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A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad Chapter 5 Do Your Thing

A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad

Chapter 05 Do Your Thing

I need you woman, it ain’t no big deal, you need love now, just as bad as I do. Makes me no difference, who you give your thing to…”

Sunday was a quiet day around ‘the house’; no one was really hung over, because the girls were instructed to never drink much, and there was a general ‘laid back’ feel. Dolly and Connie had gone to a Sunday service, Gerry was visiting her family, she being the only local on the crew. Margie and Christine had showered together (not all that unusual, the girls frequently shared a shower; it was practical, not sexual).

Lana was not seen; she was the one from the group who seemed to be something of a loner, even if she was in charge of the house. Maude, the cook, would be coming to the house around four PM to prepare a Sunday dinner that all were looking forward to; pot roast, pan-fried potatoes, tossed salad, fresh-baked bread and brown beans in Maude’s special sauce. It would be Christine’s first Sunday dinner and she was looking forward to it.

She sat now, on the front steps, going over in her mind the events of the night before, feeling again intense arousal as she thought of the men using her, their fingers inside her. She savoured the vision of them jerking their brown cocks (she said the word in her mind, cocks; I saw two brown, hard cocks) she repeated, quickly squeezing her labia through her shorts. Crazy.

She went inside, fighting the strong desire to go to the washroom and ‘diddle her quim’ as Margie had said, when she suddenly stopped and stood still. There was music coming from somewhere close by; not a transistor radio or a record player, this was an instrument playing solo. What was it, she racked her brain? An oboe? No, that wasn’t it. A violin? Sort of; wait, a cello; that was it; someone was playing a cello and it was close by, indeed.

* * * *

Anne was in the Clarence Hotel, in her favorite booth, speaking with her contact. The conversation again was in muted tones and Russian, but an English speaker could have picked out ‘Laverne May’, the name of the wife of a high level military aide to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Anne had received some information on the woman and now was asking some specifics. Her contact said he would leave something tomorrow; bench number eight.

* * * *

“So the dinner went well, my dear?” Virginia asked as she and Douglas sat together after a late breakfast.

“It was very pleasant and I think we are making some, mmm, progress.” Douglas smiled.

Just then the phone rang and Virginia, answering the extension in the kitchen, informed her husband it was for him. After speaking for a moment, Douglas murmured it was a call he needed to take privately, and headed for his office/den. Virginia hung up the receiver the moment she heard her husband’s voice. She would never listen in.

* * * * 

Christine was tracking the sound; it seemed to be coming from above her, but when she got to the second floor, it was still above her. Looking to the end of the hallway, she noticed for the first time that there was a door there, which she now walked to and opened, finding fire-escape stairs leading down and up, to the flat roof. The cello was louder now and clear; someone was on the roof playing.

Carefully and quietly, Christine mounted the metal stairs until her head cleared the roof’s edge and she could see, in the middle of the roof, sitting on a folding chair, a woman playing the cello. It was Lana Gallo, and the song she was playing was haunting. Without thinking, Christine began moving slowly and quietly toward the woman, who was facing at an angle away from her.

Stopping about twenty feet from the chair, Christine crouched and listened. But then Lana abruptly stopped and looked over, smiling, “I have a visitor,” she said, quietly.

“Oh don’t stop, please, Lana. I’m sorry for interrupting; it was so beautiful I had to come and see.” Christine moved closer.

Lana smiled and resumed the tune, finishing it and then playing for another fifteen minutes as Christine knelt, listening in amazement; Lana was fabulous, even to someone who knew as little about classical music as Christine.

After Lana finished her practice, she packed her cello back into its large case, and the two women headed back to the stairs. “I play when I can up here, but I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

“I can’t believe anything that beautiful could disturb anyone,” Christine enthused, and when Lana chuckled, she asked, “What was that first song? I loved it and know nothing about such things.”

Lana stopped and smiled at her, “Such wonderful comments, thank you. It was Bach’s Cello Concerto, in G, for those taking notes,” she murmured, smiling, her hazel eyes lighting up.

She’s so beautiful, Christine marvelled again.

* * * *

Beverly moved quietly behind her mother, leaning against her and gently stroking her arms as Virginia tensed, whispering, “Your father’s just in the other room.”

“I know Mommsy; he’s in his den with his door closed; he won’t hear, this,” she said, softly kissing the side of Virginia’s face, and then the neck and then the other side, before turning Virginia around and kissing her mouth while pressing her pelvis against her mother’s.

Virginia did not resist; what was the point? Oddly though, she did respond, kissing tenderly and reaching her hands around to clasp Beverly. The two women licked each other’s tongues, sucking then in turn. Beverly moved her hand down to squeeze between Virginia’s thighs, whispering, “Are you wet, Mother?”

Virginia gently kissed Beverly’s face several times before kissing her with an open mouth, taking in the tongue again and sucking it aggressively, before nestling her face in the crook of her daughter’s neck.

“I am, dear,” she murmured, leaning and kissing each of Beverly’s breasts. She hadn’t considered this turn of events; hadn’t planned on this happening; but apparently it was.

* * * *

At noon Connie bellowed out from the main floor, “Christine, call for you.”

Christine, who hadn’t even thought about a telephone in the house, hurried downstairs befuddled as to who would be calling. She found Connie and the phone near the end of the hall, by the small washroom.

“H-hello?” Christine asked, trying to sound calm, but fearing news of a tragedy at home.

“Ahhh, is that our young whore?” The accented voice on the other end asked, and Christine gasped with surprise and recognition. “Mmmmm, I see you remember. Very good. Well, I have, something, of yours, hmmm, and I will bring it by today. I will be there at two, outside your house. Now, listen carefully…” Christine listened, not sure she could speak anyway, the surge of excitement she was feeling was almost overwhelming.

“You will wear a blouse and slacks and nothing underneath, do you understand?” As Christine fought to find her breath and voice, the authoritative voice of Hie Dhang commanded, “Whore, are you there?”

“Y-yes, yes, I’m here.”

“I’m here, Mistress Dhang…”

“Ahhh, ummm, I’m here, M-mistress Dhang.” Saying those words produced a clear and intense stab of desire within her, and the memory of last evening’s climax returned in a rush to Christine.

“Good, that is how you will address me, understood. Two o’clock.”

The line went dead and Christine stood, frozen, her mind twisting and turning with thoughts and emotions. Looking around and seeing no one watching, she darted into the washroom and locked the door. She paused for a moment in consideration, then decided; undoing her slacks she pulled them down and then her sensible (Sunday) cotton panties, and placed her hand between her thighs and rubbed. As always, it felt incredible (filthy hole!) at first; unbelievable, and she just rubbed (the base of all sin!) and squeezed.

In spite of how good it felt, however, after a few moments the passion began to fade, as always, and Christine paused, gently stroking her now puffy outer labia. She looked in the mirror, stared into the eyes that were there, and shook her head. What was happening? Now that she knew what the feeling could be, why couldn’t she find it herself?

Doing up and then straightening her clothes and patting her hair, Christine took a deep breath and let it out slowly, three times, then turned and left the room, walking casually out and up the staircase.

It was twelve-o-five; almost two hours to wait.

* * * *

The call Silverberg had received was from Cliff Eagleton again, checking in on how things had gone Saturday night. “It is really, and I can’t stress this enough, Douglas, really important that Korea agrees to a purchase of the farm implements we’ve discussed; so push as hard as you can to make it happen. Keep those Koreans happy, Sir, and all of us, right up to the president for Christ’s sake, will be happy too.”

Douglas Silverberg didn’t know everything; he never did, but he certainly knew the importance of this agreement. Eagleton had never called him at home.

* * * *

May, Glen Rock, PA

Christine Callister lay crossways on the bed, her shorts pulled down below her knees. Her buttocks were reddened and her mother was standing and breathing hard after administering a spanking with her hand. “Now, you know it hurts me more than you, child, but sin leads to damnation,” she spoke fiercely.

“But I’ve done nothing, mother…” Christine protested quietly and in vain.

Miss Devers, church elder, despite only being in her early thirties, had witnessed the punishment from a chair in the corner of the room. “Pay no heed, Eleanor, it is what they all say. The child is full of sin, simply look at her body. No, you cannot spare the rod; you have done well. Now…” Here the tall woman stood and placed a long arm around Eleanor Callister’s shoulders, “best go make us some tea. It’s been stressful.”

“Oh thank you, Elizabeth. I am so grateful for your guidance, fellowship and friendship. I’ll put the kettle on…”

As Mrs. Callister left the room, Devers gazed down at the round, reddened bottom before her. She pulled Christine’s hands straight forward on the bed, “Keep them like that, child…” she whispered in a threatening way. Most people in town found Devers that way, threatening; and intimidating, and would stay clear of her. Certainly Christine did, when out on the streets.

Devers looked down again, then ran her eyes over the lovely, red flesh, imagining her hand squeezing it, and remembering the sounds as Eleanor had bent to her task. Devers would advise the woman to bring her sinful girl back next Sunday as well; she didn’t believe her to be corrected just yet; it would be a process.

Possibly a lengthy one.

* * * *

“Right, Sir.” Julia Sullivan replied to her boss, thinking how odd it was for him to call her, at home, on a Sunday. But she understood the message, both the Romanian and Korean negotiations had high importance; exactly why, that she wasn’t told.

“You do know the new girl, Callister, is lunching with Flori Hănescu on Tuesday?”

There was a pause, then a chuckle. “Well, from the frying pan into the fire,” Silverberg commented. “You’ll be meeting with her later to get details.”

“Absolutely, Sir.”

Silverberg chuckled again; the rumors were true; that Hănescu never did let the grass grow.

* * * *

At five minutes to two, Christine was seated on the steps of the house, dressed as directed and her heart, as they say, in her mouth. She had tried reasoning with herself, but to no avail.

Over the years, she had felt arousal, excitement, desire; whatever one would call it, starting with the sessions where the hostile but attractive and commanding Miss Devers had been present. That was indeed the beginning; a beginning.

Christine never considered why she had felt arousal at having her punishment, her humiliation, witnessed by that particular woman. She had just accepted it, filed it away and then pushed it deeply down into her subconscious.

The fact she had felt so little (if any, really) arousal when actually ‘love-making’ with boyfriend Brian hadn’t concerned her, as she hadn’t thought much on that either. It was emotions. She had never noted any sounds of passion coming from her parents’ room while her father was alive, so what she felt, or didn’t feel with Brian, was not odd; to her.

When it came to tasks and activities, such as anything to do with school, Christine had always been relentlessly, almost obsessively, organized and focused; and successful. But when it came to anything emotional, she had always just let it flow over her; she was the pebble in the proverbial stream.

What she was feeling right now, sitting here, was bewildering, but it was just happening on its own, like last night; and she would just let it happen.

No, she actually wanted it to happen. She wanted this woman to touch her again, why lie to herself?

She looked up with a start, and an incredible surge of excitement, upon seeing a large, dark car moving up the street toward her. She was already standing and waiting on the curb when it came to a stop.

The driver came around and opened the door and Christine looked down into the compelling eyes of Hie Dhang, who said simply, “Get in.”

Christine slid in onto the warm, brown leather, as the driver closed the door; in a moment they were moving down the road. The glass partition separating the front and rear seats had a curtain drawn over it and the windows of the car were darkly tinted; they were hidden from both inside and outside eyes.

Dhang gently stroked Christine’s face, moving her fingers down and touching the woman’s lips, before leaning forward and gently kissing them. Christine moved her hand up to caress Dhang’s bare arm. Dhang moved back and appraised her companion, then held up the lace undies she had kept, saying simply, “Undress.”

Christine, amazingly, did not hesitate; she wanted to be naked for this woman; she did not ponder why. In a moment her blouse and slacks were sitting on her shoes and she was looking down at the carpeted floor. “Look at me, and say, I am ready, Mistress Dhang.”

Christine dutifully repeated the phrase, looking into Dhang’s dark, attractive eyes, fighting to control her breathing. “Play with your, tits.” Dhang watched, a smile on her face, as Christine fondled, pulled and squeezed her breasts, her eyes locked on the other’s.

“Lean back and open your legs.”

Christine did this, a soft moan escaping her lips, and then Dhang moved her hand to gently touch Christine’s labia. “Uuuuunnnn!” Christine cried out, the touch feeling to her like a hot iron.

“Hmmmmm,” Dhang murmured, moving close, “my white whore likes being touched?”

Christine closed her eyes and pulled her nipples.  “Ohhhh, ummmm, yes Mistress Dhang.”

Dhang had now inserted two fingers into Christine’s vagina and began a steady in and out rhythm. “Hands behind your head.” Christine complied and Dhang now began to slap and aggressively pull the rigid nipples standing out on the round, full breasts.

“You liked those men using you last night, didn’t you, whore?” Dhang crooned.

“Unnnn, mmmmm, ohhhh, yes, um, yes I liked it. I d-did.”

Dhang concentrated now, slowly forcing her entire slim hand into Christine’s admittedly tight but incredibly wet hole. Christine was now crying out with no reservation, grinding herself on Dhang’s hand. She could feel the rising tide of passion; it was coming, unbelievably, the pleasure/pain was again coming. She was going to orgasm, it was close, so close.

Nothing mattered now; not her job, not her mother, not the driver in the front seat; not God, nothing. Christine didn’t care about anything but climaxing; her world had collapsed to this small space and this great need.

Dhang expertly covered Christine’s mouth as the young woman bucked her hips ferociously, her muffled cries still audible; seconds passed.

Then calm descended, as Dhang gently kissed away the tears of arousal; as she and Christine began sucking each other’s lips.

Dhang slowly withdrew her hand, using the panties to wipe it off, before allowing Christine to complete the task with her tongue. She then had the young woman put the panties back on, then her slacks, and then her blouse.

Dhang opened the partition a crack and said something in Korean to the driver, then closed the window and looked at Christine, “What do you want?” she murmured, gently caressing Christine’s face.

Christine struggled to make her voice work; she had never been here, to this point in a relationship, sexual or otherwise. Years ago, before Brian perhaps, she had been close but not here. This was new; exciting, imposing, intimidating. Unbelievable.

She could not comprehend it, but it didn’t matter; she knew what she wanted. If she had considered, she had really always known, at least since she had been old enough to want something so intimate.

“Mmmm, to be with you,” she said, in a choked whisper.

* * * *

Cliff Eagleton had chosen the spot with consideration; it was how he always did things. He was well aware that in Washington eyes were everywhere, but this particular bar was gold. The spot he had parked his large frame into was in a corner booth protected by a permanent hat rack. It was almost as if someone had designed it so that anyone in the booth would be shielded. He had also ordered two bourbons so the waitress would not need to return.

With a silent movement, like a shadow, his companion slipped into the spot across from him, wearing the hat he always wore. Eagleton knew him as ‘Jack’, part of a group nicknamed with playing cards; over the last four years he had met Nine, Queen (who was a man) and King (who was female). Somebody had a sense of humor.

“Nice night for a fight,” Jack murmured.

“Depends what mother thinks,” Eagleton replied, correctly.

Both men grinned; they had carried on this spy-game as much for their own amusement as for security, then sipped their drinks before ‘Jack’ began. “I can’t believe the heat on this.”

Eagleton paused, “Why is this different from other ops? You’ve been in some tight spots before. Cuba? Guatemala?”

Jack sipped again, “It’s the political heat this time. The admin is losing its goddamn mind over these protests and the goddamn liberal media bullshit. Nixon is going fuckin’ bananas.” He sipped again.

“So, what’s new…?” Eagleton smiled and both men chuckled.

“What’s new is that if the Phoenix operation gets exposed the backlash could be brutal. Hell, there are protests, getting louder, and Nixon is talking about withdrawing troops for Christ’s sake. If the public finds out we’re running goddamn death squads among the goddamn civilians over there, Christ…” Jack let the severity of that sit on its own.

“And Korea…?”

“The brass are shitting bricks over who’s talkin’ to who. We don’t know any more just who our friends are. Connect the dots; Korea, North Vietnam, South Nam. That’s the way they want it to go, but they need thirty or forty operatives over there handling ten or more agents each. Korea has to be onside or we’re fucked. I mean royally fucked.”

“Too old to be looking for a new career, Jack?” Eagleton murmured.

The man snorted, “It’s tough looking for a new job when you’re buried in some swamp, Eagle.”

Both men sat in silence.

* * * *

Anne had received a message and responded by going directly to her favorite phone booth. Tonight however it wasn’t her regular guy on the other end, but someone who spoke English. 

“Yeah, I know about the Korean delegates, why?” She replied to his first question.

“What do you know of Hie Dhang?”

Anne considered. “Well, she’s high level; likes to pose as an interpreter, but only answers to one or two above her. Why?”

“We don’t like how the negotiations are progressing between the Koreans and the Yanks. Dhang is a key. See what you can dig up.”

“Um, Southeast Asia isn’t my, thing, Sir, if I may say so. Why me?”

“Aren’t you a gal who likes to do her own thing…Anna?”

He knew her real name, with its slight but key alteration; a name that had been buried long ago. “Yes, I like to do my, thing, ‘cuz I usually know why.”

“Just poke around; this doesn’t replace anything, keep up with the target we’ve discussed. Oh, and how are things with the director’s wife?”

“I turned in a report,” Anne murmured.

“We know. I just like to hear it from the, source.”

“Well, the source says it’s just been a diversion; I don’t think there’s anything really worthwhile. Now, the aide’s wife, that’s a whole new thing.”

“Right.”

Anne sat for a minute in the booth, thinking, then she moved on. One never wanted to think too much.

* * * *

Christine lay on her bed, alone tonight as Margie had just started her period and preferred to sleep by herself.

As she lay, her mind was again running full speed, except for those contemplative moments. She realized now that her family, outwardly quiet and respectable, did not prepare her for being an adult, at least not one that understood his or her sexuality. And worse; had fed her a lot of, horseshit, Margie would say.

She would no longer accept that evil, or the devil, lived within her, and that her vagina was some gateway to sin.

But that did not explain why she wanted what she wanted now. For many years, people would say, “You’re so attractive,” as if that summed up everything. But it didn’t explain what she had felt last night, as the two men assaulted her openings. It didn’t explain the desire that rose within her, a desire that exploded a short while later with a woman’s tongue inside her. A woman

Nothing in her world could explain how she now wanted to crawl on her knees for Mistress Dhang; to be naked for her and to have her touch her and kiss her, and tell her she mattered. She wanted Hie Dhang to say. “Oh my God, Christine, I want you more than anything.” That was what she wanted to say to the woman, but she also wanted to be back in that room with those men, lifting her dress and pulling down her panties; exposing her sex, as Dhang watched.

She wished they had ‘gone all the way’, both of them, one after the other, as the woman observed, smiling. She wanted the two cocks she had seen to be between her legs and in her mouth. Explain that, who or whatever…

Her hand drifted down to her labia, gently stroking them. On Tuesday Mrs. (was it Mrs.?) Hănescu would have her to lunch. She was a forceful woman; Christine now imagined herself, stripping before the woman. As she thought of this, she slipped a finger into her sex.

“The white bitch is wet”, the men had said.

Christine smiled at that thought, slowly moving her finger, remembering Mistress Dhang’s hand entering her, spreading her, controlling her.

She was a white bitch, and she was wet. Do your thing, she thought, the lyrics of a popular song coming uninvited.

Maybe she was finally seeing herself, truly.

Maybe this was her thing.

(End of Chapter 05)

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