Heart Like a Lion

So okay, maybe he'd gone a little crazy, then. He'd tied her up in the middle of the room with the ropes and spreader bar just like they'd done with their "subjects" today and showed her at length just how closely he'd been observing her creative whip techniques, how wonderful it was to realize that all the things she'd showed him had really been a coded way of telling him how she wanted to be treated by a master. He'd spread-eagled her on the ground, sucking her tits and double-fucking her from the front this time, blueskying about how he was going to bring Kyson and Teyson in on these wonderful intimacies and show them the "ropes," spending his fourth load of the day up her hot, tight ass as her pussy squirted around the strap-on while he whispered in her ear what a perfect little office slave slut she was going to make, how she was going to get fucked in every hole and whipped every day. He'd just now finished putting her in the stocks and blindfolding her, rubbing her pussy down with arousal cream and stuffing vibrators in her holes and leaving her there to wonder what would happen next -- a trick she'd shown him months ago that he was really savouring now.

It might all amount to coming on a little strong, but the hell with it. He was giddy. As he stood in the kitchen, naked but for the strap-on flopping absurdly at his waist and taking a deep draught of refreshing water, he realized the truth: he was walking on air. He was a man, for the very first time in his life, in love.

He shook his head in rueful wonder at the discovery, grinning like a fool. I really do have to thank Sonny, he told himself. Got to hand it to him, he really did show me the way. Somehow all the earlier bitterness between them had melted away for him. Somehow it didn't seem important anymore which of them had Power of Attorney over mother's estate.

More than that, he needed to text Sonny and tell him not to delete that video. The idea had come to him while he'd been showing Max how accurate he'd become with a bullwhip that he would just ask Sonny to send him a copy, that knowing it was out there would keep him honest and committed and on the straight and narrow. He was sure Max would feel safer about his fidelity -- and more comfortable and secure about staying with him -- knowing that that video was hanging over both their heads if either of them should break the 'mutual' rules that he was in the process of dreaming up. Yes, he thought, taking another swallow of water: I'd better text him right away.

He'd been stepping toward his office to grab his phone when the hammering started at the front door. Initially he'd been puzzled, then vaguely alarmed... and then he heard the voices. At first it had just sounded like insane barking, almost bestial. But then he worked out the epithets and suddenly he understood that the people at the door were skinheads. Neo-Nazi skinheads, from the sounds of it. The drama at the Village Park Apartments, the girls from this afternoon, flashed through his memory as it fell into place that they had to be Slammerskins.

In other words, criminals. There were criminals knocking at the door of his offices, practically asking to be beaten senseless. It was real action, the first in years, just falling right into his lap and no glory to be shared with anyone.

The realization came practically with a choir of angels singing in his heart as Marcus wondered if this strange, strange day could possibly get any more weirdly perfect. Setting down his water, he strolled barefoot back into the wardroom like a man appreciating a verdant park on a Sunday, picked out a trio of spare tasers -- tucking one in either side of the strap-on's waistband and keeping one in hand -- and grabbed a fighting baton. He popped his head in the door of the dungeon before heading back out front, cheerfully telling Max: "We've got some guests, my little loveslut! I'll be right back!"

Wandering back out to the front, he situated himself just forward of the reception desk as the hammering at the door began to splinter the frame and bend the locks out of shape. The prospect of a good solid donnybrook with some criminal types was the perfect post-meal mint after his exertions with Max, and his adrenaline was soaring. An expression that he inwardly thought of as a benign grin spread across his face.

And so it was that Eoin and his little party of Slammerskins tumbled in to the R.A.M.S. offices to encounter a massively-muscled, stark-naked black man with silver in his hair, a strap-on dildo at his waist, weapons in his hands, madness in his eyes and a grin on his face so cannibalistically murderous that it could doubtless have curdled the blood of a berserk elephant at fifty paces. And they found themselves frozen for a long moment as their brains fought to catch up with what they were seeing, to work out the whys and wherefores of it, as if they'd walked into a different plane of existence from the one they'd been expecting.

"Gentlemen," Marcus greeted them with a sepulchral voice as weird and chilling as his smile as he aimed his first taser at the crazy-eyed lunk wielding the baseball bat: "Your timing is perfect. I can't tell you how glad I am that you've dropped in."

The sun was going down on the theatre of Sonny James' temporary operation in Blossomville, a rented run-down tavern called the Mucho Gaucho, west across town on Columbus Avenue from the All-American Mall.

It was an old-fashioned neighbourhood pub that a landscape of chain restaurants and upscale smokehouses had left behind, its interior now transformed by the vision that had started to take hold of Sonny's mind in the parking lot of a Piggly Wiggly that afternoon. His co-producer, A.J., had taken an astonishingly short span of time to pull together a kind of bizarre fantasy neo-Nazi social club, hung about with an array of Confederate flags and swastikas, various neo-Nazi flags and banners -- including the crossed hammers of the Northern Slammerskins -- English and European football club regalia, and various Nazi war propaganda posters, most prominent among them a massive Waffen SS poster and the indispensable Hitler portrait hanging side-by-side over the bar.

For Sonny the effect was queasy and chilling in equal measure. The perfect backdrop. The cameras were rolling as he and A.J. -- a pale and portly fellow-Brooklynite who'd worked with Sonny as an assistant director on years' worth of fuck flicks -- sat at a table behind the mic line with beers and hastily-made scripts in front of them.

"Alright, people," A.J. called to the crew. "Checks."

He looked around as lighting and all three camera and boom operators gave thumbs-up, and hair and make-up popped out of the kitchen door behind the bar to indicate that their first on-screen star was a go. Sonny, meanwhile, looked back to check on the male talent, who'd been lined up across the pub's far wall to get the fluffer's attentions.

Morris and his "Rosewood Avenue Gangster Disciples" were looking shiny-eyed and happy as they hastily stuffed their lovingly-polished pricks into their baggy pants, adjusted their bandanas, gave thumbs-ups and worked silently on their gangbanger swagger. The last in line to have his dick sucked and wanked to performance readiness was Morris himself -- none other than "Mau Mau G," a tall, rangy fellow who Sonny had to admit seemed nice enough in person -- who was standing with his eyes closed as a shapely, olived-skinned beauty with a tight young body and an eager, hungry cock-sucking technique bobbed and gobbled on his big dick, her head working up and down as she slurped his man-meat with loud eagerness while the fingers of her free hand could be seen working in and out of her slick cunt. A moment more, and Morris was tensing as if to cum... and the fluffer was breaking off, looking around to meet Sonny's eyes with a smug grin of accomplishment on her lovely features and a lusty appreciation of new adventure shining in her dark eyes.

As Lennie gave him the thumbs-up on the last of the male talent, Sonny thought he could see the unspoken statement "And you thought I couldn't handle all those dicks!" in her mischievous grin. He smiled back at her, feeling the warmth of a curious affection tugging at him, then turned back and said: "We're good."

"Okay, picture's up, quiet please," A.J. called out: "And... turnover." Sonny signalled the camera assistant, who stepped into shot to put up the slate. Race Traitor Fuck Dolls #1, it said. Scene 1, Take 1. When the first camera operator called out "Set," he stepped back again as A.J. called: "Action!"

Cami looked, remarkably, only a trifle unsteady as she stepped out of the kitchen. She was playing a neo-Nazi bikini bar hostess, her racist tats on prominent display as her only concessions to modesty were a tiny leopard-print bikini and a military surplus SS officers' cap -- one of the memorabilia A.J.'d managed to dig up -- that she had taken a shine to and couldn't be persuaded to remove for love or money. The make-up girl had done a fine job restoring her Chelsea to its pristine glory after the eventful day she'd had, and had even managed to tone down the vividness of the whip-marks on her arse and thighs... but there was no hiding the glazed look in her eyes, the product of impromptu pills-and-vodka self-medication.

Still, she was gorgeous. It didn't matter that as she tottered around pretending to wipe the fixtures -- and loudly bemoaning the fact that she was all alone and horny and that none of the deadbeat skinheads in the neighbourhood were man enough to fuck her like she needed to be fucked -- her acting was as wooden as George Washington's teeth. What mattered was that her physical presence was searingly sexy, that there was a genuine heat in the way she shook her plump buttocks at the camera as she bent over to wipe at a particularly difficult spot on the bar, that even through that glassy, vacant expression in her baby blues there shone an unmistakable lust.

She was leaning back against the bar, splaying her thighs with agility and sliding a hand down the front of her bikini bottoms to start the masturbation tease portion of the scene, as Sonny felt a warm feminine presence at his side. It was a mouthwash-refreshed and still stark-naked Lennie, who wasted no time simply curling into his lap and putting her arms around his shoulders as she leaned her head against his chest and watched the scene unfold. A.J. raised an eyebrow -- it was a kind of on-set familiarity Sonny never encouraged from his talent -- but this time he waved off any reaction from his partner. Something about her curled up against him felt right... particularly to the lump of his hard-on, against which Lennie gave a pleased little squirm as she felt it growing against her ass.

Sonny found himself musing on the moment and how it came to be as he watched Cami's bikini bottoms grow unmistakably wet, as he savoured the supple warmth of Lennie next to him. As it turned out, neither of the girls had needed much persuading to come on as part of his project -- which, he wasn't sure whether he felt more or less guilty than if they had. He hadn't even brought up the question himself; after he'd cut them loose from Max and Marcus' clutches, he'd simply untied them, borrowed some R.A.M.S. jackets to drap around their shoulders, walked them out to his car and driven them here. He'd fed them -- the crew catering was Tex-Mex and not half bad -- let them recover in the dressing room, hadn't asked questions when Cami wondered aloud "what does a slut have to do to get a drink around here" and simply brought up a bottle of vodka from the bar.

He'd quietly told them why he didn't think going back to the apartments was a good idea. Asked them if they wanted to call anyone; Cami had just laughed bitterly at that for reasons mysterious to him at the time. Lennie had just shook her head, looking steadily at him with those big, dark eyes. She'd seemed by far the less traumatized of the two, both then and now. It was Lennie who'd finally asked what he did, what he was doing here. When he mentioned the gangbang scene they were shooting, Cami had perked up; they'd walked in past Morris and his crew in the downstairs bar, and she'd wanted to know straightaway if "that's what all the niggers were here for."

"Uhhh, that's what the black guys are doing here, yeah," Sonny'd replied awkwardly, and saw this weird light come into Cami's eyes. Right away she had wanted to know if he was looking for an actress, and before he could even reply she was taking down his zipper to "audition" for the part.

Maybe he should have discouraged her from that, but it was like he'd said to Marcus; he was no hero. And when Lennie'd watched with a hint of amusement as Cami sucked his cock, then asked if he had any other "positions" open with a conspiratorial wink, he'd simply nodded... and before he'd known it both of them were on their knees in front of him, bathing his cock and balls with their clever mouths and agile tongues before they took turns bending over for a hard dicking in their wet little cunts.

So, naturally, he'd hired them.

"I think something changed in both of us today," Lennie explained afterward as she'd leaned against him, playing with his solid-but-not-monstrous cock as they let the sweat cool on their bodies and watched Cami stumble off to find more vodka. "I don't think there's any going back... and to tell you the truth I don't really want to go back to the 'skins, back 'home.' You know? I wasn't happy there for a long time, I never cared that much about the racial shit anyway. I was just along for the ride, it was what everybody I knew from the neighbourhood was doing. That's... kind of a terrible thing to say, isn't it?"

She'd looked up at him with the question earnest in her dark eyes, and Sonny had simply shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first person to get caught up in something that way. It happens. Sure isn't up to me to judge." Nodding after her friend, he'd asked: "And her?"

"Well." Lennie'd looked after her friend. "She's always been different from me. I always looked up to her, she was like the leader and I was the follower, you know? She was well into all the racial shit, the 'cause' and all that... but now I think that was mainly because Eoin was so into it, and he was her everything. Her whole world." When he repeated the name blankly, she clarified: "Her boyfriend for like the last three years. She loved him hard, she was going to marry him. She had a faith in him that was kind of almost religious... like, she was dead sure he was going to turn up like Superman today and save her."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." Lennie had shook her head sadly. "She's like a Christian losing faith in Jesus almost, you know? Going whole hog Satanist when her prayers don't get answered. With Eoin and White Power down from the throne, well... I think it's clear how far in the other direction she's ready to go, and how fast." She'd sighed. "I think it's going to be my turn to take care of her for a while. Or, I dunno, maybe that's what I was always doing... if so I guess I'd better up my game."

Sonny had found himself strangely touched. "You're going to take up porn just to stick with a friend? Not many people out there would do that."

"Well," she'd given him an enigmatic, teasing smile as she'd squeezed and stroked his cock with a little more purpose. "Have to admit I've got other motives, too." And she'd started to slide down to her knees again.

The memory of what had followed stiffened Sonny's cock even further in the present as he watched Cami rip off the bikini bottoms and start finger-fucking her pussy and ass in earnest. She was something of a natural in front of the camera, the scene flowing nicely (Lennie was grinding her soft ass against his hard-on).

A.J. cued the Gangster Disciples, and as they came swaggering into frame, stroking the hard lumps in front of their jeans, Cami's acting grew more convincing as she jumped guiltily and pulled out her fingers and demanded to know "who are you fuckers and what are you doing in here?" Morris was right into it as Mau Mau G as he replied with an absurd "we in the piece to tear some white bitch pussy up, bitch, ain't you never hear of Black Power?" (Lennie was taking one of his hands and moving it up to caress one of her soft, supple breasts, her breath quickening.)

There was some desultory horse-play and chasing and slapping-around -- and a very convincing delivery from Cami of the line "get the fuck away from me you spear-chuckers!" -- before the Disciples had her wrestled to her knees and plugged her mouth with hard cock, the S.S. cap askew on her head as she wanked a massive prick in each hand and sucked and gobbled at any prick she could get her mouth around with the ravenous abandon of a true, dyed-in-the-wool slut. (His hand seemed to move of its own volition up from Lennie's breast to stick a finger in her warm, wet mouth, her tongue swirling around its tip like she was teasing the head of a hard dick before he brought the finger back down again to stroke and moisten her stiff nipple.)

Cami gave out a loud moan, her spit slopping wetly around a mouthful of cock as the first of her gang of black lovers crouched behind her and worked the fellatio-slickened head of his prick up her tight arse... which was a case of over-eagerness, they'd scripted vaginal first, but from the way Cami was humping eagerly back against his thrusts she wasn't complaining, so Sonny decided to let it go. (Besides, Lennie was starting to kiss and nuzzle at his neck and he had to admit to having some difficulty concentrating.)

Morris and his people were showing good instincts and some proficiency at maneuvering and getting the shots; before long the Disciples had Cami turned with her back to the camera, one of them mounting a bar stool underneath her and then slamming her dripping cooze down the length of his bloated member and tearing a loud "uggghhhhh!" from the depths of the blonde slut's gullet as another man climbed up behind her to work a cock into her ass and yet another climb on the bar in front of her to shove his prick down her throat. Before long she was getting triple-fucked, her cunt visibly frothing with arousal as she bucked and writhed under their pummelling rhythm. (Lennie sucked his earlobe into her mouth and gave it a gentle nip with her teeth, then whispered hotly and very quietly in his ear: "I need your hard dick in my slutty little fuck-hole...")

Sonny decided abruptly that everything seemed to be well in hand here. Looking across the table at A.J. he gave him a forward-rolling you take it from here hand-gesture, and as his partner nodded with just the slightest trace of amusement in his expression, Sonny got up -- sweeping up Lennie in his arms as she continued to lazily kiss and bite his neck and throat -- and made a beeline for the ladies' bathroom, kicking the door open and carrying her into the nearest stall.

She turned her body to face him, spreading her firm thighs and biting her lip as her wet, swollen pussy awaited his attention, her breasts heaving as she panted in passion -- and it was her eyes that captivated him again as Sonny hastily pulled down the zipper on his overalls, those eyes that seemed to invite him into her soul even as he was hooking his arms under her knees and taking her, shoving her clutching cunt down the length of his throbbing erection, getting a little gasp out of her as she hit the root of his prick and they stopped there for a moment, losing themselves in one another's eyes as their interlocked sexes pulsed together like perfectly-matched pieces of a puzzle.