Southern Spirits (15 page)

He felt her climax again, on the heels of the one he'd given her moments before with his fingers, until he too gasped and grunted as his orgasm roared through him, filling her up.

They lay locked together until he slipped from her. He lay back and Cat resumed her place resting on his chest, Nathan stroking her hair once again, unable to believe what had just happened.

‘I can't believe this is happening,' Wheeler muttered, more sober than he had played to his passengers, as he tried once more to adjust the settings and make the webcam and microphone planted in Cat and Nathan's berth work. And once more, it refused to do what he wanted. ‘Goddammit, Belle, stop being an obstreperous bitch and behave!'

Nothing but snow and white noise.

‘If you're quite through,' prompted the voice behind him.

Wheeler turned, stared at an almost-naked Faye, still bound to the bed in his office for the past hour, her fury at his ignoring her predicament and protests now passed.

He regarded her for a moment, smiled as he recalled her tale of Ames leaving her tied and unfulfilled, considered fucking her as she was, and settled for rising and freeing her. He then returned to the monitor, putting his erstwhile partner out of his mind again. ‘Come on, Belle, play nice.'

Suddenly the picture appeared, and Wheeler watched, intrigued, as Nathan talked on a cellphone he shouldn't have, while his delectable partner was undressing. Interesting . . .

Faye slipped back into her dress, reached for the whiskey
bottle still on the desk. ‘I want him thrown off the train, right now!'

He kept watching as Ames finally tossed the phone aside and attended to his partner. Wheeler kept his tone deliberately measured and calm, to infuriate her. ‘I'll give your request all the consideration it deserves. And here's my answer: no.'

‘Just get your prick into her and get your infatuation over with already. Or are you losing your faculties down there as well?'

‘There's more to her than just her pussy, as appetising as it was. Belle senses it as well.'

An emptied bottle of whiskey shattered against the wall overhead, making him duck. He shook any pieces out of his hair, spinning around to her. ‘What the hell –'

With that out of her system, she seemed to calm down, if only a little. ‘Save that supernatural bullshit for the rubes! I grew up getting that fed to me, which doesn't mean I swallow it now! Who do you think you're fooling here? I know you, Jack. You have a talent for lying to everybody, including yourself. It was funny the first few times, listening to you talk about this shitty train. It's not funny any more.'

Wheeler seemed to regard her words.

Before turning back to the monitor and keyboard. ‘Go find yourself a stray passenger to keep you amused. And don't insult Belle again, or you can go back to fleecing rich old widows in fake séances.'

He felt her eyes on the back of his head, was ready for another attack.

But not for her dropping to a squat beside him. ‘Sorry, Jack.' When she caught his attention, she continued, ‘I didn't mean to lose it like that.' She grunted, offering a slight, self-deprecating smile. ‘Guess I got a nasty streak in me.'

‘No shit.' But then Wheeler smiled back as well. ‘Good thing
I like that in a woman.' He pulled her into a kiss, hot and leisurely, fuelling his own growing lust. Then he pulled back, licking his lips. ‘I have some work to do. Why don't you go make an appearance among our guests? I'll join you in a bit.'

‘Are you sure?'

He nodded. ‘Have some fun.'

He watched her leave, relaxing once more – at least until his thoughts returned to Cat, seeing her begin to fuck the ineffably unworthy Ames. Wheeler's thoughts touched on the image of her on the kitchen counter, bucking against his face as he licked and teased her pussy to climax. His cock throbbed with the memory as well.

He hadn't been lying to Faye. There was something more to the woman than just the sex and how easily she accepted Val's memories. Something that had raised his hackles as well as his cock. She was guarded, too guarded. And there was that business with the cellphone . . .

Still, she could be the one Belle and he had been waiting for all this time.

Or the one who could destroy everything.

He lifted his own phone to make some urgent calls. He performed a cursory identity check on all passengers before boarding, but if he spent a little more, he could dig a little deeper . . .

. . . Wilma yelped when she felt Zhen's lips at her breast, nipping at her, drawing her nipple into his mouth and sucking hard, while his sister Ling lay further below, shamelessly nuzzling into Wilma's bush, her fingers stroking. Wilma spoke again, not knowing why; it wasn't as if they'd absorbed each other's languages since undressing. ‘Guys, this is groovy, but maybe we should . . .'

She stopped herself. But maybe we should . . . what? Her boss
had sent her to Chicago to collect Zhen and Ling, the twins of his potential new partner from Hong Kong, and his orders were simple: ‘Keep them happy and out of the way for a day or two.' He'd left out a few minor details, like that they were in their twenties, had a negligible grasp of English, and were as playful and mercurial as a pair of kittens. They wanted to see ‘the big shark', so she took them to that new movie
Jaws
, though they didn't understand any of the dialogue. They wanted to visit a disco, so she obliged, stuffing cotton in her ears to protect hearing more accustomed to Neil Diamond. And they wanted to go back with her to New Orleans by train rather than plane, even though it would take ages rather than just a couple of hours.

She had initially ignored their advances. It wasn't as if she was in a position to complain; she was creeping into her forties now, back in the workplace after Steve had left her for his therapist's secretary, for God's sake, and her boss had given her a chance at this job. Was she going to get heavy if some VIPs got a little grabby? She'd planned on putting up with it, letting them have fun, and then escorting them to their berth to sleep off the rest of the night.

What she didn't plan on, though, was how she had started responding positively to them. But then why not? They were attractive: lean, fit, with infectious grins and, despite their youthfulness, well mannered. Also, it had been a long, long time since any hands but her own had touched her. And what woman wouldn't be turned on by the thought of a man – and a woman! – nearly half her age, desiring her? And, judging from their actions, they did desire her.

Zhen moved up the bed, drawing his cock closer.

She breathed in his scent, guiding his shaft into her mouth. Her tongue licked the length of him, tasting him, salty maleness flooding her senses, sensations which doubled as she felt
strings of tiny climaxes burst from her at Ling's touch below her, especially as one finger had moved up to the entrance to her rear, playing with her there as well.

She pulled back from Zhen's cock and gasped, ‘Jesus!' as Ling removed her fingers, replacing them with her tongue, suddenly darting into her wet sex with short, rapid bursts . . .

. . . Tara jerked at the touch, laughing, glad the beds provided in the games carriages were big; as cosy as the berth beds were, sharing one with a couple would have been awkward at best.

Even a couple as lovely and inviting as the Olivers, whom she'd grown to know better over the course of the evening. They were a friendly, attractive pair, who hadn't let a recent run of financial bad luck dampen their
joie de vivre.
The three of them talked, laughed, kissed and petted each other for ages, before finding a spare bed in a ‘private' room, where spectators could watch them from behind a trick mirror without disturbing them – and one with a hotspot, one that they could all share. This train was magnificent!

But now they were back, aware once again, as Hannah moved behind her now, kneading Tara's aching breasts and cupping her furry mound. Tara made her own groaning sounds, feeling her body move once again towards climax, wondering how long she could endure this.

Not long, as it turned out, as Hannah pulled her off Ben, making the man moan; Tara could sense how close he'd been to his own zenith. But Tara, her senses ablaze, felt hypnotised, turning as Hannah was leaning back on a pillow, leaving Tara kneeling. Hannah parted her thighs, revealing a pussy of delicate flesh; Tara drank in her sweet and heady fragrance.

As if from a distance, Tara could feel Ben behind her, lifting her up and parting her thighs. Warm fluid seeped from
within, and she desperately craved attention. Ben kindly obliged; the lips of her sex swallowed the tips of his fingers as he reached between her thighs and stroked her pussy lips, dipping into her before seeking out her clit. His rhythm was slow at first, considerate, able to support himself without disturbing Tara and Hannah's own love-making; she felt his erection press against her outer thigh, while his hands gripped her sides. But soon he was coaxing the rhythm into a lovely gallop.

Tara let the thrusts draw her down, down Hannah's body, until she buried her face between the woman's thighs, lapping at the soaking folds of her moist pocket, finally delighting in the exquisite tastes. Hannah's thighs reflexively closed against the sides of Tara's head, her pussy wavering between taut reaction and supple submission to her bliss, ultimately becoming impotent to fight the exquisite sensations, the same sensations Tara herself felt.

Fuck, girl, I could bend you over now and take you up the ass
. . .

The thought hit her like a pungent odour and, with a sudden feeling of being exposed and dirty, Tara looked up and over at the mirrored glass, knowing who was behind it, getting off on watching.

‘Tara?'

Her attention returned to a concerned Hannah, looking down at her, wondering what had happened. The woman was more worried about Tara than about her own interrupted pleasure.

Tara smiled in reassurance and returned to the woman's sex, regretting letting herself be distracted by the asshole behind the glass. She set up an internal mantra to block out the external thoughts and feelings around her, and continued to kiss and lick the woman until she grew wild, the cries from
her mouth inarticulate pleas and demands, her fingernails digging into the sides of Tara's head. Suddenly Hannah stiffened, her muscles contracting sharply against Tara's face, indeed her whole body shaking with release. Before she even realised it, Tara's own climax from Ben's touch followed, and her throttled cry was muffled into the sex of her new lover, as wave after wave of pleasure swept through her body, making her dig her nails into Hannah's soft hot thighs.

The women reclined together, Ben with them, his own erection waiting, but he seemed content to take his time.

Come on, babe, give us more of that brown sugar
. . .

Tara frowned, unable to block the thoughts from her mind. She kissed Hannah, letting her taste her own sex. ‘I need to use the toilet. You two don't mind carrying on?'

Their disappointment was evident, but they remained good-natured, Ben replying, ‘Only if you promise to find us again before this weekend's out.'

Tara grinned. ‘I promise.' She kissed him too, before rising and dressing, leaving them alone to continue for the benefit of their unseen audience.

Her post-climax warmth was fading quickly as she made her way out into the corridor, hoping to avoid the author of her distraction.

And failing. ‘Hey, nice show.' Donnie leant against a corridor wall and smiled at her. ‘How's about a private session?'

From an early age, Tara had the gifts: second sight, prophetic dreams, clairvoyance. For a long while, they had been curses, when she could perceive things she'd rather not have: what some supposed friends really thought of her, her mother's secrets and her father's scandals, casual bigoted and cruel thoughts from seemingly the most saintly. She had ventured into adulthood, gradually accepting what she possessed, and
seeking a place where she felt at home. Here, she felt that way. It was paradise.

Only this man made her feel like he was the serpent in it. And the train's innate energies were amplifying her own perceptions. Thoughts and images flooded her now from him, drenching her earlier satisfaction and leaving her feeling mortified. ‘Who's April?'

He blinked. ‘Huh? No one. I don't know anyone named April.'

‘Is she onboard?'

‘No. I mean, who?'

Then the truth hit Tara like a punch, and she glared with sudden disgust. ‘You stupid prick. You've no idea what you've done.'

Before he could respond to her cryptic condemnation, Faye stepped into view, barely glancing at Tara before fixing on Donnie, taking him by the arm. ‘Come on.'

Tara said nothing as the pair disappeared, glad to see the back of both of them. They deserved each other.

Without ceremony, Faye guided him into an unoccupied alcove, one with a waist-high padded platform like a doctor's examining couch and one she knew had no microphones or cameras. She pushed him back against the platform and dropped to her knees, the swelling in his baggy linen trousers prominent but not indicative of a full erection. Her hands reached up along his sides, before moving to his belt and zipper, undoing them. She drew out his penis: long and thick and dark, with a flaring head glistening with moisture.

‘Told ya you shouldn't have sent me away,' he swaggered.

‘Shut up.' She drew in first his odour, musky and salty, and then parted her lips and drew in the rest of him. He made a sound of intense approval above her as she ran her tongue along the rim of the head, tasting him.

She kept it up for a while, but then pulled back and looked up at him in the deep pink light in the alcove, knowing she now had his full attention. ‘I've been thinking . . . this train needs new management. How'd you like to run it with me?'