Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: After nine days I let the horse run free
Pursuit of the Desert Goddess
This is my entry for the CAW (Calling All Writers) #9 competition. The theme of this competition is "Gifts". Constructive criticism both pro and con is welcome. Enjoy.
If she looks in your general direction, a feeling of intense sexual satisfaction would come over you. When she shops at Tiffany’s, they pay her to wear their diamonds. Blind women are jealous of her beauty. She doesn't drink champagne often, but when she does, she prefers Dom Perignon 1961. She is the most interesting woman in the world. Her name is Sahara, and my goal was to bed her.
It was a chance encounter that brought us together. It was a warm, summer evening over a year ago. She was dining at a waterside restaurant at one of their outdoor tables. As luck would have it, she stood up just as an oversized waiter opened a swinging door, striking her and sending her toppling over the edge of the protective fence and down about twenty feet to the water below. I know because I was dining two tables away and had noticed her earlier, her striking beauty a fine compliment to the lobster I had ordered.
Aside from the obvious danger of such a fall, it so happened that this estuary was populated by several rare American crocodiles. One of them was close by when she hit the water. Momentarily stunned by the impact, she lay prone, face up, but in imminent danger as the crocodile was moving rapidly towards her.
When asked later the obvious question, I replied, "It was instinctual, a reaction, not something you 'think' about."
I jumped in after her, timing my leap so that I would land right on top of the reptile. I'm sure representatives from PETA would have cursed me for potentially hurting the animal, but my intent was simply to startle it and dissuade it from any dining intent. It must have worked. I don't remember too much as I must have been stunned from the landing.
It wasn't until a week later that I received a telephone call from her.
"Hello. I wanted to thank you...you saved my life the other day. At the restaurant."
"You're welcome. How did you get my number?"
"The manager at the restaurant was kind enough to provide it. I hope you don't mind."
I didn't, I just wasn't sure where this was going to go, and I was getting ready to head out for some poker."
"No, that's fine. I'm just glad you were okay."
There was a few seconds of silence.
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
"Well, no, I don't. What did you say your name was?"
"Oh, well, there you go. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I have this obligation to..."
"My net worth is several hundred million dollars."
I'll admit that caught my attention.
"What can I do for you, Miss?"
"It's more about what I can do for you, Mr. Gallo."
"Call me Joe."
"All right, it's what I can do for you, Joe."
"And that is?"
That was an awfully wide range.
"Look, Miss, I don't know anything about you. You got knocked into the water, and I jumped in to save you. I didn't do it for your money because I didn't know you had money. I did it because, well, I did it..."
"You did it, Joe, because you're a very decent person. You've been good all of your life. You're a decent writer who has been looking to publish a hit novel but can't find a publishing house to bite because you can't find the time to research and write your novel. You drive a thirteen-year old car, like sports, and..."
"Whoa, how do you know all of this?" I asked a little crossly.
She laughed lightly.
"Easy, Joe. With money comes information. I just wanted to know a little more about you before I told you my proposition."
"Proposition? What...you wanna' marry me?" I said, laced with sarcasm.
"It's a two-part deal. If you succeed, I'll deposit five million dollars in your bank account, and you can retire and write your novel."
There are times in one's life when the hands of God pass over you and try and lead you in the right direction. This happened several times in the past, and each time I ignored the signs because I thought I knew better. Of course, each time I fucked up. Not this time.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's the deal? Do I need to write this down?"
"Oh, I think you'll remember it. It's simple. Part one...you need to find me. Part two...you need to get me to beg you to fuck me. Goodbye for now, Joe."
"Wait! I don't even know your name."
She paused for a few seconds.
"I am the Desert Goddess, Joe. You may call me...Sahara."
A package showed up a few days later, and inside I found a cashier's check for $75,000. There was a note.
"Hi Joe! As you can now see, I wasn't bullshitting you. Deposit the check in your bank and get packed. You'll need the money to travel. More will be available if I see that you need it. There are but a few rules. You have 30 days to win. I'll supply clues as to where I am. Some will be easy to figure out, some a bit more difficult. You can use whatever resources you have to help find me. I'll use my resources to thwart your efforts. I'm going to tease you along the way -- big time. If you decide to quit, there's a number at the bottom of this note. Just call it and say "I quit." Whatever money is left is yours. You can quit now if you'd like and you'll be 75 grand richer. Or...you can chase me...and if you win, well, aside from the money...you'll have...me. Play the video, Joe."
Inside the box was a small, hand-held device that played video. I pressed the start button.
The video started with an extreme close-up. As it slowly zoomed out, I could see that it was focused on a nipple. A hard nipple. Pulling back further, first one breast came into view, then both. As the video continued, so did the zoom out...and more of Sahara came into view. She was naked, standing on a beach. After blowing me a kiss, the video faded to black.
"That was it?" I said out loud to myself.
I played it again, and again, and fiddled with the device to see if there was more. There wasn't. But there had to be clues. Then I remembered something from when I was a kid, watching television with my parents. Pulling up Google, I looked up the TV show Hawaii Five-O. After a few minutes, I found it. It was an episode entitled The Banzai Pipeline. I next went to YouTube and found it, and skimmed through it. There...there it was. In the Sahara video, I could see surfers in the background, and it was the same wave formation, the "Pipe" as it is referred to by locals. Sahara was on the north shore of Oahu!
The next day I was on a jet bound for Hawaii, first class. It seemed pretty easy to me, maybe even a bit too easy. But, I couldn't get that picture of Sahara out of my head. Long blonde hair, handful-sized tits, trimmed blonde bush, long legs, engaging smile. I wasn't sure what her game was, but I'd play along for a while.
When the plane landed I didn't bother getting a hotel. Instead I just rented a new Mustang convertible and headed out on Route 83, aka Kamehameha Highway, which circles the island. It took a little while to get to Ehukai Beach, where the Pipe is located, but the trip was an easy drive made easier by the spectacular scenery. Parking the car, I looked around a bit, pulling out the video once more and watching it yet again, trying to get the angle at which it was filmed. After about ten minutes, I was standing in the same space where Sahara had stood.
I guess it wasn't going to be quite that easy. She was nowhere to be found. In fact, it was just a beach. There were a few people out surfing, some just in the shallows, hanging out, others on the beach. I looked around a bit more and saw a small food stand across the road. My stomach grumbled. Yes, yes, I'll feed you, I thought to myself. I walked over and was greeted by a nice, older native woman who talked me into some fresh poi. It tasted horrible but I tried to retain my composure. She laughed the way old women laugh, and said "You make face like wild boar!" We both laughed a bit more.
Then she produced a video device just like the one I had.
"Nice lady said man of your description would be stopping by. Paid me $50 to give this to you. Said for you to enter zip code."
I just stared at it for a bit. How? How did she know I'd come across the street?
I thanked the woman and walked back to car. When I turned it on, it asked for a password. I entered my zip code. The screen that came up showed that there were two videos. The first one was the one that I had already watched. I tried the second one and was greeted by Sahara's face.
"Well done, Joe. I'm impressed. I wonder if you'll be equally impressed."
With that, she took whatever camera she was using to film herself, slowly panned around the room, and then put it on a stand of sorts. It was facing a bed, on which sat a young man with a fairly well-muscled body. He was nearly naked, wearing a robe that was open. He was hard.
I watched as Sahara, dressed in a business suit, knelt before him. Her hair was up in a bun, and she was wearing eyeglasses. And lipstick. Bright, red, suck-a-cock lipstick. I heard a clicking sound. As she leaned forward to inhale the scent of the man's crotch, it was then that I noticed that she was handcuffed behind her back. The man was not in a patient mood it seemed. With one hand he took hold of her face, and with the other, his well-formed, very hard cock.
He merged the two.
Opening her mouth, he guided his cock inside, several inches, then took his hand off his cock and reached around to the back of her head, pulling her closer, forcing more of his thick tool inside her. I heard her make some sounds, perhaps swallowing or gasping, I wasn't sure. Then he started pulling her off, then pushing her back onto his cock. Back and forth, back and forth, his forced fellatio leaving trails of saliva along his shaft. I could see that her nipples were erect, and her face and upper chest was flushed. She was ... enjoying this!
He began to increase his pace, one hand reaching down to pinch her pebble-hard nipples while the other maintained its relentless pumping of her face onto his cock. It was as if he was using her mouth as a personal masturbation device. She wasn't human to him, just a wet, suctioning device where he could deposit a load of sperm.
It wasn't long in coming. With a final series of fast thrusts he groaned and shot what must have been a massive load of hot cum into her mouth. He then pushed her away, got up and exited the view of the camera. A few seconds later Sahara appeared, a close up of her, lips puffy from the brutal, forced fellation. She opened her mouth and inside was his load. She paused for a second, then swallowed it.
Looking into the camera, blue eyes sparkling, she licked her lips.
"God, Joe...I wanted that to be you. Please...hurry. Please."
And with that, the video faded to black.
I was baffled. And aroused, of course. But how was it that she was able to film this video and then get it to the old lady before I got here. Unless it was filmed locally. But something told me that it wasn't. I watched it again.
There. On the robe. There was a logo. But it was too small to see. I fiddled with the device...aha...zoom capabilities! I zoomed in. Yes, I recognized it, a double "P", backwards and forwards. I know I had seen it before...just couldn't remember where. I watched the video again. There. When she panned the room, the window showed some type of a skyline, or buildings, tall ones I suspected.
It still wasn't making sense. A car door closing brought me from my reverie. It was another customer over at the food stand.
Maybe she was in downtown Honolulu. It made sense, but something was nagging me. As I saw the customer drive away, I had a thought, and walked back over to the lady. After declining another portion of poi, I asked her a question.
She looked at me funny, then replied, "No, she not hand me package. She give me fifty dollars and then package arrive day later via UP."
"Yes, UP. UP. Brown truck."
Ah...she meant UPS. So the package was sent to her!
"Do you still have the package?"
"I give you the package before. You let poi go to your brain?"
"No, no...the envelope. Do you have the envelope that the package came in?"
She looked at me like you'd expect an older Hawaiian woman to look at an off-islander, and then she softened a bit and smiled.
"She said you smart. Package here." And with that, she produced an envelope from under the counter. I thanked her and took it back to the car. Turning on my iPad, using 3G, I was able to connect to the UPS website. I entered the tracking code and a few seconds later, had my answer. The package originated from New York City.
I closed my eyes and racked my brain...and there it was...The Plaza. That's the logo that I saw. I pulled up their website and yep, there it was. Ugh...back to the East Coast. Damn. Well, glad I didn't get a hotel room.
I drove back down to the airport and booked an overnight flight back to the east coast, destination JFK.
With all the travel both east-to-west and then west-to-east, sleep came easy on the plane. Having never traveled in first class, I found the big, plush seats and extra leg room to be a simple delight. The cab ride from JFK to The Plaza was uneventful, which is usually the best one can say for such an excursion.
A bellman met me at the curb and took my luggage inside. As I approached the front desk, I was intercepted by a concierge.
"Please come this way." The bellman followed.
He led me to a private elevator. His white-gloved hand produced a small, gold key that he inserted and turned into a brass slot in the wall, which opened the elevator doors. Ornate in an Old World sense, the three of us rode in silence to the top floor.
When people wonder where the rich and famous stay, I will be able to answer with authority. The Royal Plaza Suite is a 4,400 square foot masterpiece of Louis XV royal court design. Three bedrooms, three baths, a grand piano in the living room, a dining room that seats twelve and a private library are just some of the features of this opulent suite.
"Mr. Gallo, please enjoy your stay here, compliments of The Plaza. If there's anything I or my staff can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please do not hesitate to ask."
"Who is paying for this?" I inquired.
"The financial arrangements have been taken care of, sir."
He just smiled.
I thanked him and the two of them left.
I wandered around a bit, almost afraid to touch anything. This wasn't me, this wasn't my life. Looking out the window in the master bedroom, the view was, well, breathtaking. Central Park in all its glory, highlighted by a premium view of the Pulitzer Fountain. It was all a little much.
The sound of my cell phone ringing startled me. Pulling out my iPhone, I could see it was a FaceTime call. I activated the screen. It was her.
"Hello Joe," she said, the sound of water nearby, "I'm sorry for the short stay in paradise. Did you enjoy the poi?"
"Perhaps you'd like to come down here and enjoy the view?" And with that, the phone was handed to someone, who continued the call, but pulled back from her to give a wider look. The fountain came into view. She was right downstairs in Central Park!
I disconnected the call and went for the elevator. Looking at the numbers, it was going to take a while for it to get back up here. Damn! I sprinted for the stairs and headed down. Twenty flights of stairs are easier to go down than go up, but, not by much. I was winded as I exited the hotel and headed across the street, jaywalking and not caring. Curses from cabbies rung out as I had several close calls.
She was, of course, gone.
As I got closer I noticed a well-built man wearing a suit and tie standing near a discretely wrapped package with the word Joe on it. As he saw me approach he moved away from it. I picked it up and looked around. There were no traces of her, save perhaps for a trace of Chanel No. 5 on the package.
I took the package back to the hotel room and opened it, carefully.
Inside was an iPad. It was locked, and required a four-digit password to access the secrets held within. I tried four zeroes to no avail. I tried to think of what four digits she might use. It would have to be something that would show her superiority to me.
My last four. Of course, that unlocked it. I didn't even question how she would have access to my Social Security number.
There were the normal apps, and one that said "For Joe". How quaint. I started it.
"Hello Joe." It was her, but it wasn't. I mean, she couldn't speak in the video, so she must have done a voice over. I could tell because she had a ball gag in her mouth. The camera panned and I could see that her wrists were tied behind her back. She was naked, naturally, and on a large bed, on her knees. A well-endowed man put a hand on her back and forced her head to bed. The camera showed K-Y jelly being applied to the large cock. The camera was then placed on the bed, close to her so that only her head was within the frame.
I could hear muffled sounds coming from her, then her eyes got large and the muffled sounds became much louder. She was screaming into the ball gag. There was movement on the bed as the camera jostled a bit. Her head bolted off the bed but just for a second as it came down quickly, seemingly pushed into the mattress, as if it was being held there in place.
There was a small tear forming in her left eye and she was still making loud noises into the gag. The bed movement had changed. It was now somewhat rhythmic; I could see her face shifting forward, then back, forward, then back. It was obvious to me that the guy was now fucking her, anally.
She was blinking away the tears as the anal assault continued. It went on for several minutes, then, some frenzied thrusting, accompanied by some moaning. Shortly thereafter, all movement stopped.
The gag was removed and she slowly rolled onto her back, the camera just allowing me a partial view of her face, ear, and tussled hair.
"God," she said, her voice husky, "that was great. I wish it was you in my ass, Joe." And with that, the video faded to black.
I couldn't decide if I was getting annoyed by all of this, but I did know that I was aroused.
A sound indicated an incoming FaceTime call. I accepted.
"Hello Joe!" She was walking down a sidewalk, that dazzling smile of hers causing the minor feelings of annoyance to fade.
"Hello Sahara. I'm surprised you can walk." So I was being a little snarky.
"So tell me, Joe, are you hard right now? Or better yet, why don't you show me?"
I thought, what the hell, why not, so I unfasten my pants and slid them down, then moved the iPad's camera in front of my crotch so that she had an up close and personal view of my cock. Then I brought it back up so I could see her expression.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....very nice, Joe," I could see that she had moved indoors, but I wasn't paying all that much attention to her surroundings. "Why don't you stroke it a bit for me?"
I fiddled for a second with the case and got the iPad to stabilize on a coffee table and then sunk into a comfy chair, my right hand encircling my now raging hard-on. Up and down, that age old motion that guy's hands know oh so well.
She stuck her tongue out and must have brought it close to the video camera because it dominated my view. She licked up and down. I continued stroking.
I closed my eyes and envisioned her here with me, her soft lips enveloping me, her tongue dancing back and forth, the Ode to Fellatio that all women know but only a few can master.
The voice was in room and my eyes flew open. There. She. Was.
I started to rise but she motioned for me to stay seated. She was naked. She was moving towards me. She was smiling. "Fuck me, Joe...I'm begging you..."
"Mr. Gallo? Mr. Gallo...can you hear me?"
I opened my eyes and was greeted to the site of a rather large man in a paramedic’s uniform. He had a concerned look on his face that now softened a bit.
"Mr. Gallo...can you understand me?"
"Ye...," I cleared my throat, and coughed a little, "Yes, I hear you. What's going on?"
"Mr. Gallo, you apparently jumped into the water and saved a woman. You're a hero, sir, but you were unconscious for a little while yourself. Glad to see that you're okay, though."
Unconscious? This was all a dream?
After a few further checks, I was released and had to deal with all of the applause and laudatory praise. The woman apparently was taken to the hospital but supposedly she was fine. The restaurant manager handed me a bunch of gift certificates and offered to have my clothes dry cleaned. I declined. I just wanted to go home. People thought it was because of the fall. I just wanted to be alone.
A package showed up a few days later, and inside I found a cashier's check for $75,000.
There was no note.
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