Corrupting Power
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Morgana's Gift - Part 8
🕑 Added 2022-02-26 04:39:45 +0000 UTCChapter 4 – Thursday's Child
Ashley did indeed wake him the next morning with a blowjob, but it turned out she wasn't alone in that aspect, as Elizabeth had decided to help her on that particular morning, with the blonde's lips wrapped around the head of his cock while the brunette tended to his balls, two tongues working his flesh with deliberate intent, neither wanting to rouse him from his slumber too quickly, but neither having enough patience to approach their task with complete serenity.
As soon as it had become apparent that he was waking up, the two women had increased their tempo, both moving to take turns pushing their mouths down on his cock, forcing it as deep into their throats as they could before pulling back, kissing each other around the head of his shaft before letting the other have a go at deepthroating him.
After a moment or so, he realized the girls were having some kind of a competition, trying to see who could stay with his cock lodged in their mouth for longer, and Ashley started giggling as Elizabeth struggled to keep pace, her eyes starting to water before she finally pulled her lips back, shaking her head. “No, I can't do it, I can't keep up with you,” she said. “You win.”
“Well, let's both win then,” the blonde coed purred. “Give me a pat on the head when you're about to cum, Daddy,” she said, looking up at him.
“You know how uncomfortable I am when you call-all-all–” he said before his train of thought was completely derailed by her pushing her head down onto his cock, a low groan escaping his throat as his back curved, his body betraying him by trying to shove his shaft even deeper into her mouth, as he felt her tongue slathering over it.
Ashley was many things, and a truly exceptional cocksucker was high among that list of most remarkable, as Kevin had always sort of been lackluster on blowjobs before she'd come into his life. He'd found them never to be as good as the hype had portrayed, but if Ashley was any indication, perhaps he'd just had inexperienced or disinterested partners, because with her, he struggled to remain unpopped. It made him feel a little like a teenager himself again.
It didn't take long, and after what could've only been a minute or two of her bobbing her face down into his crotch, he tapped her head, knowing he was about to burst, and at that point, Ashley grabbed Elizabeth by the neck, pulling her face over, and the two women began to kiss around the head of his cock while the blonde stroked the base of his shaft with her slender fingers, their tongues writhing against each other and the sensitive tip of his cock.
Resistance was useless.
As he released, he could feel the two tongues shift from tugging on each other to scrambling to ensure they each got as much of his release as possible, gobbling as much of his cum into their own mouth, the idea of sharing his release having been forgotten once the opportunity presented itself. They continued to lick and suckle on his shaft until his load was spent. The two women pulled their mouths back, looking up at him with wide smiles.
“Good morning, Daddy,” Ashley purred.
“Good morning, sir,” Elizabeth echoed.
“Good morning ladies,” he chuckled as Ashley gave his cock one final stroke, like squeezing the last toothpaste from a tube, before she leaned down to lick it away. “Decided to share this morning, did we?”
Ashley hopped out of bed, completely naked, as she headed towards the bathroom. “She seemed to think deepthroating was easy, Daddy, so I told her I was going to prove her wrong,” she said, stepping into the bathroom, turning the shower on.
Kevin glanced over at Elizabeth with a suspicious eyebrow raised.
Elizabeth winked at him, confirming his suspicion.
The younger girl was still so eager to prove her place that Elizabeth had enjoyed convincing the girl to go the extra mile without even being asked. Kevin had talked to Elizabeth about it, but his majordomo had insisted that it wasn't causing any problems, and that stoking the girl's competitive urges now and again was simply playing into who she was.
As always, Elizabeth made a compelling argument.
Natalie had left breakfast out for them, as she had to go and teach one of her classes, something Kevin had been adamant she not totally give up. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to be isolated with him in the house all the time, and making sure that each of the girls had their own lives was a high priority for him, so Natalie had agreed to keep a handful of her classes that she was teaching, most of them early in the morning, before Kevin was usually up.
Kevin's schedule for the day was actually mostly open, and he intended to spend most of it putting together some initial comps for Emily's movie. He wouldn't be able to do scene-matching scores until he had the film to watch and pace to, but that wouldn't stop him from getting some initial scoring arrangements down so that Emily and Alice could hear something.
In the afternoon, he had his meeting with Miriam, but until then, he decided to get to work in his studio, turning off his cellphone as he settled in to put the new household studio through its paces. Neither Kerry nor Dandy Randy were going to be by, so it let him get deep into the zone.
The new studio had a ton of potential, but Kevin spent the first hour or so of the day getting the new gear he'd bought yesterday hooked up and into his system. What should've been only a couple of minutes had resulted in him rewiring basically everything, as he needed to swap inputs around, add some splitters into some pathways, and halfway through, he'd thrown the entire organizing system out and started from scratch, putting post-it notes on cables and boxes, sketching out an organizational chart on a yellow legal pad to keep track of what fed into where.
By the time he was done, he wished he'd bought a label maker when he'd been out yesterday, but the post-it notes would do for the time being, and he now had access to all of the various levels of gear he needed without having to constantly plug and unplug patches.
It was all worth it, however, for when he finally plugged his Gibson hollow body into the board and let a wildly distorted chord fill the room.
The Truth Knife sound was back, baby.
The next couple of hours, Kev was composing and recording snippets of sound into the computer, a melody line here, a basic drum sound there, not working on full tunes yet so much as setting up a style guide for the sounds he was going to need.
He knew the hardest challenge was still a good bit ahead of him instead of behind him. While he knew how to write sheet music, he'd only done scores with a handful of instruments, most of which he played himself. Thankfully, Emily Rouchard wasn't looking for him to use a ton of orchestral sounds, but he still felt it would be important to have at least one scene in the movie where he used an orchestra to contrast with all the rock and electronic flourishes he was going to be layering their soundtrack with.
He also set up a corkboard map of the movie on one wall, trying to establish what general things he was going to do, based on both his memories from yesterday as well as the notes that he'd been given. Alice had said that a copy of the script would be delivered to him in the next day or two, and he could use that to start bracketing out what each section wanted and needed, and how to approach them, but what he'd written down yesterday gave him a massive head start on that.
Based on what he'd seen, he would be composing about 50 minutes of score, give or take, which sounded like a lot for such a short period of time, but Kevin reminded himself that he'd had even less time to do “The Devil's Confession” and that had still been impressive enough to get this job, so bitching about the time window was only going to be wasted time, and it was better to simply get right down to work.
The main theme itself was going to be the keystone, so he decided to do his best to get that out of the way first, since everything else would flow out from that naturally. He would have Kerry come by and lay down actual drums later, but he set up a relatively basic drum pattern through a sequencer first, and then began laying down components one at a time – the rhythm guitar framework, the bass pattern, the swells and ebbs of synth beds, then layered it all up with distortion and effects.
He'd intended to just work for two hours, but when he finally felt satisfied with the base demo for the main theme, he glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly four, his interview with Miriam in just a few minutes. He hastily emailed Alice and Emily the file which he'd marked “RoughMainThemeTempMix1NOTFINAL” so they would know how placeholder it was, turned his phone back on and headed out of the studio and upstairs, just in time to hear the gate buzzer ring.
Kevin stopped in front of one of the control panels, pushing the button. “Yes?”
“Miriam Bitam, here to meet with Mister Bishop,” the voice on the other end of the line said, so he pushed the button to open the gate.
He headed to the front door, making sure his cat Stu was mostly asleep on one of the couches, otherwise the cat might make an attempt to bolt out of the house, not to go anywhere, but just to be a general nuisance, wandering around the courtyard for a little bit.
The car driving into the little circular driveway was a black Escalade with tinted window, and he wondered if that was what she always drove, or if it was something she used especially for when she was working. They were so ubiquitous in Los Angeles that they had all basically become background noise to him.
Elizabeth had been extremely coy about Miriam, telling him time and time again that she didn't want to taint his opinion of the woman who might basically be by his side for the foreseeable future, and so Kevin was left to form his own opinions.
The electric gate closed once more, and Miriam slipped out of the car, giving the area a looksee, and Kevin wondered if she was considering the area tactically. “You must be Miss Bitam,” Kevin said. “I'm Kevin Bishop. C'mon in. Get you anything to drink?”
Miriam wasn't a tall woman, a little over five feet tall, with olive skin and black hair that hung down to her collarbone. She was thin, but he suspected the look was deceiving, and that those willowly limbs of hers held powerful muscles. She wore faded green pants and a black turtleneck shirt that covered most of her skin, and based on the way the shirt bulged, he suspected she had a bulletproof vest on underneath it. She had a leather jacket on over the shirt, and he wondered if she had a gun holster concealed inside. There was a satchel bag hanging around her neck, too big to be called a purse, but not so big as to be overwhelming. She also had on a pair of giant mirrored aviator style sunglasses, so he couldn't see where she was looking.
“No thank you, Mister Bishop. Let's get inside. This area isn't as secure as I would like it to be.”
He stepped back inside of the house and waited for her to follow him, closing the door behind her as she pulled the sunglasses from her face to reveal a striking pair of light blue eyes, a dramatic contrast to the darkness of her face. She wore some makeup, but kept it minimal and light, enough to let her blend in and still look very attractive without having to take a long period of time for application, so she was always ready to go at the drop of a hat.
“Welcome to my home, Miss Bitam,” he said, leading her down the hall to the dining room that had also become his interview and meeting room, the place where he'd met Alice and Emily not so long ago. “I appreciate you taking the time to drive up here. My executive assistant, Elizabeth, seems to think I'm in need of personal protection services, but I don't know that I see the point, really.”
In the first change of facial expression he'd seen from her, she gave him a very tight-lipped and brief smile, almost patronizing or condescending, as if humoring a small child. “Yes, well, I find that most people with newly acquired wealth tend to underestimate their personal security needs, and I can already confirm you do as well.”
He cocked his head at her as he moved to sit down at the table. “How so?”
“I gave you my name at the gate, but I could be anyone. You didn't ask me for identification, you didn't verify my identity in any way before letting me past the first line of defense.”
“Why would anyone care, though, is what I'm struggling to understand?” Kevin asked her. “I'm just a musician with a nice house and some money. This is Hollywood. Literally any house in any direction is someone worth five to ten times what I am, and most of them don't have private security.”
“And that's their failing, Mr. Bishop, but that doesn't mean you should let it be yours also. Yes, you are correct that you are not what I would consider a high value target, but I am meant to understand that your star is on the rise, so it is better for you to get accustomed to private security now, when the stakes are lower, than being forced to adapt when there is a more imminent threat,” she said, moving to sit down across the table from him. “Your assistant seems to think you're going to become both much wealthier and much better known in the near future, and she wants you to be properly defended, so that your safety is tended to.”
Miriam moved with precision and didn't seem to move at all if she didn't have to, like she was conserving her energy in case she might need it suddenly. Kevin found it almost a little disconcerting, although the woman was strikingly beautiful enough not to mind.
“Alright then,” he said, leaning back in his chair a little bit. “Let's start with you first. Tell me a bit about yourself and your qualifications.”
She nodded a little, as if expecting the question. “I am 28, a dual citizen of Israel and the United States. I joined up with the Israel Defense Forces at 18, and moved to work with the Mossad, which is the Israeli equivalent of the CIA and the FBI rolled into one, when I was 22. About three years ago, I chose to leave that agency and to make the United States my permanent home, after a falling out with my family, which is a personal matter you do not need to concern yourself with.”
Kevin raised a finger in objection. “You might consider it something I don't need to concern myself with, Miriam, but I don't agree, and I like to know everything about the people who are going to be this close to me, wouldn't you agree?”
He saw another brief tight-lipped smile from her only for an instant before she nodded. “I actually do, Mr. Bishop, but I wanted to see exactly how lax you are about these sorts of things, and I am glad to see that it is not as bad as I had feared. Yes, my family wanted me to remain within the Mossad, and I had a particularly harrowing experience on a mission that made me rethink what I was doing with the agency. When I announced that I was leaving, they chose to disown me, saying I had shamed the family.”
“What can you tell me of the experience that made you decide to leave? I'm sure some of it is probably state secrets, but anything you can–”
“I accidentally killed a nine-year-old girl,” she said suddenly, cutting him off mid-sentence. “There was a terrorist cell operating in a dilapidated building, and the decision was made to take the cell out with a surgical strike, a shape charge that would collapse the building in on itself and kill all the men involved. It did do that, but one of the men had brought his daughter to the hideout with him, and she was killed. 'Collateral damage' I was told by my superiors, and they stressed that I should not concern myself with that, but I found myself unable to continue with further assignments, as I kept seeing the young girl's face. I went to therapy, and while it helped a bit, in the end I decided I no longer wanted to work for the Mossad, or any intelligence agency.”
“I'm... I'm so sorry,” he said, struggling to find the words. “That's horrible. I mean, you obviously didn't mean to kill her, and sometimes accidents happen in your–”
“That's just it, Mr. Bishop. Whatever I intended is of no consequence, and that girl's mother had to deal with the loss of two people, her husband and her daughter, when only one of them truly needed to die. But I intended to kill that man, and he very much deserved it, so accident isn't the correct word. Carelessness, maybe.”
“What could you have done?”
“Turned off the bombs. Waited another day for when she was gone.”
“Why didn't you?”
She sighed. “I didn't actually see her come into the building, and even if I had, my orders were very clear – the cell was to be killed and no delays were to be tolerated. They were planning an attack, and we weren't sure how many windows of opportunity we were going to get. When you're fighting people who you know will kill you given a chance, it isn't hard to compartmentalize and rationalize what you're doing as the right thing, but when you also end up killing someone too young to know any better, it becomes that much harder to justify. I suppose the reason I decided to leave the Mossad came not from my guilt over killing the girl, but how callously my superiors seemed to treat the matter, as if the girl was tainted by proximity, that the very act of being near her father made her death an excusable act. If they didn't have remorse about this, how much further would that lack of remorse go? I had been with the Mossad for almost three years, and the more I thought back to my previous missions, the more I came to realize that the agency was about results no matter the cost, and that showed no signs of changing. So perhaps I am not cut out for that line of work.”
“That's no shame on you.”
“My family disagreed, and we argued greatly over it, but my mind had been decided and I would not have it swayed, so I left Israel and moved to the United States full time. Like many attractive women who served in the IDF, they had used pictures of me in uniform for propaganda, and that had drawn the attention of agents for modeling and acting work, so when I arrived here, I got an agent and began auditioning for things. It was soon I would learn that beautiful women are, as your saying goes, a dime a dozen here in Los Angeles, and while I was getting offers for work here and there, many of them were the sorts of work that do not endear themselves to long-term success.”
“Did you want to be a model? I mean, you're certainly stunning.”
Again he saw a smile, but this time it was a bit more surprised, a bit more genuine, and lasted a slight bit longer. “I was less interested in modeling and more interested in acting, but it seemed like if I wanted to be given a real break, I would need to compromise my values in order to progress, something I am unwilling to do. So while still trying to break into acting as a career, I have defaulted to using my old skills, and have been working in the protection services to pay the bills. While I do stand out, many men are willing to have a bodyguard with them if she looks like I do. Of course, sometimes the clients try to get handsy, so that isn't without its own collection of problems.”
“So all of this basically leads me to one bigger question, Miriam. Why do you want to work for me? With all you've told me, I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to take on high profile clients who might be able to get you acting work.”
Miriam reached into the satchel and pulled something out, setting it on the table before sliding it over to him. When it slid out from under her hand, he recognized it immediately. It was a copy of the Truth Knife CD, and he could see through the clear case that the CD sleeve was autographed by all the members of the band.
“When I arrived here, I was still somewhat lost in my own head. I was struggling to find satisfying work, and I had almost no friends to balance my frustrations over the mistakes I had made in my professional life. But I did have one friend, a woman named Noa, who I had served with in the IDF who had also moved to Los Angeles full time. On a particularly brutal night, the anniversary of my incident, she took me out drinking, to try and distract me from the day. We picked a random bar we'd never been to, a place called 'Zeroes,' and that night there was a Battle of The Bands going on, so we figured with seven bands playing three songs each, we would find someone we enjoyed listening to, and it took a while, but eventually, we did.”
Kevin knew just the night she was talking about. It would've been around two years ago, and the band had been in utter disarray. They were playing a handful of local shows to get prepped for their upcoming tour that was going to be cut overly short, and they'd been invited to play a local Battle of the Bands with a bunch of other bands who had recorded their debut albums but hadn't been released yet either. The promoter had called it “The Talent of Tomorrow Today!”
They'd put on a pretty good show, but a couple of the other bands were made up of industry veterans just in new configurations, and so they had much more experience in getting set up for an unfamiliar space, so Kevin's band had come in third, although they'd done okay in both t-shirt and CD sales. The album had been a few weeks ahead of dropping, but the label had given them two hundred CDs to sell at any shows they did in advance, to try and drum up more anticipation.
“The style of music was unfamiliar to me,” Miriam continued, “but the words, your lyrics, they were unlike any songs I had ever heard. Your songs were more of poetry than I had heard, world-weary and yet somehow also unbowed, unbroken, determined and optimistic, in spite of the bleakness they saw the world surrounding them with.”
Kevin was a little taken aback. “Why, I didn't take you as a fan.”
“I am, Mr. Bishop. I bought your CD that night, and I have listened to it countless times, and each time, I have found new meaning, new insight from your words, and they have given me strength. I went to every local concert I could find you were holding, but then a little while ago, I saw you update the band's webpage to say that you had broken up, and everyone was going their separate ways, and I set up a Google alert to find out what your upcoming projects would be. Just after doing that, I received a phone call from your assistant Elizabeth, asking if I would be interested in providing protective services for you.”
That made Kevin a little nervous. “Did... how much did she tell you?”
Miriam laughed a little. “Let us be frank with one another, Mr. Bishop. You are not what I would objectively call an attractive man, but your words have transcended your form, and shown me the beauty that lays within your soul. That overcomes your physical form, and if you are at all the man your lyrics imply, then I would be privileged to call you a lover, if that's a thing you would be interested in. And your assistant said you were beginning a regimen of physical training and diet that would make your flesh a little less... doughy.”
He smirked, a bit amused and a bit annoyed, shaking his head. “I am, but there's only so much to work with here. I'm a musician, not an athlete. If you're expecting to wake up next to Chris Evans some morning, you're only signing up for disappointment.”
She shook her head slightly. “The idea of being with you brings an emotional satisfaction that overcomes the physical one, sir. The song, 'Adrift On The Horizon,' that sentiment, of being alone yet feeling so close to a turning point, that song became my anthem, knowing that there was someone else out there who understood what it was like to be burdened by some singular moment in time. What was that song written about for you?”
Kevin sighed, scratching at his forehead. “It was a reaction to being surrounded by drug addicts all day, dealing with being the only sober one surrounded by people who were only there for the party. I'd gotten so tired of watching bands fall apart due to drugs, that I wanted to write about it without coming across as preachy or condescending.”
“I can see that, now that you explain it to me, but it does not detract from how I feel the song affected me personally. Songs are like that – they take on meanings far beyond the songwriter's original intent, and reach people in ways they never anticipated. Do you find me an attractive woman?”
“I can't imagine anyone not finding you an attractive woman, Miriam. Yes, you are quite breathtaking.”
She looked aside in amusement. “I have had casting agents tell me that my nose is too big, my face is too long, my eyebrows are too thick, I would look better as a blonde, I would look better with bigger boobs and, more often than anything, I should dress 'more femininely.' Hollywood has no shortage of people willing to point out your flaws, Mr. Bishop.”
“That's Hollywood, I guess. You also understand that you wouldn't be my only lover? I wouldn't blame you if that was a dealbreaker.”
“Why would it be? Just because we would be familiar with each other sexually does not mean we would be exclusive emotionally. I am able to compartmentalize my sense of attachment, and if anything, I will channel it into my work.”
There was a buzz from the panel at the wall, to his surprise.
“Are you expecting someone else?” she said to him.
“No?” he said. “Ashley isn't due back from classes for a few more hours, and she has her own key to the gate. Natalie and Elizabeth are both here.”
“If Elizabeth's here, why didn't she answer the door for you?”
“I'm never going to be so fucking pompous that I don't answer my own door,” Kevin said.
“That's going to change.”
He moved up to the panel and saw there was a van in front of the gate, with a florist sign on the side. “Yes?”
“Delivery for Mr. Bishop. It needs to be signed for,” the man at the van said.
“Yeah, okay,” Kevin said, pushing the button to open the gate. Miriam cursed underneath her breath, and while Kevin couldn't make out the words, the tone of her sentiment was clear. “What's wrong? It's just a delivery. It's probably someone from the studio sending a thank you package for agreeing to take the score after Hans Zimmer didn't work out.”
“I'll go with you, and I'll sign for the package. Let me show you why you need me, okay?”
“You're being overly paranoid, but okay, let's go.”
The two of them headed to the front door of the house, and Miriam stepped out first. Kevin was about to walk out with her, but she turned and pushed him to stay in the doorway. “Do not move from here, and you'll understand in just a moment,” she said, as the van pulled up towards the front of the house.
As soon as they were within range, the side of the van opened and two people hopped out rushing towards the house, one holding a camera, the other holding an extended microphone, shouting “Mr. Bishop! Is it true you're sleeping with Alice Karteaux? Is that how you were able to oust Hans Zimmer and steal the job on Emily Rouchard's new movie?”
On approach, Miriam kicked out the legs of the person holding the microphone, knocking them to the driveway while also forcing them back enough to trip up the person with the camera. “You're trespassing on private property under false pretenses, and you should know that it's absolutely illegal for you to do so.”
She grabbed the camera and tossed it back into the van with no concern for its welfare, the telltale shattering of glass ringing out from inside the vehicle. She grabbed the cameraman next, as the reporter with the microphone was struggling to get to his feet, tossing the man into the van after his camera before turning to face the reporter.
“You... you assaulted us! We've got film!”
Miriam grabbed the reporter's shirt in her fists, jerking the man to point his head in the direction she wanted. “You see that? That's one of the house's several external cameras, and it will show that you drove up a van onto private property illegally, and that you opened the side of the van and hopped out before it had even stopped moving, which made you look a great deal like an abduction team. Why don't you get off the property now, before I call the LAPD, and have you arrested?”
“It's your word versus ours!”
She rolled her eyes at him, pushing him back to the van, slamming him against the side of it. “You utter prat. The gate communications are recorded. I have evidence of you lying to get in here. Last chance. Either you go now, or I let the police take you.”
The reporter glared at her and then climbed back into the van, pulling the doors shut, as Miriam waited and watched the van turn around and head back out of the driveway, the gate closing behind them. She turned around and headed back to the house, stepping in, closing the door behind her.
“I don't know if the gate communications are recorded or not, Miriam.”
She smiled quietly at him. “Well, now they think they are.” They walked back towards the office room and ran into Elizabeth along the way.
“Who was that?” she asked them.
“TMZ or some other paparazzi parasite,” Miriam said. “I handled it. You must be Elizabeth. I recognize your voice from when we spoke earlier on the phone.” She extended her hand to Elizabeth, who took it and shook it. “I'm Miriam Bitam, but I am certain you knew that already.”
“I did, but it's still a pleasure to meet you in person, Miriam. Are we going to have the pleasure of your company?”
“That's up to Mr. Bishop at this point.”
“Well, Kev?”
He nodded. “She seems to know what she's signing up for and she's already proven she would be more than an asset to the household, so if she wants in, I'd be a fool to say no.”
“As we discussed on the phone, then?” Elizabeth asked Miriam.
“Yes. Short enough that it won't come loose, but not so short that's it's choking me.”
“I'll be right back,” Elizabeth said, heading off. “Meet you in the bedroom!”
“We can do this later if you want,” he said, leading her back towards the bedroom.
“Hush,” she said. “I'd like to do this now, so you don't question my loyalty or commitment.”
They headed into the bedroom, and Kevin wasn't entirely sure what to do, standing around waiting until Elizabeth showed up, holding out a necklace to him. It was as Miriam had described, enough to circle her neck with a little give, but not so long that it would be loose if she had to move quickly, the trademark pendant stone hanging from it. “Can I have your phone now, sir?”
Kevin reached into his pocket, fished out his iPhone and handed it over to Elizabeth. “Did she tell you about this little project of hers?”
Miriam grinned. “I thought she was joking. She's really taking a picture of each of your partners orgasming?”
“She is. You're okay with that?”
“I signed up for all of it, so let's get to it,” she said, turning to offer him her back.
He stepped behind her, unclasping the lock of the necklace before sliding it around her neck, bringing it behind her. “You're sure?”
“How many times do I need to tell you to do it before you do it?”
“Just the once more.”
“I'm in.”
He hooked the curve of the mechanism into the loop and let it snap shut, and suddenly he felt her body slump back against him, his other hand moving to hold her up, realizing he'd forgotten that she would orgasm when she put it on.
“Fffffffuck that was fucking good,” she moaned, her hand reaching up along her face, pushing that waterfall of hair out of her face. “That came out of nowhere. Get your fucking clothes off.”
“Do you–”
“Get them off!”
Kevin was a little surprised, but quickly undressed, as Miriam slid off her jacket, revealing she did indeed have a shoulder holster with what looked like a 9mm pistol in it. She placed that on top of the dresser, then shed the rest of her clothes quickly, revealing a very nice figure, with generous breasts and a small rectangular strip of black curls above her pussy. “Sit down in the chair. Sit!”
He moved over the large armchair and slipped to sit down in it as Miriam approached him, letting him get a good look of her slender yet muscular form. She was fit, even more fit than Natalie, the physique of someone who was certain that her life depended on it. “Damn.”
“You like?”
“Some casting agent thought you needed bigger boobs?” he asked incredulously. “They're plenty big.”
“Mmmm... bigger is always better, right?”
He patted his belly with a grin. “You tell me.”
“Alright, point made,” she giggled. She leaned down to touch her lips to his before pulling back. “Just get comfortable and let me do all the work.”
She moved to slide up into his lap, reaching down to grab his cock, angling it to push it in, sliding it inside of her pussy with a startled moan. “Shit,” she whispered.
“You okay?”
“It's just been a little bit, okay? I'm fine. Thank you for asking, though.”
Her hips thrust down into his lap quickly, as she pressed her breasts up against his tilted face, her hands holding onto his shoulders, doing her best to keep him lodged up against the chair. Her hips snapped forward, and she started to whip her hips back and forth in quick jerks, pressing down into him, trying to get him even deeper inside of her.
As deliberate and intentional as they had been with one another up until now, Miriam was galloping quickly towards her release, and their bodies ground against one another in quick intensity before her fingernails raked against his arm. Her moans turned shrill and he heard the click of his phone taking a picture, and he found himself cumming as well, which made her whine double in octaves before she shifted and moved to settle with her lips against his, their bodies melted together, relishing in each other's afterglow.
“Don't forget,” Elizabeth said, setting down the phone on the dresser next to Miriam's weapon. “Dinner's in half an hour. See you both there!”
