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A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad Chapter 10 Everybody Get Together

A Castle of Sand by LongDarkRoad

Chapter 10 Everybody Get Together

…you can make the mountains ring, or make the angels cry. Though the bird is on the wing and you may not know why…”

Margie and Christine ended up together in the bathroom Wednesday morning, and shared a kiss. “How’s it going?”  Margie asked.

Christine made a face, “Well, with my little friend, it’s better, thanks. The um, flow, is not much, which is good, you know, thinking about Friday.”

Margie smiled, “Right. Fourth of July here we come.”

* * * *

Down in the kitchen, as Gerry scurried out, bowl in hand, Lana came in; Christine was there as well, sitting at the small kitchen table. The two women shared a long look, both smiling. Lana glanced around, then moved quickly to Christine’s side, bending down and kissing her, then heading over to the toaster.

My love life’s getting very complicated, Christine pondered, with a smile none-the-less. Especially for someone who essentially lived like a nun for several years, then came to her mind.

* * *  *

That morning a package arrived at work for Christine, which surprised her to no end. There was no return address and it was a brown-wrapped parcel, so she just placed it under her table, deciding not to open it until she got home.


Now sitting on her bed, Christine was looking at the mystery parcel’s contents: six black, plastic objects two to four inches long, and a tube of petroleum jelly. Margie came into the bedroom, arriving with a smile to stand by her roommate.

“These arrived for me today; I’m trying to make sense of this. The note is from Madame Dhang and it says ‘use’, starting tonight.” Christine looked up at her roommate.

Margie laughed at the look on her friend’s face, and then said, “I’m thinking there’s some stuff you haven’t told me, kid.” She smirked, and when Christine looked down, Margie continued, “Okay, now tell me the truth, all of it, what have you done with Dhang so far?”

With a sigh, Christine related the scene in the Theatre, at least the oral sex part.

“Far out,” Margie enthused, “and now I know why you needed the info on blow jobs.”

“I didn’t know when it, or anything, would happen,” Christine protested. “It was all a surprise.”

Margie studied her friend, then said quietly, “You know what’s going to happen Friday night, right?”

Christine now studied her roommate, and nodded her head, unsure if she was upset or just curious. Margie chuckled, “It’s going to be sex, babe. Real sex. And it’s not just blow jobs, you know. We’re going to be expected to let the boys go all the way.” She looked down with a nod at the group of plastic things, “And not just pussy-pumpin’…”

Christine looked up, “What do you mean?”

Margie held up one black object, “These are butt trainers, babe; they go in your asshole, Chris, to stretch it. That’s why there are three sizes. The baby bear goes in tonight, then tomorrow the Mama Bear goes in and then Friday morning it’s Papa Bear’s turn, so that your hole is stretched for the evening. So guys can hump you, me, us…there, in the back door. Anal my friend.”

Christine sat quietly, considering all this, then said, “Are you mad at me?”

Margie laughed, “Lookit’, kid, like I’ve said, I’ve done some things. I knew there would be sex at these private events, that’s why they’re private, and still I asked you for an invite; it’s great dough, forget what that makes me. I get it. I just didn’t expect, um, corn-holing right off the old get go.” She paused and looked at Christine. “This is going to be a bit of a shock for you, isn’t it?” She asked quietly.

Christine looked into Margie’s open and pretty face, “I’ve, um, had things in my, bum, before,” she murmured, remembering.

Margie just stared at her. “Holy cow; well, that just beats the hell outta’ me,” she smiled.

As Margie turned away, the thought crossed Christine’s mind again, that having sex with men as her mistress watched would turn her on; she knew it. She then remembered the emotion when her mother inserted objects into her greased anus, as Miss Devers directed and watched.

That had turned her on greatly too, as Devers had commented.

She looked again at the ‘the bears’ and then put them under her pillow.

* * * *

Virginia was listening to the Hi-fi when the phone rang. After the second ring, and not sure where Martha was, Virginia answered the extension in the living  room. “Hello?”

There was a distinct pause before the cultured voice at the other end said, “Hello, is that you, Virginia?”

Virginia stifled a gasp. “Rhonda? Rhonda Greenwood?”

Rhonda’s distinctive chuckle came over the line, then she paused to draw on the cigarette holder that held her smoke. “Yes, my dear, it’s been a long, long while. I had planned to call you several times over the years; I knew you were in Georgetown; Madeleine told me that.”

“Oh my God, it’s been nine years or more; President Kennedy was still alive. My, my…”

“I know, the time does fly, and we all, move on. You miss those days, Lovey?”

Virginia had to smile; Rhonda was the only one to ever call her by that nickname, although once, at a party in Philadelphia, it was written in lipstick across her breasts, and everyone that used her that night called her that. But it was only the once, and that was, what, fifteen years ago…

Rhonda continued in her way, her manner reminding Virginia a little of Beverly; that same worldly weariness. Although with Rhonda it would be correct; she had lived an extravagant life-style, denying herself nothing.

“So, are you like Mick Jagger sang, the woman who gets her kicks in Stepney, not in Knightsbridge anymore, or whatever the Washington equivalent is?” She asked.

Virginia smiled, thinking of her last session with Anne and her daughter, “I’m really not getting my kicks anywhere these days…” She let that statement lie. “But you surely can’t have called to reminisce about our times, back then?”

Rhonda chuckled, “Well, I do think of you. You know how I loved your ass.” She chuckled again. “I told you that. But no, these horrid goings-on in New York have got me thinking. That group we had, how we used to carry on, not giving a care about laws. Christ. But here you have homosexuals actually fighting back, making this a public affair. It beats the hell out of me.”

Virginia paused in thought. “But that was never me, Rhonda. I was married and would never have done anything to hurt Douglas’s career.”

Now Rhonda paused. “Yes, yes. Douglas, Douglas. But you did enjoy our time, all of our time, didn’t you. You were an eager little beaver-loving beaver, Lovey.”

Virginia smiled in memory. Rhonda was the only person who made her reconsider her marriage; but in the end Beverly was the deciding factor; she wouldn’t leave her child.

“I do believe you cared about, me. Us…”

Virginia sat now, emotions brought back to life. She spoke quietly, “I loved you Rhonda, you know that. And I loved everything you did to me, everything I did for you. But it couldn’t last. I made my decision, and I have no regrets.”

Rhonda took a final drag of her cigarette. “No marching in the streets for you, hey my dear, in the name of what, tainted love?”

Virginia smiled, that parade image coming to her mind. “No Rhonda, my desire was private. It was always private. I’m like they say, in the closet. And that’s where I belong.”

After Virginia hung up her receiver, Beverly laid hers down as well, before moving quietly out of the den.

* * * *

Frank May regarded his youthful assistant, Morrison, “Good, so you will personally see that the general’s luggage is stowed.”

Their flight would be leaving at zero-eight hundred the next morning, two-stop to Japan.

“Yes, Sir, understood. I’ve already got the list and will carry everything on myself.” There was a pause and the young man licked his lips nervously, “Oh, and about that other, matter, Sir.”

“The other matter…?”

“With the, er, massage, um, person?”

May narrowed his eyes and regarded his assistant. “Yes, what of it?”

“Well, Sir, I did need to take him to the hospital after all. Needed three, um, stitches, sir. Quite painful, in that, err, location.”

May fixed his stare on the fresh-faced Morrison, likely not much older than the young masseur in question, “And you’ve, um, dealt with, well, things?”

Morrison sighed, “I gave him the two thousand, cash, and emphasized to him the need for mmm, discretion, for his own safety…”

“Very good. What is it, Morrison?” May asked, noting the assistant’s discomfort.

“Well, it’s just Sir, um, it’s wrong, don’t you think, Sir? I mean…”

May regarded the fellow and his tone turned terse. “Understand this, Morrison. I’m about to go into this meeting where we will discuss the next Operation Rolling Thunder foray. By dinner time tomorrow, while you’re deciding on the roast beef or the lamb, several hundred people in Vietnam will be gone, wiped away, and likely one or two of our bombers and their crews as well. I’m not going to worry that some fellow has a buggered ass; he’ll damn well get over it.”

May then turned and headed for the room where the general and others would gather for the briefing. Morrison stood looking after him, properly chastised, but still unsettled. The general was a man and so was the masseur, young or not. Morrison didn’t like to think on it, but he knew what had happened in that hotel room.

Generals, apparently, could do what or as they pleased.

* * * *

Cliff Eagleton was in another of his favorite spots, this one a bar a fair distance from Washington’s downtown. His drinking partner tonight was a fellow he had known for over twenty years, from when they were both starting out in new careers; but where he had ended up in intelligence, Bob Fuller had joined the FBI. Both knew the other was mentally ‘taking notes’ when they met, but both also knew there was no, bullshit.

They shared that common trait and it kept them in contact.

“I’da thought you folks had enough on your plates these days not to worry much about what us little guys are doin’, here at home, Eagle?” Fuller dead-panned.

Eagleton chuckled, “Yeah, sure, Bob, cry me a river. Poor little feds got nuthin’ to do. As long as Hoover is still alive ‘n kickin’, the FBI will be involved in whatever.” Both men laughed.

“So what’s your interest now, Cliff?”

Eagleton sipped his bourbon. “Well, J. Edgar obviously has a soul mate in Attorney-General Mitchell; they seem to be singin’ from the same hymn book, Bob, making connections from the Soviets to you name it. I’m surprised you folks aren’t doin’ wire-taps on Boy Scouts; you never know what those little buggers are up to?”

Fuller laughed out loud, then nodded. “It’s getting pretty heavy, Eagle, what with the whole ‘threats at home’ line. I know upstairs is milking the whole fear thing. It’s not the bomb anymore, Eagle, it’s the rioters. The protestors. Our media chums are right there, spreadin’ the word, and the word is that war resistance, and Negro unrest and urban crime are what people have to be afraid of, and we need more power to deal with all those…threats.”

“Yeah, and Joe and Jane Public are buying it like the gospel,” Eagleton murmured.

Fuller nodded his head, “Or at least that’s the message, and the government, and that means us at the bureau, have been told to keep that message front and center; let us deal with the threats, but we need to not have our hands tied.”

Eagleton shook his head in disbelief, “I know, ‘no-knock’ warrants for police, frisking suspects without cause, wiretapping, preventative detention, the whole ball of wax. And that’s where we come in, because you know our brass sees an opportunity. We can never have enough information, you know, and we don’t always care how or where we get it.”

Fuller sipped his drink meditatively, then looked over at the broad, craggy face of his associate, “But why does it bother you, ‘cuz it seems like it does?”

Eagleton stroked his chin, “Not really sure. It’s just that I don’t know who the enemy is anymore, Bob. The greater good, they say. It justifies everything. In New York you have them talking of how the police have been blackmailing homosexuals for years, with impunity, and law enforcement seems none too shy about ignoring the constitution when it suits their needs. The greater good my ass. Mitchell says we’re moving to the right, or whatever, and I believe him. I just don’t know how far…”

“Maybe we’re actually movin’ to the left, son,” Fuller said quietly.

The two men then drank in silence.

* * * *

Waiting for sleep, Christine lay, wondering if people really did count sheep. She wasn’t sure how they would do that, but right now sleep did not feel near.

Having not spoken with Dhang for a couple of days, the stabbing need was not present in her guts; but a stubborn longing was. She wished she could call on her own, just to hear the woman’s voice, but she understood why that could not be.

And as always the thoughts came crowding into her mind. If Margie was right, and she almost certainly was, Christine would in two days have a hard penis (or several) in her for the first time in over six years.

Six years; many of those spent in conscious isolation, like that nun, she considered again. She hadn’t gone out much at all even in her senior year of high school, when Brian was off to college. And at Bucknell, she did extra course work and never partied; rarely even having a coffee with a dorm mate or classmate. “You’re like one of those monks,” a girl had said to her once.

Nun, monk, did it matter?

Well, she would be making up for all that abstinence, big time, and the thought both excited and frightened her. The excitement came mostly because she knew she would be watched, by her mistress and others. It certainly was not the thought of the cocks.

She now remembered a curious fact; the only times she had masturbated in her dorm room, which slept four, so it wasn’t convenient, was on those very rare occasions when she knew Terri D. was surreptitiously watching her, feigning sleep.

Although she never experienced an orgasm, being watched did allow her some moments of pleasure. Neither girl ever acknowledged this game; it was just a weird relationship, and it was odd that it should come to her now, tonight, as she was falling into, wanting and accepting multiple, sexual relationships.

Thinking suddenly of Margie’s comments about anal intercourse, Christine thought of the plastic plug inserted in her right now; Baby Bear, as Margie laughingly called it. Tomorrow she would try Mama, and then Friday morning Papa and then, the real thing that night.

She hoped she would not do something stupid to embarrass herself or Madame Dhang; she wanted so much for the woman to be pleased with her. Just like Elizabeth Devers.

But then her mistress would be there, guiding her. Her mistress, Christine considered. She wanted to be the woman’s slave; how could that be?

“Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation; for you I wait all the day long,” Devers had said one day after a particularly enthusiastic session with a belt and a cut-off section of a broom handle which had replaced the thermometer. Christine had actually begged Devers to touch her, but the woman had simply smiled, and said those words.

For you I wait all the day long, Christine thought, her hand gently stroking her labia. She’d been waiting, all these years, like a bird to be set free.

Or possibly captured, for good, and placed in a gilded cage.

* * * *

With Friday looming tomorrow, Laverne May was in the midst of preparations; and she was greatly enjoying this break from her long stretches of not doing much, as Frank was off somewhere doing one thing and another.

Now in her early forties, Laverne lamented at times, on those days when she was alone and feeling sorry for herself, that she was too young to just fade away like this.

Today however was great, and her trim body was marching here and there, as two of the caterers were here with some preparations and the cleaning crew was also here and busy with both cleaning and setting up decorations. She had just sent off the fireworks guy and decided to crash for a moment on the couch, when one of the caterers, the young, pretty woman, came over.

“Sorry to bother you Mrs. May…”

“Oh please, call me Laverne,” the woman said to the attractive and thoughtful girl, who had made such kind remarks and had such practical suggestions.

Anne Kasey smiled at the woman, “Laverne, I was just going to suggest…” And the two then chatted away for several minutes.

As the young woman headed back to her partner, Laverne was struck again by what a nice person she was; so unlike so many young people today, like the filthy hippies or those violent demonstrators. And all those stories of kids and drugs; how concerning.

No, this woman was definitely a much more decent sort.

* * * * 

The crew had been assigned a new task; Hungary. A delegation from that country would arrive next week, so preparations were underway. Christine was glad for it. She needed to keep herself occupied and her mind off tomorrow; and Mama Bear, who made her presence known whenever Christine sat down, or whenever Margie looked at her and grinned.

Or whenever she needed to use the washroom.

* * * *

“So Callister has an, event, tomorrow?” Silverberg noted.

“Yes,” Sullivan said and nodded, “and Margie Taylor as well.”

“Do we know anything about who else might be there, and where?”

Sullivan looked in her notebook, “It’s in one of the suites right in their hotel, and there are only eight members of the delegation left in Washington now, and one of them is Dhang. I’ll meet both the women on Monday morning for a review.”

“Right,” Silverberg nodded and looked at the next item on his list, focusing his thoughts away from the attractive young woman he really didn’t want to (or shouldn’t) feel anything for.

* * * *

“So,” Virginia said, looking at Beverly, who was seated beside her on the couch. They were listening to Jefferson Airplane, or at least Beverly was, “since our session with your Nazi friend, I haven’t seen much of you.”

Beverly reached up and gently squeezed one breast, then the other, meeting no resistance, “You miss me, Ma?” she smirked, thinking of all the great shots she had of her mother.

Virginia looked steadily at her daughter. She knew what they were doing was…wrong, technically, but she had to admit she missed the intimacy, taboo as it may be. It certainly should be taboo to ‘her daughter’.

“Yes, actually.”

“Get us a couple of glasses of whiskey, Mother, if you  don’t mind.” Beverly smiled and watched her mother leave the room.

Without giving it much deep thought, Beverly pondered that: she liked controlling her mother, a woman, as Anne pointed out, who liked being controlled; she had always liked touching girls, one of the reasons she was expelled from her Washington school and sent away; she liked being a rebel, whatever the hell that meant. But she really didn’t want to make love to her mother, which it seemed the woman now wanted.

As Virginia returned with the glasses, Beverly looked at her and said quietly, “Tell me about Rhonda.”

Virginia sat now, taken by surprise, but in some ways wanting to unburden herself from all the years of hidden affairs; she had never had someone to share her thoughts and feelings with; even Rhonda wasn’t that kind of relationship. But her own, daughter?

Well, really…

* * * *  

Friday morning got off to a leisurely start at the house; no one was in the kitchen before eight. The earlier risers had a chance to spend a little more time in the shower, although no one was ever allowed past five minutes. “Hot water, ladies. The house has an ancient tank,” Lana had warned more than once.

When Christine awoke, Margie was already awake and looking at her, pressed against her right side. Their room was warm and both women were naked, “Hey, glad to have your hot body squashed against me, Margie-pargie,” Christine said and Margie laughed, then gently fondled one of Christine’s breasts.

“These puppies are going to be popular tonight, roomie,” Margie smiled.

Christine cupped one of Margie’s modest breasts and remarked, “I’m sure these will be, too.”

Margie ran her hand down Christine’s flat stomach and softly caressed her labia, “Your friend has gone away, hmmm?” Christine nodded and Margie dipped her hand lower, touching the flange of the ‘Mama Bear’ plug. “Do you want me to help you put in Papa?”

Christine laughed, “Yeah, thanks, um, I’ll just use the washroom and be right back. What about you?”

Margie slipped off the bed and bent over, spreading her cheeks, “Mine’s already in, did it last night.”

“Well, aren’t you the Girl Scout,” Christine teased, slipping on her housecoat and heading out.

* * * *

Dhang stood in the hotel room and looked over the preparations. Both a Baccarat and a Sic Bo table were set up and there would be two, scantily clad young women, looking after each.

Dhang’s pretty young assistant, Hyun, was checking the bar, which she would look after, as well as keeping an eye on the action with the men and the American whores; she had the boxes of condoms stashed in the portable bar, as well as twenty singles sitting in their packages in a decorative container on the bar itself.

The room was a presentation suite, so there was no bed but there were two couches and one loveseat and four armchairs.

“You have your camera?” Dhang asked in Korean and Hyun grinned, pulling the tiny device from her bag.

“I’ll have it in my apron and will be able to get it out quickly, Madame,” Hyun, who spoke English as well as Dhang, replied. She chose to speak it as much as possible, for practice.

“Good,” Dhang murmured now in English, suddenly remembering the words of a popular American song, “Everybody get together, it’s time to love one another, right now,” she crooned, smirking. Both women laughed heartily out loud.

Dhang was looking forward to her lovely white whore being used hard, in all her holes. If she was to become Dhang’s dedicated whore-slave back in Korea, she needed  to move this along now.

(End of Chapter 10)

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