Anonymous - Uncle Roy's secret

"Now about the pardon and parole board-" meeting I'll see what I can do."

Sex on premises was hardly the way to run an art gallery, Landry Phillips reflected; But there were exceptions.

His asshole twitched as the lithe lips of Sallie Anne slid over his dick.

The other one-she who looked quite like Sallie Anne from some angles-which was to say a lot like Landry's wife in earlier days-Sadie Mae was the other one's name.

And she gnawed away at his balls.

Landry's grin was fixed into a rictus-a smirking death's head resembling cockhead sculptures in his collection.

Glistening lips and slash of mouth drawn back far and wide concealing his cheeks and revealing his razor teeth and garish gullet.

Red tongue flared from its lair inside his head and eyes gleamed like pearl mother insets into his skul-like visage.

The two young ladies now jabbering upon Landry's gonads had worked fast.

Jizzom lashed from his peckertip.

Cream whipped across their faces.

Scum raced down their sweat-drenched tresses as they flailed his nuggets with their hair. His teeth were bared and clenched.

Eyes wrenched upward. Staring orgasmically into the back of his head.

Landry knew that after these two were through with him he might as well be left for dead. So he set about brewing up another rush of come.

These sisters had dropped by Landry's gallery without an appointment-a not-uncommon practice among Landry's ostentatiously acquisitive and capricious clientele.

Said they had been referred second-handly by a man they knew of through another friend or two whose property, like their own, had been blessed with oil-drenched soil.

"Well, little ladies," Landry had said. "I don't know how you feel about this time of day. But I'd say you arrived just in time for tea."

Sallie Anne looked away.

Sadie Mae looked Sallie Anne's way.

"Of course, by tea-I mean it local style."

"I might have some coffee," Sadie Mae said with eyes slowly swaying from side to side.

"We could brew some. I personally might have some thick coffee and a bite or two of beer or tequila-you ever tried mezcal?"

Sallie Anne drawled lamely:

"We don't want to get too far out there. We wanted to maybe do some business. To take a look at some of your-dildos-"

Landry Phillips thinned his lips. Drew back the ends of his mouth whiplike across his face in a stylish rictus of diffident lust.

"Ladies, I appreciate that very much."

Landry had naturally known-he didn't even have to take his cues from the babes' boob-chewing tube tops, tight miniskirts, and more-than-flirtatious spike heeled fuck-fuck-fuck-me pumps-they had come to examine the Landry Phillips Gallery's renowned and extensive collections in ethnographic art-the kind they used to call primitive before everyone-in writing and on tee-vee at least-started having to say everyone's culture was equal.

The gallery held carvings from the sex cults of ancient Abyssinia and Nubia; erotic engravings from China and Japan; earrings, labrets, nippleclips, ciit-stirrups from Indonesia; buttplugs from Byzantium as a sideline; as well as graphic artistic expressions of the passions of India (the subcontinent) and Indians (the other kind).

"But first things first," Landry said with animation to his diction. "In addition to our teatime tipple I might suggest a thimbleful of yage extract such as the native peoples of the Amazon rainforest use to commune with the eagle and the jaguar and the secrets of life-"

"That's the stuff," Sallie Anne coughed on a cigarette drag, "they use to fuck on? They get high and they think they are going to die-"

Landry returned an easy sly smile:

"While some of the stories are exaggerated, they do have some basis in fact. You might be thinking, too, of yohirnbine brew-it's a plant native to central Africa and indeed it is prescribed by physicians in tablet form to counteract physiologic symptoms of frigidity and impotence-"

"I might use some of that," Sadie Mae said cattily. "I'll share some with you."

"On the other hand," Landry began, taking the time to tug at the ladies' titties and panties with his glance, "there is intriguing historical testimony regarding the use of the jimson-or locoweed-in the treatment of certain essential maladies of the spirit and flesh-"

The young women's eyes widened noticeably as Landry continued:

"— The early conquistadors compared its effects as learned from the aboriginals with that of their homegrown Spanish fly."

Sallie Anne cooed:

"My, my."

Landry added wryly:

"How about if I set up a sampler of all three of these-uh-teas-for us to nip at-?"

Landry commenced to boil a copper pot of water over a gas driven stove intended to look like an ancient hearth.

Sadie Mae estimated the size of his growing hard-on and almost barfed at the thought of having it stuck into her.

Wherever he shot that cock up-it would surely come out the other end.

She would have to remember to keep her body bent a little bit in order to avoid being skewered, Her cunt simmered.

Landry yanked down several unmarked dark glass bottles from the refrigerated chamber off to the side of his wet bar and drew out two three long glasses full of citrus juice and sharp alcohol.

As Landry escorted the ladies along with their drinks down a hallway lined with masks, they passed small cups of the herbal teas among themselves. Breathing quietly.

Sensing the earthy vapors of their drinks sinking into the lining of their nostrils. Smarting through their blood.

Sadie Mae advanced first into a dimly lit cool room rimmed by glassed-in cases within which were arranged the remains of great civilizations.

Cultic cock-and-balls of rigid obsidian. Boobs sculpted from smooth alabaster.

Keisters of plaster lacquered over and pussies cut from gemstone-and more" That's a toothpick?" Sadie Mae pointed toward a small pointed stick.

"Lancet," Landry said with looming rictus thickly cast over his mein. "Used to prick the pricks of Maya kings and labia of their ladyfriends who reigned as queens. They were all kin, by the way. In those days-"

"I get the picture," Sallie Anne said, twitching her hips.

Sadie Mae felt herself flush.

She started to think of herself as exposed. Floating naked over those other two in the room. As if she were stoned.

She took a gape at the empty cup in her hand. Licked out the drops from the rim and side and then she groaned.

"Oooooh."

Sighed.

"Eeeeeh."

Swooned.

"Ululululu."

Landry looked at Sallie Anne and together they stepped toward Sadie Mae.

"Hey! I'm dizzy."

Sadie Mae made sure her tube top and miniskirt herky-jerked around and up and down as she threw herself onto the floor in a heap.

"Her clothes are in disarray," Landry brayed. "It's dangerous. She may suffocate!"

Sadie Mae felt Landry and Sallie Anne slide her away to the side of the room across the cool flagstone flooring.

Her discomfort evident, Sadie Mae allowed them to rearrange her vestments.

Then whined like a kitten when Landry's thumb chanced upon her niblets.

"We should strip her," Landry said with no apparent inflection.

"If you say so," Sallie Anne blew; "Guess you know what to do."

Together they rolled Sadie Mae's top over her shoulders and down her arms.

"Her flesh is still warm," Landry observed with lack of emotion.

Sadie Mae's skirt swished down her legs, joined by her underpants.

"She likes the lacy stuff from France," Landry said with a glance.

He picked up her gains by the toes.

"Pull her over this way," he said, not relaying the slightest evidence of motive.

Behind them, Sallie Anne espied a small votive altar in a recess off to one side of the gallery. Long limber tubes tipped with metal nibs dripped from the sides of a wide-mouth ceramic beaker modeled in the form of a smooth nude equipped with vestiges of all sexes. From.its size Sallie Anne estimated the container could hold several gallons.