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A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad Chapter 9 Everybody’s Talkin’

A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad

Chapter 09 Everybody’s Talkin’

…people stopping, staring, I can’t see their faces, only the shadows of their eyes…”

Christine stood in front of the mirror, but she wasn’t looking at it; she was looking down at her hand and the package she held. It was a small, plastic covered circle and in it were her first month’s supply of birth control pills. It was funny, Christine thought, that her period should begin the day Julia Sullivan gave her these pills.

After Silverberg had left and Sullivan had taken his place this morning, the discussion became more specific and…personal. Christine detailed the scenario in the theatre, and the fact she had ‘Frenched’ both the Korean gentlemen (leaving out the chocolate bar scene), and acknowledging her cooperation was because of her feelings for Hie Dhang and that she had become involved romantically with the foreign woman.

Sullivan had not reacted or scolded; she had simply listened, at the end asking one question. Would Christine continue to be honest with the government, her government, about what she was doing for Dhang?

“You are a beautiful and desirable young woman, and to be blunt, Miss Callister, the department doesn’t care how many cocks you do lip service to, or how many women you make out with; we know the opportunities will come. We just need to know what you know, and who you talk to.”

Sullivan studied the young woman for a moment, then decided to add some information.

“The Korean War started, you see, with an invasion that came as quite a surprise to us. When it began, though, we didn’t believe that it was just a simple border dispute; many thought it was the first step in a campaign by the commies to take over the world.” Sullivan chuckled grimly. “That might seem, um, dramatic now, but it was tense back then. Anyway, we went into Korea, and we’ve never really left, you understand? What’s happening in that part of the world now is, well, murky, but we don’t want to be caught napping again.” She looked hard at the woman, “You could be quite the asset for us, Miss Callister, and that’s the truth.”

Sullivan had then sat, studying the young woman before her, looking like she might say something, but in the end didn’t.

Christine had also simply sat in silence, feeling arousal at disclosing as she had, and not sure if she should speak now. But a thought came clearly to her; What was she getting into…already into?

She wondered this again, as she put the package into her bag.


“Okay, listen up, ladies,” Connie announced to the faces around the main table, early Tuesday morning. “With Friday being the fourth we of course won’t be in. There will be a gathering after speeches over on the White House lawn; I think some of you have heard something, but that doesn’t involve us. You chicks get a long weekend, so go ahead and make plans.”

Margie looked over at Christine, who shrugged; she hadn’t heard anything more specific from Madame Dhang.

“Oh, and your checks are ready,” Connie smiled.

Christine looked at Margie who said, “Arlene has them, let’s go.” Two minutes later Christine was staring at her cheque, the largest she had ever received, and she hadn’t even worked a full two weeks.

“It’s those special events, kid, look at that column. It’s pure gravy.”

“But, I made more from the events than my salary?” Christine said with astonishment.

“Yeah, I know, that’s the deal, but don’t go ape here, the regular staff don’t appreciate us gloating. Do you have a bank yet?”

Christine shook her head, feeling like a child. “Thursday, at lunch kid, my bank’s just a block away.”

Christine smiled and then hugged Margie, “Thanks, pal.”


“So, you seem to have a concern?” Silverberg asked Julia Sullivan, who was with him in his office.

Julia stroked her chin and shifted in her seat, “Not so much a, um, concern as an uncertainty. Callister is green as grass, Sir, and almost unable to lie. She’s also I think pretty smitten with Dhang, who is a slippery and experienced woman. I’m worried for the girl.”

Silverberg mulled this. “Well, we are aware, we know that we need to double-check everything that comes in from the Korean side and we can also test Callister’s, um, loyalties. Feed her some stuff that we know is inaccurate and monitor the channels to see what comes back. We’ll keep a watch on the girl, and Dhang of course…”

Sullivan nodded, “I’ve got my best girl on Dhang already, workin’ for the staff of a flower shop right near the main chancery. Dhang uses the vehicle with the tinted glass, but every time it goes out we are notified. We have someone in her current hotel, as well.”

Silverberg took out his smokes and nodded, “As long as we don’t spook anybody; we can’t have this trade deal go sideways ‘cuz somebody messed up.”

“Absolutely, Sir. And I’ll keep an eye on, our girl.”


Christine entered the main floor washroom, with Lana moving quickly to come in just behind her. The taller woman, looking incredible today, her skin seeming to glow, immediately backed Christine against a wall, saying, “I’ll be practising tonight, on the roof,” Lana smiled; her hands were against the wall on either side of Christine’s head; Christine’s back was pressed against the wall and Lana’s lovely face was now only inches away from her, the aroma of the woman’s perfume drifting pleasantly to her nostrils.

As if reading her mind, Lana murmured, “It’s called Interlude,” and smiled again. Christine closed her eyes; she could not look directly at this woman, it was too intense. “What have you been up to, my lovely?” Lana purred, grazing Christine’s throat and cheek with her lips.

“Um, what do you mean, Lana?” Christine whispered, leaning forward slightly and kissing the woman’s throat in return, which made Lana chuckle.

“Hmmmmmm, I like that,” she crooned. “Okay, what I mean is, what have you been doing when you leave in those big, dark cars?”

Christine opened her eyes, then leaned forward and covered Lana’s mouth with her own; they held the kiss for twenty seconds or more.

“I’ll come up to the roof tonight and tell you,” Christine murmured when they released.

Lana chuckled again, “Very good.”

She turned and went into a stall, closing the door, but not locking it. Not exactly sure of what she was doing, Christine opened the door. Lana was seated and looking up, a smile on her face. She lifted her skirt higher, revealing the thick, dark tangle of black hair (just like Madame Dhang’s, Christine thought, briefly).

“You can watch if you wish,” Lana said, quietly.

Christine smiled and moved directly in front, then knelt down; Lana opened her legs wider.

“I want to,” she said, quietly and to her own amazement; remembering with a flash when Miss Devers would make her kneel and watch as she urinated.  I know, and am persuaded by the Lord Jesus, that there is nothing unclean of itself,” Devers had said, and Christine had been confused by the words, but fascinated with the act; with watching, on her knees.

Lana smiled broadly, a grin really, “Okay, let’s hope no one comes in. This could be hard to explain.”


Anne looked at the note, memorized the phone number and then burned it. She would be working for ‘Like-Hot- Cakes, Catering’, this Friday; the company was owned by two guys from Brooklyn but the money behind it had come from east of the Berlin Wall. Since Anne had actually worked for several years in the catering business, it was a cover that was easy to pull off.

In fact, she would be an assistant on the crew, giving her a chance to make contact with the hostess. It was of course a coincidence that a family emergency had called the regular assistant back to Raleigh.

Anne opened her package; it was the catering uniform. She unpacked it and tried it on; it fit perfectly, but then, her handlers knew all her particulars, inside out.


Christine came to the phone with her heart racing as usual, fighting to maintain control. Her episode with Lana this afternoon had only intensified her desire, which was odd, since she was just on the second day of her period and feeling a little grumpy at times. Seeing Lana’s pubic bush and thick, dark labia had reminded Christine of Dhang, and how much she wanted to be nestled in that warm, dark place.

She was praying it was Dhang on the phone, but then, who else would it be?

“Ahhhh, my young whore,” the warm voice seemed to caress Christine and she fought the urge to fondle herself.

“Mistress,” Christine managed to get out.

Dhang chuckled, as if she knew the torment the young woman felt, and it amused her. “Who do you belong to?” Dhang asked, her voice soft and alluring.

“Mmmmm,” Christine moaned softly, glancing around, relieved that she was alone. “I belong to you, Mistress.” (Why was it so easy to say those words?)

“You would get on your knees and lick my shoes, while people watched?”

Christine slid down the wall to sit on the floor; she needed the support; it was good the telephone had a long, curly cord. She pictured herself doing what Dhang suggested. “Unnnng, mmm, oh God…Yes, yes, I would, get on my knees and lick your shoes. I want to…” And she also wanted people to watch her, serving; so strange.

Dhang smiled. She was lying on her bed and a young Korean girl, a trainee, was lying naked between her legs, pleasuring her. She’d had a glass of wine; she felt mellow, at peace with her world. And she enjoyed talking with her white whore; she looked forward to it in fact. She had plans for this girl, and she needed to know how deep her hooks had been sunk into the vulnerable, submissive young woman.

“When I squat over you, you would lick my ass like an obedient bitch? Put your dirty tongue in my hole before I pissed on you?”

“Mmmmmm,” Christine felt like she was losing herself, like she would simply cry out or explode. “Oh God, oh God, mmmm, yes, ummm, I would lick your ass. I w-want to, oh damn, damn…” Dhang chuckled softly and stroked the hair of her trainee.

She had been fairly honest so far with ‘her white girl’, considering this was Washington and everyone lied to some extent. She did enjoy watching this beautiful creature being used by others; it had been as clear as day on that very first meeting, looking into the young woman’s eyes as two strangers abused her. Dhang had seen some fear, but mostly desire and submission; and the girl had then responded to her like the proverbial moth to the flame. Some things just happen.

“If we were on the street and I stopped a stranger, a man, and told you to take his cock in your mouth, what would you do?” The words seemed to slide into Christine’s mind so easily, like some, sweet syrup.

“Mmmm, oh God, mistress, I would suck that cock, on my knees, with people walking by. Are you, um, will you, make me do that?” Christine asked, amazed at herself and her, unnatural, desires. “I would, you know.”

Dhang could easily hear her slave’s breathing; she smiled. “You would do that, because you are, what?” Dhang crooned.

Christine restrained herself from curling up, there on the floor, so intense were her feelings, “B-because I am a whore, Mistress. I am your whore. Yours, mmmmmm.”

There was a pause as Dhang made her slave suffer in wait, then said, in  more even tone, “Friday, my sweet slave, you and your friend will be at our event. We will honor your Fourth of July with a small gathering and party. We’ll have our own, fireworks…” She chuckled. “I’ll pick the two of you up at seven. Wear just casual clothes, as I will have your slut outfits with me…”

Christine hesitated; she didn’t know if Dhang was  finished, “Thank you, Mistress, we will be ready.”

“’Til then…” Dhang purred, and then the line was dead. Christine sat up, numbed and greatly aroused.

She had never really considered, love; she simply assumed it, whatever it was, would come one day and she would know it. She and her man would get married and the road would be clear and uncomplicated; marriage, home, family; ‘til death do us part.

Obviously, nothing could be further from the truth.


“Well, that’s it, Sir,” Frank May murmured and stood, placing the folder in his briefcase and closing it.

“Right,” the general grunted and stood as well. He was a large man, and taller than May who was six foot; but now at fifty had begun to thicken a little around the middle. His hair, steely gray, was cut short; a flat top his pals called him. He didn’t give a shit what they thought; no real man let his hair grow like those sissies he saw on the news. “Give me twenty minutes with ‘em,” he’d say, darkly.

“So, everything’s set; we leave Thursday morning,” May said, moving towards the door.

“Damn shame we’re gonna be away on the fourth; damn shame,” the general mumbled, then added, “Ah, You’ve arranged my session, Frankie?”

May hated being called ‘Frankie’ and wondered if the general called him that for that reason; he shrugged off the annoyance, “Yes sir, the masseur should be here at, nine,” Frank glanced at his watch, “ten minutes, so I’d better get going.”

The general grunted a response and headed for the washroom, as May left. A few minutes later, after a quick shower, the big man returned, wrapped in a large, white towel. A couple of minutes after that there was a gentle knock on the door, the general responding with a gruff, “Come in.”

A young man, possibly twenty-one or two, hair cut short like the general’s, came in carrying a table which he set up. Glancing quickly at the man on the couch, the masseur pondered for a moment if the table would hold.

“Don’t need that,” the general said, and stood, walking to the bed, dropping his towel and lowering his mass down to lie on his stomach, his hairy back, ass and legs awaiting.

The young man followed, unclipping the container of oil he had on his belt. The general eyed him now as he lay, “They’ve talked to you, about how I like my massage,” the general said in a quiet, menacing voice.

“Y-yes, sir, they have,” the young man replied, also quietly.

“Then why the fuck do ya’ still got your clothes on?” the general murmured, and the young man began unbuttoning his white shirt.


Christine sat, amazed as always by talent, as Lana played her final piece, a Brahms sonata. The other name Lana mentioned that Christine recognized was Mozart, but the names were not important. Just watching Lana’s nimble fingers and their unerring placement, eyes closed as her digits scurried over the ebony neck, was compelling. The melodies simply entered Christine and were absorbed, the young woman sitting transfixed on the roof.

Now standing and placing her cello affectionately into its sturdy case, Lana smiled down at her ‘audience’, “It’s lovely having someone to play for,” she said, simply, then sat beside Christine.

“I love listening; it’s new to me but I love it. I could listen all night.”

Lana smiled and brushed some hair from Christine’s face, sighing, then chuckling. “Okay, back to business, you were going to tell me where you go and what you do when those cars come for you. They’ve never come for me, see.” She smiled, not adding that she made it clear early on she wasn’t interested in…that.

Christine then spent five minutes explaining the agreement with the Koreans, and how she met with Julia Sullivan after any event and Madame Dhang before. She did not elaborate on her relationship with Dhang, or disclose any of the ‘sex stuff’.

Lana had listened, nodding and asking a question or two, but mostly just taking the information in. She now leaned over and kissed Christine, softly at first, and then with more urgency, before pulling back and looking at the woman, and smiling.

“So you like girls, too,” Christine commented,  wondering how many of her college and high school friends were like this; she had been such an airhead.

Lana smiled. “I was married, you know, for four years.”

“Well, don’t leave me hangin’, Lana,” Christine encouraged, very interested in this news.

“Not much to tell, it’s yesterday’s news, right? He was a musician as well, back when I had dreams of the stage and stardom,” she laughed. “He was a pianist. Not bragging, but he wasn’t as good as me, and never would be, and he couldn’t handle that. Male ego or whatever, don’t know, but I wasn’t going to give up the cello, so I gave up him.”

They both laughed. “Then, about eight months later, I moved in with a fellow. Regular nine to five guy, it seemed. He was a manager of a department store. But he turned out to be one of those jealous guys that thinks you’re humpin’ the milk man or the mail man, or whichever dick happens to be available. So I moved out and that’s it for me and anything, well, serious.”

The two women sat in silence for a few minutes, before they both leaned in and kissed again.


The general was now facing up, his young masseur finished with the broad back and legs. He was regaling the young man with stories of his days on a bomber crew in World War II. “I loved looking down after we let those bombs go; shit, you could see the line of explosion and fire, it was glorious. Bloody beautiful. We bombed the hell out of Germany, I can tell you son. Bombed them straight to hell, really. Only wish I coulda’ been down there, afterwards; I woulda’ loved to see our work, you know. It was very impressive.”

The general paused now and looked up at the naked body of his masseur. He had been prepared correctly, every hair on his body shaved clean, except for his head. It cost more, and finding young men like this was difficult to start with, but money and influence can move mountains, so they say.

As the masseur kneaded the muscular thighs, the general’s hand moved up the young man’s slim thighs and then slapped one cheek, then (amazingly) gently squeezed the man’s testicles.

The general’s penis began to stiffen. With a dark chuckle, the large man now gripped the wrist of his attendant and placed his hand on his erection. “Time to earn your money, boy,” he directed, and the young man swallowed hard, squirted a stream of oil on the thick shaft, and began to pump.

The general closed his eyes and murmured, a smile on his thin lips, “Remember, it’s suck, son; blows just an expression.” He chuckled at his own joke, as the masseur’s mouth engulfed the reddened penis head.


Christine lay on her bed, alone, Margie conscious of the visit of the ‘little monthly friend’. Christine had shared the news about Friday and Margie had given the peace sign and a ‘thumbs up’; and Christine then stretched out in her thin negligee on her bed.

Once again, thoughts were tumbling through her mind: Madame Dhang, Julia Sullivan, Lana….It had been really nice with Lana tonight; it was just kissing, but Christine had definitely enjoyed it and the two women had indicated to each other that a return engagement would be ‘groovy’; they both laughed.

But it was strange tonight that the face that continued to return to Christine’s mind was that of Elizabeth Devers. Christine played over and over again the final scene between them, where she had confronted Miss Devers on the street, telling her that she could not carry on with her ‘training’ (as her mother called it).

The reason had been simple; Brian Sturm. The junior, a handsome boy, and a year ahead of sophomore Callister, was already making a name for himself as an athlete. He had drawn the attention of most of the female students of Glen Rock High, and when he had shown interest in Christine Callister, the school grapevine went ballistic.

“Are you for real?” Head cheerleader Monica Standish had berated long-time friend Debbie Hawgood, upon hearing the gossip.

“Hey, everybody’s onto it, Monny, everybody’ talkin’; you better believe it.”

And it was true; Brian Sturm had asked Christine out, and then one date turned into another and then came the day Christine walked down the school corridor with Brian’s class ring around her neck, and the proverbial grapevine exploded again.

Christine now had a steady, and she needed to end what had been going on, for over two years, with Miss Devers. Christine could not see how she could allow Devers to continue to do to her what she had been doing; and, more importantly, how she could deal with her feelings for the woman while trying to ‘go steady’.

So she had ended it. The pain was more than she imagined; the sense of loss, the misgivings, but she held firm, and played the role of the girlfriend, forcing her emotions down as she always had.

And then within a month, Christine’s virginity was lost in a clumsy episode showing that Brian wasn’t quite the sophisticated hunk he was made out to be. The blood stained mattress was still on Christine’s bed years later when she left home, although face down.

But it was weird to Christine that, a year and a half later, when Brian went off to college and they both promised to write, she felt very little; mostly relief, actually. They wrote one letter each, and then the relationship faded; and then Christine graduated, and went to Lewisburg to attend Bucknell University, staying there after graduation and working part-time jobs, before moving to Williamsport, and now Washington.

The memory of Brian Sturm counted now for nothing, like it wasn’t real. And for all these years, Christine had pushed the image of Devers’s stern but very attractive face away from her memory. But unlike Brian’s memory, it refused to stay hidden, and tonight it had returned.

Tonight, for whatever reason, Christine thought of the sessions with Devers (and her mother); she thought of being tied on the bed and looking with unguarded desire at Miss Devers as the woman sat witness to Christine’s punishment, whatever it was. Spankings, insertions, masturbation; or simply being tied in obscene configurations that allowed Devers to see into every opening of her body, as Christine lay wanting desperately to be touched by her; though Devers never did.

“Remember child,” Devers had reminded her, “that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed, in us.”

What was the glory? Christine had pondered, but she had never asked the question, and now she would never get the chance.


“Good,” Dhang murmured, “then that is settled. Plan to be there for seven-thirty, the two American whores shall be prepared. No, I am sure, only five men, make your choices. Yes, I wish Hyun to be there too; dress her in the shortest mini you can find, and nothing underneath; yes, that is what I want. And I want Tequila as well as champagne, so have limes and salt. And make sure about the condoms. Oh, I don’t care how many. Lots.

They don’t go bad,” she chuckled darkly.

She wanted her white whore used hard, by men, and then they’d see where things went.

(End of Chapter 09)

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