Jon Reskind - Sir Launcelot volume 1

"Eight a point… Four, eight a number six, hard way six… Eight's the number… Five, eight a point… Two, snake eyes. Pay the field. Eight's a number… Twelve! Pay the fertile field again… Eight a number… Let 'em roll. Seven. Seven, the loser. Next shooter. Bets down…"

Silk moved inside the lounge, the loud rock and roll music drowning the chant of the stick man. He walked toward a wall house phone and called Max.

Su Lyn! Jesus Christ, Jamey thought, gaping up at her as she writhed and swayed with the powerful rhythm like a veteran, her magnificent body draped in a see-through, gossamery harem-dancer's costume, her voluptuous firm breasts, her slender waist, her navel and the puff of black pubic hair at the "V" of her loins all vaguely visible to him, but it was as if he were straining to see through the heavy mist, and he could hear the "ohs" and "ahs" all around him. Her long black raven hair hung down her back, flailing wildly with the loud beat tempo, and almost immediately he felt his penis stir wildly inside his shorts as she spun about and bent forward until the breathtaking vision of her full, round buttocks drew the sheer material tight and he could see plainly the vale separating them, along with the weight of soft, hair-fringed flesh that hung enticingly at the very juncture of her thighs.

A lump rose in Jamey's throat and stayed there. Her breasts quivered and jogged gently under the sheer material, her nipples poking delicious, darkened embossments, crowning points to a full measure of firm, caressable flesh. He could see the hollows above her hips, the neat tapering away from the breasts to the small, tight belly. When she turned, he sensed his rod move again in his trousers at the sight of her magnificent hollowing bottom that rounded out tauntingly toward the drinking audience, stretching hard against the flimsy covering that clung to it, outlining each sensuous buttock separately. He fixed his eyes on the voluptuous joint of the buttocks, unable to believe, now, that his hands had held them… caressed them.

Christ, it was all unbelievable… that he'd lain on that body, that he'd explored and caressed those breasts… that her tongue had played in his mouth while she herself writhed under him… with his prick between her soft, white thighs… almost, but not quite buried in her tender, untouchable cunt.

His eyes ran hungrily over the fluid curves of her swaying body as if they were hands, endeavoring to feel the flesh simply by looking. He wondered if she saw him, or if the lights blinded her? She seemed to move toward him, waggling her tensing, hollowing buttocks with her back to him, and he watched them move like two eggs rolling together. Subconsciously, he picked up his drink and swallowed half of it… Hell, he couldn't stand it… something had to give!

And then, she was finished and backing off the stage, smiling beautifully at an excited, applauding audience that had actually witnessed nothing in comparison to the lewd acts of the other girls, nothing but a stimulation of desire in their loins for an enticing creature whose Eurasian beauty would remain etched deeply in their minds to bring them back again and again.

Jamey slipped off his stool and moved toward the door that he knew led behind the bar-stage to the girls dressing room. He had to see her… to talk to her… Jesus, he had to!

He found her in a closet-like dressing room of her own. She was alone and smiling at herself proudly in the mirror of the makeup table when he opened the door and walked in. She still wore the harem dancer costume and with the lights from the table behind her, Jamey could see the outline of her curvaceous charms more clearly than when she was on the stage.

"Jamey! What're you doing here?" Susan said, seemingly both surprised and embarrassed as she picked up her peignoir and threw it around her.

He couldn't help but half-sneer at her gesture toward modesty. He said: "A little late for that, isn't it, Susan… oh, it's Su Lyn… I forgot… the China-doll…"

"What do you want?" Susan snapped at him, feeling her cheeks flushing in sudden anger. "If you came to insult me… you've done that. Now, you can leave."

"Not without you," he replied sharply. "If you think I'm going to let you stay here to be ogled by a bunch of drunken lechers, you're mistaken."

"And you're out of your mind, Jamey, if you think you can stop me," she shot back at him. "I told you yesterday the way it was. We can't see anymore of each other. It's no good, Jamey… no good."

"Susan, you love me and you know it!"

"I-I know nothing of the kind!" she stammered. Dear God, she had to get him out of there before he was seen, before Silk Weaver, or some one passed the word to Max. She doubted that there could ever be any explaining to the blind man once his orders were violated. "Please, Jamey, leave now."

"No! Not unless you go with me, damnit!"

"I'm not going with you!" she shouted at him. "Not now… not ever! Don't you understand? I'm-I'm tired of playing nursemaid, Jamey!" She made her beautiful face twist into a near-mocking sneer. "It's a man I want… not a boy… now, get out of here before I call for help!"

Her words stung him like the memorable bite of his father's horse-whip. He stared at her in bitter, mounting rage. The urge to throw himself onto her, rip the sheer covering from her luscious body and rape her until she begged for mercy was almost more than he could bear… but some how, he held himself, feeling his nails gouging into the flesh of his palms as he clenched his hands into hard, whitened fists.

"You… you bitch!" he hissed between his teeth. "You'll be sorry, damn you! You hear, Miss China-doll… more sorry than you ever dreamed…"

He spun on his heels then and was out through the doorway before Susan could speak. She reached out her hand behind him, started to call his name, then realized it was the only way. Tears filled her eyes as she slumped down onto the little straight-back chair.

Dear God, please don't let him hate me… she prayed, a tiny glistening rivulet spilling down her quivering cheek.

Riding through the crisp darkness in his Porsche, with the soft soul-music creating the atmosphere, of jubilant intoxication filling her, Nadine was afraid that any minute she would awaken and find that it had all been a dream. She kept looking over at him to reassure herself, wishing that there was no such thing as bucket-seats right at that moment; she would be sitting tight against him then, with her hand on his thigh and her other arm over the back of his seat in the accepted manner.

"Your boyfriend was sore," Jamey said, grinning over at her and interrupting her thoughts. "I thought he was going to lose his cool there for a couple of seconds and come at me."

"Please, Rickie's not my boyfriend," she replied quickly, but trying not to be kiddish about it. She smiled tolerantly. "He's really a nice guy and I do like him, but Lord, Jamey, he's just a… a child."

"He's flip over you, baby," Jamey said, still grinning.

"It doesn't matter," the exotic young girl said, her dark eyes sparkling with the reflection of dash lights mirrored in them. "Now come on, do we have to talk about him?"

Jamey shrugged. He was trying to play nonchalant, while inside he still seethed from the scathing rebuke this girl's mother had humiliated him with. He'd never forget the scoffing look on her face, nor her deriding jibes. Godamn her! Insult him… put him down, would she? Nurse maid, was it? The bitch! Damn her… she was going to find out that it didn't pay to ridicule Jamey Halo… or accept his love lightly. Shelly Granger could tell her, couldn't she… if she could still talk. He laughed aloud, hardly aware momentarily, that Nadine was beside him.