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A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad Chapter 6 Hooked On A Feeling

A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad

Chapter 06 Hooked On A Feeling

…I got it bad for you, but I don’t need a cure. I’ll just stay addicted and hope I can endure…”

Monday morning at the house was…busy. “Pussies on parade!” Connie laughed as Gerry, who always seemed in a hurry, ran naked down the hall while Dolly, with just a towel around her shoulders, came strolling the other way. Connie had her formidable bra on, but nothing else.

Christine managed to get herself ready early; she had never worn a lot of make-up and she was downstairs ahead of ‘the herd’, only to find Lana sitting quietly and eating toast. “Mondays I’m up extra early,” she winked, “I’ve learned.”

Christine laughed and found a bowl in the cupboard, struck again by the beauty of this woman, even on a Monday morning; and she was talented as well. No, life wasn’t fair.

* * * *

After all the crew had submitted their reports, Monday at the office was taken up for over two hours with a review, as a group, of Saturday’s event, with Gibbons asking questions and Connie taking shorthand notes.

Several times during the session Christine had to mentally slap herself to stay on focus, with her thoughts drifting back to her personal Saturday adventure.

In her mind she again saw herself from behind, with the men lifting her dress, and the scenario replayed itself; her panty-hose covered rear end and then the men pulling those down. She saw her naked ass, then she came back to the present with a force of will. The session seemed to drag on forever.

* * * *

At around two, Christine was summoned up to the second floor by Julia Sullivan, whose small office was three rooms down from Silverberg. Christine caught a glimpse of the man as she hurried past.

“Good, good, sit Miss Callister,” the stocky, short- haired woman said as Christine appeared. For a moment Christine pondered if Sullivan was a homosexual, something she was aware of even in Glen Rock; she had a definite butch appearance. This was not something, though, that would have crossed her mind a few days ago, she considered with amazement, before sitting on a chair and looking up at the woman.

“Okay, just looking ahead to tomorrow; you’re having lunch with the Romanians, at the request of Madame Hănescu, correct?” Christine nodded and Sullivan adjusted her glasses and carried on. “You’ll be picked up here at eleven-thirty and then brought back. You are not to discuss anything of a…” She paused here and regarded the young woman, “You haven’t been briefed on anything involving the communists, have you?”

Christine shook her head, “No, we were just prepped to discuss general information on Romania; climate, imports, exports, etcetera. It was pretty general, Miss Sullivan,” Christine added.

“Mrs., um, Mrs. Sullivan,” the woman corrected. “Okay, fine, I think you are good. Did, um, did the woman give any idea of why she wished to lunch with you; pardon, me, I mean no disrespect, but you’re new and have no, um, useful information?” Sullivan stood with a mild expression on her round face.

Christine looked up, brushing away the image suddenly appearing in her mind of kneeling and kissing this woman’s shiny black shoes, to reply, “She said she wished to talk with a small-town American girl.” Christine smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

Sullivan simply looked at her for a moment, then nodded her head and said, “Hmmmm, well, enjoy your lunch. I’ll meet with you later, after you get back. You’ll need to do a brief report as well; I’m sure Gibby has told you. After any, um, encounter, you do a report?”

“Right, yes, I’ve got that. Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. Will the car just be outside, um, waiting?”

“Yep. Bye for now.” She smiled, sitting and looking at some work on her crowded desk.

Christine headed off, wondering with a smile if they wanted a report of her, encounter, yesterday with Mistress Dhang. She imagined the notes in the report, “…so, after Mistress Dhang removed her hand from my thingy, we discussed the recent bombing raids…”

Christine was chuckling when she reached the office and Arlene asked, “What are you laughing about, girl? Most people who visit upstairs come back looking very serious.”

Christine shook her head and gave the woman’s shoulder a squeeze as she went past, “Some things just strike you as funny, Arlene.”

* * * *

Anne Kasey walked at a moderate pace, noting the benches as she passed; stopping today at the eighth one as alerted. She opened her newspaper and looked at it for a moment. She then went down on one knee and pretended to tie a lace, while reaching under the bench and bringing out a piece of note paper which she placed quickly on the newspaper, before standing up and folding this under her arm.

She then walked at a leisurely pace down the path. At home, she studied the information. The first part concerned her target, Laverne May. Anne noted with interest that the women would be hosting a party on July Fourth at her home, even though hubby was still away. Anne’s contact would secure her a spot with the caterer.

The second part of the note had information on the Korean delegation. Anne was not happy with this as it meant a new line of investigation in a part of the world she knew little about. What did interest her as she read, however, was a name on the list: Christine Callister, a member of the office staff that worked for none other than…Douglas Silverberg.

This was likely the reason she had been brought into this. Anne snorted, thinking ‘they’ obviously had eyes everywhere.

Everywhere. She looked around her apartment; maybe even here.

* * * *

“Hey, how’s it hangin’?” Margie asked as she came in, ready for bed.

“It’s, um, hangin’ okay for me; how’s things with you, any better today, didn’t see you much at the office?”

Margie plunked herself down on her bed and nodded, “Yeah, better’n yesterday, that’s a fact. Gibbons had me busy doing some research on Hungary; don’t ask.” She smiled, then added, “But I’m still feelin’ sorta, anti-social…”

“Hey, kid, no problem, I understand.” They sat for a minute. “So roommate, and I’m sure you’re going to get tired of my dopey questions…”

“Hey, I’ve told you, they’re not dopey, so stop that. Ask away. I didn’t grow up in some little hick place and I’ve, well, experienced more, so fire away Marshall Dillon.”

Christine chuckled, “Okaaaaaayyy…um, have you, ever, mmmm, done anything with another girl besides kiss her?”

Margie smiled, “Yep, I’ve experimented a little.”

“But you still like guys?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably even marry one. Not today or tomorrow, though,” she chuckled.

Christine smiled, then remembered. “Oh, by the way thanks for that book. I’m just getting into it, and thinkin’ of that, do you believe Friedan that women all just want to be spouses, mothers and housewives?”

“No, and I don’t believe in everything in the book, hey; and I don’t think she was saying that women all want to be just, um, that; but that’s all the choice we’re given, right.

I also like that she puts out there how we’re blocked from things, activities and stuff. Look how hard it was to get the law changed just so we could vote, for GD sake. And it ticks me off that I need my husband or father’s co-sign to get a credit card. Just all kinds of stuff like that; and Betty F. wants us to challenge how we are controlled. That’s all. I don’t think the book is another, uh, bible; we don’t need another one of those.” She smiled.

“Thanks, Margie, and I really appreciate you talking with me. Now, here’s a tough one. Have you ever, um, Frenched a guy?” Margie nodded again and held up three fingers. “You’ve, um, done it with three guys?”

“Yep. I’m taking it you haven’t?” Margie grinned.

“Well, I kind of did it with Brian, but I wasn’t into it and he was happy with me just, um, touching it…”

“His cock?” the other woman smirked.

Christine laughed, “yeah, his, um cock and, uh, stroking it. That seemed to do it for him. He was big on putting on the rubber and getting to work.”

Margie snorted. “And I’m thinking not a whole bunch of fun for you?”

Christine considered. “Well, I felt close, when we did, it, which matters to me. But I didn’t feel, excited. And I never had the explosion; I know that.” She paused. “Is there anything special, you know, about the Frenching, like, a technique or anything?”

“Who you planning on blowing, kid?” Margie chuckled.

“Blowing?”

Margie laughed out loud. “Uh, sorry sport. Yeah, it’s called a blow job, but you really do suck. And lick. That’s the technique, I guess. Suck the guy’s balls and really slobber up the old pecker and also jerk it, fast; guys jerk fast. Oh, and have Kleenex handy.”

Christine smiled. “Thanks Coach. I don’t have a guy in mind, but I just think I should, you know, know more.”

Margie looked at her for a minute, “What happened to you Saturday night?”

Christine paused, “What do you mean? We were at the dinner?”

Margie nodded her head, “Yeah, I know.” She sat, just looking curiously at her lovely roommate, then sighed. “Get some sleep, Chris.” She turned and lay on her side, then reached up and turned off her light.

Christine got her toiletry bag out and headed down to the washroom. Tomorrow promised to be an interesting day.

* * * *

“How well do you trust Cliff Eagleton?” Tom Denison, aide to the Under Secretary, asked in his forthright way. He came from a farming family in Wisconsin and, when he first arrived in Washington, seemed like the proverbial fish out of water. He and Douglas Silverberg had both served overseas in the military, and there had been an immediate connection.

Douglas’s career had stalled, or stayed, however you looked at it, while Denison’s had carried on. Some believed an Under Secretary spot would be his next step.

Silverberg studied the man, who was a year his junior but now with his thinning hair and cautious manner, seemed older. “Well, I went to Germany after V-E Day, you were…”

“Sent to Holland, real quick…”

“Right, well, I spent four months in Berlin, first go-round. We spent as much time watching the Russians as we did the Germans. Eagleton was part of the OSS then, never made a big deal of it, but didn’t hide it. He had actually been in the field, as a soldier. We had both fought on the beaches at the invasion; actually ended up being in the same group for a couple of days until things got sorted out. So we felt comfortable with each other.

In Berlin, we’d get together for a beer and chew the fat. I knew he was pumping me for info, but I didn’t care. Didn’t see him again until the shooting started over in Korea and I was brought in to consult, they called it. Why are you asking?”

Denison sat and pondered; he had developed that politician’s manner and was always careful of ‘loose lips’. “Well, d’ere is so much going on with anything to do with Nam, d’at it seems everybody and his dog are on it. It’s a bone, Douglas, and d’ere’s a fight. We still have plenty of hawks in the military, and d’ere are still some hard-nose types who want to push the Ruskies harder. Guys who remember Cuba and t’ink we were pussies, ya’ know.”

He paused and the two men studied each other. “And you’re not sure what pressure is on…Cliff, and who he is, answering to? Some of these hard-nose guys might really want to just start a bigger fight?” Silverberg murmured.

Denison nodded. “D’at’s right, and I don’t trust d’a CIA, if d’at’s who Eagleton answers to now, as much as I can toss the buggers.” He and Silverberg both chuckled.

Before he left, Silverberg agreed that keeping a close eye on the Koreans was very important, but he needed information from someone on his side, not someone like Gary England, who was on his team but working for someone else; whoever that was.

* * * *

Beverly came into the kitchen with her usual air of indifference; dressed today in brief, tight white shorts and a top that hugged her bra-less breasts. Her long hair was tied back in a pony-tail and she had color in her skin, as she had just been lying in the back, sunning.

Virginia was seated at the small nook, wearing an expensive pantsuit; Beverly tried to remember if she had ever seen her mother in shorts. A bathing suit on the beach; yes, shorts, she couldn’t remember.

Virginia looked up with a sense of both anticipation and apprehension.

* * * *

February, 1947

With Douglas on assignment in Berlin, Virginia was facing the difficult birth of their first child alone, and the baby was coming early.

The several hours of labor were mostly a blur to her, but Virginia had felt that something ‘was wrong’. In the early hours of the morning, long-time family friend and physician Dr. Broderick had greeted her solemnly with the news that her child had been still-born. But then he had proposed something that would change her life, and the life of the person called Beverly, greatly and forever.

Broderick had explained that a fifteen-year-old girl had given birth to a baby, just after midnight and that the child would be placed up for adoption, but that if Virginia wanted, she could claim the child as her own, now, today. He would see to all the details and manage all the paperwork.

Virginia had not hesitated and a few days later when she and her baby took the taxi ride home, tiny Beverly Louise Silverberg was hers; her child. She had never thought of the girl as anything but hers since that time, and had never reconsidered her decision.

She had tried, a few years later, to track down the birth mother, but nothing remained of that day or the woman; only the paperwork Broderick, since passed away, had provided to the hospital, and that was for show.

This was her secret; and hers alone.

* * * *

Beverly moved with a feline grace to the table and held out her hand, and when her mother took it, she led the woman into the den, positioning her on the couch and sitting right beside her. Virginia looked down at her hands, folded in her lap as Beverly gently kissed the side of her mother’s face, breathing in the fragrance of the light, ash-blonde hair, so different from her own dark brunette.

“This is, crazy, mother-dear,” she murmured. “I’m, oh, confused, you know, which I’m not cool with. I wanted to mess around with you, but now I feel I need to, mmmm, get a grip or something…” Virginia remained silent, battling emotions. This had not gone the way she had considered, either. (And she would certainly never reveal her…secret, which would at least remove the stigma.)

Then Beverly turned her mother’s face, and gently kissed the lips. Virginia opened her mouth, accepting the intruding tongue with more desire than she expected. “Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream,” the Beatles had sung.

Virginia had always loved the Beatles, even if most of her friends didn’t.

* * * *

Christine was outside the building, waiting, just before eleven-thirty as directed. Margie had quizzed her for a minute about what she was doing, and Lana had given her a look, a long look, as she put her things away; the others were all busy somewhere.

The dark car (why were they all dark?) came up the street and Christine knew it would be the one; it just had that look which she now recognized. As she walked to the vehicle, the driver came around and opened the rear door. They were headed to the Hay-Adams hotel where the remaining Romanian delegation was staying.

Entering the elegant, historic lobby, Christine’s nostrils were struck by the scent of mimosa, but she had no time to ponder as a young (younger than she) dark-haired woman wearing a short, tight black dress, approached her and asked with a heavy accent, “Miss Callister?”

They then just went up the wide staircase and down the hall to the room where they would lunch.

Madame Hănescu stood, looking down at Christine, her face as attractive and exotic as Christine remembered. “Ah, my lovely American girrrl, please come, seet.”

The young woman who had escorted her closed the door and brought some plates with sandwiches cut in triangles to the table.

“I know you will be heading back to work, so we will not have wine, but some juice?” Christine accepted and the three women sat down, with the younger girl/woman sitting close on Christine’s right and Hănescu to her left.

The somewhat intimidating woman was today cordial and friendly, and soon had Christine talking about life growing up in Glen Rock; the High School, what teens did on weekends, the sense of being in a close-knit, at times smothering, community. Christine shared some memories and both women sat and listened. She didn’t mention about the repressive nature of her family and others in the town, or the lack of excitement; why bring that up?

After about ten minutes, Hănescu said, “Oh, by the way, this is my, niece, Bianca. She understands English pretty well but she is not comfortable speaking it, just yet.”

Christine and Bianca smiled at each other. All three now focused on finishing their small sandwiches; egg salad and cold cuts, with fresh cut fruit on the side, and then Hănescu said something to Bianca in Romanian.

The girl smiled shyly, then rose a little off her chair, and pulled off her panties; black lace and expensive looking. She giggled softly and tossed them under the table, then smiled at Christine. The girl, Christine thought ‘she’s twenty’, was maybe an inch shorter than Christine but with a heavier build; long, thick black hair, dark eyebrows; she too looked exotic to the ‘small-town American girl’.

Hănescu was now looking intently at her guest; one would be reminded of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood, before saying quietly, “Remove your undergarments, too, my girl.”

Christine paused for a moment; she had never worn a girdle and today had on the regular panty-hose and her cotton panties. She wasn’t really considering, just immobile for some reason, just looking into the dark eyes of the woman beside her.

Bianca reached out and gently stroked her guest’s arm, and Christine began to pull down her underwear; Bianca assisted, taking the garments from their guest and tossing them under the table as well. Hănescu now nodded to Bianca and she slid a soft hand under the dress and onto Christine’s thigh, then gently up between her legs as Christine opened them; she then took Christine’s hand and placed it under her own dress and Christine felt the thick hair covering the girl’s pubic area.

Bianca leaned over and began gently kissing Christine’s face as her fingers probed her moistening sex.  Meanwhile, Christine’s fingers had parted Bianca’s thick labia and were stroking warm flesh as well. Christine wanted to taste it, to kneel and push her face into the warm v of the girl’s crotch; she waited; however, for direction.

Hănescu reached over and pulled up the dresses of both young women, so she could witness firsthand the activity.

At that moment a young, female staff member came in with coffee and was directed to stand by Bianca. The girl tried not to stare but she could clearly see what was going on. The girl now simply stood, frozen, but remaining in place.

“Do you know who I am?” Hănescu asked the girl; blonde, petite, with the look of a college student. The girl swallowed and nodded her head. Hănescu smiled, then had the girl put her carafe down and remove Bianca’s dress,  which she then held awkwardly.

Like a director in a movie, the tall Romanian woman now managed the affair; she moved Christine’s chair back, placed Bianca on her knees before it and then had the hotel girl, looking like she might feint, kneel behind.

In a moment, Christine, with eyes closed, began to moan softly as Bianca’s tongue found her clitoris. The blonde girl meanwhile had inserted fingers into Bianca’s vagina, with its thick covering of dark hair reminding one of an animal’s pelt. Hănescu pushed the blonde’s face down to Bianca’s ass and vagina, and soon both Christine and Bianca’s pussies were being pleasured.

Hănescu now poured herself some coffee, the staff member being occupied.

* * * *

June, Glen Rock

Christine Callister stood facing the corner in Miss Devers’s study. Her blouse was unbuttoned and the back of her skirt was tucked up, exposing her naked red ass, as her panties were down to her ankles.

Miss Devers was sitting on a sturdy wooden chair; over her knee was Mrs. Callister, her slacks pulled down as well and her reddened ass sitting round and firm upon the tall woman’s lap.

“What are you?” Devers asked the prone woman.

“Oh, God, dear God, Miss Elizabeth, I’m a reprobate, a sinner.”

Devers gently rubbed the reddened orbs, “Yes, Eleanor, you are. If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us; John one, eight and ten. But you realize it, so there is hope.” Devers had moved her hand gently up Mrs. Callister’s thigh, as the woman moaned softly and moved her hips, then cried out, as Devers pushed three fingers into the waiting vagina, murmuring, “I am content in the punishing of whores.”

* * * *

In the car on her way back to work, Christine pondered …orgasms. Having lived the first twenty-four years of her life without one, to have had three in four days was bewildering; but incredible. She remembered today how the feeling had hit like the proverbial wave and felt like it was rolling on and on. She was amazed she had remained on her chair.

With orgasms, being fickle things, Bianca’s did not arrive in sync with Christine’s but it did come, and after Bianca recovered, the hotel girl looking happy and proud kneeling beside her, and the three young women all hugged and kissed. Then the two had left and Christine had sat on the couch with Hănescu.

There were no more questions; no discussion really, just caressing and soft kissing. After about ten minutes, the Romanian got up and, smiling, said it was time for Christine to head back to work.

And now, as the car neared her building, Christine thought of how much she had enjoyed her moment; and how much she wanted another. And another.

She had never been inclined to consider drugs, her town may have been hicks-ville, but there were drugs. She now considered that what she had felt, and now desired, was almost like a drug.

Crazy.

And she had thought the phrase ‘hooked on a feeling’ was just about love.

Crazy for sure.

She was ‘high on a feeling’, no doubt, but what was it, exactly?

(End of Chapter 06)

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