seal. While other demons had descriptions of their office and their position in the hierarchy, this one didn't seem to be worthy of description.
So, he was being contacted by a demon. Or he was losing his mind. There was only one way to find out.
Jack signed up to web forums frequented by occultists, people who actually practiced this stuff.
He made his intro post to several of them, and then posted his request for information, along with a quick photo of the pendulum.
Then he packed his rucksack and left for work.
"The pendulum was created in sixteenth century Venice," Marshall explained, "on commission by an occultist named Marcilio Cellini for a merchant called Filipo d'Este. Filipo married into the family who became the Hapsburgs that ruled England since the British Empire. Filipo did not simply want money. He wanted power.
"To get that kind of power, one must be a commanding presence. Filipo was simply a merchant who rode on the tails of his ancestors."
"So, the only way he could get that kind of power was through magic," Vikki interjected.
"Precisely. He hired Marcilio to create a talisman for this purpose. Unfortunately, he did his job a little too well. This thing housed a demon of immense power, giving her a foothold in this world. She piggy-backed on Filipo's earthly desires to establish her own kingdom."
"And this demon was Rozrael?" asked Dylan.
"Correct. When the she unites with the owner, her power shines through them, making them charismatic and unstoppable. She eventually was stopped when the pendulum was passed on to his eldest son. He made too many enemies in business and politics. And he slept with the wives of powerful men. One of whom had him assassinated, ending his reign, and ending Rozrael's influence."
Jack's day at work was the same underpaid monotony he tolerated for years. He got off the bus at the local depot, where he worked in data entry for a communications company. Every day, for seven hours, he sat at a desk and typed in postal addresses.
It was an open plan office. Thousands of black and white address labels passed his screen every day. Nearby, a huge window opened out onto an industrial landscape, where he glanced at the sun as it set each evening.
Jack's attempts at leaving this job in the past had been met with a wall of silence: job applications, the occasional "informal chat" over the phone, a half-assed Linked In profile. All of which no one cared about.
Every day Jack started his shift with this thought, which he kept to himself. Until he opened his rucksack, and found the pendulum at the top of the pile.
He dropped the rucksack. Did he put it in there without thinking? He must have put it in there by accident. Somehow.
Jack took the pendulum out, looking at it. He noticed the cluster of desks on the other side of the office where the managers carried out administrative tasks at their own computers.
Among them was Sadie, striding between desks with papers in her hand, obviously busy.
Sadie would have been plain and unnoticeable. However, she knew what she was doing with her hair, clothes and make-up, making the most of what she had. She had long, dark voluminous hair that framed mousy features, although her lips were full and luscious. She would flash a beautiful smile at him as he passed her in the corridors.
Sadie was slim, but curvy in the right places, and she dressed in a way that accentuated her figure.
Jack never forgot the Christmas Eve when the managers wore casual clothes. Sadie's tight jeans made a lasting impression on him. When she bent over the desk in front of him, his erection got so big, he had to spend his break sat at his desk.
Jack absent-mindedly fingered the pendulum, thinking about that ass as Sadie walked towards his desk, a mound of papers clutched against her chest. He let the pendulum drop between his fingers, watching it swing back and forth, always in the direction of Sadie walking past. Jack looked at it, then put it back on his desk.
"So, the pendulum," Vikki asked. "What's so sinister about it?"
"It houses Rozrael and is used to communicate with the user," Marshall explained. "It answers simple yes or no questions. It points him in the direction of business opportunities. Sometimes, it will point to sexual opportunities. Filipo used it to judge which ladies in the Venetian courts would be open to sleeping with him."
"Are you saying," asked Dylan, "that this pendulum dowses for pussy?"
"Correct," Marshall smiled. "But to Rozrael, sex is a means to an end. Any domain she establishes won't be in the interests of humanity. It may be a portal between whatever hellish dimension she comes from into our world."
During quiet moments, Jack would pick up the pendulum from his desk and let it swing. He noticed a pattern in its movements, always swinging in the direction of certain women.
Perhaps he was just horny. Perhaps it was his imagination. He had not had sex in years.
The pendulum swung in the direction of Donna, sat nearby. A Goth back in the day, she still wore band T-shirts in her thirties. Dark hair, pale skin, and impressive tits that Jack struggled not to stare at. Her big tits jutted through a black T-shirt with some obscure metal band print.
Donna never showed him much attention. They never spoke. Jack never knew what to say to her.
The pendulum was interested in her though. It swung in her direction, not wavering until Sadie walked past. Then it would follow Sadie, until her fine ass had sauntered around the corner. Then it would go back towards Donna, until Jack put it back on the desk, before someone noticed.
His shift ended. He packed his rucksack, got up and caught the bus home.
An hour later, sat at his PC desk, he logged on to see the responses to his queries that morning.
Responses were few, but revealing. It turned out that the Liber Virtute had a small but dedicated following of experienced occultists, who had been experimenting with it for years. And they were happy to share their advice.
"What else do we need to know?" asked Dylan.
"She appears to the magician in a way that is sexually enticing. She appears as a woman, with certain features exaggerated."
"Certain features?" asked Vikki.
"Tits and ass, usually" Marshall replied.
"Thanks for clarifying."
"When she fully unites with the operator, she guides them, and her sexual power shines through them into all they meet."
"How do we stop her?" asked Vikki.
"You probably won't have to. In fact, I would classify this task low priority."
"Low priority?" exclaimed Dylan. "A demon is trying to take over the world, and this is low priority?"
"Our customer is highly unlikely to accomplish anything with the pendulum alone. He needs the grimoire containing Marcilio's notes. It tells us how to wake that demon back to life, and it tells us how to put her back down again. And it's in our vaults."
"So, we're safe?" asked Dylan.
"For now," responded Marshall. "We should get it back at some point, but let's focus on the real dangerous ones, the ones bought locally. Save this one for a vacation abroad."
Vikki frowned and pulled out her laptop.
"What did you say his name is?"
Jack sat on his cheap office chair in semi-darkness. His bedroom was lit by a single beeswax candle on top of his cupboard. Illuminated by this candle was a piece of paper, on which Jack had scrawled the seal of Rozrael.
In his hand was the pendulum, hanging between his fingers as he gazed at the seal.
His online friends had given him a simple ritual to contact Rozrael, who was largely unknown and lacking established contact protocols. Jack was glad he didn't need the complicated, near-impossible tools that more established entities in the Liber Virtute required.
Jack gazed at the seal and chanted the name over and over. He lost of count of how long this took. His eyelids drooped, blurring his view of the seal.
The pendulum clattered to the fiber glass surface of the cupboard, jolting him upright. The room seemed to be lit by a golden glow.
Jack swung around slowly in his office chair, and saw a light behind him. The other side of his bedroom opened out onto a bizarre scene. Where his bedroom ended was now a vast room, lit by flaming torches ensconced on huge stone pillars.
A tall figure emerged from between the pillars, into the torchlight. A woman, slightly taller than Jack. She was clad in black latex, buckled and strapped across the front. She resembled a stereotypical dominatrix, her boots resounding across the stone floor.
She appeared human, although unearthly. She gazed at him with bright green eyes, in a face that was inhumanly beautiful. Her should-length hair was blonde, shining with a fiery aura.
Her fingers were a little too long to be human, slender with claw-like nails.
She seemed too perfect, like a photoshopped pornstar come to life. Her tits were huge, straining to break free from the buckled latex. And yet she had the body of an athlete, slim, with long legs.
"Rozrael?" Jack said.
"Of course."
She strode into his bedroom, standing a meter away. Jack stood, but remained silent.
"What do you want?" she spoke in an echoing voice.
"Are you the one who calls me in my dreams?" he asked.
"Yes."
Jack kept glancing at her tits, the cleavage behind the straps.
"Why?"
"I think we can work to each other's benefit. I can make you powerful."
"How?"
"When we unite, nobody will be able to resist you. Women will desire you. Men will fear you. This way, your status on Earth will rise."
"What do you want from me?"
She reached forward with a long, slender hand and brushed it down his chest, down to his crotch. Her touch was cool, electric. He let out a sharp intake of breath as she gently reached for his balls over his jeans, holding them.
"Give of yourself to me," she said. "And I will give of myself to you."
With her other hand, she unbuckled her top, revealing her magnificent cleavage. Huge tits burst out almost to the nipple, as her top opened down to her midriff, casting a shadow over her toned stomach.
Jack was transfixed, as she ran her fingers up underneath his T-shirt, back towards his chest. His cock was hardening already, straining beneath his jeans.
He needed no instruction.
"It's a deal."
Jack unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down, revealing a semi-erection in his black boxer shorts. Still with a hand on his chest, she pulled his boxers down with the other hand, releasing his cock and gazing at it with a smile, as she cradled his exposed balls with her other cold hand. He went fully erect immediately.
She pushed him towards the bed behind him.
"Sit."
Jack lay back on his bed, his erect cock between him and the busty demoness.
Her other hand reached down to the shaft of his cock, and she bent forward, swallowing his cock. She cradled his balls as she ran her mouth up and down his shaft, engulfing it right down to the base. He had never received a blowjob this deep before. His entire groin felt charged with a cold, fiery energy.
Jack expected to shoot his load in seconds. Strangely, this blowjob was prolonged, like he wasn't allowed to cum, not just yet. He lay back as this energy engulfed his body from his groin.
When he exploded in her mouth, he convulsed a few times. It felt like more than just semen leaving his body. The energy left too, and he felt empty.
Jack lay back and watched her stand up from his body, releasing his spent cock from her mouth, to his thigh. She knelt between his parted legs and unbuckled her latex top further, pulling her top apart to allow her huge tits to fall out in the torchlight.
Her tits were round and firm; large pink nipples with areolas that seemed stretched out by the size of her tits. Her nipples were thick and erect. The desire in him was strong, but he was tired and weak.
She took his hands, pressing them to her tits. He squeezed and fondled them, feeling their weight, their smoothness. His thumbs went over her hard nipples, and they seemed oddly moist.
She reached behind his head with one hand, pulling his head towards her tit. His mouth clamped eagerly over her tit, his tongue flicking against her hard nipple. It tasted faintly salty. He sucked harder, and more fluid trickled into his mouth, down his throat. He felt it build in his body. More fluid came out, and he felt his lust return.
Eventually, he didn't need her to hold him. He sucked eagerly on her tit until she wrapped her arms around his head and pulled his face down between them. For a second it seemed as though he breathed in her entire body into his, before everything went dark.
Jack woke up on his bed in darkness, his pants around his ankles, his stomach and chest wet with semen. The temple scene was gone.
He got up from the bed, pulled his pants up and walked to the bathroom. Wincing when he turned on the light, he washed his hands. He splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror, running his hands over his forehead, his cheekbones, his jaw, like he had never seen them properly before. He liked what he saw. And he felt powerful.
The next day, Jack walked into the office, as usual. But this time, things seemed different. People looked up from their desks as he walked in.
Maybe it was the way he carried himself. He didn't know. He looked at the world around him with new eyes, and he saw a world ripe for the taking.
Jack sat at his desk, got out his iPod and water bottle, and then the pendulum. When no one looked, he let it hang between his fingers. It swung towards the stairwell nearby. He watched the glass doors to see who it might be pointing towards.
Sadie came up the stairwell towards the doors, and they made eye contact. She seemed to meet his gaze with fascination, slightly startled, before heading off to her desk. The pendulum followed her fine ass as she walked past.
"I sense hesitation." Rozreal's voice spoke in his mind.
"She has a boyfriend," Jack said, under his breath.
"She likes you."
Jack knew. Before she got with Tony, who used to work in the same office, they would exchange flirtatious glances in the corridor. He would catch her checking him out in window reflections. But he never did anything about it.
"Hitting on attached women at work is a dangerous game," he replied.
"Trust me. There's nothing to fear."
Jack wasn't afraid of Tony, who had no power over him, physically or otherwise. But they work in the same place.
"Just talk to her," she continued.
"She won't ditch her boyfriend over me."
"When her boyfriend fucks her from behind, she imagines it is your cock inside her."
Jack grinned at this revelation.
"She hasn't shown any interest in me for a long time."
"She's afraid."
"Of what?"
"Consequences. Same as you. But beneath the fear, the desire is still there. And that's all that matters."
"Really?"
"Talk to her."
"There's something off about this guy's profile."
Vikki frowned at her laptop. Dylan glanced up from the account ledger. It was a quiet day, with no one in the shop.
"Facebook, Twitter, Linked In, Instagram, everything," she continued. "He was a nobody for years, a ghost. Now, he's everywhere. It's too sudden."
"It's not impossible for someone to get their shit together," Dylan countered.
"When did he buy that pendulum?" asked Vikki.
"About a year ago."
"His social media exploded in the past six months. Before, he was a guy who had nothing on his Linked In, just a degree that he graduated with in the early 2000's. He had nothing for over a decade."
"Where is he now?" asked Dylan.
Sadie sat on the hotel bed, sweeping her long dark hair behind one of her ears, staring at Jack as he shut the door. She flashed one of her beautiful smiles at him, before testing the hotel bed, bouncing on it.
"Looks comfy," she said, patting the bed beside her.
It was a cheap Premier Inn in the city center. Jack still lived with his parents, and Sadie lived with Tony, so there was no other way to get privacy.
"Yeah, this'll do," said Jack, briefly surveying the room. It was a standard cheap hotel room: double bed, wardrobe, cupboard, nightstand. It reminded him of student halls.
It was 10pm, and they were both in their work clothes, but on a day where they both made an effort. Sadie wore a tight pair of dark trousers, and tight black top, pulled down slightly to reveal a cleavage. Her clothes accentuated her fantastic figure more than usual.
Jack dumped his rucksack to the floor and sat beside her. He glanced at her cleavage and she smiled. They started making out. He felt those thick, smooth lips against his, as she pressed her small yet firm tits against his body.
It wasn't long before she pulled off her top, revealing lingerie. A black lace bra pushed her tits up, accentuating their perkiness.
Jack pulled his T-shirt off. She ran her fingers across the muscles of his chest, as he undid her bra, allowing it to fall to the bed between them.
She sighed and arched her back, as he kissed his way down between those small, firm tits, sucking on her brown, hard nipples; running his hands down her taught body towards her trousers.
She helped him pull her trousers off, sitting back and revealing her black panties, while she reached straight for his bulging crotch. He pulled his pants down to his knees, revealing his cock. Smiling, she gazed at it as she held it at the base, slowly tugging on it back and forth.
He put his hand on her shoulder as she leant forward and put his cock in her mouth, her lips half-way down his shaft. He hardened in her mouth, as he felt those full, luscious lips massaging his shaft. He reached down and fondled her tits as they hung beneath her, while she reached behind him and grabbed his ass.
"Okay, ease off, I'm cumming."
She released his cock from her mouth and looked up at him, still holding it.
"Lie back," said Jack.
Sadie lay back with her hands behind her head, her perky tits pointing upwards, as he lowered himself between her open legs and pulled her lace panties off, revealing her dark, but trimmed bush. He held her behind her legs as he kissed her inner thighs towards that bush. She moaned, breathing deeply, as he lapped away at her pussy.
Eventually her hips buckled, her back arched and she rolled over to her front. Jack saw her bare ass beneath him; round, perfect, smooth. He ran his hands up and down it, massaging her cheeks, and he wanted badly to bury his cock in the dark bush between her parted thighs.
"Just fuck me," she said, between breaths, her back heaving.
It was exactly what he hoped she would say. He pulled her hips towards him.
"From behind?" he asked.
"Yeah, do it."
Sadie swung her legs off the bed, holding herself upright on the bed by her elbows. He admired her perfect ass, as she bent over to receive him. He put a condom on, and plunged his cock into the dark wetness between her thighs, feeling the firmness of her ass push itself eagerly against his body. She groaned louder with every thrust.
The more she groaned, the more he felt that cold, fiery energy sweep through his body from his loins, the power of Rozrael compelling him to fuck her harder, run his hands up and down her body, and squeeze her tits as they swung beneath her.
She eventually collapsed into the bed.
Later on, as they lay naked in bed together, she ran her fingers through his chest hair.
"You're a dark horse, aren't you Jack?" she grinned.
Similar sentiments were expressed by other women he worked with, when he met them in similar hotel rooms across the city.
He finally saw Donna's huge, pale tits, as he lifted her AFI t-shirt to reveal a sturdy black bra. She removed it to display her big, round tits, and he sucked on her large pink nipples as he kissed every inch of her tattooed body.
After this, Jack had started to get bored of fucking his co-workers. He wanted to fuck the entire city, leave it for sunnier climes and never call back.
Thankfully, he was hired by a local media company to work on their social media, before the women at work found out what a rat he was. It paid him enough to move into a place of his own, while he used the supernatural guidance of the pendulum to plot his takeover of the city.
"He seems to be the most famous person in his town. He worked for a media agency, but at the same time, his artwork is everywhere. Got a column in his local paper. He's directed films, had his photography exhibited. A lot of this stuff is pretty raunchy. Seems to have a thing for women with huge tits in his work."
"My kind of guy," said Dylan.
"There are pictures of him with local politicians and business leaders. He's like a small-town Kanye West."
"That sounds awesome!" said Dylan. "Why take that away from him?"
"The pendulum is cursed. This won't turn out well."
"I'm with Dylan on this one," said Marshall. "He doesn't have the Liber Virtute. He couldn't have done this with the pendulum alone."
"The Liber Virtute you say?" said Vikki, turning her laptop in Marshall's direction.
Marshall peered down at the laptop, his brow furrowing.
"Yes, that's the one! It's not our copy, but it's the same book! How did this end up on the internet?" asked Marshall.
"It's an online archive," said Vikki, "occultists across the world find grimoires found in libraries, and scan them onto this site."
"Good God!" exclaimed Marshall. "That's brilliant. But also, terrible. I'm beginning to think that our customer might actually be the latest vehicle for Rozrael."
"I knew it," said Vikki. "So who's getting the plane to England?"
Jack looked on, whiskey in one hand and camera in another, watching a young woman being spanked on a sofa before a small group of perverts. Sarah wore nothing except for a pair of black stockings that came up just under her ass. Her dark hair fell to the ground as she lay face forward over the lap of an older woman, who bare-hand slapped her ass in front of a group of fetish enthusiasts.
Jack had shot Sarah before; she was among a roster of exhibitionists who modelled for him. Some watched intently, passing comment and laughing. Others, like Jack, were moving between rooms in this seafront apartment.
The older woman, Jane, was a local dominatrix outside her day job. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair curled back around her ears; her mascara was heavy and she wore a black dress over which Sarah was spread.
Jack was at this party on her invitation. His photographic and film work was finally being recognized and she wanted him there. He did it as a favor, but these events were becoming the same. Although he enjoyed watching Sarah's tits jiggle over the side of the couch as Jane spanked her, he was bored. He worried that he might be getting desensitized. Or perhaps he was growing up.
In the other rooms were more acts of debauchery. Men and women were being tied, blind-folded, whipped, or fucked by various people. Their cries and moans were the background music to this fetish scene party.
Jack left the room and walked into the hallway, past a staircase and into the kitchen, where the real reason he was at this party was making a drink.
Katerina was alone in the white tiled kitchen, mixing herself a cocktail. Jack saw her from behind, her blond hair half-way down her back, partially covering a blue dress that clung to her body.
Leaning against the door-frame, he put his drink down and pulled out the pendulum. It immediately swung furiously in her direction. He put it back in his pocket, adjusted the settings on his camera and leant against the side-table next to her. He raised the camera and took a picture at the perfect moment, as she raised her drink to her mouth, uncovering her voluptuous cleavage.
Katarina wore very low-cut dresses at parties like these, and often elsewhere, and this is what drew Jack to her. She was the closest he could find to a real-life version of Rozrael on Earth, except for her personality. She actually had one for a start. Rozrael was all business.
She was an aspiring film-maker and actress. It was her obsession. They met another party like this, and they were up until dawn, discussing each other's ideas for film projects. He hadn't done that since he was a student.
"You take my picture?"
Her accent came out more when she was drinking. She was Ukrainian. He loved how broken her English became the more she drank.
"Of course. You look great in that dress."
She looked down at her cleavage as if she hadn't noticed it until now.
"Thank you," she smiled, "you want to do photoshoot?"
"Here?" he asked,
"Why not?"
She reached for the clasp behind her neck and undid it, dropping her dress almost down to her waist. Her big, round tits fell out of her dress; pale mounds with large pink nipples that in Jack's mind, begged to be touched.
Katarina flicked her hair back, smiling, pushing her tits out in his direction. It wasn't exactly a model's pose, but Jack was happy to indulge her.
Jack took a few shots crouching beneath her. From that perspective, her tits looked mountainous, almost silhouetted in the fluorescent light. She raised her hands behind her head, laughing, jiggling her tits as she gyrated her hips side to side. Jack knew that he had met the woman of his dreams.
She pulled her dress back up and clasped it back behind her neck. Her tits moved back into position, facing forward.
"Shall we take this to another room," asked Jack.
"They are full," she said, downing the rest of whatever she was drinking. "We go to my place."
"Good idea," said Jack. "Now?"
"Of course!"
Katarina took him by the arm, pulling him towards the door. He would have liked to have said goodbye to Jane, but didn't want to disturb the show.
They left, saying bye to a few people hanging around, watching Sarah's ass turn pink through the doorway.
They made their way along the waterfront, by the light of crowded pubs, spilling out onto the cobblestoned alleys. Men, drunk and sober, stopped and stared at Katarina as she walked on Jack's arm. Jack used to be one of those guys. Now it was his turn to be on the arm of a woman being gawked at, and this made him very happy.
The plane was half empty. Vikki sat with her laptop, going over the pages of the Liber Virtute.
"Let's get this straight," said Vikki. "To defeat this demon, we need to get the pendulum, immerse it in holy water, and speak some phrase."
Marshall looked up from his book.
"Correct."
"You've got the holy water, right?" asked Vikki.
"Right here."
Marshall patted his satchel.
"Can't we just take the pendulum and fly home?"
"Maybe," said Marshall. "But the demon has the mind of our customer already. We should perform the ritual."
Vikki lay back against the seat.
"Fucking great."
Katarina laughed and switched the light on, as Jack stumbled through the door into his hallway. He steadied himself against a bannister as she closed and locked up after him. She was dressed a little more conservatively this time, meaning that her tits weren't on the verge of falling out of her dress.
"Feels good to be home," he slurred, standing up straight.
"You drink too much," said Katarina.
"So did you," replied Jack.
They both spent the evening at a local film festival, mingling with actors, directors, and other local film people. Then they left with some friends to hit some of the swankier bars near the waterfront, where they got increasingly drunk and called it a night.
She pushed him against the bannister and kissed him.
"Let's go upstairs," she said.
Katarina dragged Jack by the arm, stumbling through the door of their bedroom. The moonlight shone in through the high windows, illuminating the king-size bed. They didn't even bother to draw the curtains, as they piled onto the bed, ripping each other's clothes off.
She was on top of him, smothering him with her perfect tits, before riding his hard cock to completion. She collapsed onto him.
It would have been the best night's sleep in Jack's life, had a portal not opened into the realm of Rozrael. The room filled with torchlight, and Jack looked up from his bed. Katarina was still beside him, blissfully asleep, as he sat up.
"Enjoy your evening?"
Rozrael emerged from behind a pillar, smiling down at him with those inhumanly green eyes.
"Oh, hi, Roz," said Jack. She hadn't communicated like this in a while. "Yeah, it was great."
"What do you think of your new lover? She is beautiful, is she not?"
"Katarina? Yes, she's perfect."
"You're right. She is perfect. She is ideal as my avatar."
"Avatar?"
"I need a vessel on Earth," Rozrael explained. "Something more than just a pendulum. I need to be in the flesh. I need the body of a woman."
"Katarina's body?"
"Yes. There's a ritual you must perform. Take a few strands of her hair, and some of her vaginal fluids, and I need you to-"
"Wait," Jack interrupted. "You want to possess Katarina's body?"
"We need to take things further if we are to gain more power on Earth. I have a plan to extend our reach beyond this pitiful town."
"That's great, but Katarina's body is hers. We'll have to come up with a better idea that doesn't involve possessing anyone's body."
"There is no better idea. You would never have got this far without my guidance. You need me to take things further, towards real power."
The warning klaxons sounded in Jack's mind.
"You will have to come up with a better idea, because Katarina will remain Katarina. She is not anyone's "avatar"."
"Her desire for you will wane, as all human relationships do. Don't you want to see these for the rest of your earthly days?"
She unbuckled her top, pulling it back. Her immense cleavage bulged out.
"Thanks for the offer," said Jack. "But I need my beauty sleep."
"Very well."
She pulled her top back up and walked back into the gloom of the temple.
The portal disappeared and Jack woke up in the dark before dawn. Katarina's naked body was still draped across him. Her firm tits pushing into him, her head buried into the nape of his neck. He looked at her, then at the pendulum on his nightstand. He had an idea.
The bedroom of the B&B was small but cozy. Marshall stood at the open doors by the balcony, looking out over the sea of Newquay.
"If this goes wrong, this won't be such a bad place to end our adventures."
"Never mind ending, how are we going to begin?" asked Vikki. "We don't even know where this guy lives."
"Let's call Dylan," said Marshall, opening a laptop on top of a dresser, logging into
Skype. Dylan's face came on screen.
"Everyone okay?" said Dylan.
"We're fine, Dylan, we just need a game plan," said Marshall.
"What do we know about this guy?" asked Dylan.
"He's got a photography studio in the city," said Vikki.
"Yes," said Marshall. "And that is where you come in."
"Oh no," she said. "I'm no model. Not his type of model anyway."
"It's just for one day," said Marshall.
"No way are my tits big enough," she countered.
"There's more to a woman than the size of her tits," chuckled Marshall. "A woman can entice with her figure, the sway of her hips."
"Marshall's right," said Dylan. "You have a great ass."
"Fuck off," said Vikki, slamming the laptop shut.
"Vikki, this is the best way we can think of to extricate this pendulum from Jack. You are our only hope," pleaded Marshall.
"No. Not doing it."
"Listen lady," Dylan's voice came from the tinny laptop speakers. "Do you want a powerful demon to take over the Earth and enslave humanity?"
"Of course not. There just has to be another way, that's all."
"Got any better ideas?" asked Dylan.
Silence. Vikki sighed.
"I guess not," she said.
Marshall smiled, opening his case on the bed.
"Fantastic," he said. "I've got everything you'll need."
He pulled a skimpy red dress from his luggage, laying it out on the bed, followed by a set of red lingerie.
"You're shitting me," said Vikki.
Jack stood by the railings overlooking the sea. The morning sunlight reflected off the cafes, artisanal shops and flats behind him. A cruise ship sailed past in the distance.
He held up the pendulum.
"Thanks, Rozrael, but this must end now."
He chucked it into the dark water, turning and walking back to his flat.
He had appointments that afternoon. An unknown model from Canada. Seemed out of the blue, but he had nothing else on that day.
Jack walked back into his flat. Katarina called out from the kitchen.
"Jack? You want coffee?"
"Give me a minute."
He went upstairs to the bedroom, dumped his jacket on the bed, and then he saw the nightstand.
"Fuck!"
The pendulum was back on the nightstand, where he left it last night. Jack sat on
the bed.
Ordinarily, he would question this. Did he chuck something else in the water? No. He threw that pendulum into the sea. He needed another plan.
But that could wait. He had a job to do.
Vikki and Marshall got off the train at Plymouth station, heading into the city.
Vikki felt self-conscious. Beneath a trench coat was a red dress leaving little to the imagination.
"I feel weird wearing a trench coat in the summer," said Vikki.
"It's just for today," said Marshall. "Let's just get this over with."
They found the studio in an affluent seafront neighborhood, surrounded by restaurants and artisanal bakeries. The stone buildings used to be the offices and barracks of a Victorian port. Now, they were the apartments and businesses of the wealthy.
"I'll be around the corner in that caf�," said Marshall. "Good luck."
Marshall left Vikki at the door. She rang the bell. Jack answered.
"Hello? Vikki?"
"Yes, is that Jack?"
"Come in."
Jack looked similar to his profile pictures. He dressed simply in grey T-shirt and jeans. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way. Well-muscled, with the jawline of a fifties B-movie lead. His blonde hair was thick but well-trimmed. She checked out his shoulders as she walked in. If she did have to sleep with this guy, it might not be so bad.
It turned out that his studio was also in his flat. Perfect. There was a kitchen and a living room nearby.
Jack directed her into the studio, where a backdrop was prepared, along with a lighting stand and tripod.
Jack offered Vikki a cup of coffee. She accepted, and while Jack was in the kitchen, she took a look around. The studio section was clearly devoid of any pendulums, or anything else except for a couch and a glass coffee table.
Jack walked in with two cups of coffee, placing them on the table.
"Oh, sorry, did you want to take your coat off?"
Vikki laughed.
"I forgot, thanks."
She took off her trench coat and handed it to Jack.
"Okay," said Jack, reclining into the couch, unfazed by her dress. "Did you have any ideas in mind for a photoshoot?"
"Well," said Vikki, "I like, erm, certain things. Certain things...in particular."
"Certain things in particular,' said Jack, 'that's always a good start."
"I like...color. Like what I'm wearing right now."
Jack nodded encouragingly.
"Color," he repeated. "Color is good. You can be pretty creative with...color."
"Yes, I love it. Listen, can I use your bathroom?"
"Of course. Upstairs, on the right."
"Thanks."
Vikki couldn't leave that room fast enough. Breaking and entering would have been an easier way to get this pendulum.
She stepped onto the landing and looked around. His bedroom was to the left. If she had a magical pendulum, that is where she would keep it. She entered.
Vikki saw the king size bed, a nightstand, and a wardrobe next to an antique fireplace.
She tried the nightstand. Nothing.
She approached the wardrobe, looking inside. There were a couple of suits and blazers hanging up. Some shoes and trainers down below. A few shirts on hangers. Nothing.
She closed the wardrobe to see Jack leaning against the door, watching her.
"I knew you weren't a model."
"No, I'm not, listen-"
"You're the shittiest con artist I've ever met," said Jack, calmly.
"Listen!" exclaimed Vikki. "I'm not trying to rob you. You remember Toronto? Last year?"
"Toronto?" said Jack, confused. It had been a year, but Toronto felt like a lifetime away.
"You went to my uncles store," said Vikki. "Amorous Goods. Ring any bells?"
It was flooding back now. That weird brick mansion.
"God!" he exclaimed. "Yeah. That place."
"And you bought something, didn't you?" asked Vikki. "A pendulum."
"The pendulum? Is that why you're here?"
"Yes."
"So, you came all the way from Canada, just to get this pendulum?"
"Hear me out, okay? Do you know where that pendulum comes from? The history behind it?"
"The Liber Virtute?"
"Yes," said Vikki, "you've red it, haven't you?"
Jack's eyes widened.
"You know?" he gasped.
"About Rozrael?" said Vikki. "Yes. And you know too, don't you."
"Yes. We've made...arrangements."
"Listen Jack, Rozrael is dangerous. She's using you. If you carry on helping her,
the results won't be pretty."
"I've been trying to get rid of it. It keeps coming back."
"Good. You don't need that pendulum any more. If you give it to me, I can help you."
Jack reached into his pocket and pulled the pendulum out. It swung in her direction, although only by a few inches.
"I know what that means. Don't get your hopes up," said Vikki.
"Don't flatter yourself love," replied Jack. "I'm in a relationship."
"Come with me. Meet my friend in the caf� around the corner. We can end this."
Jack suspected that Vikki and her friend, whoever they were, just wanted this pendulum for their own ends. He didn't care.
"Fine, let's go."
Vikki explained the shop, and her uncle's dreadful legacy to Jack as they left his studio and headed towards the caf�. After his experiences with Rozrael, it seemed plausible.
Marshall seemed startled to see Vikki walk into the near-empty caf� with Jack. Vikki saw that he was in the middle of hitting on the buxom, middle-aged woman behind the counter while he drank tea from a china cup. Vikki interrupted them mid-laugh.
"Vikki?" exclaimed Marshall.
"Marshall, this is Jack," said Vikki. "He knows."
"Jack," said Marshall. "Do you understand? Do you know why the pendulum has to
go?"
"I understand. Rozrael wants to possess my girlfriend. I'm not having that. I want rid of it."
"Do you have it?" Marshall asked.
"Here."
Jack took the pendulum out of his pocket and placed it on the table.
"Take it," Jack said. "Do what you want. As long as I never see it again."
"The problem is," Marshall said, "that pendulum is bound to you. We need to perform the ritual that will banish her influence from you and this world.'
The caf� owner was giving them funny looks as she cleaned the tables.
"A ritual," asked Jack. "That's it?"
"It's pretty simple. But we'll need some privacy."
"Fine," said Jack. "I know where to go."
Jack led them to a grassy area just around the corner, with sharp rocks that descended into the sea. It was a sunny day, but with a cool sea breeze.
"This'll do," said Marshall, pulling out the vial of holy water from his satchel. He faced the sea, holding the pendulum above him, dangling it over the open vial.
"Rozrael," Marshall called out. "Return back from whence you came, in God's name, and in the holy name, Dipelamost."
As he said that last word, he dipped the pendulum down into the vial, sealing it. A
chill wind picked up around them, then dissipated.
"That's it?" said Jack.
"Hopefully," said Marshall. "We'll take this pendulum now. It shouldn't trouble you
anymore."
"Fine," said Jack. "I don't need it any more. Rozrael was really helpful to me when
I hit rock bottom. But now, I don't need her help. I can take it from here."
"You're right," said Vikki. "you seem to have everything figured out now. Good luck."
"Here's my number," said Marshall, handing him a cheap business card. "If that pendulum ends up back in your hands, call us. We'll be in the country until the end of the week."
They parted, and Jack never did call that number.
To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica
Amorous Goods: The Music Box
Poor student can't resist stealing an enchanted music box.
Based on a post by ShowTime8. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.
It'd been the busiest day at Amorous Goods since they'd taken over. The Saturday, a full month before Halloween, had been profitable, but insanely hectic. Dylan's feet ached, his back hurt, and his head still throbbed from last night's hangover. He'd been behind the cash register, without a break, since his tardy arrival at 10:30 that morning to an already jam-packed store. His late appearance had set Vikki off, and she hadn't spoken to her cousin all day. Their only interactions and been her staring daggers at him, and he trying vainly to placate her wrath.
Mary Stanley frowned as she placed the brown bakelite object back on the shelf. It wasn't much to look at; a five-sided vertical cylinder, about four inches tall, with a button on its gabled top, mounted on a slightly larger base. It was adorned only with pinstriped gold panels. The button depressed, like a switch, but nothing happened. She hadn't realized it was a music box until she'd turned it over. On the bottom, a winding key and an inscription engraved in tiny type; "To Gypsy Rose Lee, From Her Darkest Fan." The name sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe somebody famous. She immediately Googled it. "Holy cow," she whispered, "burlesque entertainer stripper! I have to have this, even if it is broken!" She stroked it with slender fingers tipped with chewed nails.
The tag red NFS; not for sale; along with what seemed to be an inventory number. She visibly sank into herself. That figures, she thought bitterly. That's the story of my life. Something amazing comes along, and I can't have it. Graduation day: the girl just ahead of her in the class rankings had gotten a full scholarship to the University, she'd gotten the scraps - barely enough for tuition and books at a community college. The wallet she'd seen in the gutter: her so called friend Paul grabbed it before she could, and made himself an instant $427. And on and on and on. Poor girl. Poor life.
She glanced around the, crowded, odd shop, cringing slightly at the sight of some of the disturbing, nearly lewd objects on display. An antique boned corset with an absurdly tiny waist posed on a dress form. A huge hookah with a leering demon-faced bowl lurked beside a counter. The place made her feel nervous, soiled somehow. She wet her dry lips. She just /had/ to have the strange music box. It absolutely /belonged/ in her collection.
No one was watching. Who'd ever noticed the mouse girl, anyway? Mouse brown hair. Mouse brown eyes. Mouse brown personality. Mary gritted her teeth. Not this time.
It was easy; and thrilling - to surreptitiously slip the tag from the primitive painted wooden Buddha and switch it for the one reading NFS on her music box. It's not really stealing, she reasoned. After all, it's broken, and I'm giving them twenty dollars for it. My last twenty dollars, at that. Nothing but ramen for the rest of the month.
Still, it was incredibly nerve-wracking to approach the beleaguered, red-eyed clerk, wait as he scrawled "Music box, $20," into the old-fashioned ledger, and bag up her purchase. He was really good looking, but his blood-shot eyes raked over, then dismissed her. Like someone as hot as he is would ever give her a second glance. He liked bad girls, not girls like herself.
She shivered, a mixture of fear and excitement. In her entire nineteen years, she'd never done anything remotely like this. Like stealing. She'd always been the good girl, doing all the right things for no reward. She marched as innocently as she knew how from the shop. She fought back a giggle and whispered to no one, "He doesn't know how bad I really am."
As she waited for the bus, she returned to her internet search. "Oh, my'" she muttered to herself, as she red the scandalous woman's Wikipedia biography, over and over. "What a wicked woman."
But that just made the strange box more valuable, didn't it? Gypsy had been famous. Controversial. Independent. Successful. A bad girl made good. Pleased with herself, titillated by her own uncharacteristic wickedness, she nearly skipped off the bus to her dingy little off-campus apartment. Well, efficiency apartment, really. Or, most accurately, a bedroom, with tiny sink, hot-plate, microwave, mini-fridge, and a shared bathroom down the hall. It was the best a poor student could do.
They'd locked up at 7 pm, and Vikki had grunted approval when Dylan had timidly offered to venture out for pizza while she closed out the till. As he re-entered with the food a half an hour later, she stood from behind the counter, ashen faced. "You idiot," she screamed. "You fucking idiot! You sold the music box!"
He took a half-step back. "The what?"
"The cursed one, fucktard! Gypsy's music box!"
There was room for a single bed, a battered vintage waterfall-style vanity, a wobbly kitchen table with chipped ceramic top, and two mis-matched chairs. Stuffed into a corner was a ratty but cozy overstuffed chair. The walls were lined with uncertain shelving bearing text books and an array of music boxes. Twirling ballerinas and skaters and ballroom dancers, small jewelry boxes, even a couple of musical toys; favorites from her collection brought to college. She gently placed her newest prize on the vanity and propped herself on one elbow on the sagging bed.
"Too bad you don't work," she told it, reaching over to tap the button on top. She nearly shrieked when the device started playing a tinny but catchy tune she thought she'd heard before. The top cylinder rotated and astonishingly began to unfold like an pentagonal plastic flower. All five panels opened and reversed as they re-closed, revealing an empty half-moon shaped pocket on what had been the inside of each. "What in the world?"
Mary sat up and leaned closer, catching a faint, vaguely familiar smell she couldn't quite place. She inhaled with closed eyes. The scent reminded her of her glamorous and scandalous great aunt Hattie. Perfume and smoke. Cigarette smoke. Hattie had been the black sheep and the only smoker in her family. Mary opened her eyes wide. "A musical cigarette box. How weird." After a ten second pause, the music repeated itself as the box returned to its closed position. Mary giggled and tapped the button again, enthralled, breathing deeply of the faintly pleasant smell.
She flopped onto her back and pulled up her phone, her thumbs tapping out another search. She ended up watching the 1962 version of the movie /Gypsy/ until she fell asleep. When the song "Let Me Entertain You" began, she drowsily recognized it as the tune her new box played. She fell deep into sleep with the ditty running endlessly through her head.
"Why was it on the shelf anyway?" Dylan groused. "Everything cursed is supposed to already be in the vault."
"It didn't work, I labeled it NFS, and there no more room in the damned vault," Vikki spat at him. When he cringed, she reined in her anger, ran her fingers through her long red hair. "Sorry I got so upset. It's been a long day."
"Well," Dylan shrugged, "If it's broken, it's probably harmless."
"Let's hope so. No idea who carried it off?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No." He thought for a moment. "Well, maybe. There was this one girl who was acting kinda strange. Guilty, maybe."
"What did she look like?" Vikki smirked. "If it was a female, I know you paid attention."
He tried to look offended. "Just a college kid. Not gorgeous, not ugly. Brown hair, pony tail out the back of a ball cap. Baggy clothes." He hurried on. "But whoever it was paid cash, so we can't track a credit card." He walked to the empty spot where the box had been. "Look. The Buddha has an NFS tag now. It's been switched."
Vikki wailed theatrically. "I've got a bad feeling about this."
Dylan nodded. "I wish I didn't."
Mary awoke groggy. She felt almost hungover, as best as she could imagine, never having consumed alcohol. Her head throbbed. Her throat felt scratchy. Had she slept at all, she wondered? The sun was up. Her bleary eyes informed her that it was too late to make it to her earliest class. Might as well go back to sleep and hope she felt better when she woke up. With a crooked smile, she tapped the top of the music box again, breathed in the comforting, faint scent, and whispered along with the chimes, "Let me entertain you "
It was after noon before she woke up again. She'd been dreaming, she thought. About what? Dancing? She could almost hear faint echoes of the music box. She was laying on her belly. One hand was in her panties, one cupped over a tit. Her vagina was very moist, her nipple very hard. She moaned and humped her hand, squeezing her tit, until she realized what she was doing. She awkwardly rolled onto her back.
"Wow," she groaned, stretching. "What's gotten into me?" The hand that'd been in her panties came near her face, and she smelled herself. "Well," she grinned shyly, "other than that." She wiggled happily, feeling much better, and reached up and tapped the top of her new toy. She hummed along, eyes rapt upon the unfolding box. Her eyes widened as it fell silent. One compartment wasn't empty any longer. A short, slightly yellowed paper cylinder jutted up. A cigarette. "What the " Mary murmured. The box replayed its tuned, and closed.
"No way," Mary breathed. Her fingers hesitated above the switch. "Nah. Too weird. Still dreaming. I need coffee. Got to get to class." But caffeine and a shower didn't seem to affect the daze she was walking around in. Her gaze seemed irresistibly drawn to her vanity. She had to fight the urge to push the button on Gypsy's box. She decided that she didn't want to know if she'd imagined that last pirouette of the doors or not. She almost had to force herself to go to her last class of the day.
By the time she got home, she was a nervous wreck. She been increasingly antsy during her anthropology lecture, hardly able to sit still, much less absorb whatever the prof had been droning on and on about. Slamming and locking her door behind her was a relief. Mary tossed her backpack at the big chair and drifted to her vanity. She depressed the switch, and danced along with the opening bars of her new favorite song. When it fell silent, she hazarded a glance its way. It was still there. The cigarette was really there. The tune re-played as the doors closed.
She crept toward the plain brown box like she was entering a lion's den. Her nostrils flared at the faint left-over of its enticing aroma. She licked her dry lips. She gingerly reached out, barely stroked the button when the device surged to life. The music filled her. Enthralled, she stared down. The stubby cigarette in one compartment. A vintage box of matches in another.
The smell was stronger now. The soundtrack of Natalie Wood singing,
"Let me entertain you,
Let me make you smile,
Let me do a few tricks
Some old and then some new tricks,
I'm very versatile,
And if you're real good,
I'll make you feel good,
I'd want your spirit to climb,
So let me entertain you,
We'll have a real good time,
Yes sir,
We'll have,
A real good time "
She became dizzy. The room swirled around her as she danced in a way she'd never danced before. Hips rolling and thrusting. Tits bouncing. She imagined she was on a stage, dancing and peeling her clothes as an invisible audience clapped and cheered. "So naughty," she heard herself groan. She saw her fingers reach for the aged tobacco, lift the box of matches. Lucky Strike, she dimly red as she brought it to her lips. "I don't smoke. I've never smoked anything." she murmured as she struck a match and brought it to the tip of the cigarette, took a hard drag, and inhaled deeply.
"Ah," she breathed, exhaling luxuriously. "Naughty. I'm such a dirty girl."
She erotically, teasingly, peeled out of her sweatshirt, then, pausing to flirt with appreciative fans as she smoked, wriggled out of her jeans. Dropping the spent cigarette in her coffee cup, she tapped the button again, kept dancing as the music played and the doors pivoted open. Every pocket held a Lucky. She nimbly picked out another and torched it with a match. She activated it again. Each panel now held two cigs. Inspired, she swayed to the music in her head as she did another search. There were dozens of gentlemen's clubs listed. She could be bad. She could be rich. She could be famous.
Three weeks later, Dylan lifted his third brew off the bar and swung around to gaze at the dancers. It wasn't that he frequented places like this regularly, he thought. But, when times are tough He swilled the amber fluid and admired the slinky, writhing, naked brunette on the center stage, trying to get his mind off Vikki. /Wiggles/ wasn't the classiest club in town, but it wasn't the shabbiest he'd ever seen, either. It was just downscale enough that sometimes the dancers would go the extra mile for a reasonable reward. And, after being around his cousin all week, he felt in need of a reward himself.
Rose had finished her set an hour before, worked the floor, and enticed a well-dressed business-type for private, VIP dances. She'd just tucked the wad of twenties into her purse, emerged from the VIP area and lifted a Lucky Strike from her flat sterling silver case when she noticed him at the bar. "No fucking way," she breathed, laughing as she lit up. She dangled the smoke between freshly repainted red lips and fluffed her bleached platinum blonde hair with curving scarlet nails. She stared at him through narrowed, thickly lashed eyes. No doubt about it. He was the guy from the shop where she'd gotten the music box that changed her life.
"I shouldn't. There's a chance he'd might recognize me." She caught a reflection of herself in one of the club's ever-present mirrors. "Nah. This's too good to pass up. No fucking way he'd confuse that mouse who ripped him off with this hot cunt." Her own mother wouldn't recognize her, she knew, and, if she did, she'd run away screaming, calling her Whore of Babylon or some such shit.
She made her way slowly, flirted with several customers, letting herself be groped, teasingly extracting herself from more than one lap, and sidled up to the handsome clerk. "Hey, baby, want a private dance?"
His eyes roved over her swollen nippled tits, offered as much as hidden in a skimpy black lace bra, down over her tight abdomen. Her navel piercing sported a dangling ballerina. Her shapely hips were cradled in low cut, skin tight black boy shorts and featured a prominent camel-toe. Below tanned thighs were fishnet stockings above towering stiletto heels. His gaze slowly traveled all the way back up to her angular, exotically made up face. She smiled and posed as he inspected her, and blew smoke over his head.
She was stunning, in an obvious way. He cleared his throat. "How much?"
She stepped close enough for him to smell her unique scent, feel the heat radiating from her openly displayed, hard body. She whispered smokily into his ear. "That depends on what you want, baby. Come on. Let me entertain you."
Dylan let himself be led to the VIP area, wondering where he'd seen this ungodly hot stripper before. By the time he staggered out an hour later, sexually sated and dead broke, he didn't care anymore.
To be continued, in the series, Amorous Goods; a collaborative storyline for Literotica