Unknown - Charity Ball

“First give me the news.”

“Beat me to a fucking pulp, you sniveling gumshoe. Blind me with your come first. Then maybe I’ll tell you a story.”

He smacked her temple gently with his open palm. Continued the rutfuck in her cunt.

“Unh,” Morrigana sighed.

“Okay?”

“Again. Isn’t there a sap in there? A little leather club-the kind that cops use?”

“Here we go.”

Thwap! “More.”

Wap! “Harder.”

Ssshlat! “Hit me harder, fucker!”

Zeee-ap! “I’m come-ming!”

Griffith battered away with his honker up Morrigana’s quim. The cuntjuices ran in flourishes down the insides of his thighs.

His balls knocked against her bound wrists. She took them in her fists.

Snapped his testicles as he frigged away. His nuts shook like stirred pudding.

He felt scum brewing within them.

Morrigana twirled Griffith’s testicles with her tied ankles. Kicked them with her bound feet.

The rush of jissom flared first in his brain. Then the train pulled out of his groin.

Come sped along the track to the engine.

Fuck-fuck-fuck the cock chugged.

Jizz whistled into her tunnel.

“Ana-na.”

Morrigana’s tied limbs cranked and curlicued uncontrollably. Face hidden by the mask of leather and lace. Limbs bound. Cunt gagged.

She couldn’t leave him if she tried.

“Morrigana.”

“Mmmmm.”

“Morrigana. Hear what I’m saying?”

“Hmmm. Oh, fuck. Please whack my bloody brains to jelly, you’re a good fellow.”

“I can’t get it out of my head that there’s some obvious reason why Constance should have kept that string of gumdrops where she did-and not in the safe. But I can’t for the life of me get a hang on what it is. You wouldn’t be able to help me on that, Morrigana?”

“I told you I don’t know. Will you fuck me more? I’ll say anything.”

“Could you take a guess for me? About that pearl nonsense. From what you know about Constance on an Amiga level.”

He fucked her cunthole.

“I don’t think so. You’re the private investigator. I’m sure if you take a crack at it you’ll come up with something better than I could ever. That’s your livelihood.”

“So you really don’t know.”

“Ask Constance.”

“I will. But I’m talking to you now. Let’s see. Who besides Constance does know?”

Morrigana chewed her lips.

Sucked the damp leather of the mask encasing her face with leather and lace.

“Maybe only Constance does.” Morrigana mewed.

Her pussy stewed.

“How about a little hint, Morrigana?”

“Ummm-you know I don’t want to implicate anyone. If I were a private dick I’d have to consider everyone in town-not just friends or the people hanging around-”

“You won’t be implicating anyone, Morrigana. I’m just trying to ascertain our lady’s rationale for her unsafe hiding place.”

With dick exploding come inside her bound form, Morrigana coughed out.

“For goodness’ sake. I’m coming off now without even being hit. You really can work that stick. Why don’t you try the lady in the lake?”

Honeysuckle clit-clove shone like a gemstone in the labial centerfolds of the water sprite who floated on the still water. Then the woman’s wily body warped suddenly in a backward circle, sending wavelets skittering across the small lake’s surface.

Griffith watched, eyes pierced by the direct rays of the sun, as the woman submerged herself beneath the swirling drink.

Griffith surmised that in the near distance what he was witnessing was the fabled Veronica Van Damme, the lady of the lake, in her favored abode. A watery ring about a tiny island-what could be described, were it on a simpler scale, as a huge tiled pool with garlanded sundeck in the center.

Beyond, a sweep of greensward and a deliriously cluttered flower garden-which sent floral musk rampant through surrounding air-set off the pool’s pure glare like a liquid gemstone.

Griffith squinted.

The pale emerald-tinted facets of the facade of a small greenhouse glinted to the near side of the sundeck where Griffith saw stretched the supine nudity of his hostess and employer Constance Charity Eastwick-Westbrook.

She too resembled a jewel, for her oiled body shimmered in the scald of the sun.

What was the diamond, and what was the rough? And who, precisely, was this water nymph bathing in the buff?

Not that Griffith lent particularly heavy stock to what had been told him about Veronica by Morrigana.-after their strung-out verbal and sensual shadow-box.

He had planned to interview this houseguest of Constance next anyway. It impressed him neither way that he found her undressed.

Such was the nature of the place.

The nature of his business. Morrigana had her own reasons for distancing herself from Constance in her depiction of their relationship. It was Griffith’s job to determine her motivations and how or if they pertained to the situation in question.

And the same would be true of his upcoming encounter with Veronica.

Not a bad job, examining misses regarding the whereabouts of missing pearls.

And anyway, Griffith liked talking to girls.

“Excuse me,” he called, not bothering to avert his eyes.

“Oh. You surprised me.”

Veronica splashed the water to a froth about her bosom as she treaded toward the edge of the pool. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to sneak up on naked women like that?”

She spumed a spear of water toward him through slightly parted lips.

The stream snagged him along the leg of his pants. Wet the seam where his ballocks were piled alongside the stirring, coiled-up prick.

Veronica stuck out her tongue at him.

Griffith caught a glance of Veronica’s well’-trained nippletips.

Two panting pups. Standing up, like a pair of begging mutts. “I’m not exactly unannounced,” Griffith said with an inclination of his head.

“That’s okay,” Veronica said. “I’m only kidding. Help me out?”

She reached up and caught him about the forearm.

“Upsy-daisy,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

As he pulled upward, Veronica clutched higher on his arm. Kicked one gam out wide and slid her calf back in at an angle about his ankle.

“The fuck!”

Veronica jackknifed backward and to the side. Griffith sprang, plummeted into the water, the giggling Veronica splashing furiously.

She spat more water at him, turned tail and swam away. Her flutter-kick sent foaming water at Griffith’s face in his pursuit.

“You’ll never be able to catch me,” Veronica said with a snicker. “Not so long as you’ve got on those soaking duds.”

“We’ll see who’s quicker.”

“Or slicker. Come on, don’t be an ass-snarfing dweebo. It isn’t fair if I’m the only one bare.”

“I don’t care about fair,” Griffith said as he closed the gap between them. “Or bare.”

“Or that you’re a flaming aaaaassssshole! Who can never get a haaaard-on cause he’s got no dingdong and eschews the wearing of balls as an unnecessary vulgarism.”

He grabbed at her ankle.

Snapped out toward her wet tresses.

Snagged a slippery breast.

Veronica glided away with ease.

“Just flick yourself off if you’re gonna be like that, Mister Penismouth.”

Veronica called out gaily. “If you want to talk dirty to me about Constance’s shitty strand of pop-it beads, do it in the nude.”

“I’m no body beautiful.”

Veronica crinkled her nose. “I don’t care how crude you are. I like all kinds of naked. Just take off your clothes.”

“Will you let me catch you then?”

“That you’ll have to find out.”