Desmond congratulated himself once again as the shiny black late-model BMW with tinted windows pulled into the lot. Probably armored, knowing that paranoid son-of-a-bitch. He was fucking brilliant. Dr. O would be proud. With one stroke, he solved all his logistical problems. He just wished he’d come up with it before he’d run through his own personal fortune to feed Ava’s ravenous world domination machine. But it was all right. He’d come out way ahead.
Four people got out of the car. His old Haven pal, Tom Bixby, had gained weight. He’d always been burly, but he’d packed some fat onto an already big body. His face was thicker, broader, redder. Des stood straight, feeling very good about his own fit, trim, muscular form.
Tom was accompanied by two men, whose taut, watchful faces betrayed their status as bodyguards. A whippet-slender Asian man with a gleaming black ponytail, and a huge, lantern-jawed man with a bushy mustache. The fourth was a slender girl with dreadlocks, tight jeans, a silver studded belt, multiple tattoos, and many facial piercings.
So Tom had brought his own disposable test subject upon whom the effects of X-Cog could be independently verified. Des hoped that Tom had chosen her according to Ava’s criteria. Intelligent, creative, unconventional thinker. Statistically, those qualities produced the best interfaces. And being without significant friends or family helped, too.
He approached Tom, and did the requisite manly hand shaking, half-hugging and backslapping. “Great to see you, man.”
“Yeah, likewise. Looking good, buddy,” Tom responded.
Des realized, as they sized each other up, that it genuinely was good to see him. Certain things only Club O could understand. The survivors. The weak ones were already dead. Drug ODs, alcoholism, suicide, even some brain tumors. Dr O’s training wasn’t for pussies.
Nope, just winners, bound for the very top. You had to be tough to have fun. It was a relief, to be with someone who got it. That was one of the many things that drew him to Ava. Aside from her brilliance, her beauty, and the endlessly inventive sex games. The fact that she was out of her gourd, well, it was a small price to pay. And in any case, sanity as society defined it just meant being mentally hog-tied. Ava was free. Like himself, like Tom. An elite, free brotherhood of winners.
“So. How’s life in the mercenary army business?” he asked.
“We prefer to think of ourselves as a private military company.”
Right. Whatever Tom called it, it was worth hundreds of millions. Private, apolitical, and utterly confidental, it offered VIP protection, air transport, super high-tech intelligence gathering, state of the art weaponry, the power to quietly influence world events, if the price was right. All apparently legal and aboveboard. Tom kept his ass rigorously covered. No consequences. It was another of Dr. O’s mottos.
“I brought a couple colleagues along,” Tom said. “This is Ken Wanatabe, ex-Navy Seal, and Richard Fabian, ex Ranger, my private security team. They are absolutely discreet. And this…” He gestured at the girl. “This is Keira. She’s my inspiration, I guess you could say.”
“Really?” Des shook the girl’s cool, slender hand. “How’s that?”
“I’ve recently become a patron of the arts,” Tom confided. “Keira blew my mind with her Web site. I’ve been trying to persuade her to sign on to be my assistant, but I haven’t had much luck. I need creative people, but she’s so damn independent, you know? What’s a guy to do?”
“I can’t,” Keira said sternly. “I’m an artist, not a gofer girl.” She fixed Des with a challenging glare, dreadlocks flipping. “I’m helping Tom out to make money I can plow back into my own project.”
Des put on a fascinated face. “Really? And what project is that?”
“Performance art,” Keira announced. “I’m doing a multimedia art installation that explores female auto-eroticism, and how it’s changing in today’s world of superfast communication. My project’s named ‘Weird New World.’ I get tons of hits a day on my Web site. It’s, like, taking off. And, ah, so.” She shrugged. “I’m, like, busy.”
“That’s amazing,” Des said, in admiring tones. “So is that how Tom found you? Through your Web site?”
“I’m telling you, I’m a convert,” Tom said solemnly. “You should see some of the crazy shit in Keira’s Web site. I’m hooked.”
Des chuckled as he led the group into the the big, bland warehouse building that camoflauged Ava’s secret lair. He led them through the underground tunnels, opened the door of the lab he’d run through tens of millions of dollars building and operating for Ava.
The secret room was a traditional enough looking lab, filled with X-Cog and related equipment. But one angle had a plushy chaise longue, a screen shade artfully angled against the bright glare of the lights, a stereo, a well-stocked bar. Ava liked her comforts.
“This, ladies and gentlemen, is Ava Cheung,” he announced.
Ava burst out right on cue, smiling brilliantly. Her hair swung loose, her eyes were mysteriously shadowed, her lips gleamed. Her silk blouse was too tight, riding up to show off her taut belly. No bra. Her nipples poked pertly through the shiny fabric. Dirty slut. No shame.
God, how he loved that about her.
Des turned to watch the reaction. The men stared, mouths slack. Ava had rendered herself particularly stunning. In fact, he was getting a tingle in his own crotch. He shot a glance at Keira, expecting the lemony mouthed, door-slammed-shut vibe that Ava tended to bring out in women, but Keira’s eyes were fully as dazzled as the three mens’.
Ava’s eyes flicked to his as she gave Tom an apparently welcoming hug and the necessary it’s-been-so-long chitchat. She jerked her chin in Keira’s direction, asking the question with her eyes.
He answered with a nod. A new toy. Time to play.
Ava’s delighted smile got even more brilliant. She shook hands with everyone, saving Keira’s for last, and then hung onto the girl’s, holding it with both of hers. Keira gazed back, enthralled.
“Des, why don’t you show your old friend around the lab?” Ava said, without breaking eye contact with the girl. “I’ll just go have some girl talk with Keira. Can I get you something to drink? Coke, Diet Coke, mineral water? Or I could brew you some coffee, or tea.”
Keira allowed herself to be towed toward the cushy bar corner. Des led Tom around, explaining X-Cog while simultaneously listening to the women’s conversation. Mental multitasking was one of Dr. O’s many gifts to him. He tracked Ava’s questions, Keira’s babbling answers, Ava’s admiring interjections. Hot water gurgled as a pot of tea was prepared. He heard the delicate clink of the Japanese ceramic tea service.
The moment of truth was at hand. Ava was about to administer the preliminary drug. She slanted him a questioning smile.
He turned to Tom. “I assume we’re going for independent verification with your own hand-selected test subject?” he asked quietly, just to be dead sure they were all on the same page.
“As you suggested,” Tom said. “I’m still wondering what happens to her after, though. You weren’t real clear about that.”
Here came the tricky part. “Well, I specified that you not be overly attached to the subject, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t explain why.” Tom’s voice was flat. “So, why shouldn’t I be attached? What happens to her?”
“It’s a problem we have, with the side effects,” Des explained. “In order to make it possible to give you, a beginner, a chance to personally effect an X-Cog interface, we have to give the subject an extremely concentrated dose of the drug. To lower her resistance to the max.”
“Which means?”
“It means there isn’t going to be any ‘after’ for her,” Des said, regretfully. “Too bad, about Weird New World. The world really needs a more aggressive exploration of female auto-eroticism.”
“Too bad.” Tom processed that with equanimity. “Tell me more.”
“Another thing,” Des said. “We don’t have any procedure in place for, ah…disposal.”
“We’ll handle the disposal issue today.” Tom waved a dismissive hand. “And if we should end up doing business, I can get something in place for you with continuity. If I conclude the project has potential.”
“Of course,” Des murmured. He looked forward intensely to watching Tom’s jaw drop when he saw the floor show. He glanced at the two men pacing behind him. “And them?”
“They’re up for anything I find necessary or convenient,” Tom said. “It’s in their interests to be discreet.”
Des didn’t enjoy letting strangers witness the X-Cog demo, but Tom knew how to cover his ass. Tom had been one of Dr. O’s protégé’s. Des trusted the guy, insofar as he trusted anyone.
That was why they’d hung out back in their Harvard days. They both understood the power that their augmented mental faculties and their freedom from moral and ethical limitations had bestowed upon them. Dr. O had taken away their limitations, making them…well, godlike, in a way. It sounded overblown, but it was literally true.
And they were always so careful, when they played their little games. Consequences were for dickheads, idiots, and losers.
But as with any great gift, this one, too, came with its burden of solitude. It was good, to be with someone who understood.
“Keira? Are you all right?” Ava’s voice cut through his reverie.
He spun, to see Keira swaying on her feet, her hand to her throat. “I feel…I feel…” She choked, coughed. “I feel…ah…”
Her voice trailed off. The teacup she held dropped, shattered. Her eyes were wide and glassy.
“Oh, no! You’re feeling sick? Come over here, let me see what I can do for you,” Ava crooned, grabbing her arm. “You feel faint? Here, sit down on this chair.” Ava plunked the girl down into one of the wheeled office chairs. “Put your head down between your knees.”
Over the girl’s head, Ava pulled out a syringe, flourished it for their benefit, and drove the needle into Keira’s arm. The young woman squawked, her body arched. Ava accompanied her body down into the chair, forcing her to bend at the waist. Thud, she landed heavily.
“It will take ten minutes for me to set up the electrical contacts,” Ava said. “A little longer than usual, with those dreadlocks. Des, could you get these gentlemen drinks from the bar in the meantime?”
A tap to the brake lever on the wheels of Keira’s chair, and Ava pushed the chair, rattling over the white tiles, into the viewing room.
When the door shut behind her, Des pushed the buttons to open the viewing screen, and got the men set up in comfortable chairs, frosty beers in hand. Tom watched Ava apply her master crown and don double-view goggles. On her, they looked almost stylish. She attended to Keira’s crown, glancing up at the video camera from time to time to give them sunny smiles, finger fluttering waves.
“I’m ready,” she called. “Did you pick out a text, Tom?” Her sweet, husky voice issued from the speakers, loaded with sexual promise.
“Sure did,” Tom said. “Does Ava speak German?”
Des snorted. “Ava has lost count of the languages she speaks. Dr. O got heavy into language acquisition in the early nineties.”
“Good.” Tom pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, and handed it to Des. “Because I know Keira doesn’t speak it.”
Des ran the paper into the viewing room, walking behind Keira, who was swallowing convulsively. A sign that she was conscious, aware, and fighting with every muscle that would still move. Paradoxically, that made the interface more profound. Sometimes it was clenched fists, or drumming feet, or a taut grimace. Those were the good ones. The ones that went limp right off the bat were no sport.
Keira was a winner. Too bad she’d be dead of intracranial bleeding by nightfall, if she wasn’t euthanized first. Ava usually gave the girls an injection that ended it all before they started bleeding out their noses and ears. Less cleanup.
But Keira would put on a nice show before it came to that.
Des sat down and lifted his own beer to his lips, comfortably conscious of having done his part and earned his just reward.
Ava unfolded the scrap of paper and scanned it. She looked up at the camera, eyes bright with amusement. “Interesting choice.”
“Get on with it, please,” Tom called out impatiently.
Ava turned to face Keira. She composed herself, her beautiful face freezing into a mask of concentration.
Keira lifted her head. Her eyes were darting frantically to the right, the left, up, down, as if she were following the flight path of a crazed housefly. She began to speak. Her voice was hoarse, and pitched slightly lower than Keira’s own voice had been, but the words came out smoothly. Des started to chuckle when he recognized the text of Mein Kampf. An odd, twisted choice. But strangely appropriate.
They quietly listened while Keira recited the first couple of pages of Hitler’s manifesto in flawless German, without a pause or a hitch. There was a moment of silence after she stopped.
“Impressive,” Tom murmured.
Tom was playing it cool, but Des knew the guy was hooked. Now it was just a matter of reeling him in, hammering out terms. He took a swallow of beer. “Just you wait. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
Ava turned to the camera. “I need a volunteer for the next phase,” she said. “To demonstrate the combat possibilities of X-Cog. Is one of you three gentlemen man enough to face me? Or, that is to say, us?”
Tom frowned, startled. “Combat? What? You mean, with her?”
“Ava is trained in several martial arts disciplines,” Des said.
Tom shot a glance at his men. “Richard? Ken? Any takers?”
“I’m not attacking a girl,” Fabian said. “Keira can’t weigh more than one fifteen. I’m two seventy. Forget it.”
Tom looked at Ken, who shook his head. “Fucking ridiculous.”
“Such gallant gentlemen!” Ava’s voice sang out of the speakers. “How about if whoever challenges us accepts a handicap? Give Keira a weapon. Would that preserve your masculine dignity?”
Ken still looked dubious, but Tom pulled a long-bladed knife out of an ankle sheath, and handed it to Ken. “Go do it, Ken. It’s an order.”
Ken took the knife, shooting a final, eye-rolling glance as he jerked the viewing room door shut behind himself. Keira rose to her feet and took the blade, though her eyes still darted frantically.
Then she sank gracefully into a crouch, and lifted her arms into guard, awaiting Ken’s offensive.
Ken lunged, making a half-hearted jab towards Keira’s face, and grunted at her whip-quick parry. She lunged with the knife, and Ken reeled back with a shout of outrage, countering with desperate kicks and parries as Ava/Keira pressed him back, slashing and jabbing, driving him around the room.
Ken finally got in a lucky grab, and seized Keira’s slender arm in a kotegaishi hold, sending her flying. She smashed into the wall and fell to the ground like a puppet with cut strings, gasping and twitching.
“Truce!” Ava called out. “You knocked the contact sensors loose and compromised the interface! Time out while I fix it.”
“That fucking bitch cut me!” Ken bellowed, holding up his forearm. An angry gash dripped blood down his forearm.
“Sorry,” Ava said solicitously. “But I had to push, or you wouldn’t have gotten a meaningful sense of the possibilities. I did have the element of surprise. And if you’re using another person’s body for your fight, you cancel out the element of mortal danger to one’s own person. It’s an amazing paradigm shift. It makes you immortal, in a sense. Because the body doing the actual combat is essentially disposable.”
“Take your paradigm shift and stick it up your ass,” Ken growled.
“Aw. Don’t be that way.” Ava pulled a handful of gauze squares off a shelf, and unrolled some surgical tape. She moved closer to Ken than she needed to be to wind the tape around his forearm, and smiled at him through the X-Cog glasses. “I promise the next part of the demo will be much easier on your nerves.”
“Next part?” Ken looked alarmed. “No fucking way.”
“A nicer part,” she said smokily. “I promise. Just let me adjust Keira’s crown, and reestablish the interface. You’ll see. Wait.”
And Ken Wanatabe waited, docile as any well-trained dog told to sit and stay. Most men responded to Ava that way.
Des and Tom looked at each other. “So?” Des prompted, though he knew the answer. He could see from the hungry gleam in Tom’s eyes.
“What’s the catch?” Tom demanded.
Des chose his words carefully. “Our problem is cerebral damage due to the side effects. Keira got a maximum dose because I wanted you to try crowning yourself. She’ll have a narrow window. Maybe an hour, maybe more. If Ava was the only one crowning, we could have gotten away with a lower dose, and Ava could have played her for hours. Ava says it’s like riding a bronco in your mind. Difficult, but exhilarating.”
Tom’s eyelids crinkled, liking it. “Hmm. An hour? Long enough to do a job, if it was planned well.”
“More than long enough,” Des agreed.
“We’ll want an exclusive contract,” Tom said.
“Oh, let’s work out all the gritty details later,” Des said, expansively. “I just wanted to, you know. Unleash your imagination.”
Tom’s mouth twisted. “It’s running wild and free, buddy.”
Des exulted inwardly. “Ava’s been experimenting with nonpharmacological techniques, too, to lower the test subject’s natural resistance, both surgically and with electrical stimulation,” he said. “In the hopes of making the interface less lethal. Making them reusable.”
“Brain wiping?”
“Essentially,” Des said. “But the results aren’t promising. It seems like the better the overall function of the brain, the better the interface.”
“One-time deal,” Tom said. “Crown ’em, use ’em, toss ’em.”
Tom did not seem overly distressed with that scenario, Des was relieved to note. “Exactly. If one should end up in the emergency room or the morgue, the results look like pinpoint cerebral aneurisms. It’s the brain bleed and swelling that gets them.”
Tom pondered. “Expensive. But not insurmountable.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. But Tom. You’re missing the good part. Ava is amazing when it comes to fine motor control, even of vestigial muscles. Take a look.”
Tom glanced at the screen, and did a double take. “Holy fuck!”
Des drained his beer. “Behold, a miracle of science. Do you know how hard it is for Ava to make her do that? It never occurs to us how compex a process it is to unfasten a belt and unbutton pants, though we do it every day. And look. She’s added another ball to the juggling act. Or two balls, I should say.” Desmond chuckled at his own wit.
Richard Fabian was fingering his crotch, face flushed, clutching his beer bottle with a white-knuckled hand as he stared at the screen.
“Go join them,” Des urged the man, benevolently. “Ava won’t mind accommodating you. She’s a great multitasker.”
Fabian didn’t have to be asked twice. He was already wrenching his belt loose as he slapped the door to the inner room open.
“And the sex show? Is it to show me the X-Cog possibilities for high-end recreation?” Tom asked.
Des laughed as the twosome reconfigured itself into a threesome. “No, Tommy, this is just for fun. The look on your face, pal. Priceless. Oh, and by the way. I need a favor. Ava and I have a project planned this evening, to streamline our lives and liberate some funding. Nothing complicated. We need a little tactical support. Could we use your personnel?”
“What’s the project?” Tom didn’t look away from the screen.
“The CEO of Helix is bugging us,” Des said softly. “Charles Parrish. Tonight is his retirement banquet. His daughter Edie is going to be there. She’s mentally imbalanced, disinherited, disgruntled. She’ll be bringing a vial of Tamlix 12, apparently, to get rid of old Daddums. We need someone who can impersonate catering staff to administer it. Your man Ken would look convincing in a catering uniform. He’d pass, as an out-of-work actor.”
“Um, sure. Brief us after.” Tom dragged his eyes away from the spectacle on the screen with visible effort. “Clarify one thing for me. You mentioned that you needed a supply of research subjects. What for?”
Des was taken aback. “Uh…well, to make the technique more cost effective. Making the subjects reusable would reduce loss of life.”
“But not necessarily costs,” Tom said. “I can get girls cheap, in bulk, from ex-Soviet Bloc countries. In fact, I’ve got a contact who has fresh meat to sell right here, locally. We’ll pay more when there’s a middleman, but further down the line, when we work out the kinks, we can trim that expense way down. What’s the point of more research? You’ve got a finished product right here. All you need is a supply of disposable final executors. Just a little mind-set shift, you know?”
“Great,” Des said enthusiastically, watching Tom’s eyes dart back to the screen. “I knew I could count on you for a fresh take on all this.” He reached down, discreetly, and turned up the volume of the amplifier connected to the mikes in the inner room.
The soundtrack swelled. Male snorts, growls. Pleading feminine gasps and squeals. A backdrop of wet, rhythmic slapping sounds.
Tom cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “Transport is the tricky part,” he said. “It would be easier to set up a clearing center directly abroad. No transport hassles, no overhead. We’d deliver the girls on a case by case basis, to wherever they’re needed. More streamlined.”
“You can’t just pick up any whore off the street,” Des reminded him. “Remember the critiera. They have to be highly intelligent. And artistic ability of any kind helps, too. Artists have a statistical edge.”
Tom’s eyes were caught again by the frenzied, rhythmic movements on the screen. “Uh, fine,” he said, distracted. “So we post some American symphony jobs in a conservatory in Minsk, or Kiev. They’ll come running. You can take your pick.”
“Can we?” Des’s smile grew broader. “Then pick the pretty ones, Tommy. By all means, pick the pretty ones.”
Tom shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The noise level in the other room swelled, in a howling crescendo. Then, silence. Amplified panting. Tom wiped sweat off his forehead. Licked his lips.
Here it was. The perfect moment.
“Why don’t you go in there yourself? Try an interface?” Des offered. “Ava’s only been working her for about twenty minutes. Keira’s got a solid half hour left before her brain blows out. It’s the best way to get a real hands-on sense of how it works. Go on, man. Give it a whirl.”
Professional caution fought with hot lust, and in less than five seconds, lust won. “Uh, yeah,” Tom said. “I’ll, uh, give it a try.”
Des lifted the communicating mike to his mouth. “Av, could you come out and set up Tom with a crown? He wants a test drive.”
Ava doffed her mesh crown and goggles, popping off the sensors from her head and walking past the panting, trembling knot of humanity as if she didn’t even see it. She came out of the room, eyes sparkling, color high. Excitement buzzed in Desmond’s balls. She’d be wild for it. A very enjoyable byproduct of today’s business.
Ava stood a little too close to Tom while she adjusted his crown, letting him look down her blouse, brushing his chest with her taut nipples while she set the sensors. Tom stared down at Ava’s chest. Her rib cage was tilted so that her tits strained against the thin silk.
Tom’s hands shook by the time she was done adjusting. She led Tom into the inner room, giving useful pointers in her husky, please-fuck-me-now voice. Ignoring Keira, slumped on the floor, the two men sprawled beside her, pants gaping.
After what seemed like an inappropriately long time, Ava came out, shutting the door with a sharp click. They stared at each other.
“I’m surprised you didn’t just pull up your skirt and spread for him right here and now,” he said.
“Jealous, Des?” she cooed. “Or did you want me to?”
“Whore,” he said.
She approached him, plucking open the buttons of her blouse until one last button strained fabric across her perfect tits. “Is that what you want me to be?”
He jerked his chin towards the scene on the viewing screen. “The cameras are running, I trust?”
“Of course,” she replied. “As if, Dessie. I don’t miss a trick.”
He licked his lips. “No, baby. You sure don’t.”
He traced the curve of her half exposed breast with his finger. “Happy now?” he asked. “A steady supply of fresh meat, hand picked to your exact specs. Pretty, artistically talented. And a disposal system. Was that everything on your wish list?”
She began to circle him. “Oh, yes. I’m so happy, Des. Tom Bixby is still a big prick. But hey. Big pricks sometimes have their uses.”
“I’m glad you think so.” He wound his fingers into the thick, glossy skeins of her hair, and pulled. “So it was a good interface, then?”
“The best,” she purred. “One of the best ever. Shame, to waste such an amazing interface on a sales demo.”
“You say the good ones feed sensory data back to you. Was she that good, Av? Did you feel them, inside you? Fucking you?”
“Would it turn you on, if it had?”
Her coy maneuvering made him want to hit that perfect, mocking face. His hand tightened on her hair. “Just answer me, you mouthy bitch.” He jerked her closer, and put his hand between her legs.
Ava gasped. “Yes,” she whispered. “But not like I feel…this.”
He thrust his hand up into her tightly furled, narrow pussy lips. Smooth, hot, and slick. “Good.” He worked her, pressing deep.
She sighed, her slender body writhing against him, around him. “You want to know what I was thinking while I did that interface?”
“Go ahead.” He fingered her clit. “You’ll tell me whether I want to know or not.”
“I was thinking about her.” She threw her head back, closed her eyes. “The Parrish girl. How it’ll be when we do her.”
“How do you think it’ll be? Like that one?” He wrenched the last button of her blouse loose. The button skittered across the floor.
“No. Better. A hundred times better,” she said dreamily. “I checked her out. She has a crazy interactive Web site. I liked it.”
“Yeah?” He fingered her nipples, not even trying to follow her train of thought. All he wanted was to fuck.
“There were photos,” Ava continued. “She’s not bad, you know? And she’d look a lot better if she gave a shit. Which she clearly doesn’t.”
“I see.” He leaned down, sucked her tit into his mouth.
She moaned, whimpering. “If she’s like me, we’ll be able to crown her again and again without blowing her mind,” she said breathlessly. “We can do anything we want, for as long as we want.”
“Great,” he mumbled. “That’ll be just great.” He sucked, nibbled.
“We’ll play with her tonight, OK? Here, after the banquet. Parrish croaks, in front of flashing cameras. Wanatabe and Fabian will be ready to nab Edie when she runs away in the confusion. We amuse ourselves with her at our leisure, while the evidence comes out showing that it was Edie who poisoned him. When the manhunt is underway, we bring her out of the woodwork, have her murder the sister and commit suicide. The money goes to the Foundation. The Foundation board will be yours to command. Have I forgotten anything?”
“Nothing. You’re brilliant. You evil, filthy, calculating slut.” His voice shook as he slid his fingers deeper inside her.
“It’s a waste,” Ava said, clenching her pussy around his delving hand. “She’d be a knockout, if I pulled her strings. It’s all in the attitude. And that’s the missing bit that I will provide. The attitude.”
Des spun the two of them around, so that he faced the screen, and shoved Ava to her knees. A brief glance revealed…hot damn! Tom had gotten the hang of the master crown in record time, and was already exploiting its many possibilities. Bixby always had been a quick study, that dirty bastard. Des wrenched open his pants, inspired.
“I can’t wait.” Ava gazed up with that crazy glow in her eyes that always unbalanced him “It’ll be wonderful, to crown someone as good as me. I’ll be like a goddess. It’s like, I can wear her. Like a scarf.”
“Sure. Like a scarf.”
And Des shoved his cock into her mouth, so that there would be no more goddamn prattling talk.