Friday, November 16, 2012

"Strange Bedfellows" [R] - Part 2


Part 2

 . . . Inside the Daily Grill restaurant, the waiter delivered the couple's food. He politely asked, "Will there be anything else?"

Cole shook his head. "Nothing, thanks." The waiter nodded politely and walked away.

Olivia took a sip of her iced tea. "So, that's how you and Idril first met." She paused briefly. "You know, I have this strange feeling that Raynor had wanted you to meet her. Was it a set up?"

"Of course it was," Cole replied. "Only I didn't realize it at the time. Not even when I met Idril for the second time."

"At Raynor's wedding?"

Cole shook his head. "Oh no. As a matter of fact, I don't recall seeing her at the wedding." He snorted derisively. "Now, I know why."

Olivia asked, "So, when did you two meet again?"

A sigh left Cole's mouth. "In London. About a week after Raynor's wedding."


JUNE 5, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Cole and Tarkin passed through a beaded curtain, as they entered a semi-dark nightclub, barely lit by strobe lights and neon signs glaring from the walls. A gaudily dressed disk jockey stood behind a record console that provided music for the numerous patrons who filled the club.

"What did I tell you about this place?" Tarkin shouted above the music. "It's really happening!"

Cole shouted back, "It's not bad! Although I would have preferred a jazz club."

Disbelief shone in the other daemon's dark eyes. "Are you serious? Would you find 'that' at a jazz club?" He pointed at a strawberry blond woman dancing on a platform in the middle of the dance floor. Actually, she seemed to be slithering around a pole that rose from the platform's middle. She wore white hot pants, knee-high boots, a royal blue knitted vest than enabled anyone to see her full, pink-tipped breasts.

Coolly, the half-daemon observed the semi-topless woman and felt his body grow hard. "Not bad," he murmured.


Heaving a sigh, Cole shouted, "I said, NOT BAD!"

Tarkin retorted, "Are you kidding? She's magnificent! Have you ever seen a body like that? She's the reason why I brought you here!"

Cole felt inclined to tell his friend that their trip had been wasted. But as he continued to observe the blond, he had to admit that Tarkin had been right. She did look quite magnificent. He wondered if her performance in bed was as vibrant as she was on the dance floor. But he remained silent and followed Tarkin into the club. The two daemons found seats at the long bar. After they had ordered their drinks, Cole said to his friend, "You've been here, before. Haven't you?"

Nodding, Tarkin said, "Of course. I always come here, when I'm in London." His gaze returned to the blond dancer. "To see Tina."

"To see Tina?" Cole smiled slyly at the other daemon. "In love, are we?"

Tarkin lightly punched his friend in the arm. "You really are a bastard, Belthazor! You know that?" The two friends laughed.

The bartender returned with their drinks - a Gibson martini for Cole and absinthe for Tarkin. As the two friends began to sip their drinks, a familiar figure appeared beside Cole. "Hey! Don't I know you?" Tarkin asked.

The half-daemon turned to stare at the dark-haired female through narrowed eyes. "You do look familiar."

It was Tarkin who first identified her. "Idril! Now I remember you. From the Brotherhood. You're with . . ."

"Melkora's sect," the demoness finished. She said to Cole, "And I remember you. Coming out of Raynor's office."

Cole's thoughts returned to the day of Raynor's engagement announcement. And the young female he had bumped into. "Oh course," he said with a nod. "Now I remember."

Idril flashed a pretty smile at her two fellow daemons. "So, what brings you here? Business?"

"Pleasure," Cole immediately replied. "You?"

"The same."

The music finally stopped. The blond dancer stepped down from the platform and made her way toward the bar. Cole noticed how her skin glistened with pesperation. "Whew!" she exclaimed breathlessly in an English accent. "Bloody hard work this is. Makes me wonder why I even bother in the first place."

"Because you're talented." An admiring Tarkin drew the semi-topless woman into his arms and kissed her. When their lips parted, he introduced her to the others. "Everyone, this is Tina Bloome. Or Christine, if you like. She's one of the club's dancers."

The blond woman . . . or Christine smiled. "How do you do?" Her green eyes lingered briefly upon Cole. He returned the gaze, feeling even more aroused. Then he glanced to his side and saw the annoyed expression on Idril's face.

Tarkin continued with the introductions. "This is Belthazor, my comrade-in-arms. And over there is Idril. She also belongs to our order, but she's in a different sect."

Christine regarded Idril with curious eyes. "Now, I know I've seen you somewhere before. I just can't . . ."

"I used to be in the movies," Idril explained, with a proud rise of her chin. "I went by the name, Diane Hayward."

Realization lit up Christine's eyes. "Oh yeah! Now I remember. From 'DESERT WEEKEND' and 'THE MARAUDERS'. Not bad."

Idril preened from the other female's compliment. "Thanks." Cole rolled his eyes. He had seen 'THE MARAUDERS' and considered it complete shit.

Christine turned to Tarkin. "Would you mind waiting a bit, while I change, love? I reckon I can't leave this club dressed like this."

"Of course not," a clearly besotted Tarkin replied. Cole struggled to hide his amusement.

"Good. Then we can all go to my flat. I'll whip you up a proper meal that you won't find at any restaurant in this town." Christine kissed Tarkin's lips. "I won't take long." She walked away from the bar, her rear end swaying provocatively. Or so Cole thought.

Idril asked, "What demonic order does she belong to?"

"She's not a daemon," Tarkin answered. "Well, her grandfather's a daemon. But Tina is a witch." Both Cole and Idril stared at him. "Not a Wiccan or anything like that," he added sarcastically. "What do you take me for?"

Idril commented, "If she's not a daemon, what is she doing here, at a daemon's club?"

"The Triple Six is not a daemon's club," Tarkin shot back. "It's for all magic practioners."

Cole nodded. "Like Riggerio's club in Venice. Or this place I know in San Francisco."

A few minutes later, Christine returned, dressed in a short, aquamarine dress with long, flowing sleeves. "Ready to leave?" And the two couples finally left the nightclub.


Christine Bloome had not exaggerated about her culinary skills. After the quartet had arrived at her flat, the blond witch had prepared an excellent meal of Prime Rib and Yorkshire Pudding and Jacket Potatoes. Idril personally felt that the witch could give any professional London chef some stiff competition. Which led her to wonder why Christine had become a nightclub dancer, instead.

"It's bloody hard becoming a successful chef," the dancer replied, answering Idril's question. "Especially for a woman. And I hate working at a restaurant. The work is hard and unless one's a head chef, the pay isn't much. And I like dancing at the club."

"If you like it so much, why not own one?" Tarkin asked. "I'm sure that I'll be able . . ."

Christine stood up and began collecting the empty dishes. "Thanks, but no thanks," she said.

"Why not"? her lover demanded.

The witch planted a light kiss on his cheek. "I already own the Triple Six and several other clubs around London and other cities. Haven't you noticed how posh this flat is?"

Idril glanced around the apartment. She had been amazed by the apartment's expensive and tasteful furnishings. And its exclusive location near the Thames River.

"I did," Belthazor commented. Idril also noticed how he regarded the blond witch with admiring eyes. Much to her annoyance.

Christine flashed a quick smile at the half-daemon. Then she finished cleaning the table, while the others heading toward the living room. Ten minutes later, she joined them, carrying a large, silver box. "Now that we've finished supper, how about some dessert? I had considered Sherry Trifle, but that would take too long. I thought you might like this." She placed the box on the coffee table.

A dubious expression appeared on Belthazor's face, as he stared at the box. "This is dessert?"

Christine opened the box. Idril saw that it was filled with small, handmade cigarettes. "Is this marijuana?" Her nose wrinkled with contempt. "A bit mild for us, don't you think?"

"Not marijuana, pet," Christine said rather smugly. Or so Idril thought. "Something a bit stronger. Weed from a plant called Pectoralis. It grows along the Amazon River. Oddly enough, I found this supply in the Beleriand Dimension. Apparently, it's very popular among other magical beings." She added with a whisper, "It's an aphrodisiac."

Tarkin plucked a cigarette from the box. "Not a bad idea for dessert. All we need is some music."

"If you say so, love." With a flick of her wrist, Christine turned on the large stereo on the other side of the room. The song, 'Grazin in the Grass' by the American group, Friends of Distinction, filled the room. The others also picked up a cigarette - including Idril.


Three cigarettes and forty-five minutes later, a hazy Idril stood by one of the large windows that overlooked the Thames. 'Crystal Blue Persuasion' by Tommy James and the Shondells drifted from the stereo. Idril could see Tarkin and Christine's dancing figures reflected in the window. Belthazor was no where to be seen.

"Hmmm, I love this song," Idril overheard Tina commented. "Makes me feel all soft and warm. Does it make you feel warm, love?" Tarkin merely groaned.

Idril glanced over her shoulder and saw one of Christine's hands slide inside Tarkin's trousers. "Yeah," the daemon groaned. "Very warm."

Instead of feeling disgusted, Idril merely leaned against the wall and regarded the couple with curious eyes. She watched as Christine continued to stroke Tarkin. Meanwhile, one of her own hands unconsciously lifted her skirt, slipped inside her panties and began to stroke the soft flesh between her legs. Idril glanced to her right and noticed Belthazor sitting in a leather chair, smoking his 'cigarette' . . . and watching. Everyone.

While swaying to the music, Idril continued to stroke herself. Oddly enough, both she and Tarkin ended up climaxing at the same time. Then Christine removed her hand from inside the daemon's trousers and walked over to Idril. By this time, another song from Friends of Distinction - 'Going in Circles' - blared from the stereo. The witch led Idril to a pile of pillows in a corner and gently forced her to lay against them. Then she knelt before the demoness and removed the demoness' panties. Idril held her breath, as Christine gently forced her legs apart and thrust two fingers inside her.

Idril closed her eyes and reveled in the witch's strokes. She then opened them and saw Tarkin remove his trousers, revealing boxer shorts. He lifted Tina's skirt, slipped down her panties and thrust into her from behind. It did not take long for Idril to become wet and tight from the witch's ministrations. She eventually fell over the edge with another small orgasm - the second one this evening. But Idril needed more than just a few strokes from herself and Christine. She needed . . .

A strong hand gripped the demoness' forearm and jerked her to her feet and away from Christine. Idril soon found herself led to the leather chair by Belthazor and into his lap. She glanced over her shoulder. Tarkin's thrusts into Christine, who was now on all fours, had grown faster and more earnest. But with Belthazor removing her red halter top, all thoughts of the other couple faded from her mind. Warm hands cupped her breasts. Idril arched back and moaned, while Belthazor's thumbs pressed against her aching nipples.

"My trousers," the half-daemon growled.

Idril opened her eyes and saw that he seemed to be in a state of frustrated desire. "Huh?"

"My trousers. Unzip it."

Without hesitation, Idril unzipped his trousers and his member sprang out - erect and ready. Belthazor's hands slid to her waist. He lifted the demoness slightly, allowing himself to thrust up into her. Idril felt waves of heat and pleasure, as he slid deep inside her. She became so caught up in the moment that she barely heard Tarkin and Christine's cries filled the room. Instead, her attention remained focused upon the hard, masculine body underneath her - and his thrusts, which became faster and deeper. Waves of heat washed over her, as the half-daemon's final thrusts triggered a massive orgasm. Idril arched her back even further and cried out in pleasure. Once she finally recovered, sank against Belthazor, feeling too exhausted to move from his lap.


PRESENT DAY . . . Idril shifted uncomfortably in her bed, as memories of that first night in Christine Bloome's flat rushed back to her. She reached for her glass of brandy on the nightstand and took a sip. A heavy sigh passed her lips.

Following that first bout of sex, Idril and her three companions had partook more cigarettes made from the Pectoralis weed. Eventually, more sex followed. At one point, Tarkin, Christine and Belthazor became engaged in a ménage a troi. Tarkin took Christine from behind - again - while she orally serviced the half-daemon sprawled against those pillows on the floor. Unable to tolerate Belthazor's blissful expression, Idril had shoved the witch aside, straddled the half-daemon and rode him as hard as she could.

Idril had awoken several hours later, laying on those very same pillows and with a blanket spread over her. Both Belthazor and Tarkin had left and Tina ended up preparing breakfast for the demoness. Idril returned to the Triple Six, later that night. She encountered both Tarkin and Christine, but Belthazor could not be found.

With brandy, Idril tried to forget the anxiety and disappointment she had felt, but she could not shake her memories. She recalled spending six days searching London for the half-daemon. Eventually, she found him at a small jazz club in Soho. Flirting with some red-haired female. At that moment, realization had struck the demoness that Belthazor saw her as nothing more than a one-night experience.

Fearful that her plans might go awry and startled by her sudden pique of jealousy at Belthazor's new companion, Idril had turned to Raynor for advice. The Thorn Brotherhood's leader barely had time to help her with her dilemma, especially since he was in the middle of his honeymoon with Avara. He did managed to give Idril a piece of information - that Belthazor liked to attend horse races. Since the Derby and Epsom races had already passed, Idril had decided to try her luck at the Royal Ascot at Windsor. On the third day, her good luck had returned.

End of Part 2

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