Heart Like a Lion

With every second of their unfolding encounter, he saw that the message he'd gotten from their ailing mother had been right. Marcus had always been a bit crazy... but he was going over the edge, now. Or already gone. The question was, how far?

A grudging attempt at small talk from Marcus broke the train of thought. "So," the big man gritted out as he walked. "How are your 'film projects' coming?"

Sonny felt a familiar mixture of shame and defensiveness wash through him. The bafflegab of the old days came to his tongue without thinking: "Well, you know... we're still, uhhh, pushing boundaries. Uhhh... interrogating the racial norms of sexuality and concepts of consensuality as problematized by frameworks of conflict and duress. Exercises in cross-ethnic bio-power formations and the consequent construction of subjectivity in late capitalism." He winced inwardly at how lame the old cliches sounded, formulated back when he'd still been trying to fund his work as artsy erotica through the NEA.

Marcus was having none of it. He snorted: "So, you're still a pornographer."

"If you want to put it that way," said Sonny sullenly.

"'Put it that way'?" Amazingly, he heard a hint of wry humour in Marcus' voice. "Tell me, what's the title of your latest masterpiece?"

Sonny flushed. "Titles are... you know, they're an experiment in themselves -- "

"Spit it out."

"Fine. Fine." Sonny shook his head angrily. "Dumb White Sluts Love Big Black Cocks 24. You happy now?"

"Happy." Marcus chewed the word over with grim dissatisfaction, every muscle in his back tensing. Finally he said: "No. I think I can confidently say I wouldn't call myself 'happy' with that answer. Maybe neither should you."

At least I'm not making a living out of bullying teenagers in a mall... and worse, Sonny thought but didn't say. And in all honesty, he had to concede that the rationalizations that had worked at parties out East, at least for a while, felt out of place here.

He finally managed: "Okay, fine. I make dirty movies. Okay? I accept that. At least I do them with some fucking artistry, you know, it's not like I'm Seymore Butts or something."

"Who?" Marcus asked as they stepped on the escalator down to the concourse's second level. But he immediately clarified: "Never mind. Point is, I just can't even contemplate how someone goes out to New York as one of the most promising film students of his generation... and comes back with... what was it? "Dumb White Sluts"?" He shook his head. "I thought at least people went to Los Angeles for that nonsense. I guess I'm naive."

"That right." Sonny let skepticism colour his voice, but backed off from it and changed the subject: "The whole world is Porn Valley now, you have to know that much. It's the Internet age. That's actually part of why I'm here."

"Yes, I heard." As they hit the second level, Marcus navigated gingerly around a plump mother-father-son trio whose faces were slathered with the oblivious joy of an ice cream cone harvest. As the happy tourists passed out of hearing and the brothers stalked past a display of neutered male mannequins sporting loud floral summer fashions from Borgstrom's, he went on: "You're auditioning a group of boys out on the west side, correct?"

"Not 'boys,'" Sonny said defensively. "Promising young male adult talent, yes. You know..." and he let some bitter humour creep into his voice: "Giving the young brothers a leg up."

"Young gangbangers, you mean."

"Well, the scene I wrote for them does have certain specific features, it's true --"

"Cut the crap, you know what I'm talking about." As they made their way toward the next down escalator, Marcus spat out the mild profanity 'crap' the way most men would say 'motherfucker.' "You're auditioning a group of Gangster Disciples to star in your latest filth."

"Objection to 'filth,'" Sonny said wryly. "You know, in London that's what the Cockneys would call you."

"We're not in London, and you're being evasive."

"Whatever." Sonny snorted. "Yeah, okay, they call themselves 'Gangster Disciples.' Stipulated. But let me tell you something from the perspective of someone who's actually been to the proverbial 'Big City.' They're no such thing. They're a bunch of suburban wannabes from fucking Minnesota, alright? They have as much chance of being actual 'Gangster Disciples' as I would've had of growing iron skin if I'd nicknamed myself 'Colossus' as a kid. It's schtick. They're just a bunch of assholes from Flyover Country, that's it."

Marcus grunted, either losing interest in the conversation or giving up hope of reaching his brother. Sonny counted it a small mercy that the rest of their journey down to the mall's basement level, winding through obnoxiously colourful displays and gawp-faced crowds, passed without further conversation.

The escalator down to the basement level brought them to the threshold of a large set of offices outward-faced with mirrors, bearing the Aries ram sigil over a door surmounted by the bright red letters of the R.A.M.S. acronym. Unlike upstairs, the lower level was quiet, virtually deserted. The core of Marcus' domain... beyond the view of prying public eyes.

As they stood on the office's verge, Marcus stopped, turned to his brother, and said: "You know, you're right in a way. You said the whole world is 'Porn Valley' now. I'd put it just a little differently." A glint of fervour crept into his gaze as he said: "The whole world belongs to the Evil One now. Except for our souls. For those who accept discipline... there's still redemption. It's in our bodies and souls that the battle can be won. That's our salvation, that's the gift of God. Discipline. Spare the rod and spoil the child."

Sonny had been waiting for this from the beginning, but the sense of resigned absurdity he'd expected to feel when the God-talk started didn't come. Instead, looking at Marcus' features -- stern, uncompromising, fanatical -- his mind leapt to the awful, unspeakable rumours his mother's message had recounted to him. The rumours of a half-insane or perhaps wholly-insane mall cop who imagined himself an agent of divine retribution, above any law.

And he found that he was speechless. He looked at his brother, and he knew it was true, and his blood ran cold, and for once in his life he couldn't think of anything to say.

Marcus looked at him levelly a moment more, then said: "I suppose my staff will want to meet you. After that we can finish our business, and you can get the Hell back to wherever you came from or wherever you're going." Turning away as he opened the door to his private kingdom, he said: "Come on. Let's get it done."

Pulled in the undertow of a madman's forceful conviction, Sonny held his peace and followed.

Tempting the hippie idiots back into the courtyard was child's play.

It was Lennie, always reliable in that kind of role, who really got them talking. Cami always had to admire her knack for making people want to please her; those big, dark, moist eyes tempting them to talk and talk and talk as if spellbound. Guys especially. It was a skill that had proven useful more than a few times in their adventures together.

She had them chatting about their gathering, of course. Something about the World Naked Bike Ride which had happened a month ago, but which authorities in Blossomville had firmly refused to grant any kind of public festival permits due to strict public nudity bylaws. The organizers had persevered -- there was some tree-hugger bullshit in there about showing how bike riders refused to be "naked" to the scourge of auto emissions that Cami really didn't care to follow -- and gotten permits for today instead, leveraging the First Amendment and arguing that they were also marking National Nude Day. The hipsters had then blathered on about the various "solid cats" who'd made the first Naked Bike Ride in Blossomville possible. "Stan Reynolds, you know, real solid cat," and so on and so forth.

The whole time, the two hunks had being eyeing up all the 'byrd flesh they could, their cocks stiffening as Cami grinned at them, licking her lips and flirting saucily while Lennie kept drawing them out. I have to admit, she thought to herself. Lennie's right, they're pretty fucking cute in a dumb-assed surfer-dude kinda way. She noted the fact that the taller, blonde one, who was apparently called Tyler, was sporting the clear outline of a circumcised prick in his bikini briefs... but Cami wasn't totally closed-minded, and knew better that to think it necessarily made him some kind of kike. (Yes, she could just hear her boyfriend Eoin's rant cueing up about potential Jewishness and the Zionist Occupation Government's breeding programs, but much as she loved him, he wasn't right about every little thing. Or moderately big thing.)

Eventually the conversation about the bike ride and its rationale hit a lull, and Cami's moment came. "So," she'd said. "Alright, World Nude Day, whoop-dee fuckin' do. I think what me and Lennie really wanna know is... you up for drinking some beers and chilling with the raddest bootgirls on the scene before you set off on your hero's quest?"

This got a sheepish grin from the younger, darker-haired one, whose name was Arran. He'd made a point of spelling it out for them, A-R-R-A-N, almost as if he was familiar with White Power skins and their foibles and wanted to lay any concerns to rest.

"Yeah, sure, why not," he'd said, his eyes playing over Cami's tight curves and kind of making her pulse race despite herself. "We don't, like, start out on the route for another twenty minutes anyway. That sounds solid."

Solid as that thing between your legs, champ, she thought as she met his eyes and gave him her sweetest smile. She didn't really have any intention of cheating on Eoin -- the fingers of her right hand were already curled around the trusty brass knucks in the pocket of her shorts -- but she found herself enjoying the thrill of the chase and the art of the pick-up anyway, it had been a long time since she'd really worked it like this.

Lennie, meanwhile, already had one of Tyler's hard-muscled arms around her, the lanky hipster towering over her but thoroughly a captive of her sloe-eyed act as she led him back away from the parking lot toward that nice, secluded courtyard, wheeling his bike -- that sweet purple BMX that Cami had her eye on -- beside him with his other hand all the while. A moment later Cami found herself gathered up in the crook of one of Arran's arms just the same way; and as they followed Lennie and Tyler back into Village Park's desolate inner sanctum, she could feel the furious gazes of a few of the girls in the crowd tracking them like laser sights.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted a pair of girls in particular -- cute enough, but on the patchouli-soaked fake dreads model -- doing their very best at investigating the age-old scientific question of whether Looks Could Kill. They were circling restlessly as if trying to work up the nerve to intervene... but they looked at least to be smart enough to know the guys wouldn't welcome it. Cami winked broadly, gave them an arsenic-sweet parting grin and showed them a farewell finger.

And so Cami's plan after that had been to toy with the bozos for a couple of minutes before sapping them and taking those sweet bikes for a joyride. But it went... a touch off the rails.

First off, she'd forgotten about how Lennie could get when her needs had been neglected for this long. That shy, sweet 'byrd could be straight up aggressive in the right circumstances, and she was clearly not wasting any more time on conversation today. The moment they hit the courtyard and walked up to lean Tyler's bike on one of the "shade trees," Lennie was taking a swallow of beer and then pulling the handsome young hunk in to taste the flavour off her tongue -- and just like that the pair of them were melting into a hot, deep, probing kiss.

Second. Cami had, although she hated to admit it, been without proper attention from Eoin for nearly as long as poor Len had been on the outs. Ever since both of the boyfriends had lost their jobs and their mojo and taken to the booze with the fervour of men possessed, if the truth be told. And though she held on fiercely to her love for her man, the truth was she wasn't quite prepared for how vulnerable her own body was; for how good Arran's strong, agile fingers would feel stroking her back. She felt almost a little giddy as they took up station at a tree across from Lennie and Tyler, Arran setting his ride down in the grass and leaning up against the trunk while Cami nestled back against his chest, felt the thrum of his heartbeat and the strength of his arms wrapping round her, and was surprised to find herself waggling her plump derriere against the throbbing lump of his hard-on. But she couldn't stop, somehow.

Lennie was breaking off the kiss with Tyler -- but only to start kissing and licking her way down his rangy, finely-muscled torso, her little pink tongue flickering at his nipples as she took first one and then the other into her mouth, nipping them gently with her teeth as her free hand burrowed in his bikini briefs, making him throw his head back and moan as she hauled out his seven inches of gloriously erect cut cock, spat in her palm and started to stroke it. Tyler's hands were sliding down her back and gathering up big handfuls of Lennie's soft ass while she soaked his pecs in her spit, then started to kiss her way down his sternum as she jerked his twitching prick in a steady rhythm, making it pulsate and grow visibly even harder in her soft palm.

And so Cami leaned back with the idea in mind of saying something, maybe making a joke about how outrageous her friend was being, but as she tilted her head up she found Arran's lips were already there, and they were unexpectedly soft in the midst of the scritch-scratch of his beard, and they were open against hers and she was opening right back, tasting peppermint as their tongues danced that age-old sensual, serpentine dance, and somehow those trusty brass knucks were slipping away from her fingers as she reached a hand up to pull him closer, to kiss him deeper.

"Mmmm," was all she could say. "Mmmm-hmmm..."

Arran's strong hands and agile fingers were all over her. Mauling her plump breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt, ranging down over her belly and teasing at the denim covering over her tingling pussy as she arched her back and rubbed her ass in a wanton circle against him. His fingers came back up and worked at the buttons on the front of her shirt, opening them effortlessly one after the other until she was exposed to the navel, his palms sending searing waves of desire through her as they slid up over her bare, quivering belly and now cupped her naked breasts -- neither she nor Lennie were much for bras -- thumbing her stiff, thick pink nipples as he finally released her from the kiss and let her look down in astonishment at his hands having their way with her firm little tits. Cami gasped as he squeezed them together, pulling gently on both her nipples at once as his tongue invaded her ear and then snaked down to suck her earlobe into his mouth, thrills of pleasure arcing from the base of her skull to her vulnerable breasts to her increasingly wet pussy.

Lennie, meanwhile, was on her knees by now with Tyler's cock waggling in front of her salivating mouth as she cradled his cute little balls in one hand. She was looking at it like a woman in a trance, a starving woman who hadn't seen meat in weeks. With her other hand she lifted up what remained of her beer, doused that delicious member in golden malty goodness and attacked it with gusto, showing off a talent for fellatio that Cami had always kind of envied: engulfing half his prick in a single go, her tongue swirling around it and flickering across its sensitive underside as she sucked and gulped and gobbled at it, then popped it out of her mouth to slather her tongue down to its base and gather up the rivulets of beer dripping over his balls, then tonguing her way back up to the head and swallowing the salty staff down again even more aggressively. Tyler stood lost in reverie as she repeated the cycle again, and again, and again... his head thrown back as if he were some kind of sacred hermit in communion with the Great Spirit instead of a lucky hipster bastard getting his cock bathed and pampered by the hot, wet mouth of a busty teen he'd just met.

"Ahhhh..." Cami moaned as her paramour started kissing her neck and his attentions to her body started to migrate downward, back over her belly until his fingers were working on the button of her tight denim shorts. She was gasping, trying to find words to tell him to slow down, trying to summon the will to keep this from going any further... but somehow one of her hands had found its way behind her and found his hard, hot cock free of its confinement and ready to be stroked and fondled. And so she did that as he opened the top of her shorts and his industrious fingers burrowed inside, down inside the waistband of her panties, down through the soft golden fleece of her pubes... down until his middle finger brushed the sensitive nubbin of her clit and made her gasp and go rigid: "Ahhhh-haaahhh... holy shit... ahhhh..."

His fingers kept burrowing as he switched over to kissing the other side of her neck and throat, Cami jacking his cock while luxuriating in his deft manipulation of her love button, in the way his fingers pushed in further until one of them began to work its way into her tight, clutching cunt. All the while she was watching as Lennie reached up and pulled off her Polo -- setting free those magnificent melons of her with their big, puffy pink nipples -- arched her back up and pressed her soft breast-flesh into a warm, supple tunnel around Tyler's spit-slathered prick. He must have been in seventh heaven as he looked down to see those big, dark eyes shining up at him as he started to fuck her tits, reaching down to stroke them gently as his hips worked up a rhythm and began to make a little slap-slap-slap sound against those huge, supple mammaries.

"Ughhhh..." Arran had worked a second finger up Cami's hot little twat now. They were pumping in and out of her, working deeper and deeper up her dripping fuckhole as his thumb strummed her clit and she writhed in his grasp, gripping and jacking his throbbing erection in rhythm with what he was doing to her as she felt an eruption of ecstasy starting to build deep inside. He was bringing that molten moment closer and closer as his fingers twisted and slithered up inside her, searching for any opportunity to go deeper, to make her writhe and gasp and shudder more deliciously... and he kept finding those opportunities, his fingers sinking further and further with each thrust until he was three knuckles deep, his hand curving into her and finger-fucking her cunt at a mercilessly-accelerating pace that brought little gasps out of her: "Ohhh-ohhh-ohhh-ohhhh-ohhhh God-ohhhh-ohhhh-ohhhh..."

Primal urgency had taken over for Lennie, now; Cami watched as she finally turned her back and went down on all fours in the grass, presenting Tyler with a rearward view of her magnificent rump and the no-doubt sopping crotch of her cotton panties as he went to his knees behind her. The blonde felt her sugar walls quivering and her pussy creaming around Arran's fingers as she watched his buddy yank Lennie's skirt up over her arse, almost ripping her panties in his haste to get them down and shove his rampant prick into her tight teen cunt.

Lennie was looking back at him, urging him on: "Gimme that dick, you fucker, give it to me hard, I want it, come on, put it in..." And then Ty grabbed himself a big handful of her soft ass and pulled her back onto him, and suddenly his hot cock was slamming into the velvety vise of her wet love tunnel and she was crying out: "Awww-AUUUGHHH!"