"AND THE WINNER IS ... JANEY!" I announced, holding up her arm in the air like a prizefighter. "And as your prize, my dear, which seat would you like, front or middle."
"Front!" she beamed.
I looked over at Sally, who was watching the victory celebration with a sadly amused look. I caught her eye as she glanced at me, and in the instant before she lowered them back down, I thought I saw fear, or maybe hurt, in them. It was the only time I saw her look up in my presence for the remainder of the day. It disturbed me, deeply.
I spread a blanket in the shade of a stately old oak tree and an early lunch was served. Janey and I sat. For some reason, Sally preferred to stand. I didn't force the issue and it wasn't mentioned. We were all ravenous after the work we had done that morning and were still hungry when the sandwiches, chicken, chips and fruit were gone. Reaching into the bottomless basket, I pulled out three huge slabs of moist chocolate cake and a thermos of ice cold milk. For being health nuts, the calorie-laden cake disappeared very quickly and without one complaint. It was beginning to look like it might just be a good day, after all. I hoped.
When we got back to the house, showers were in order. Sally and I took one together, and, although playful, she was still subdued. I did my best to lighten her mood, and I was very concerned I might have injured her when I had taken her so forcefully in the woods. She insisted that she was not hurt, that she was tough enough to take whatever I could hand out, even to the point of offering to let me ass-fuck her again — her words, unfortunately — right then and there in the shower. I passed on the offer. I held her close to me until we ran out of hot water. I don't think it helped, but I didn't know what else to do.
The next phase of the day was initiated as I delivered another package to each of the girls containing a skin-tight Lycra bicycle body suit. Janey's was red, Sally's green. I waited for them at the door and whistled very appreciably at their appearance. The lush bodies of my girls were highlighted to perfection, from the tight cheeks of their asses to the firm flesh of their tits. Even the camel toes of their pussies could be seen through the material.
To their visible disappointment, I handed each of them another pile of clothing containing a pair of nylon shorts and a baggy shirt. Their luscious bodies were to be well covered on this day. Shoes, helmet and a fanny pack completed the ensemble. Their freshly cleaned and loaded pistols were in the fanny packs.
I drove about an hour southeastward to a town on the shore. It was a quaint village that hadn't quite been hit by the hordes of vacationers yet. We rented a bicycle built for three at a local rental shop and I intended to spend a leisurely couple of hours riding up and down the boardwalk getting some fresh air and sunshine. It was a beautiful day and the sand, sun and salt air off the ocean combined in an invigorating way. I felt we could ride forever.
Janey had control of the handlebars that controlled the front wheel and so we went wherever she wanted. We rode by several of the ubiquitous male 'hunks' that were walking along the boardwalks and asphalt paths, working out or sunning themselves on the beach. We never stopped to meet any of them, but Janey steered us by a couple of them several times so she could get a real good look at them; or, perhaps it was vice versa. I noticed she didn't seem to have a particular 'taste' in body type, hair coloring or other physical feature. That is, unless visibly bulging crotches in a tight Speedo can be considered a 'taste.' It wasn't necessarily one of mine, anyway.
There was no rigid schedule to keep as there had been last week, and the afternoon was simply a relaxing time together. The view from my position in the back seat was outstanding. For the beginning of the trip traveling away from the parking lot and the car, the ride was pretty mundane; circuitous, but mundane. Then, on the way back to the rental shop, Janey misjudged a pothole, and hit it pretty hard. The jarring force of the front wheel hitting the rough edges of the pavement jammed the seat of the bike up into her crotch. It hit her with enough applied force on the implanted vaginal and anal devices to release some of the sexual enhancer into her system. Sally and I found ourselves in the helpless situation where a girl in the throes of a totally unexpected orgasm was suddenly steering us along a winding pathway, or attempting to, anyway. Janey had no hope of maintaining headway or her balance and we tumbled in a tangle of arms, legs and bicycle into the nearest dune.
Sally moved over to Janey, holding her tight until her raging orgasm passed, and she lay still, breathing deeply as if winded from a hard workout.
"Mom, what was that? Geeze, I mean, I know what it was. But what the Hell just happened to me?"
"Oh, Sweetheart, I think you can thank your dear ol' 'Dad' for that," said Sally. "Just his way of saying 'I love you, ' I guess. If you don't want it, I'll make him take it back." I could tell she meant it.
"Oh, no! It was nice, ya' know, real nice. Just, well, a surprise, that's all," Janey said.
"Mine was a surprise to me, too, Honey. This morning. A big surprise," rued Sally.
"Oh! So that's why ... in your bottom..." Janey turned her face to her mother's and lowered her voice to almost a whisper. "Do you, uh, really like it in, well, back there, Mom?"
"That's kind of a personal question, don't you think?" giggled Sally. "Let's get on back to the car, OK?"
I think that was the first time ever that Sally had avoided answering Janey when she asked a question about sex. It made me wonder just how big an error I had made that morning when she wouldn't answer, or couldn't answer Janey truthfully now. I knew she liked it up the ass. Something was seriously wrong.
It was a rough and bumpy ride back to the bike shop. Janey seemed to manage to hit every bump and pothole in the path, circling around to hit the good ones a couple of times. The 'hunks' with their bulging Speedo suits were completely forgotten as she bounced her way to giggling orgasm after orgasm riding a bike in broad daylight. Both women were riding high on the sexual rushes they were having, leaving me to do most to peddling, and, as the route was quite circuitous, it took a lot more time to get back than it normally would have. But we finally made it.
Janey drove back to the house, again doing a good job. She and I had been out several times during the week to give her additional practice driving. She drove through the heavy downtown traffic with assurance, always leaving good safety margins between her and the cars in front.
We arrived home just as a large van pulled away. The driver gave me a cheerful wave as she drove by. Apparently everything had gone according to plan and the arrangements for the evening were in place. I smiled innocently at Janey's questioning look and she got an excited smile on her face, anticipating another surprise for the evening. I turned to watch Sally reading the logo on the side of the van and shake her head knowingly. She'd recognized the driver and the van. There was a little grin tugging at the corners of her mouth, but the sadness in her eyes was still there.
At the door, I stepped between them and held my hands lightly over their eyes. "Eyes closed please, ladies, until I say to open them."
They dutifully closed them and made the obligatory attempts to peek to see what was going on. I led them sightless, or nearly so, to a room on the second floor in the back of the house. It was a room that we seldom used.
"OK, you can open your eyes," I said.
They looked around. There were pillows scattered on the floor arranged around a large Persian rug. The walls were covered with draperies of sheer material in pastel colors and the windows were covered with thick tapestries. It really did look like something from Arabian Nights, and I was smugly pleased with the results.
"I wondered what Cece was doing here," Sally said. "I didn't remember her calling to say she was coming over."
"You know Cecilia Washington?" I asked carefully. More of Sally's undisclosed past was coming out, but this was just too coincidental that she would know the new wife of my best friend.
"Sure! She was my roommate in college for the year and a half I was there. Why?" she said innocently.
Oh, Shit!
"Oh, nothing," I mumbled. "It's just that, well, Mac and I are good friends, too. I just wondered how come it never came up before."
Sally didn't answer, but had what I refer to as her 'Mona Lisa' smile on her face; totally unreadable, but promising depths of intrigue and mystery that would drown any man who ventured in unawares. I let it drop.
Mac's new wife, Cecilia, ran a specialty high-end catering service that specialized in arranging quality theme parties and dinners. I had never met her and, when I had approached her through Mac about this project, she had accepted the challenge immediately, even on short notice for such a small group. Now I knew why. I wondered just how much of a surprise this really was for Sally. This Arabian Night style theme had been a new one for Cece's business, but she had attacked it with enthusiasm. I could tell Sally and Janey were impressed with the results, as was I.
In the corner of the room was a tent flap that covered the door to an adjoining room. I urged them through.
"Your attire for the evening is in the other room. I am not allowed to go in there, as that room is reserved for women only. And eunuchs, one of which I will refrain from becoming for the time being."
They laughed. Thank goodness.
"We are entertaining special guests this evening. You may not leave that room until our guests arrive. I expect you both to be on your best behavior, and to follow the example of one of the guests who will be here to help you and to explain your duties for this evening."
They looked intrigued, but confused. I simply put my hands together in front of me, bowed, and said, "Go with God," in my best Yul Brenner impression.
I heard their squeals of excitement as they explored the room next door and found their costumes for the evening. Satisfied that they were happy for the time being I went to check on the food. I heard the shower in their room start up. I had just enough time to clean up myself before Amud and his wife arrived.
At seven o'clock sharp the doorbell rang. When I opened it, I saw Amud in a very impressive — and expensive — Western style business suit and a diminutive figure standing quietly behind him covered in cloth from head to toe. Without a word to them, I bowed and swept my hand back to usher them into the house. Still not speaking, I turned and led the way to the room where Sally and Janey waited. I pointed, showing Amud where to send his wife. He spoke briefly with her and she entered the room.
I then led him to the back room with the rug and pillows and spoke to him for the first time. "Amud, my friend, welcome to my tent. Come in, rest and wash the sand from your feet."
I spoke to him in his own tongue, giving him a traditional greeting. In my research, I had learned I had two choices of greeting guests to my home, depending on my familiarity with the guest. One greeting used the word 'sand, ' the other greeting used the word 'camel shit.' Since this was his first visit, I figured I should go easy on the familiarity.
Amud smiled broadly, and gave the traditional reply, which, loosely translated means, 'If there's water left after my camels drink, I'll wash my feet.' He respected the level of familiarity I had set and did not add the ending, 'Then my wives can drink what's left.' He entered my 'tent' and sat in the place of honor.
"Would you like a drink, Amud?" thinking he would prefer tea or coffee or water. Or a soft drink, perhaps.
"Scotch, neat. Thank you."
I looked at him perplexed. All the preparations we had discussed had stipulated that no alcohol and that certain animals and animal by-products were not to be used in the preparation of the meal. Now he asked for Scotch? I couldn't figure it out, so I asked him if he would mind explaining.
"Oh, yes. In our beliefs and in our practices, we must be pure. But the religious leaders recognize that for certain cultural and business situations with non-believers, we must be allowed some latitude in these restrictions. For those times when we knowingly consume forbidden food or drink, we can pay a penance and be purified. But if we consume them unknowingly, we will die impure."
I didn't follow his logic, exactly, if one can call any religion logical. It sounded like a religious moneymaking scam if I ever heard one. But, a man must follow his beliefs or else be a hypocrite. Better an earnest fool than a hypocrite. I got him a Scotch and had one myself.
We discussed a broad range of topics, from his business and mine to the novel — to him, anyway — customs of Americans that he found somewhat perplexing. I learned that he was university-educated at Oxford, but that his love of hides and skins, as well as his talent for working with them, had led him to open the tack shop. His amusement at Americans' repressed fascination with the relationship between leather and sex was surpassed only by the amusement he found at the amount of money they would pay for common everyday leather items; with slight modifications, of course.
During the course of our conversation, we were served a variety of foods, some traditional, some not. Three lovely ladies brought out the food on silver trays. All the ladies were veiled. The only skin visible was around their eyes, hands and their bare feet, yet they never seemed so seductive. The veils and gauze-like material that clothed them hinted more than it showed. Dark shadows on the bodices gave a promise of breasts and nipples, but the loose fitting material resisted all attempts to ascertain shapes and sizes. Even though I was familiar with two of the three serving wenches, the diaphanous covering clouded their familiar lines, adding a sense of the unknown or unexpected to the evening.
It was on Sally's second time as a server that Amud began to watch her with intent interest. I noticed he continued to watch her every time she served, but he didn't speak to me about it, although he seemed on the verge of saying something each time she left the room.
At the end of the serving time, music began to play. Amud settled back on his pillow, a cup of thick sweet coffee in his hands. With a 'ting-ting, ' the curtains parted and a willowy figure entered our enclosure. Amud's wife danced to the center of the room and did a fascinating traditional dance that promised everything and revealed nothing. It ended with her bowing before Amud as if in supplication. He looked puzzled.
"My apologies, Mr. Sampson, my rude wife wishes to interrupt our peace."
"Please, Amud. No apologies necessary. Please go ahead."
There followed a quick conversation between them, ending with Amud lifting her hand, turning it over and kissing her palm. I thought I saw his wife blush at this intimate gesture in a stranger's house. Amud continued to look thoughtful as the dancer gracefully rose and glided from the room.
He produced from an inner pocket a cigar case — another forbidden item — and offered me a fine Cuban cigar.
"These Cubans are not only forbidden to me, they are forbidden to you. Mine is religious, yours is foolish. As they are illegal in this country, shall we burn the evidence?"
"Yes, we probably should," I responded with mock seriousness. "But slowly, no?"
As we were enjoying the rare treat, he seemed like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how to begin.
"Amud, you look troubled. Is there something you wish to say to me?"
"Mr. Sampson ... Lawrence ... My friend... ," Amud started, "it is hard for me to speak to you in your house of these things, but it is harder to see these things and not speak of them to friends. Please do not take offense at what I say. It is not my wish to bring criticism into your tent."
I nodded, and indicated for him to continue. I hadn't the foggiest idea what he was talking about.
"My beloved and I have sensed you have begun to practice those things we spoke of last week; those things between men and women and their places in the tent; those things which concern the heart and soul of the woman, and the pride of the man. But what I sense is that the acts you have committed have disturbed the peace in your tent. You have acted rashly, as a stupid man, one with no sense of his power or his place. A powerful man is foolish to use his might on the weak. No good can come of it.
"I do not know what you have done, Lawrence. It does not matter. I also cannot tell you how to fix it. But I can tell you that you must repair the breach with your love, the mother of the Fresh One or peace will never return to this tent. The Happy One, although calm on the outside, is no longer filled with the joy you bring to her. In your harshness you have taken from her, and not given. She now fears for the joy and peace in the tent. That is not her position, not her task. That is the task of the master.
"Lawrence, my friend, in some way I feel responsible for this. I told you of a wonderful place but not the path to follow to get there. If you had taken no steps along that path, you would have nothing to undo. But having taken a step, even a small one, along this path, you must now continue. To lead your beloved down that path, one must be familiar with the path himself and know the destination. You must experience the path yourself first, my friend. Otherwise you will become a cruel master and your time in this tent will be short and painful."
With that ominous prediction, he stood, clapped his hands and left. His wife followed him obediently out of the room, leaving me sitting alone in the large room.
The silence was deafening.