A Fistful Of Sand Book 1Chapter 24: A Dish Best Served Hot (part 2) free porn video

The salty tang of the sea air filled Heather's nostrils. She lay in bed in the still night, the covers pushed to the foot of the bed, the walls of her trailer closing in on her. The night was chill, but she was warm. She'd had that dream again — where she was an ancient queen tending to her secret lover, the high priest. It was as sensual as ever, but if pressed, she couldn't remember much more than that. The only vestiges of the dream were her sweat soaked body and yet another pair of completely sodden panties.

Rising from the bed, she entered the trailer's small bathroom and turned on the light. "Déjà vu?" she said aloud to nobody in particular, having the eerie sense that this had all happened before. Catching her view in the mirror, she couldn't help but be turned on by her still flush skin, her erect nipples, and that "just fucked" smoke in her luminous green eyes. The dream was hot, no doubt.

The smell of the Mediterranean was calming and rather than try to suppress her urges, she gave into them. Being stuck here at the dig site with only horny boys and a nerdy (albeit cute) professor did nothing to ease her libido. It had been since last summer since she'd been fucked, and between the sea air, the hot dreams, and the cute boys — she was about to burst.

Her hand trailed down her stomach and reached into her wet panties. A delicious squishing sound was heard as one finger found its mark. Lifting her other hand, she sucked one finger into her mouth, a poor substitute for the cock she so desperately craved.

"The night air will do that to you, won't it?" a voice said from the doorway.

Not pausing in her double ministrations, she looked and saw David watching her with seductive calm. What was surprising (or at least should have been... ) was that she had no intention of stopping her finger-work. She needed to get off and having an audience made it that much more thrilling.

"Mmmm," she moaned around her finger, squeezing her elbows toward each other to help lift her breasts. Her finger glistened wetly as it probed in and out from her lips, a thin line of drool running down the back of her hand, over her wrist, and toward her elbow. David took his cue and stepped into the cramped quarters, reaching out and tweaking one of her nipples none-too-gently.

Heather couldn't believe how good it felt. How could she have denied her lust for this boy ... no, not a boy — a man ... for so long? She had to have him.

David released Heather's nipple and grabbed her brief panties by the waistband and yanked harshly. The flimsy material was no match for his strength and she gasped in surprise and pain as he held them before her. Her eyes went wide as he pulled her finger from her mouth and shoved the soaking garment between her lips. The taste of her own secretions coated her tongue and drove her wild.

He stepped behind her, and she heard his zipper being pulled down. Finally!

"Oh, fuck me Gregg!" she moaned after pulling her panties from her mouth.

The tiny room was suddenly quiet and it dawned on her what she'd just said. She said 'Gregg' but it was David who she wanted ... no ... that wasn't right either.

She spun around and she suddenly wasn't in the small trailer bathroom. In fact she wasn't in any room — just blackness, except for the figure of David staring at her accusingly. "I'm sorry ... I didn't mean ... no ... wait ... I'm confused ... you're not..."

David didn't give her more time to think things through. Taking a single step toward her, his clothing morphed into flowing black robes, so impossibly black that they made the darkness around him seem bright. He looked like death itself and scared her twice as much. Reaching out with a black claw where his hand should have been, Heather felt her throat constricting. It took every ounce of strength just to get half a breath.

"You're mine. Your nerd boyfriend can't protect you from what you really want. You're mine..." David's voice had become a hiss, and inhuman hiss.

Heather woke with a start, her breath coming to her as if it were the first she'd taken in forever. The room was dark and unfamiliar. It took a few agonizing moments to remember that she was at Gregg's place while hers was still being fixed up.

Realizing it was all a dream, her heart rate began to slow somewhat. Licking her lips, she tasted the familiar musk of her own secretions. She lifted her hand to wipe the sweat from her brow and was stunned to see a torn pair of panties wrapped around her palm.

An icy dread filled her as she slipped back under the covers, curling up tightly against Gregg, his own slow heartbeat providing a soothing cadence as she again let sleep wash over her.

Gregg re-read the email with disbelieving eyes. He read it again for a third time ... then a fourth. The ambassador from Tunisia had written a short "heads-up" note to him as project leader that a small contingent of government officials, scholars, and investors were going to be coming to Chicago and that they'd be setting up a time to meet with him and his team. Details were to follow.

With all that had been happening in his life, he'd almost forgotten about the dig. He would have sat there in shock for who-knew how long if a familiar voice didn't snap him out of his reverie.

"Good morning Professor, I didn't catch you at a bad time, did I?"

Gregg looked up again in disbelief. Helping himself to a chair, Deuce made himself comfortable, waiting for some kind of reaction.

Finally shaking himself to his senses, "Sorry ... Good morning Deuce. It's good to see you. You may not believe this, but I've been wanting to talk to you for days now."

Deuce raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Really? About what?"

Gregg was suddenly stumped. Why DID he want to talk to this man? "I need to apologize again, but my brain must still be in shock over this email I just got. Seems I may yet be able to save that archeology site I was working on this spring." Gregg looked at the man sitting opposite him, still unable to recall why he wanted to talk to him. "I probably had you on my mind as I read these freshman papers ... God, didn't they learn to write?!"

Deuce had an amused smile on his face, Gregg's befuddlement certainly not a surprise to him. "I blame it on the internet and text messaging. How can they write coherent sentences when they can't even write out complete words. L-O-L!" They both smiled at this observation.

"Yeah. It's too bad you're just auditing this class. You would have been my best student, no doubt."

Deuce smiled. Being thought of as the professor's "student" was quite adorable. For all his intellect, the Gregg still had no idea who was sitting across from him. 'Can the mouse teach the cat while the cat eats the mouse?' he thought amusedly? "Well, I'll just leave that honor to Charli. But if she doesn't watch herself, Laura just may overtake her. Hanging around you all — she's caught quite the study bug!"

Gregg should have been surprised that Deuce knew the girls' names, but for some reason he wasn't. In fact, Charli hadn't been to class in weeks — she was getting "private lessons" from Chad. Gregg just chalked it up to Deuce being astute, and maybe just having a good memory for names.

As if Deuce were reading his thoughts, he said, "We're quite good at convincing ourselves about what we wish to believe, don't you think?"

"How do you mean?" Gregg asked, a little disconcerted.

"Take my project, for example. I think I told you about it. Two guys getting this big gift, each using it in his own way. Now one of my subjects is using this gift beyond the bounds we'd ever expected ... maybe no surprise, he never learned self control. Not a fully developed 'super-ego.'" Gregg watched Deuce smile at that Freudian phrase — as if he thought the idea was quaint. Deuce brushed those thoughts aside and fixed Gregg with a more direct look. "The other ... well, it's like he's sitting on a pile of money and refusing to spend it, afraid that money is the 'root of all evil.'"

"I thought it was the 'love of money' that was the root of all evil, not the money itself," Gregg quipped.

"Very astute Dr. Walters. Maybe your eyes aren't as closed to the truths around you as you like to pretend?"

Gregg felt his consciousness opening a little, connections in the reality he lived in daily suddenly revealing themselves. A knot tightened in his stomach as he looked at Deuce with new eyes. "Who ... What are you?"

Deuce smiled a little, at once patronizing as well as fatherly. "It is not what I am that should be of concern to you. The more pertinent question is — what are YOU?"

Gregg had recently seen the movie "Dogma" and was fully expecting Deuce, who had a strong resemblance to Alan Rickman in both physical appearance as well as voice, to drop his pants and spread his wings. The image should have made him smile, but the all too real possibility of it happening made him nervous. "I'm ... I'm just a teacher."

"Gregg, Gregg, Gregg. Haven't you figured out that you're more than that yet? You have been given this amazing gift, and still you rely on the strength of others to pull you through. You're like the United States with the most bad-ass military on the planet, but you're content to let Luxemburg fight your battles for you! When Heather's buddy Vinnie showed up, you were less than useless."

"I ... I couldn't protect them — it happened so fast!"

"It shouldn't have happened at all! You sit around and let life happen around you, and react when you should be the one setting the rules of the game."

"Game? This isn't a game! I just don't want anyone to get hurt."

"People get hurt, Gregg. It's what people do. People take, people hurt, people betray. It's in your nature."

"What about love? People love too."

"Hardly. Love is nothing more than lust with greeting-card sentimentality."

"That's pretty cold, don't you think?"

Deuce raised an eyebrow. "Really? Okay lover — how many girls are you fucking now?"

Gregg was startled by the question, seemingly out of the blue. "Th ... that's none of your business."

"Don't play coy with me Professor. Everything you do is my business. Heather, Laura, Emily, Charli, Rivkah, Brittany, Natalie. What about Jenny and Brenda back in Tunisia? Need I go on? Only last night you had a room full of ripe and ready sorority girls ready to obey your slightest whim. You speak of love, and yet, just like your primate ancestors you'll hump anything with two legs and twat. Tweak a few strands of your DNA and you'll be shitting in your hand and flinging your poo at the zoo patrons."

"That's not fair. I love them all ... well, except for Brittany or Natalie, I guess. And I only fucked those two because of the ones I DO love." Gregg was regretting each word as he said it. The logic that was once so clear now seemed ridiculous. Maybe Deuce was right when he said that we're quite good at convincing ourselves about what we wish to believe...

"So you admit that even though you have these powers, you're not the one pulling the strings ... so sad."

Deuce was twisting his words — diminishing the love he held for the (admittedly numerous) women in his life. "Now just a second! It's not about control!" Gregg slammed his fist against the desk. Deuce's prodding finally setting him off.

Rather than take Deuce by surprise, Gregg's outburst seemed to make him smile. He watched as Gregg's crimson face began to take back its normal hue. "Good ... there's a little fire in you yet it seems. A word of advice dear professor: be careful out there. Your young friend is coming. Seems that you have something he wants and he's not exactly in the right mind to show any restraint. He's already way ahead of you in terms of how well he plays the game ... but there is one lesson he's refused to learn — and that's your only hope."

Deuce stood and flipped up his trench coat's collar. "It's been a pleasure, Dr. Walters. I've really enjoyed our talks. But I've probably said too much. Sadly, I don't know that we'll ever speak again. You have strength — a strength far greater than you can imagine, should you ever choose to use it ... but I wouldn't wait too long to find it ... her life depends on it."

With a bit of dramatic flourish, Deuce left the room, and Gregg was left haunted by his words. His head felt fuzzy, like after an all-night reading session where his brain was trying to retain too much. The walls of his office seemed a bit duller, the world not so clear.

He looked down at his hands and saw the business card he was holding. "Deuce X. Machinaw; Hand of God Research, Ltd." He fingered it, turning it over and over in his hands. Sighing, he opened the drawer to his desk and tossed it in.

"Hmm, I was going to call him about something ... but I can't remember what ... something about the rules to a game ... rugby? No, that's not it ... Oh well, no use bothering him until it comes back to me."

For the fifth time he read the email on his computer screen. Picking up the phone, he dialed Heather to share the good news.

Brittany checked the address one last time in disbelief. It was a few minutes before six and she definitely didn't want to be late ... but this address HAD to be wrong. Students were coming and going through the glass double doors in various states of dress and hygiene — some with duffle bags full of equipment, others with only their IDs. Mistress Cheryl couldn't possibly have chosen such a public venue as the Campus Sports Center for them to meet!

She could feel the seconds slipping by as she stared at the piece of paper, wondering what she could possibly have gotten wrong ... or maybe Dr. Walters was sending her on a wild goose chase to purposefully get her in trouble ... as if she weren't in enough for bringing a psychopath into Heather's apartment and almost getting them all killed ... herself included.

Stuffing the paper into her pocket, she entered, hoping this was the right place ... but also hoping it wasn't. Thankfully, and also to her horror, Dr. Walters was waiting for her by the front desk ... wearing gym shorts and a t-shirt. He was chatting amicably with the woman behind the desk ... Rivkah. Seeing the older woman in tight shorts and a sports bra, Brittany had to admire the chiseled physique. Other than her tightly contained large breasts, there wasn't an ounce of fat on the severe-looking woman.

"Good you've finally made it ... not late, technically." Rivkah was looking at the clock on the wall. Brittany was definitely confused. A moment later a hugely muscled man joined them — Rivkah's husband E'dan. He was carrying two racquetball rackets in one hand and was tossing a blue rubber ball in the other. Brittany saw the still-healing scar on his arm from where he'd been shot, and guiltily averted her gaze.

Rivkah came out from around the desk and put an arm almost comfortingly around Brittany's shoulders. "You know, when I was a little girl, we had a dog. But this dog was a very bad dog. It barked all day and chewed on the furniture. We almost had to put it down until a friend told us that it was just restless. So, we took it out for some exercise — we ran that dog until it could barely stand. It seemed to work. All the dog needed was a little activity to occupy it, and it was much better behaved."

Brittany was no rocket scientist, but she was pretty sure she was being compared to the dog in Rivkah's story. So, what kind of sick sexual exercise was she going to be subjected to? ... and what did the rackets and the ball have to do with it.

"Gregg, E'dan — I've reserved court number three for you. It's the one with the three glass walls." Brittany paled and nearly collapsed. Were they really going to do whatever they were going to do to her in a glass-room?!? Where everyone could see?!?

Gregg smiled wickedly, and headed off to the tournament court with E'dan. "Don't worry Brittany ... you and I have other plans. We're going to go to the private rehab gym downstairs for a little exercise. Mistress Cheryl thinks that this week you've been very bad and are in need of some good old fashioned training."

"You know E'dan — I've never played racquetball before."

"Relax my friend. I think you'll pick it up in no time. I'll even use my left arm ... since I'm really right handed and I've got a bullet wound in my left — I don't know how much more of a handicap I can give you!"

Gregg shook his head in exasperation. "First of all, you were only grazed. Second — I've seen you handle that chef's knife of yours equally well in both hands. Third ... I STILL DON'T KNOW THE RULES TO THE GAME!"

E'dan feigned a guilty smile. "Look — just hit the ball against that wall — we'll deal with the rest of the rules later."

"Fine ... but why did you pick the one court that has three glass walls and bleacher seating around it?"

E'dan shrugged. "Heather suggested it. She thought that if all the pretty girls were watching, you'd actually try harder."

Gregg caught the ball that E'dan tossed in his direction. Sure enough, a few curious onlookers were pausing to see who was using the usually off-limits court. "Okay ... but could you at least show me how to hold the racket!"

Heather stepped into the rec center and flashed her ID to the student worker behind the desk. She was about to ask the kid if he'd seen Gregg or Rivkah, but the sound of a loud cheer turned her head toward the racquetball courts. A large crowd had filled the bleachers and it was standing room only in an area that generally never got crowds.

As Heather approached, smiling, her eyes were on the spectators, not the game. Guys moved out of their way for her, but the girls were completely riveted. More than one girl, she saw, had a coat or towel over her lap and a hand surreptitiously hidden beneath.

Inside the court, both Gregg and E'dan had abandoned their shirts and were playing only in their shorts. It was normally against regulations, but no one seemed to be raising a fuss. "What's the score?" Heather asked one particularly lust-filled co-ed beside her.

The girl never even looked up. She simply sighed, "Who cares?!"

A male student finally answered — "The big guy is creaming the tall guy. It's an incredible game, but really one-sided."

Incredible wasn't quite the word Gregg would have used. Exhausting was more like it. He picked up the basics pretty quickly, but the few points he'd scored had taken every ounce of concentration and cunning. He thought that by tapping into E'dan's consciousness he could predict where the man would place his next shot and thus stay one step ahead of him ... but there was one flaw in his plan: E'dan hardly ever thought about his next shot. E'dan had reached a mastery of this game where he didn't need to think about the shots — he just did them. Even Gregg's power-enhanced strength and reflexes were no match for E'dan's natural skill. It was a humbling experience to say the least ... especially since his friend was still using his weak arm. So focused was Gregg on the game, he didn't even notice the effect his ramped-up testosterone level was having on the mostly female crowd around him.

"Game point." E'dan said stepping into the serving box. As the ball dropped, Gregg was already running. E'dan's hope for an ace to end the game were dashed as the volley continued for hit after hit. The crowd was breathless as both athletes jumped and dove for the ball, each taking turns crashing into the glass walls and into each other. Finally E'dan sunk the ball into the corner and it took an odd bounce giving Gregg no chance at recovery. The crowd erupted in cheers as well as several loud boos.

Gregg dropped wetly to the floor, physically spent. E'dan held out a hand and pulled his friend up and they embraced in a sweaty — albeit manly — hug with wet splashing back slaps. "You put up quite a fight friend!" E'dan said, genuinely surprised that Gregg had actually scored a handful of points. "Are you sure you never played before?"

Gregg could barely catch his breath, but managed a weak, "I'm sure."

The guys pulled out their shirts which were hanging from the backs of their shorts and put them on, heading for the door to the court. Gregg got a lot of cheers from the ladies in the crowd, many of them having sad, pitiful looks on their faces. No doubt they had hopes they could soothe his injured pride. More than one glared angrily at E'dan, one even going so far as to slug him in the arm ... the uninjured one, thankfully.

They met up with Heather and headed down toward Rivkah's office which was adjacent to the rehab gym. Inside, Rivkah was setting up some plastic plates and pulling out several tupperwares of food from her small fridge. She crinkled her nose as they entered, and said, "Why don't you two hit the showers. Dinner will be ready when you get out."

Gregg wasn't about to argue, but had to ask, "Where's our friend?"

Rivkah smiled somewhat wickedly. "Aww — poor thing was all pooped from her workout. She's in the sauna relaxing."

There was more to it than that, but Gregg couldn't take the smell of his own stench and followed E'dan to the showers.

When they returned a few minutes later in fresh shorts and t-shirts, Charli and Chad had joined them. Even Emily was sitting there also with her foot resting in Rivkah's lap. Across from them, Laura was enjoying some of Rivkah's food, giving some to a very demure-looking Natalie who graciously, albeit timidly, accepted it. Laura smiled when Natalie put the morsel into her mouth and even stroked her hair affectionately, as one would pet a dog. Natalie kept looking back and forth nervously from Heather to Charli. She recognized Heather as the redhead from the video and after some long staring, she finally recognized Charli — the girl she once tormented. It was incredible how much she changed since that day. Then of course, Charli was hanging off the arm of her Anthropology teaching assistant and a few minutes later, her professor walks in ... If ever a girl looked like the proverbial sheep invited to dinner at the wolves' den...

Gregg and E'dan dug into Rivkah's amazing cooking, both having worked up quite an appetite from their match. Rivkah nibbled some, but didn't seem to be all that hungry. Mostly, she gently massaged Emily's leg above the bandage and kept one eye on a bank of monitors turned so that only she and Emily could see. Emily would occasionally look at them also and give Rivkah a worried look, but Rivkah would only soothe the girl some more and mutter, "not yet Tatelah."

Chad, who had been purposefully kept out of the loop per Charli's request, was truly confused by the motley crew. Charli was acting strangely — both excited and nervous. And what was Natalie, another of Gregg's students doing here?

After about twenty minutes, Rivkah cleared her throat and announced cryptically, "It's about time."

Gregg only knew what was coming because Chari was practically broadcasting the night's script in her mind. She was scared. She was scared that things wouldn't work they way they were supposed to. But more than anything — she was scared that the truth would spell the end of her relationship with Chad. She didn't know if she'd taken her secret mastery over Brittany too far for him to understand.

Charli and Laura stood, pulling Natalie with them. "We need to change. We'll meet you next door." Everyone filed into the adjacent rehab gym and took seats on the floor around the large workout mats on the floor. The expressions everyone wore were different. Emily's was a little sad while Heather and Rivkah's were eager. Chad and E'dan just looked confused while Gregg did his best to keep his expression blank.

A few minutes later Charli, Laura, and Natalie entered — and everyone stopped to stare. All three were wearing very short-cut Greek-styled robes. Natalie's was black. She'd seen this style robe before — at her initiation into Omega Xi. It was like the robes worn by the women who lined the walls, but did not directly participate. Ordinarily she would have been shocked at Laura's use of sacred Omega Xi artifacts and rituals, but in the past day, her relationship with Laura and the sorority had markedly changed.

Laura was wearing identical red robes, and Charli was wearing the gold robes of the Omega Xi president. Laura had used her master key to steal them from Brittany's room. That, more than anything, is what filled Natalie with fear, and caused her to hold onto Laura's hand tightly. When Laura squeezed back, it was almost reassuring.

All three girls were barefoot and when Laura spun quickly on one toe, the audience also saw that she (and probably the others also) had nothing on underneath.

Charli motioned for Chad to stand and join them. He did, and looked questioningly at her, then to Laura and Natalie, and then back to Charli. "Charli, what's going on?"

She looked into his chest while she talked, unable to meet his eyes. "I ... I have a gift for you. It's my way of saying I'm sorry."

Charli was near tears and rested her face against Chad's strong chest. He immediately folded her into his arms. "What could you possibly have to apologize about, Charli?"

"I've been lying to you ... keeping secrets." She pulled back and looked into his eyes finally. "All I ask is that tonight, you play along. Don't ask any questions — just do as I say. If after tonight you never want to talk to me again, I'll understand." Chad was about to argue, but Charli stalled him by putting a finger over his lips. "One more thing. Whatever you do, don't use my, Laura's, or Natalie's names. If you must address any of us, call me Mistress Cheryl." For the first time, the name Mistress Cheryl sounded weak and pitiful coming out from her mouth. "Call Laura, 'Slave.'" Laura beamed at that. "And call Natalie ... Laura, what do you call Natalie?"

Laura smiled affectionately. "Pet." Natalie winced. Chad was especially confused — not understanding anything that was going on. He was still getting used to the once haughty Laura begging to be called "Slave" by Gregg ... and now here she was with a 'Pet' of her own! "Well, okay ... if you say so."

Charli nodded, knowing that no matter what, Chad wouldn't betray her identity. With that she picked up a golden mask that Heather was holding and a leash that Rivkah was holding. She gave Chad one last look before exiting through the other door into the private locker room.

Chad resumed his seat between Rivkah and Heather, still confused. "Where is she going?"

Rivkah answered. "To get your present out from the sauna ... Just keep an open mind and you'll enjoy yourself."

Chad looked toward Heather and Gregg, but Heather simply smiled, and Gregg feigned ignorance.

"Pet?" Laura said, handing Natalie a black mask similar to Charli's. "I want you to be a good girl and sit here in the corner. Tonight you're just going to watch ... but it is important that you not speak. Here, let me put this on you." Laura put Natalie's mask on — the padded silk lining surprisingly cool against her skin. "Tonight is your final lesson from me." Laura put on her own red mask and joined Natalie on the floor, gently stroking her charge's hair soothingly.

A few moments later, Charli again opened the door to the small gym. She had donned her mask and was apparently tugging on the leash. "C'mon girl. That's a good girl, almost there."

Charli held the door open and, on hands and knees, a naked girl wearing a dog collar with ID tags that jangled as she approached was attached to the other end of the leash. With the girl's hair falling in front of her hanging head, Chad had no idea who it was. But whoever it was seemed exhausted — her skin was flushed, almost pink, and she was panting — each step a seeming effort.

"Water," the girl gasped.

Charli looked up. "Slave? The doggie wants water."

Laura smiled at Natalie, as if to say, "Enjoy the show," and walked across the mat to a duffel bag and pulled out a doggie-bowl and a bottle of water. She placed the bowl in the center of the mat, and filled it with some of the water. "Water for your bitch, Mistress."

Charli led her "doggie" by the leash toward the water. The girl reached out with her hands for the bowl, but Charli yanked back hard on leash, the tags chiming. "Doggies don't use hands. If you want water, drink like the dog you are."

Whoever it was on the end of the leash didn't seem to care about names — only her thirst — and dropped her face into the bowl, sucking at the precious liquid. Again, Charli yanked back on the leash, causing the girl to cough and splutter. "Doggie's don't suck and slurp! Use your tongue."

Chad was sure he heard a small whimper, but sure enough, a moment later the distinct sounds of lapping could be heard.

"You were right Rivkah," Charli said. "She's much more docile after some exercise. What did you do?"

"Thank you Mistress Cheryl," Rivkah replied, winking toward Chad. "I just had her run on the treadmill for a few miles, do sit ups, some weights. Despite her lovely figure, she was terribly out of shape — never even been to a gym! Then I let her stew in the sauna for the past 45-minutes or so. Don't worry, I kept a careful eye on her." That last comment seemed directed toward Emily who sat uneasily.