The Tabard Chronicles

[chris2c4u]

Glancing at seemingly aggreved worshippers, the preacher shuffled quickly between the deep blue curtains at the back pulling Daisy with him through the emergency exit to the car park. Picking up the crow bar he secreted there earlier - for just this eventuality - he locked the exit tight.

Daisy was half dragged out as her body was still trembling with excitement... "hurry! please hurry!" she cries, "I'm so ashamed.. I'm going to... whispers... orgasm..."

With a glance at the door where hammering was faintly heard, the preacher got in the Pontiac watching the writhing form in the passenger seat. "OK, you can stop now.." He shook his head. "The rodent stuff works in California. Here in the south, maybe we should tone it down a tad. We'll never con them with the visiting preacher and saved girl routine going that route."

Sadly, Daisy nodded; then grinned. "But it gets you sooooo hard...and you know what I want to do when I feel that big hard cock of yours rubbing up against my face."

Driving, he said, "yeah, I know I know. But now we're almost out of gas and we didn't stay long enough to steal the collection, so this truck stop you'll have to fuck a trucker and steal his wallet."

Daisy pouted and turned sideways and spread her legs. "Okay, drive. I'll just amuse myself in the meantime. No problem. They all like that little innocent lost girl routine."

The preacher nodded, glancing over at Daisy as she played with herself. "Don't forget the pony tail this time. Your bobby sox are on the back seat." He glanced again. "Lift your skirt I can't see your pussy."

Daisy hitched it up around her hips, spreading herself open with one hand, playing with herself with the other. "Can you see now?" she ask, breathlessly.

With a grin, BillieBobJim pulled off the road to watch as her finger swirled over her clit, dipping into her juices and moving back up again. He knew how it felt as she stuck a finger inside her, how her muscles would clasp it tight.

"Gods.. I never thought you'd get me off the stage in time," she groaned, her eyes half closed as she writhed against her fingers.

"We've had narrower scrapes," he murmured before getting out of the car and going around to open her door and pull her out and over the hood, the hot metal against her skin as he lifted her skirt and slipped a hand between her spread thighs. Her breasts were pressed against the metal as he stood behind her, fingers sliding into her hot aching pussy. He could feel her writhe as she gripped his fingers tightly, wanting more but knowing not to ask, feeling his erection against her thigh.

With a chuckle he called out "Hallelujah," to his fellow con artist, as his suit pants and boxers dropped and his fingers were replaced in one swift thrust by his hard cock. His fingers caressed her clit as he begin to pump his hips back and forth.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

2.

"Ohhhhh yeahhh, Preacher! You know I love that big fat cock of yours in my cunt!" she squealed, gyrating wildly as he fucked her hard and fast. Between the bit of diddling she'd done in the car and his large, meaty fingers pressing, rubbing, circling her clit, Daisy knew she wouldn't last long.

The sound of his balls slapping against her ass and the wet slurping of her pussy, drowned out by passing trucks that slowed, blowing their horns in appreciation of the show, sent her over the edge with him close behind. "AyyMEN!" he grunted, his cock spurting thick, white cum into her spasming pussy as she milked him dry.

"Mmm... " Daisy purred. "I love when we do this. Maybe next time we can do it in the movie house?"

"Sure thing, doll. I'll let you ride me in the matinee," he said, he soft dick slipping out of her. Slapping Daisy on the ass, BillyBobJim reached down to hitch his trousers up. "Okay. In the car and think 'trucker'."

Daisy hurried back to the passenger side and hopped in, nodding as he advised her. "Clean yourself up. Don't want your pussy leaking cum for him to see."

Grabbing the box of wipes from the glove box, she did as he said and reached into the back seat for her bobby socks. They loved that innocent little girl look, she thought as she also grabbed a clean pair of white cotton panties.

Daisy had just finished brushing her hair up into pigtails when Preach pulled the car into the remote end of a truck stop and turned the engine off. Drawing back his hand, he slapped her face hard enough to bring tears to her eyes... but that was the whole idea. "Don't forget the wallet," he instructed and reclined his seat. "I'm gonna take a nap."

Walking toward the row of trucks parked in front of the diner, Daisy began looking for her mark and soon had one in sight. Forcing the tears to come, she strolled toward his truck and sat down on the curb.

She drew her knees up and rested her face in her arms leaving her calves spread just enough for him to see her panties bunched up into her slit. Oh, yeah, she smiled to herself when she heard the slowly approaching crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sobbing now, all she had to do was wait.

"Hey... umm... is everything all right?" the guy said, stopping a few feet away.

Daisy looked up at him through bleary eyes and blinked. "He... " she hiccuped. "He... left me!" A freshet of tears erupted as he moved closer.

"Now, now... " the trucker said awkwardly, closing the gap between them and lowering himself down beside her with a grunt. "Tell ole Ronnie all about it."

This was even better than she'd expected. This guy was going to be easy as pie.

"Ohhhh... " Daisy sobbed, throwing her arms around the man's neck and pressing her breasts against his arm. "My boyfriend... " she wailed. "I went in to use the bathroom and when I came out, he was goooooone!"

"There, there, little miss. I guess you live local?" he asked, nervously putting his arms around her shoulder.

"Not too far," she said quietly. "Too far to walk though. I'd do... anything if you'd give me a... ride."

Blinking up innocently, she knew the guy was hooked when he had to tug his eyes away from the view of her titties to reassure her that he'd be willing. "Really?" she asked in her best little girl voice.

"You just hop on up in my rig, little miss. Uncle Ronnie will take care of everything," he assured her as he stood, affording her a look at his growing bulge.

"Ohhh... " Daisy giggled gratefully through her tears, giving him a better peek at her panties when he held out his hand to help her up. "How will I ever be able to thank you?"

"No worries now. You just get up in there."

Daisy smiled to herself as she climbed up into the cab and settled down in the seat. "I've never been in one of these before. What's back there, Uncle Ronnie?" She gestured toward the curtained off space behind the seats.

"Why that's where I catch some shut-eye when I'm on a long haul, purdy thang. You ain't never seen one?"

"No... mind if I look?"

"Naw... go ahead."

Turning in the seat, Daisy bent over to glance behind the curtains. In the compartment was a rumpled mattress with sheets that had seen better days. When she heard him moving, she lost her balance.

Landing on her belly, she rolled over quickly and giggled. Her skirt was hitched up and she blushed, pretending to cover up what she knew he was drooling to get at. "Oops!" she giggled again as he clambered in beside her and stretched out.

"You look mighty tired, Uncle Ronnie."

"Been a long day, missy. A real long, hard day."

Daisy giggled again. Raising herself onto her knees, she straddled him and began massaging his shoulders. "My daddy likes when I do this," she added quietly. Her puss pressing against one denim-covered thigh, Daisy could see the bulge of his wallet in his back pocket. She could feel him tensing and then he began to relax, his butt moving up and down as if he was fucking the mattress.

"Why'ncha turn over? I'll show you what else he likes," she urged him, ready to swipe the wallet as he turned. Easy peasy... She had it stashed out of the way by the time he'd landed on his back. Now for the fun part!

"What else does your daddy like?"

"Well... He likes when I do... this." Daisy ground her pussy hard against his thigh for emphasis and by the look on his face, Ronnie was going to shoot his load without her even getting some. But he surprised her.

Leering up at Daisy, Ronnie pulled her down by her hips and then flipped her over. Kneeling between her legs, he unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down, his cock jutting out like a flagpole.

"Oooh... " she mewled, watching him stroke with one hand as he buried his other between her legs and tore her panties away. Feigning shock she watched his heavily lidded eyes as he jerked her legs up over his shoulders and thrust into her sopping cooze hard.

The gasp Daisy uttered was genuine. The guy was hung like a horse and even though she was wet, it felt like he was stretching her cunt to the limit. "Oh... " she gasped. "Uncle Ronnie... "

"You like?" he grinned, pounding in and out of her without let up.

"I... like!" Daisy grunted, her body like a rag doll in his hands as she felt the first familiar waves of an orgasm spreading over her body as he tensed and sent hot, pulsing jets of cum deep inside her.

Ronnie was typical, she mused afterward. He didn't stick, rolling off her onto his back and panting for air. Within minutes she heard him begin to snore.

The coast was clear! Grabbing the wallet, Daisy eased herself up and out of the cab. She'd just about cleared the ground when she heard him shout and broke into a run. "Get back here you lousy whore! Fucking bitch!"

"Uh oh... " she muttered. He must have noticed that his wallet was gone. "Preach! Trouuuuuuuuuuuuble!!" Daisy shrieked as the trucker started to gain on her.

 

[chris2c4u]

The Preacher reclined the seat and took a nap, awaiting the return of his side kick. He wouldn't tell her but she was good at this, fleecing the truckers.

He awoke with a start; the sound of Daisy's voice carried through the open window and he blinked and peered out of the windshield to see her running for all she was worth with a burly guy in pursuit. "Dammit," BillieBobJim muttered and started the engine. With a roar he threw the big black Pontiac into gear and screamed past Daisy, hearing her wail as she saw him drive past.

The big trucker increased his stride as he saw the car desert his quarry. A moment later though the Preacher opened his door and, driving close to the big man, knocked him down with it. With a glance to the heavens he uttered a hollow prayer of thanks that the window glass hadn't broken and did a handbrake turn in the parking lot.

He drove back to Daisy slowly and pulled up beside her. She glanced at the prone form of the trucker and opened the door and got in.

The Preacher turned the car around again and sat, the engine idling.

"Do not tell me Miss Daisy that you're losing your touch?"

She shook her head. "The damn guy had rolled over good and proper. He must have been a light sleeper. Dammit." She struck the dashboard in frustration and pulled out some wipes to remove the trucker's fluid from her pussy. Squinting out of the window she asked, "do you think he's all right?"

Snapping his fingers, the Preacher asked for the wallet. Daisy handed it over and BillieBobJim counted the notes happily. Then there was what he was looking for; the picture of the trucker's happy family and the driving licence with the address on it. Writing a note quickly he drove up to the prone form who by this time was starting to groan. He dropped several items, including the note onto the chest of the trucker and saw him grab it before driving off.

The trucker woozily opened the note and read. "No need for any unpleasantness now son. Should you think of going to the police I'm sure Carla your lovely wife and those two adorable children will be most interested in knowing what you get up to on the road with sweet innocent girls. Here are your credit cards also; I'm strictly a cash man myself. Praise the Lord!"

"Well, your mark turned out good," the Preacher tossed the wallet back to Daisy to count the cash. "Gas money plus. What you say we head for that diner where we smelt the unmistakable aroma of exotic cigarettes and get ourselves some dope and maybe have us a night off?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

3.

"Sounds good to me. I'm starrrrrrrrrrrrving!" Daisy growled, rummaging in her bag for a pair of shortshorts and a halter. She'd wash up in the restroom there, too.

BillyBobJim pulled round back of the Golden Bell Diner and cut off the engine. "I'll get the weed while you order us a couple burgers and fries to go. Oh, and I'll have iced tea," he said, squeezing her upper thigh then tweaking her nipple.

"Sure thing," Daisy gasped, sucking air in through her teeth. Damn if she wasn't horny all over again, but there wasn't time. Preach was already out of the car and halfway across the lot. Maybe she could get a quick diddle in while she cleaned her coochie.

Jumping out of the car, she ran to catch up going inside ahead of BillyBobJim and directly to the counter. "Two burgers, two fries an iced tea and a Pepsi," she said to the waitress who came walking over. "I gotta use the facilities, but I'll be right back."

"Sure thing, sweetie. Take yer time. Cook's a little backed up anyhow."

Daisy nodded. Looking around to see where the Rev had gone cause they always watched each other's backs, she noticed he was talking to some old dame that had been at the revival that day. "Whoo boy!" she muttered under her breath, half-expecting to have to cut and run any minute, but a negligible gesture from him told her that it was okay.

Following the sign that read Rest Rooms, Daisy winked at a couple good ole boys who eyed her up when she sashayed past. She could almost see their peckers growing, poor little things.

Not caring if anyone came in, she stripped down as soon as the door swung shut behind her, pulling shampoo, soap, a wash cloth and a dingy towel they'd lifted from a motel a couple months back out of her bag. Top to bottom, front to back, mama had always said, though she planned to take a little extra time with her bottom.

Daisy had it down to a system. Less than fifteen minutes and she was all fresh and clean again. "Good enough to eat," she giggled to herself in the mirror as she brushed her hair out. Speaking of which... the burgers were probably done and she was certain BillyBobJim had made his score by now, too.

Knowing that her butt cheeks were peeking out the bottom, she gave those same two men an extra wiggle as she passed for the second time, but she didn't see the preacher anywhere. Well, no matter... she'd get the food and wait for him in the car.

"Perfect timing!" Daisy grinned at the waitress who was just coming out of the kitchen with the bag of food.

"Extra helpins, sweetie," the woman said with a wink. "You look like you could use a little meat on those bones."

"Hey, thanks!" she replied, pulling a bill out of her pocket to pay. Lots of folks said that to her, but she couldn't pull off the little girl thing if she let herself fill out too much. Besides, Preach liked her this way.

Heading for the car, she saw BillyBobJim had beat her to it, but as she got closer she saw that he'd beaten her to something else as well. That broad he'd been talking to in the diner was sucking at his cock like a Hoover while he sang "Amazing Grace". Knowing better than to spoil his chances at a hefty donation for the cause, Daisy figured she'd eat her food by the kitchen steps while she waited... or maybe... Those two good ole boys had just come outside, each headed to their own vehicles.

"Praise the Lord!" she was gonna get her some, too.

Setting the food down, she eyed them up, choosing the one who looked like he had a bigger bulge. Wiggling her way across the parking lot, Daisy let her perky little titties lead the way. "Hey," Daisy purred. "Just waitin' on a friend, but I'd sure appreciate some company in the meantime."

He didn't miss her meaning, shifting his batch and nodding toward his EconoLine, but his friend had overheard and was quickly closing in. "What the hey," she said with a wink. "I can take you both on if you please me right. But it'll cost you."

"Oh yeah?" the guy with the bigger dick said. "How much?"

"Twenty each. Believe me, honey. I'm worth it." And they seemed to think so too, cause soon as she held out her hand and wiggled her fingers they were diggin' in their pockets faster than she could say "Fuck me now."

Twenty minutes later, after the guy named Harold had licked his jizz from her puss -- "Cleanliness is next to Godliness," she'd told him while she came for the fifth time -- Daisy dressed, a little disappointed that she'd only managed to lift one of their wallets.

Hearing the roar of the Pontiac's engine, Daisy promised to look them up next time she was in town. Grabbing the bag of food from where she'd left it, she laughed while the two bohunks scrambled to get home to their wives.

"Phew!" Jumping into the passenger seat, Daisy put her feet up on the dash and pulled the wallet out of her shorts. She tossed it onto the seat between them with a broad grin and leaned over to kiss him, the scent of pussy on his breath was unmistakable. "You smell like the pussy who just ate the pet canary... Or should that be the other way around?"

BillyBobJim grinned lewdly, tickling her tonsils with his tongue before putting the car in gear and driving off.

 

[chris2c4u]

BillieBobJim stood outside the Diner, going around to the kitchen entrance where the door was open.There was the sound of laughter and a woman gave a squeal and laughed. Sticking his head into the smoky, greasy kitchen he noticed the cook slap the waitress' ass before she dashed off.

The cook picked up the reefer he'd left on the counter and started smoking as he stood watching a deep fryer bubbling away. He wore a dirty chef's overall and his long greasy hair hung down to his shoulders, emerging from a battered cowboy's hat pushed back on his head.

"Afternoon, son," BillieBobJim boomed as he stepped into the kitchen. "You know if you're gonna break so many health ordnances you should really do it behind closed doors." He looked around and ran his finger through some grease on a counter top.

"Hey, you're not allowed in here," the cowboy chef said in a surprisingly reedy voice, after he'd recovered from the shock of seeing the stranger.

"Oh, I'm allowed pretty much where I please son." BillieBobJim pulled out his wallet and let him see the fake State Health Inspectorate ID. "And by the looks of it I think you might want to start looking for a new job. This place isn't going to be shut, it'll be condemned!"

"Ohhh..." the boy whined and shuffled from one foot to the other. With an oath he remembered the fries and heaved the basket out of the fat and then ran to the grill to flip the burgers.

"Now, now," he whined to the Preacher, "you can't do that, my Momma won't be happy."

"Family business, eh? Admirable son, admirable. Well, I'm sure you can lick this place into shape...get it cleaned up?"

The boy nodded vigorously, "yes sir."

"That's the attitude, well, tell you what I'll do. For just half your stash," BillieBobJim nodded to the "cigarette," "I'll give you a week before I come back. Can't say fairer than that."

The cowboy chef swallowed and his adam's apple bobbed; he was attached to
this weed, it was high grade but then he thought what Momma would say - and do - if...

In a few moments BillieBobJim had a little bag to take away; he shook the boy's hand. "Family business. Backbone of this country son. You treat it right. See you in a week."

Walking around the front he didn't see Daisy yet so went inside the diner and noticed in the corner a familiar figure from the church they'd just tried to knock over. He smiled then composed himself; she'd been the sort of middle aged mousy type who fell for his words in the week they'd been there; he gave thanks profusely that there were so many of them everywhere they went.

Coming up behind her he murmured, "Grace?"

She jumped and sat up in alarm before noticing who it was. "Why Preacher! I...I didn't think I'd be seeing you again...after the unpleasantness..."

He indicated the seat opposite and she nodded assent to him joining her. He sat and with a serious look on his face he covered her hands with his own large fingers.

"Some people do not know that the Lord works in mysterious ways. Not like you Grace. I can tell, you are a believer and my words, I hope, brought you comfort in the short time we have known one another?"

She nodded enthusiastically, "oh yes Reverend BillieBobJim, yes they have." Her eyes were dewy and her heart palpitating at his touch.

"That poor young girl, who is now saved..." He lifted a finger to prevent her calling out "Hallelujah," "she has been helped. However." He bowed his head and appeared to pray.

"Reverend? What's the matter?" She tilted her head to the left to try and see his face.

"I fear...the devils that inhabited her...are still nearby...and that one may have sneaked into me when I wasn't looking."

Grace pulled one hand free to cover her mouth as she squeaked, wide eyed.

"What can you do BillieBobJim?"

He smiled wanly. "I must seek help from a spiritual person, someone..." he trailed off. "No, no I couldn't ask..."

Grace blinked. "Ask what Reverend? Me?" She beamed. "You can ask me anything."

"Well, would you help me cast out this devil?"

"Oh, sir, it would be an honour!"

He clasped her hands and managed to shed a tear before fumbling with his
handkerchief. "Please, accompany me to my car, where we may perform the
necessary acts."

****

Grace waited for the preacher to push back the passenger seat so she had room to kneel between his legs as he told her not to worry. She nodded, a little nervously as he explained that the devil's were ones that caused sexual deviancy, "you heard the poor girl herself...so we must extract them by fooling them into thinking we are deviant ourselves." As he spoke he was unbuckling his pants and pushing them down. She averted her eyes and gave a barely audible, "Amen," as his boxers followed the pants around his ankles. When she looked back she saw his manhood, purply red, thick and engorged before her face. She nearly fainted.

"Grace, don't let them overcome you now. Be strong. Reach out and hold
the abomination...ahhh yes, praise be! Now, throttle it, shake loose the demon..." The preacher was quite surprised at how her hands slid expertly up and down his rock hard cock, exploring every inch and obeying him to the letter. He writhed happily.

"Grace...ahhhh..." he was sweating profusely, "more is needed; take this devil driven member into your mouth; suck out the poison...help me Grace, help meeee..." he squeaked as she eagerly let her lips flow over the head of his cock and her head bobbed happily on him, swallowing more and more of his rod.

"AHHHH...yes G...Grace..." his eyes rolled up into his head, "Yes, I am going to cast it out...make yourself ready...Yesssss...AMAZING...Grace..." he sang...

He grunted as she sucked him hard and her tongue swirled around the hot cum that invaded her mouth and she swallowed happily.

Panting, when he recovered his eyesight BillieBobJim looked down at Grace's happy face. "Not had a cock in my mouth for soo long; really missed it. John...my hubby...he's strict missionary." She looked sad and winked at BillieBobJim. "Still, while you're here, want to lick me out? Maybe I caught a devil too?"

BillieBobJim laughed loud; Grace wasn't quite the yokel he'd assumed and he happily proceeded to help her make the Pontiac shake with her screams as she came three times to his fingers and tongue.

After they adjusted their clothes Grace kissed BillieBobJim on the cheek. "Keep serving the Lord, BillieBobJim, I hope you make it back round here soon."

He was still shaking his head happily when Daisy jumped into the car. He grinned when he saw the wallet and the flush still visible in her face; she'd had herself some more fun too. He laughed as she said after kissing him, "you smell like the pussy who just ate the pet canary... Or should that be the other way around?"

BillyBobJim grinned lewdly, tickling her tonsils with his tongue before putting the car in gear and driving off. "Buy us some commestibles at the next store, set up camp in the desert for the night..." he waved the bag of weed at her, "have us some fun, my lil girl." He winked.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

4.

Bypassing the truck stop they'd been to earlier, BillyBobJim pulled into the next service area on the interstate and Daisy ran in while he waited. Twenty five minutes later she came skipping out with her arms full and stowed the bags in the back seat before getting into the car herself.

"Wait til you see," she said to him with a grin. "I even got a couple things from the cook in there. Plus I had to wash up and pee." BillyBobJim put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, grinning at how resourceful Daisy could be when she put her mind to it.

He took the next to last exit on the interstate, heading down a rural extension for a couple of miles. "Almost there, you sweet thang," he purred as the car went bouncing off the road, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

"Mmm... " Daisy murmured, stretching. All that fucking had tired her out, but the short nap and what she knew was in store had her wiggling in the seat when Rev tweaked her nipple to wake her.

******

She was out of the car almost before he cut the engine, waiting for him to pop the trunk so she could pull out their things; setting up the pup tent first, though they probably wouldn't use it. BillyBobJim had already started a fire with logs they'd snatched from the woodpile behind the church and there was plenty enough to keep the fire going most of the night.

"Almost done," Daisy grinned, brushing his face with her fingertips as she ran past to grab their quilt and the things she'd gotten at the service area. She could already smell the sweet, pungent scent of the joint BillyBobJim had just lit up.

Dropping the bags on the quilt, Daisy reached for the doob, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke for as long as possible before exhaling slowly. "Good shit," he wheezed, and she had to agree. One toke and she already felt more than a little dreamy.

They'd played out this ritual hundreds of times over the past couple years on the road and she never tired of it, nor did he. The lascivious grin on his face as she undressed bore that out. As for Daisy, it made her tingle to see how much the preacher enjoyed looking at her titties, the way her nipples stood straight out from the center of her puffy areolae. They weren't big, but they were perky and at least a handful. Daisy kept her mons clean-shaven for him, too. It reminded both of them that she would always be "his lil girl".

"Your turn," she murmured, reaching for the joint again. She liked watching him strip down as much as he did her.

By the time the Reverend's thick cock was free of his trousers, Daisy already had her fingers buried in her pussy. He liked that, too, but she liked what she knew he had in mind better.

Moving closer, she offered her sodden fingers to his lips. He was stroking his cock absent-mindedly, teasing her as much as he was teasing himself. Daisy knew that, too, and shivered when he sucked them into his mouth, swirling his tongue over each and every one in turn before sucking them clean.

"Give me some of that sweet sugar you've been hiding between those skinny legs of yours," he growled hoarsely, pulling her closer, kissing and licking his way up slowly. It was both a skill and an art, he'd told her and she believed it to be true. No one but no one ate pussy like Reverend BillyBobJim.

Daisy gasped as his thumbs parted her puffy outer lips to look at the deep pink of her cunt before burying his mouth against it. She cried out when he sucked on her clit then nipped at it roughly. Her fingers in his hair, she pulled his mouth closer as he flattened his tongue and began to lick, snaking it into her cooze before returning to to her distended nubbin.

Grinning down at him, Daisy replaced his hands with her own, holding herself open so he could finger fuck her. "Do it, BillyBobJim," she purred, grinding her body against his face. "Make me cum so I can suck that big ole cock of yours."

She mewled when he suddenly pulled away, his face slick with her secretions. Grinning, he laid back, his cock waving at her like an angry flagpole. "Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Get on with it!"

Lowering her pussy over BillyBobJim's face, Daisy bent forward. Wrapping her fingers around his cock, she did exactly what he he had told her to.

 

[chris2c4u]

The boy had been right to be reluctant to hand over this weed; it was good. Though they only took enough to get them relaxed, it did its job real well.

BillyBobJim lay down on the dusty ground and watched as Daisy stripped off. He giggled a little as did she and they put out the joint to save for later as they were now interested in other enjoyable pursuits.

He pulled off his clothes for her; this time she didn't ask him to dance and he was pleased. She did lick her lips and go "Hmmmmm" when she saw how hard he already was and was playing with her pussy enthusiastically.

"Give me some of that sweet sugar you've been hiding between those skinny legs of yours," he said and she hapily opened her thighs to accomodate his mouth. He loved suckling pussy and knew that she appreciated his attention, listening to her squeal and feeling her hands in his hair as he lapped and played with her sex.

"Do it, BillyBobJim," she purred, grinding her body against his face. "Make me cum so I can suck that big ole cock of yours."

BillyBobJim had his own ideas and pulled away, feeling her hips hump the air in need. He grinned down at her, looking at her body as she pouted before he lay himself back on the blanket.

"Well, what are you waiting for, girl? Get on with it!"

She giggled and scooted over, positioning her pussy over his face as he felt her lips gently on the head of his cock with a little suck to boot. Her hand sought out his balls and she lifted up her mouth, "Oh, such heavy balls Reverend BillyBobJim, let me relieve them of their sweet juices. Ohhh!" she wriggled her hips as she again felt the Rev's hot tongue on her distented clit and squirmed back on the two fingers that he slid into her pussy. She bent her mouth again to his cock, holding its base as she opened her mouth and let him slide inside her throat.

BillyBobJim moaned on her pussy as he felt her mouth take him in; she had the best little mouth, almost as good as her tight puss. He lapped and suckled her lips as he watched his fingers fuck her and before returning to her clit with the tip of his tongue he cried, "Oh yessss...sweet girl, tell me now missy, jus' WHO is your DADDY?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

5.

She giggled, letting BillyBobJim's fat cock slip from between her lips with a wet slurp. As much as she wanted to cum on his mouth and gobble down all of his saltysweet man juice, Daisy knew what he needed.

Lifting herself up, she clambered around until she stood poised over his cock, his eyes travelling slowly downward, pausing at her breasts... lingering on her belly... staring hungrily at her bare mons. Daisy spread her nether lips wide, revealing the deep pink slickness of her needy pussy.

"You... " she murmured hoarsely, guiding the swollen head of his cock toward her seeping puss. "You're my... "

He groaned deeply, his hips thrusting upward as he sunk his cock into his daughter's cunt.

"Daddddddddeeeeeeeeeee!!" Daisy screamed. The walls of her pussy rippling, she came immediately.

BillyBobJim grinned lewdly, his meaty hands grasping her slender hips. Yes, he thought to himself. They had it like that. Just like...

Unable to control himself, the preacher emptied his seed into Daisy, flooding her cunt with a sense of satisfaction he got from no other. She was and always would be... Daddy's Little Girl.

******

"Sorta gives a whole new meaning to a Bible Belt, dontcha think?" Rebecca grinned, fanning herself.

"Good story... if it's true. And even if it's not," someone murmured.

"Oh, it's true all right," said the man at the bar. "Someone caught on to BillyBobJim and Daisy's act not long after that gig. He's still doing time and Daisy... Well she ended up in a good Christian home... for unwed mothers."

Becca nodded, mixing him up another one. "Drink up," she said, sliding another drink across the bar. That was a thirst raising story tale if ever I heard one. Oh... and I've heard a few. This one's on the house."

BIBLE BELT

2 oz Southern Comfort
1/2 oz Triple sec
2 wedges Lime
2 oz Sour mix

Mix all ingredients, and pour over ice.​

"You know what? Maybe I'll take a turn this time. Anyone mind?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"Oh... " would you mind terribly if I told one first?" an elderly woman chirped from a corner table. "I won't be here long and I have a tale well worth telling. For the price of a drink, of course."

"We'd be delighted. What can I get you?"

"I think... " the woman pondered, tapping her index finger against her lip. "I know! I think I'll have... a Green Fairy!"

Rebecca smiled. It had been a long time since someone asked for one of those... the tale was sure to be noteworthy. She delivered it with panache, a tall glass on a sterling silver tray, it's contents a lovely shade of green. "Enjoy."

"And you as well," the woman replied, her eyes twinkling as she took a long sip and dabbed daintily at the corners of her mouth. "My story," she began, looking around the room, "begins in Montmarte, a subdivision of Paris, France in 1906... "

******

The opening of Le Baiser Foncé in Montmartre hadn't gone unnoticed amongst aristocrats as well as the nouveau riche and Bohemians. A private club, the owner, nonetheless, invited certain artistes from Le Bateau-Lavoir on the nearby Rue Ravignan and courtesans to fraternize here free of charge (or a token painting), knowing they were good for business and would attract more.

Born in the red-light district of Pigalle to a prostitute, Marie Gagnon, known simply now as Avelaine, was the club's owner, Monsieur Joubert's, shining star. Taller than most, the sultry, blue-eyed blonde (and it was bruited that her hair color did not come from a bottle) was many things to his establishment. Introduced by a past patron as a chanteuse whose voice could rouse the most callous heart and set the blood to boil in the most dispassionate, Joubert was pleased to say that every word of it was true.

"I just can't make my eyes behave;
Two bad blue eyes,
I am their slave,
My lips may say,
"Run away from me,"
But my eyes say,
"Come and play with me!"
And you won't blame
Poor little me, I'm sure –
For I just can't make my eyes behave."

Avelaine smiled, blowing kisses as she stepped off the small stage and began weaving her way through the crowd, the scent of her perfume trailing after her. Many eyes followed, many more wished for just a few moments in her arms... or between her legs. She was... exquisite.

Her bare-backed gown of sapphire blue silk, only serving to deepen the blueness of her eyes, caressed her wasp-like waist and shapely hips before billowing outward at the knee. It was cut deeply in the front, a thin gauze lining behind cording, doing little to conceal the shape of her breasts, their nipples barely covered by the silk of the bodice.

"Give them a taste, chere. Always make them want... more than you will ever give," her mother had told her. The advice had served her well.

Vibrant music followed by the cheers of Le Baiser Foncé's patrons told her that the Can Can girls were coming out. Long legs and bare thighs, she knew the men (and some of the ladies) would turn their attention now to the plump bosoms of the dancers, and she used that to her advantage. Heading toward the bar, Avelaine accepted a glass of the finest champagne proffered by one of the gentlemen in attendance.

"Merci," she mouthed, raising the glass to her crimson lips and sipping daintily. Avelaine rarely drank during business hours. The man looked... interesting. Perhaps, she thought, she would join him for a moment.

"Bravo, mon petite choux! You had them eating out of your... " Joubert grinned lewdly, suddenly having appeared at her side from the "exclusive" casino upstairs.

"As always, Joubert," the chanteuse stated matter-of-factly. If there was one thing lacking in her demeanor, it was definitely not confidence... Nor was it the ability and cunning to get anything and everything her heart desired, in any way necessary.

******

Avelaine's eyes scanned the crowd as Etienne whispered in her ear, asking whom she had chosen. "Hmm... " she said, gesturing with a tilt of her chin. "I pick... that one."

"The Belgian?"

"He suits me... and he's easy on the eye," she replied and smiled brilliantly, already moving in the man's direction. "It's either that or the fat baker and his wife," she added over her shoulder with a wink, but from that moment on, her attention was only focussed on the one.

He rose as Avelaine approached, hesitantly it seemed to her, as if he wasn't certain that she was coming to his table. Oh, but she was. "Bonjour, Monsieur... " she said.

"Bellion. Thomas Bellion," he replied with a bow as he took her proferred hand and kissed it lightly. "Will you join me?"

"It would be my pleasure, Bellion," though she was thinking that it would more likely be his. "Merci." The gentleman had come around to hold the chair.

Avelaine had had a good look at him when he'd sent the wine, and took a moment more to look again as he returned to his own seat. In truth, he was easy on the eye, just as she had said to Etienne. He was well-dressed and clean shaven. His eyes were bright and his nose, long and slender as was he himself. His hair was brown and parted in the middle, with a stray wisp that had fallen onto his forehead. She reached across and combed it out of the way with her fingers.

"Shall we have champagne to celebrate our first meeting?" she asked quickly, wondering if she had made him uncomfortable. His countenance was inscrutable, which piqued her interest all the more. And if she had, she would soon find a way to rectify that.

 

[chris2c4u]

Thomas Bellion had hurried inside the Le Baiser Fonce earlier that evening, the feelings of unease he had suffered during the weeks he had been in Paris now surfacing again. He had continued to smile at them, to repress them, to know that they were unacceptable in a buyer of his repute. Calm. Care. Confidence. These, his watchwords had seen him manage to purchase art around the world for himself and for his clients. This, however...

Montemartre. Hill of the Martyrs; the place he had known would be the heart of this intrigue, where art could be traded, examined, auctioned with no eyebrows being raised, no provenance asked. Yes, it had to be here. Unfortunately.

This atmosphere was not one that Bellion naturally relished. Calm. Care. That was his style, his preference. This place - the life here was the opposite. Calm - did anyone ever sleep? He was pleased that his apartment was on the edge of the district but even there, new fangled automobiles broke the night with their unnatural roars, parties rarely ended and when they did the soft moans of the whores in the doorways was his lullaby.

Care? The village thugs,the apaches, Parisian toughs in their wide berets, corduroy trousers and little care or compassion, as he saw in the street a few nights before. A rival gang member? A victim who resisted their attempted theft? He didn't wait to see if the gendarmes or medical help would arrive in time.

Here though, Le Baiser Fonce, there was still the Bohemian tone but he felt safer. People wore the fashions, here his meticulous care with clothing fitted in. Yes, the painters still huddled in tables, candles flickering on their uncooth dress. Here also came the fashionable of Paris to view the artists, to gain a frisson of excitement by being in their company, to occasionally buy the paintings that the artists offered Joubert for meals or for the names of the dancers of easy virtue who might model for them, might take them in for a few nights of sex and
food.

Bellion did not look out of place; tonight, the grey bowtie, the matching suit and waistcoat. The pink carnation in his lapel the spash of colour along with his fashionable walnut walking cane with the silver handle.

Here, the waitresses occasionally winked at him now and they knew his liking for good champagne. Still somewhat nervous around such scantily clad women and uncertain about looking even at the stage when the modern provocative dances were performed, he struggled with his secret enjoyment and his guilt bubbling up from his strict upbringing in Belgium.

Tonight he sat near the bar, purposefully; he knew the singer, the one they called Avelaine, made her way there after she had silenced the crowd, even the painters and philosophers noisy discussions, with the voice that caressed the men's loins and romanced the women's fantasies.

It was the men, though, who ached for a glance from her after the song. Tonight. Maybe tonight...he would be the one.

He didn't consider it dangerous when he planned to offer her champagne; he did not need to hide. Care. He had worked it out carefully; get known just well enough to let people see he was there. Calm. Wait for the news that the ripples that had spread through the art acquiring community of Europe were true; that something here, in this shady, dangerous, stimulating place was going to do something very un-revolutionary, un-Bohemian. It was going to open the purses of the rich to grasp whatever was on offer greedily to their bosoms.

Now, though, his heart beat faster as he saw her approach; slow, slinky cat like rolls of her hips. The applause from the rest was for the can-can girls; here at the bar the discerning men waited. Would she pick one to talk to tonight?

Thomas's mouth grew dry as he saw her pale skinned back, the sapphire blue silk. Her figure; her breasts, the dress left little to the imagination. He almost forgot to order the second glass before pouring the wine hastily, spilling a little.

"Chanteuse..." he called a little louder than he had wished as he held out the glass but she replied with thanks and sipped the wine. Bellion swallowed and smiled nervously, tipping his head to her and raising his own glass in salute.

He rose as Avelaine approached, hesitantly it seemed to her, as if he wasn't certain that she was coming to his table. Oh, but she was. "Bonjour, Monsieur... " she said.

"Bellion. Thomas Bellion," he replied with a bow as he took her proferred hand and kissed it lightly. "Will you join me?"

"It would be my pleasure, Bellion, Merci." Bellion came around to hold the chair.

The disappointment of Avelaine's gathered admirers was palpable; how could she pick him? After a momentary swell in the noise, eyes turned to the stage or to seek out other company while Bellion met his guest for the evening. Yes, she was spectacular; beautiful certainly and as he pulled out the chair he watched her body curl sensuously down onto it, then his gaze slipped naturally down the front of her dress which all evening had given the illusion of being about to fall from her
firm breasts. Calm, Bellion, calm, he told himself.

Returning to his seat he smiled across at this overpowering young woman; perfume, stage make up and a personality that she was clearly reigning in until she got his measure. She would not be out of place on the great stages of Europe. She would, no doubt go far.

"Shall we have more champagne to celebrate our first meeting?" Her suggestion came quickly as if to ally any worries in him. He smiled and caught the eye of the waitress who he had tipped to be waiting to deliver the bottle to the table. Avelaine smiled. You were confident, young man," she said as she sipped the wine.

"Hopeful - though good champagne is always worth having as a consolation should you have chosen another." He raised his glass to her as applause once again erupted around them. With studied deliberation he did not join in the acclaimation but kept his eyes on hers and smiled. Her interest clearly piqued she slid her chair a little closer to her companion.

"What brings you to this odd corner of Paris Bellion? You're clearly no starving artist." Tossing her hair languidly over her shoulder she gave a look to the more racous company in the shadows where a tipsy whore was sitting on the knee of a painter and from the roll of her hips clearly demonstrating what might be on offer nearby.

"No. my interest is in - collecting. Buying and selling."

"Ah! Then you have come to the right place." With an expansive gesture her hands drew his attention to the walls. "Have a word with Joubert. His mouth is full of acid for anyone but he is a businessman. Buy a picture given for a few dinners and in a few years sell it on to buy the cook who made them!"

They both grinned. "I have looked at many of the works here and in the studios nearby. They are certainly - interesting. Worth a few francs for an investment. However, I have a broad interest in art and know that here there are occasional - auctions - of hard to obtain items."

Diplomatically Avelain sipped her champagne and inclined her head as if to ask for more on this novel subject.

"You have perhaps heard of..." he turned his hand up fingers outstretched, as if dismissing it, "a trifle...the Green Fairy? A little jade piece?"

Her pulse quickened at the mention of the Green Fairy. Could he know? Impossible. There was only one other who knew where the figurine was kept... and he was long gone. She shook her head, almost imperceptably

"Still, enough of these matters of work." With a lithe motion he glided forward on his chair and his hands covered the one she had on the table. "It is not often that I get to speak to a star." He grinned and with deliberate exaggeration, "no - more - Venus herself!" Avelaine laughed and he joined her before pouring more wine and again gathering her hand up to his lips. This time it was not the kiss of greeting; his lips found the pulse in her wrist and gently closed on it, the tip of his tongue feeling her heartbeat.

"This is a charming place," he said, holding her hand to his cheek "but perhaps you would prefer to go somewhere else - it is your place of work after all. Is there a restaurant nearby? Or somewhere else?"

 

[Maid of Marvels]

2.

A cab took them to her apartment on the cobbled Rue des Saules where they were admitted immediately by a woman dressed in black and wearing a crisp white apron. "Merci, Agathe. My femme de charge," Avelaine said by way of explanation, letting her gauzy wrap slither into the middle aged woman's arms. "Take Monsieur Bellion's coat, will you? Oh, and Agathe?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle?"

"We don't wish to be disturbed."

"Bien sûr."

Slipping her hand through his arm, she led him into her private parlor, lavishly furnished with great attention to detail, though its ambience expressed closeness and intimacy. Against the far wall stood a burnished oak Louis XV sideboard which held assorted bottles and glassware, though its central attraction was a Legler-Pernod absinthe fountain with 6 taps surrounded by six Pontarlier-style reservoir glasses. Nearby stood a pot au cuilleres filled with spoons designed with intertwined leaves of the wormwood plant and a silver dish of sugar cubes. From here, Thomas could see that the door to her dimly lit boudoire stood ajar, affording a glimpse of an enormous mahogany sleigh bed and the promise of pleasures she would offer within.

Avelaine turned toward Thomas as they entered and smiled. "Sherry, cognac or something stronger?"

"Cognac, yes cognac will be fine." He took the glass she offered as she set to lighting the gas, the illumination dimly showing the richly decorated apartment.

"I see singing pays well," Thomas commented, putting the glass down as she reached up to another fantail burner and went to stand behind her. With the confidence of champagne and cognac his hands slid inside the deep blue gown where it exposed her back. Her skin felt soft and warm, his fingers playing against it gently as his breath warmed the tiny hairs on her neck.

Avelaine could feel his breath, warm against her neck as he stood behind her and it made her shiver deliciously. For all the men she'd been with over the years, she never tired of them as many others did. In truth, Avelaine loved making love.

The comment about the Green Fairy made her wonder again if it he referred to the same one she knew of. The allusion to her finances, however, had set Avelaine's nerves on edge. Perhaps she was reading more into it than she should be. Nevertheless... Now was not the time to consider such things.

Thomas felt her shiver and slowly turn in his hands until they rested on her hips, swallowing hard as she placed her delicate hands on his chest, moving them slowly upward until they were on his shoulders. "What is your pleasure, Thomas?" she whispered. "Tell me... "

Her eyes on his face, a smile on her lips. His own gaze ran down her neck letting the shape of her barely covered breasts fill his eyes until he looked up again and slid his hands once more against her back. One hand soaked up the warmth of her skin against her shoulder blade, the other slipped into her soft blonde hair as he drew her towards him to kiss her.

They stood kissing, her body, so close, was arousing him easily, as she was surely aware. As she broke the kiss to again offer the question, this time with her eyes and a tilt of the head, he licked his lips tasting her on them. "I want to make love with you," he half whispered, his voice cracking as he blushed, luckily not squeaking. Bellion cleared his throat and looked into her eyes, the blue now darkened by her wide pupils. And after, the small, receding voice of the art dealer tried to remind him, you will talk...

Unable to resist, he followed his words with his lips against her neck, tasting her soft skin once more, gently suckling up to her ear...

Avelaine stepped back, her hands brushing over Thomas' shoulders and down his arms, removing first one cufflink and then the other, placing them on the sideboard before returning her hands to his chest and kissing him again. She could feel his desire, pressing hard against her belly and increasing her own as she stepped back yet again, this time to unbutton his shirt.

She kissed and nuzzled at his neck, nibbled on his chin, suckled playfully at his lower lip while her accomplished fingers completed their task and let her hands glide under the silk. Palms against his warm skin, she moved them upward until they rested on his shoulders and slowly nudged the garment off.

Holding his gaze, her hands moved lower still, caressing the length of his erection and smiling when she felt Thomas press forward at her touch. "Ah... cherie," she murmured softly, revelling in her own prurient arousal.

Confidently aware of the pleasures they would share, Avelaine unfastened Thomas' trousers, tucking her thumbs into the waist of both his outer and under clothing. Pulling them downward, she licked and nibbled her way to her knees at the same time, the tease as much for his enjoyment as her own.

Bellion seemed puzzled, though his eyes didn't stray from hers and Avelaine smiled. Though many of her paramours were accomplished lovers, there were just as many who were not and Avelaine selfishly thrilled at that certain je ne sais quoi of furthering their education, so to speak. This man was such a one.

Avelaine watched his face as she grazed the length of him with one carefully manicured fingernail, her other hand slipping under his sac to cup it gently before bringing her own face closer. She could hear his breathing quicken as her breath ruffled the curly nest of hair surrounding his manhood, a gasp as her fingers gracefully encircled it to gently pull back the foreskin.

The sight of the first drops of his arousal, heightening her own, the courtesan flicked her tongue lightly, tasting its salty sweetness before letting her tongue trail along the underside and up again, stopping only for a minute to dally in the small triangle at the base of its swollen head. His eyes, riveted on her performance, fluttered, making her moan as she continued, her tongue swirling around its girth, Avelaine's lips parted to take him into the moist heat of her mouth.

The effect on both of them was electric. His gasp of surprise and pleasure as clearly audible as her own hoarse purr of delight, Avelaine took his throbbing erection fully, her body trembling with its own need.

Slowly, slowly she made love to him with her mouth, her lips, her tongue, her hands. Tasting Bellion's arousal was like an aphrodisiac, impelling her to quicken her movements as his hips rocked back and forth to feed it to her. He would come quickly, she knew, but she was there to offer him more. Much, much, more.

 

[chris2c4u]

With a mewl of pleasure Bellion felt his hips thrust against the face of the beauty kneeling before him. As his semen filled her mouth he doubled over, moaning. He gasped as his sensitive penis was licked clean and suckled once more by Avelaine.

His breathing slightly more controlled, he whispered his thanks as she stood and led the way towards her bedroom. He happily sank on the bed to watch as she stood before him and peeled off the blue dress, revealing her body to his gaze. He smiled in pleasure at the sight of her figure, his eyes resting on her firm breasts but equally moving to survey the beautiful curve of her hips. The eroticism of the moment was heightened for him by her leaving her underwear on.

With a leisurely feline grace she stepped out of the dress on the floor and approached the bed. Her leg raised beside Thomas he instinctively reached out and caressed the smooth warm flesh of her calf.

In a soft voice as she stroked his chest teasingly, she said, "I would like...I would like you to help me remove the last of my garments." He glanced towards her, looking as his hands crept around her waist into the soft fabric. As he did so he felt her fingers at the back of his head, in his hair, pulling him towards her softly rounded feminine belly. His lips met the skin and he closed his eyes, tasting her, savouring the aroma of her arousal. Open mouthed he probed her navel with his tongue then, moving to his knees on the bed he leaned back for a moment. His hands slid down her thighs, pulling the drawers with them, letting them fall to her ankles.

His eyes took in her breasts as his mouth moved close, the hot breath he exhaled caressing the hardened nipples. His tongue flicked first one then the other before he suckled each more deeply, listening to her soft gasps as he did so.

In a few moments she had straddled him and, despite his recent release the sight and feel of her had him aroused again. Her hand took his stiffened member and played with him against her so he could watch her, so he could feel the wetness on his head, feel her caressing her clit with him.

Her eyes met his and he knew she was ready; he arched up as she poisitioned him, as she met his thrust with her body engulfing him. He moaned and pushed within her, his hands playing on her thighs, on her hips, rising up to close on her firm breasts. He caressed them as Avelaine moved against him, rising and falling on his erection inside her. With a new found audacity he pinched her nipples and watched her head fall forward, the golden hair tumbling around her shoulders.

They grinned as she raised her body almost off him making him moan and clutch her hips trying to draw her down again over him. Soon they again were in time; his thrust meeting her undulations, her hands exploring him, his all over her nakedness.

As he felt himself becoming close to climaxing again he let his hand slide down between them and felt the soft parted folds of her sex. As she rose and fell his fingers followed her, caressing, circling her clit, feeling the wetness.

Their eyes met and each motion increased in speed and intensity; he could see her smile, her experience, knowing she wanted to milk him of his cum again, wanted him to shoot in her and then to take her pleasure.

Soon, all control was lost; he thrust hard and deep, almost lifting her with the force of it. He pushed his head back into the pillows and cried out her name as he shot his hot seed into her writhing body.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

3.

"Ahhhh... " she exclaimed as Thomas erupted, the rippling spasms in her pussy milking every hot pulsation of cum from his cock until he was completely drained. Then, and only when she was quite sure he was completely spent, Avelaine lowered herself onto Bellion's body, pulling him toward herself. Without permitting him to slip from between her legs, she cradled him in her arms, caressing his face and his body with her mouth and hands.

Avelaine waited until Bellion dozed before slipping quietly from the bed to both relieve her bladder and to rinse herself with the bidet. From there she discerned the faint jingling of the doorbell, a sound usually unheard when she entertained. Whoever it was, Agathe would take care of the matter and inform her later of their purpose.

Returning to the bed, she noticed that Thomas was awake and offered him the use of la salle de bain to refresh himself. He accepted though not without admiring her lithe form yet again. She hadn't bothered to put on even a dressing gown, being equally as comfortable with her nudity as she was fully dressed on stage.

While he was within, she padded to answer a soft knocking at the outer door of her parlor, closing the door to her boudoire to ensure Thomas of his privacy -- as well as her own. "Yes, Agathe?" she asked, opening the door. "Couldn't this wait?"

"Non, Mademoiselle. The message was quite urgent in fact. Tanguy." She whispered the last, wringing her hands. "He would speak with you but I said that you were... indisposed."

"Ahh... merci, Agathe. Quelque chose plus?" Avelaine asked, not overly concerned, he probably had something that he wanted to show her.

"Je ne sais pas... "

"Merci," she repeated, leaning down to give her housekeeper a hug. "No worries. Yes?"

"Yes," Agathe replied quietly.

"Bon. Now I will return to my guest." Closing the door she returned to Thomas Bellion who had settled once more onto the luxurious sleighbed to await her.

"Pardon," she murmured. "It was simply Agathe."

His unspoken reply pleased her as he took her yet again. More self-assured than before, Thomas didn't slow until they came together in a frenzied explosion that left them both breathless.

******

Knowing that they would spend the better part of the evening and perhaps the following morning together, Avelaine suggested they go walking after they had recovered. Though her kitchen was fully stocked and Agathe was an excellent cook, fresh air and a small meal often helped to invigorate a man's other appetites. It seemed Bellion had many.

She dressed simply, though there were few who would describe anything Avelaine wore as "simple". He had expressed an interest in pieces of art, both at La Baiser and here as they made small talk. There was a place she wanted to show him and in light of Tanguy's message, she was curious as well.

Arm in arm, they walked along the streets of Montemarte, talking quietly and laughing. When she stopped in front of an old art supply shop, Bellion arched an eyebrow. "Let's go in, shall we? There is someone I would like you to meet."

The shop was brightly lit, a sharp contrast to the tenebrous atmospheres of most other places in this area and she was greeted almost immediately. "Bonjour, Avelaine!"

The proprietor was an old socialist named Julien Tanguy who had always sympathized with poor artists, and often accepted their works as payment for painting materials. As such, his shop became a meeting place for avant-garde artists and so, little by little, he had become an art collector and dealer.

"Bonjour, Julien," she replied, smiling as he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her soundly on both cheeks and once on the mouth for good measure. "I would like to introduce a... friend."

Julien stepped back to examine the young man whose gaze swept the room appraisingly, his demeanor alone spoke volumes. He was definitely not French, and his obvious appreciation for the works of art on display told him something more. This man was a collector rather than an artist.

"Julien Tanguy, meet Thomas Bellion." Avelaine's use of Tanguy's name first alerted Thomas to his importance and he added a curt bow to his firm handshake.

"You got my message then?" Tanguy asked, his attention focussed once again on the lovely young woman.

"I did," she smiled. "Agathe seemed to think it was quite... urgent."

"Urgent? Non. Exciting, yes. Come." Julien took her arm and gestured for Bellion to follow. "I have had an... epiphany."

Avelaine chuckled. This could only mean one thing -- Tanguy was about to paint. Something he didn't do often, but when he did...

The older man led them into a back room that served as a studio where a pristine canvas propped on an easel confirmed her conjecture. "Voilà!" he exclaimed as if the phrase explained everything.

"So you will paint," she grinned, her friend's excitement contagious.

"Oui." His crooked grin and the sparkle in his eyes told her that it might be like pulling teeth until she guessed or at least hit on the right question.

"Who?" Avelaine, asked as the connection between his message and his revelation suddenly jelled. "Me???"

Tanguy clapped his hands with glee. "Why of course you! Who else, you silly goose?" Julien took in the way the two much younger people stood together. An aura of intimacy surrounded them which only served to add fuel to his original inspiration. "And perhaps... Bellion?"

 

[chris2c4u]

Their bodies entangled, the sheets rumpled or fallen to the floor, they fell into pillow talk about the clubs, about art. Thomas slid his hand into Avelaine's soft blonde hair and drank in the sensuality she wore, especially when naked. She enjoyed lovemaking and guided his less experienced body to pleasure her as she in turn aroused him. Sex, for her was an instrument to be savoured and played; she was a virtuoso.

He happily agreed to the walk even though, in his fastidious way, he was rather disturbed by having to put back on the clothes he wore the night before. The smell of stale tobacco on them from the club made him wrinkle his nose and Avelaine laughed and suggested first they walk to his apartment to allow him to change into fresh clothes. He grinned and nodded, intrigued by the hint she dropped of somewhere he would be sure to enjoy seeing.

He changed his suit to echo the fine day; cream linen, a cravat on the lavender shirt and the white hat topped it off. Avelaine enjoyed watching his toilette but smiled inwardly at his vanity. He kept the cane in his hand as they emerged again into the increasingly noisy Parisienne streets.

As they strolled the de la rue Clauzel, She tugged his arm outside an art supply shop. "Let's go in, shall we? There is someone I would like you to meet." Bellion inclined his head in agreement and followed her in.

Almost immediately, like an old friend, a stout, bearded figure bore done on Avelaine, hugging her and kissing her in greeting. Finally she was able to say, "I would like to introduce a... friend."

Tanguy smiled and studied Bellion as they shook hands and bowed to one another. Somehow, the older man's already broad smile increased and he nodded, to himself more than at Thomas. Finally he let go of Bellion's hand and he excitedly turned back to Avelaine.

Julien took her arm and gestured for Bellion to follow. "I have had an... epiphany."

The studio at the back had a broad expanse of glass and a prepared canvas. After a brief exchange between the friends, she read the artist's mind. It was decided; she would be the subject of his composition.

Bellion felt a little dejected; if his search for art was not too successful at the moment he had consoled himself with the thought of a couple more nights as Avelaine's consort. Now, perhaps that would not be. This Tanguy seemed one who was struck by the muse and had to paint then and there; he would steal her off him.

As if to confirm it, Tanguy's glee bubbled over. He clapped his hands, "Why of course you! Who else, you silly goose? and - perhaps, Bellion?"

Avelaine tilted her head coquettishly his way and grinned. Thomas laughed and nodded; he at least then would be able to stay with her.

"I knew you would agree," Tanguy chuckled and Bellion assumed he had seen the lust for Avelaine in his eyes.

"Now, here, I have the perfect composition." An off white sofa, a potted aspidistra. The old man fussed around them, sitting them down, putting the folds of the summer dress just so, the cane inclined to draw the eye to the vanishing point and to the surprise of them both went to fetch a large camera on a tripod. Bellion, not wanting to move much to influence the meticulous composition, raised an eyebrow at Avelaine, who permitted herself a slight shrug.

Tanguy grinned. "The coming thing, you know, photography. That and moving
pictures. You don't mind if I? Good, now keep still, 8 second exposure; look in here..." the artist removed the lens cap with a grin and replaced it when the time had elapsed. He closed the plates on the glass negative and put the camera away.

"A near perfect composition my children, but for the painting, one more thing is needed."

He went to the bench where he ground pigments and mixed colours and moved a few rags. Returning a few moments later he held a small statuette, delicately carved from fine green jade. Bellion's eyes widened and he could not restrain himself, standing up quickly.

"The Green Fairy! My God, Monsieur! where...how...?" Calm! Care! The words echoed in his head. The surprise had been too much even for the calculating mind of Thomas Bellion.

"The famous jade," murmured Avelaine, herself standing now the pose was lost and admiring the small carving cradled in Tanguy's hand. The wings of the dancing young woman were exquisite, her form, naked save whisps of gossamer, perfectly caught. Each had the feeling the closer they looked the more they would see, the statuette seemed so alive.

"I see you are familiar with the piece, Thomas."

Bellion nodded, his palms itching with desire to touch it. "I had heard it was here. Montmartre; I assumed it was to be put up for sale in one of the many secret auctions that attract bidders from around the world."

Tanguy shook his head. "No, she remains here with me, as she has since the sculptor who created her left her in payment for new chisels and a few meals and drinks. The ripples of her existence have travelled far and wide since those days. Many myths are associated with her, many powers are talked about late at night when poets and philosophers drink with painters and sculptors. I like to tease them with showing her occasionally and in this case, she will be the final piece in the composition. Now. You two," he tutted, "much too overexcited - sit down,
come, to the sofa."

Tanguy again settled them, again adjusted their clothing This time though the cane was removed and he put their hands together creating a cradle for the small, cool jade statuette. Bellion's hand shook a little as he finally felt what he had sought for many years now. He smiled at Avelaine who grinned at the pure joy on his face. Their fingers laced together easily and they looked, what they were, incongruous lovers drawn together by the tiny jade sculpture.

Tanguy worked quickly and neither Avelaine nor Bellion minded sitting through the day until the light failed. Tanguy stretched, seemingly unaware of the passage of the day and gestured for them to come and see themselves. As they did so, he retrieved the Green Fairy and placed it casually on the bench. The two models stared at the work Tanguy had produced. In a single day he had caught them, their clothes, their expressions, the sensuality of Avelaine balanced by the coolness of Bellion.

"I don't think I need to have you sit for me again tomorrow," said Tanguy, "in a day or two it will be complete."

Avelaine hugged him, "it is beautiful, thank you Tanguy."

The old man kissed the top of her head. "It is for you."

Avelaine gasped. He waved away her questions and denials that she could ever have it.

"It is for you," Tanguy repeated. "She asks me to give it you." He gestured over his shoulder with his head at the Green Fairy.

Avelaine smiled, "in that case I would be charmed."

Thomas cleared his throat and Tanguy anticipated the question. "No, Bellion, she is not for sale. And you don't need her any more." He winked as the puzzled expression on the art dealer's face gave way to calm acceptance; the burning desire to own the jade had gone, replaced by satisfaction at touching her, at knowing where she was. "However," Tanguy went on, "what you both need, are these." He picked up two envelopes from the workbench. "This morning, as I awoke, I saw I had to paint today. These were for my subjects."

"But," Avelaine interjected, "you sent word only to me - you had in mind a single subject for the portrait."

Tanguy nodded slowly. "I didn't understand the compulsion to write two letters either. Until I saw you arrive with this young man." He handed them both an envelope and quickly drew their attention to the words in blue black ink he had scrawled as he sat at his desk that morning.

Not to be opened until January 6th 1951.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

4.

The years blurred, one into another...​

Avelaine retired comfortably on profits made from investment tips shared during pillow talk and the lucrative sale of paintings, gifts by previous unknown artists who had finally made names for themselves.

Although she remained in Paris, she never married. Oh, not from lack of offers... she had many. It was because, as she liked to tell it, she was too fond of men to settle down with only one. It was not so for Bellion. He married well and had two lovely daughters and three sons from that union. Nevertheless, they saw each other from time to time, their disparate lives never dulling the passion they shared.

"And so... " the woman continued, taking a sip of her drink. "That is where we are so far. The Great War was ended, the stock market had crashed and the Depression had begun, but despite all of that Paris remained the stomping ground for the bon vivant."

She looked from face to face and smiled. "The year? 1930. The occasion? Avelaine's fiftieth birthday celebration. The place? Why, La Baiser Foncé, of course."

"Joyeux anniversaire, Avelaine!" Joubert, now in his late sixties and retired from the every day business side of life, greeted her with an admiring eye as all heads turned to admire the woman who had become a legend in Montemartre.

"Merci, Joubert," she replied, kissing him on both cheeks and then soundly on his mouth. Truth was, Avelaine owed everything to this man. If he hadn't taken her under his wing...

"Chanteuse!"

"Sing! Sing! Sing!" The crowd took up the chant as someone trained a spotlight down on her.

Smiling, she stood to a resounding applause as the pianist tinkled the keys. Scanning the crowd in the same way she had done on so many nights, her eyes fell on someone she had not expected to see. He held up a glass of champagne and nodded his head as she began to sing:

"I just can't make my eyes behave;
Two bad blue eyes,
I am their slave,
My lips may say,
"Run away from me,"
But my eyes say,
"Come and play with me!"
And you won't blame
Poor little me, I'm sure –
For I just can't make my eyes behave."

 

[chris2c4u]

The call from Joubert to his office in Amsterdam had surprised Bellion, though the proprietor's acid tongue had long since been calmed by age. Yes, he replied, he would be there. Nothing would keep him from this celebration, so he left his partner in charge of the diamond import-export business and his wife in charge of their five children and took one of his necessary "business trips" to Paris.

Bellion entered La Baiser Foncé,feeling, as always, that he had come home. The crowd was pressing, full of artists, philosophers and intellectuals, all of whom had some connection with the guest of honour.

Bellion had deliberately arrived late to surprise her and, as always, ordered a bottle of the best champagne from the prettiest waitress.

The crowd's anticipation grew and there was laughter and chanting. Bellion smiled; she was still as beautiful as ever, standing in the spotlight; the blue dress this year was perhaps a little less revealing that the one he had seen her in so long ago but it did its job of highlighting her curves. As she sang he moved forward in the crush; those who knew him moved aside; those who didn't were urged to move by neighbours, quickly telling the story that had seeped into the Montmartre cobbles, the story of the romance of Avelaine and Thomas. As she sang he held the glass up; he grinned like a schoolboy when she winked at him.

The aupplause and whistles filled the room and Avelaine smiled and waved and came down int the sea of kisses and caresses. The noise subsided a little after a few minutes and a small space opened up around Bellion and Avelaine.

"Chanteuse." He held out the glass.

"Monsieur." She took it and sipped. With a grin they embraced.

"Ah! Not tonight, Bellion you dog," Joubert appeared and put his arms around them both, "you don't get her all to yourself! She must mingle!"

With a grin and blown kisses they separated, snatching occasional moments to converse during the long evening, until Avelaine said, "remember Tanguy's shop? It is a small bistro now. So many things have changed."

Thomas nodded. ""Vincents, yes I know it." He smiled "Tomorrow - will you meet me there? We can talk? Lunch?"

Her smile brightened and she nodded.

****

She grinned when she saw him sitting outside the cafe; another linen suit (for a more mature figure to be sure but still dapper), another cravat.

She held out her hands and he got up - the cane was not just for effect any more; what with shrapnel from world war one and advancing years he leaned on it more now. He lifted his hat and they kissed and she sat, holding his hand as if they had always been together.

A waitress appeared Avelaine ordered, "white wine, I think."

Thomas smiled, "bring us the bottle...Burgundy..." pointing to the wine list and then watched the young woman's hips sway as she went back into the cafe.

Avelaine grinned at his eternal eye for a beautiful girl.

"Thank you for coming Ave," said Bellion making her tilt her head and smile. "Why would I not?" she replied.

With a gesture at the cafe, he commented, "this was his shop."

Avelaine nodded. "It was. Tanguy is long gone now. I still have the portrait.. do you remember?"

"How could I forget?"

The waitress returned with their wine and glasses; Bellion tasted it and sighed and waved the young girl away pouring it himself.He wrinkled his nose as he did so. "Nowadays we know our wines better...it will pass, as a house white," he grinned.

As they always did when they met they raised their glasses and toasted, "to us."

Avelaine sipped and, smiling looked at him over the rim of her glass. "It's more the quality of the company than the wine, yes?"

Thomas grinned a reminiscence surfacing and nodding "we are always good
company...that vacation in Alsace...1920?" His grin turned deliciously evil. "I seem to remember sitting on the secluded balcony naked and our toast was made with orange juice."

Avelaine laughed. "The chateau was lovely... and so were you."

Leaning forward with an eager sparkle in his eyes, Bellion asked, "indulge me a moment?" She grinned as he stood and went into the cafe with her. It was small and the entrance walls were covered with pictures of old Montmartre. Catching the eye of the young proprietor, Bellion pointed to the wall.

"This photograph? do you recall where you got it?"

The young man frowned and said, "yes, Tanguy, the owner here - we believe it was one of his. There was a lot of stuff in the cellar when we - my wife and I - took over here."

Thomas nodded his thanks and indicated Avelaine should step closer. The old print's sepia had faded but the couple sitting on the white sofa looked a little surprised still, even after 24 years. She put her hand to her mouth and gasped and looked at Thomas. They embraced silently.

****

Years rolled by, birthdays and dictators came and went. They telephoned each other more after the war in which Thomas lost a son and soon after lost his wife to TB. All the news they shared in letters, calls and visits and never once did they consider living together: they need not - no distance could disentangle the strands of fate that had held them through the decades.

They were both still comfortable financially; The Bellion's had moved to Switzerland as the clouds gathered, Avaelaine had, as usual, survived everything the world could devise.

Each year they met at least once, each year in La Baiser Foncé the old crowd - getting thinner by the year but still racuous after champagne - met up. It was in 1949 that Bellion told Avelaine of his plans to go to the United States. "They can treat the old ticker and Peter is working there - family, a change of scene. I may be back..." he shrugged.

She nodded and smiled as they at at the table. "Then this week in Paris we must make special." She shed no tear but instead grinned, "I think we will spend much time in bed..."

He laughed, still as eager as the first night for her charms.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Avelaine had gone back to Vincent's after Thomas left, offering to purchase the photograph that was hanging on the wall. The owner had looked from it to her and back again, suddenly looking as if a light had clicked on inside his head. "This... " he said, taking great care as he took it down from the wall, "is you? And the gentleman that is with you... " His finger touched the glass lightly.

"Oui," Avelaine had said with a misty smile. "I would like to give it to him. As a gift. You see," she added by way of explanation, "I own the portrait that Tanguy made from this."

In the end, the young man would accept no payment, bowing and telling her it was his honor. After all, wasn't she the celebrated chanteuse... Avelaine?

"Once, perhaps. No longer, I'm afraid," she had replied modestly, kissing him on both cheeks and gently on the lips before leaving.

Avelaine had given the photograph to Bellion at the end of their mad, passionate week in Paris in 1949. Though she knew in her heart that Thomas would never forget, Avelaine wanted him to have this as a keepsake, in much the same way that she had kept the portrait before gifting it to the Académie des Beaux Arts believing it time to share this spectacular work with the world.

~*~​

She stopped the narration, making as if she would get up, but her rapt audience would have none of that.

"Didn't they see each other again after Paris?" someone asked.

"And what of the letters... the ones that were to be opened in 1951?" queried another.

The woman who was telling the story smiled softly, her eyes glistening as she resumed the telling of her story. "Oh, yes... The letters."

~*~​

"Nouvelle année heureuse, mon vieux. Je vous aimerai toujours... toujours," Avelaine whispered after a lengthy conversation with Thomas. It was New Year's 1951. She was still in Montemartre and he still in Detroit.

Thomas had had a series of strokes the year before and Avelaine, well, she walked with the aid of a cane, refusing anything more obvious despite her pain. Being seventy two still didn't qualify her as an old cripple, she insisted, her pride and the vestiges of the extraordinary beauty she had been in more youthful times still discernible to any who saw her.

As she sat thoughtfully at her dressing table removing the same earrings she had worn on their first meeting and every meeting after, Avelaine's hand bumped her jewelry box, tipping it to the floor. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires... gifts from lovers and patrons over the years... spilled across the Aubusson carpet, like multi-colored flames as the light from the lamp played over them like a spotlight.

Reaching down to retrieve the box, a yellowed envelope fluttered to the floor. "What... " Avelaine's hand shook when she picked it up, a whispered "Ohhhh... " escaping from her lips. It was the letter. The one... one of the two that Tanguy had given to Thomas and herself the day he painted them.

Turning it over and over again, she noted that although the black ink had faded to a dull shade of brown, it looked the same to her now as it had almost fifty years before. The inscription remained...

Not to be opened until January 6, 1951​

Could she wait? What if she opened it now? What would happen? Avelaine held the missive against her pounding heart, her gnarled fingers smoothing its creased and wrinkled surface. How could she have forgotten this? How... Leaving her jewels where they lay, Avelaine undressed and went to bed, the letter rarely leaving her hand for the next five days.

The seconds tiptoed quietly into minutes and the minutes crawled slowly into hours. As swiftly as the last fifty years had sped by, it seemed, to Avelaine at least, an eternity until the 6th of January finally arrived.

She woke early that morning, shooing away her housekeeper with a list of errands that would take her at least until midday. Avelaine wanted to be alone when she read it.

Free of the woman's prying eyes and nagging tongue, Avelaine poured herself a glass of Burgundy. Taking a sip, she whispered, "To us," before lifting the hand-carved ivory letter opener and gently sliding it into the fragile parchment.

There were tears in her eyes as she read:

My Dearest Avelaine,
If you are reading this, then the bidding of the Green Fairy has been well done. She tells me you are to go to a large city in America, dear one. New York. Once there, you are to go to The Metropolitan Museum of Art... There will be a grand exhibition there. The artists of La Belle Epoque.

Ever Yours
Tanguy​

She read it once, twice, a hundred times and still Avelained didn't understand what any of this meant... unless... unless the painting would be on display there. Nevertheless, she would go as Tanguy and the Green Fairy bade... and so would Thomas, hopefully. It was their destiny.

 

[chris2c4u]

Thomas sat in the conservatory and looked out at the birds that visited the feeder. It was a particularly cold winter even for Detroit and they were grateful for the scraps. Much as he had been as a young man when offered the scraps of pleasure he had garnered. He smiled to himself at how some of those scraps had turned into a feast that had stretched over a lifetime. Avelaine's recent calls for Christmas and new year had been a highlight for him, as it was every time they spoke or met.

Yes, it was still, the Great Romance. His son, Peter and his daughter in law Helen smiled as Thomas took the calls or made them with the eagerness of the innocent within him he had never lost, through all the years. Those years that, of late, had brought misfortune, at least in health. He had shared it all with Avelaine.

Despite the strokes that had once threatened to rob him of his ability to walk if not still more, he was still quick witted. His grandchildren liked him and to them he told tales of the old days. The wars, his wounds, the times he saved the platoon. Sometimes even he did not remember what was truth and what was fiction. Sometimes they were stories of Montemartre and his eyes would become rheumy, his voice wistful.

He had not forgotten. Every year he marked his diaries on the 6th of January with the number of years left. Every year he checked the paper of the envelope noting how it aged with him, wondering about its mysterious message.

Twelfth night, 1951. He had his nurse take him to the park in his wheelchair despite the bitterness of the day. He fed the ducks and geese and managed a short walk before she wheeled him back to the car, back to the suburbs where Helen waited for him, trying to supress the eagerness she felt about the letter.

He drank coffee, lacing it with rum when the nurse and Helen were in conversation and went to his room. Opening the drawer he pulled the letter out and carefully opened it.

With his half moon reading glasses perched on the end of his nose Tanguy's hand was easily read.

My dear stranger,
I don't know you yet but I know you will come today with Avelaine to my shop. I know that you have heard rumours of the green fairy and it is she who compels me to write. She has never led me astray and now she asks me to give you a message.
In the next month you and Avelaine must meet in New York, in it's Metropolitan Museum of Art. You must go to the exhibition - The artists of La Belle Epoque. Dear God, this is a mystery, is it not?

Once there, you and she will know what to do.

I pray that you can do this. I wish you - or I should say, I hope you have had - every happiness in your life.

Tanguy.

He looked up to the wall above his desk at the picture Tanguy had taken all those years before and shook his head in disbelief.

So simple and yet so utterly strange, the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. He pushed back a whisp of white hair and picked up the phone. A long distance call to New York.

"Our special exhibition runs until April, sir. The artists of La Belle Epoque."

"Thank you," he breathed and replaced the receiver. His hand shook and he looked at the letter again. It was impossible...

Another call to the operator; overseas. France.

Avelaine's voice sounded small; both together they asked, "have you read the letter?"

They exchanged the contents of each and sat for moments in silence until he smiled and she sensed it.

"You've never flown before?" he asked. "I'll send you a ticket."

****

"New York? You want to go to New York?" The incredulity of his family, their opposition to the idea, all he expected. Then he showed them the letter and there was head scratching until Peter tried to suggest it was some sort of lucky guess. Helen now shook her head.

"I think papa goes to New York," she said and Bellion inclined his head to her in thanks. Peter flung up his hands and began to think of making the arrangements.

Helen and his nurse accompanied him, on the train, to the hotel and then they bundled him up in blankets in his wheelchair for the trip from there to the museum along the snowy streets of a leaden skied city.

Inside the museum they were directed to the special exhibition and helped with the wheelchair. Once at the entrance he turned and took Helen's hand for a moment. "Before I introduce you, I would like to see her alone - with our little mystery." Helen smiled and kissed his cheek.

"And I will walk - she will not see me this way." The women helped him up and passed him his cane - much repaired but still the same silver head to it as all those years before. With a halting step he set off, as he brushed down the neat dark suit and checked his tie pin.

She sat looking at a Van Gogh when he saw her and smiled. He was upon her before she emerged from her reverie.

"Avelaine," he bowed a little.

"Bellion." She smiled and the girl he knew suffused her face once more. They embraced and she hooked her arm through his, supporting him without him asking her as she said, "this way."

He gasped; there on the dove grey wall was their portrait. Tanguy's picture. He smiled and swallowed his emotion, though he drew his handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

They stepped close, looking at the colours, reliving the warmth of the day it was made. He looked at her, their eyes locked, a lover's smouldering glance still.

"Do you - feel?" he said. She gripped his hand and together they looked at the picture of the green fairy on the canvas. Both knew; they reached out and let their fingertips touch the small figurine they had held so long ago.

They embraced, with the tight hold of youth; their heads span and the world dissolved.

All that was found of them were two old letter's nestling gently together before the portrait.

****

Bellion was wearing the white linen suit; Avelaine a flowing summer dress when they opened their eyes once more.

"Bellion..." she murmured, her eyes wide in disbelief. She looked around at the unmistakable streets of Montemartre, 1906.

Bellion too, confused, looked around then at Avelaine, the beautiful young Avelaine she had always been in his memories. For minutes they staggered around, no idea what was happening. "How? What has happened?" They stopped and tried to concentrate, thinking of what they could do.

"My apartment," said Avelaine. Thomas nodded and they ran - he could run - he almost laughed out loud! Soon they arrived and Avelaine pulled at her bag, drew out the key and looked at Bellion. It slipped into the lock and the door opened.

"My God," Thomas breathed. They entered and were confronted by Agathe.

"There you are miss. I was wondering where you'd got to. There was a message. Pere Tanguy - he wishes you to visit his shop in the morning if you are free."

Avelaine nodded and smiled. "We will go. We will most definitely go."

They retreated to the bedroom in a heady state of confusion and happiness. They kissed, trying to get used to young bodies again though the bodies were clearly used to their work and were rapidly becoming aroused.

Before they went to bed Avelaine murmured, "the gift of the green fairy..."

Bellion kissed her. "Have another wonderful life, " he whispered.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

The old woman looked around at the rapt faces in the Tabard and smiled. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, she saw that most were doing both... as well they should be.

"What happened after they went back," someone asked.

"Ohh... that's a story for another time, I think," she replied enigmatically. "Perhaps I'll come back one day to tell it."

GREEN FAIRY

1 oz. Absinthe (Preferably Hill's Absinthe)
1 oz. Water
Juice of 1 Lemon Juice (Fresh)
2 tsp. Egg White
Dash of Angostura Bitters

Shake thoroughly with ice and strain into cocktail glass.​

Nodding, Rebecca Sheldrake looked around with a grin. "Any time... Any time... " she said, clearing her throat. "Now then! Who needs a drink??"

~*~
A purrrrrrsonal note: Thank you, Chris, for making Avelaine and Bellion come so incredibly alive. *kisses*​

 

[chris2c4u]

The young man in the biker leathers turned his barstool around and smiled at Rebecca. "Stories?"

She nodded and slid over. She decided he looked too young to drink but decided the let it slide. "What's your poison?"

"Tumbleweed," he said with a grin, naming the unusual cocktail.

****

11am, Joe woke up, naked, on the small bed in his rented silver Airstream. He'd expected Billie's warm body to still be beside him. Maybe her Mom had called and she'd gone back home; Joe wasn't flavour of the month in the Moore household in the three months he had known her. He expected her staying out all night the first time they dated had contributed to the dressing down her Mom had given him when they first met the following morning. Then she found out he was living in a trailer. Since then he'd supposed the only way was up from being called a "trailer trash bum," but it was hard work even with his charm. Of which he had lots, if nothing much else. He smiled his crooked grin to himself and lit a cigarette.

It was worth taking the flak, for that night. He'd picked her up from work, the ElectraGlide parked out front of Manny's Diner, where they'd met earlier that day as she looked after his table. Looked after it well. He liked her Texan drawl, liked the way she remembered what he told her about his road trip - that had started in 94 and didn't seem to want to come to an end.

He'd stayed for more coffee than was good for him and came back later when she agreed to go out that evening. She smiled her goofy smile when she saw the bike and slipped up behind him as they headed to a bar on the edge of town, where they'd stayed and talked.

"Joe Harrison?" She sipped her beer from the bottle and studied him and his name, getting used to the sound. Studied him from close range; kissing. "I'm not sure you're a Joe," she said. "I might call you Harry."

He kissed her and a grin ran across his face as he did.

She giggled. "What?"

"Call me what you like so long as it's calling out when you come," he kissed her again and she punched his arm but didn't break off the kiss straight away.

"Fresh, aren't you?" she said and kissed his upper lip.

He ran his hand through her red hair and, pulling back, tried an innocent look.

"Yeah, right," she said, and finished her beer.

They just went to bed when they arrived at the trailer, hardly bothering with a light, the moon shining through the window on her freckled red-head's milky skin, where the sun hadn't toasted her to honey. For a long while they lay on their sides, naked, kissing, gently touching. Slowly the touches became more insistant, his hands sliding down the curve of hips and waist, his mouth sliding down to her breasts. Her hands explored his body, caressed his hardness, fondled his balls.

Now long lingering kisses to her gently curving stomach, to taste her wetness, as she tasted him. A slow exploring of the ways they liked to be made love to. He was sure, he said the following morning, the Airstream actually shook as they came.

"So the earth moved for you?" she winked and headed for his shower. She was sassy, clever...he decided to take a break from the road for a while right at that minute he watched her ass sashey towards the shower.


He dragged his mind back from three months ago. Did she work today? Maybe it was an early shift he'd forgotten about. After showering he pulled on denims and fished out his last clean tee shirt. Now that was odd, he thought - the few spare clothes she kept in the drawer were gone - maybe she'd run out of clean ones like he had. He looked up and smiled as he noticed one thing that was left - the silk stocking hanging over the bedside light. Yes, last night had been hot too.

He opened the fridge and finished the orange juice and checked his slicked back black hair in the cracked mirror. Outside he mounted his Harley and headed for Manny's Diner, noticing her footprints heading out towards the bus stop.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

1.

Billie Moore's heartbeat quickened when she heard the loud rumble of Harry's ride long before he pulled up outside Manny's to pick her up as he'd done every night since they'd first met. He had become so many things to her over the past few months. Most he knew. Some, she had decided, he would never know about.

She had just finished wiping down the last table when Harry walked in the door and followed her toward the counter. "Heya, you. Almost done."

"Uh huh," he murmured, coming up behind her while she counted out her tips. His hand smoothing over the cheeks of her ass as he nuzzled her neck, Joe Harrison was well aware of the effect he had on her. With his weathered good looks and his boyish charm, most women were shoo-overs. Too bad he just couldn't (or didn't want) to get his act together.

Slipping her hand through Harry's arm, Billie called out her goodnights as they walked out the door and went all weak-kneed when he stopped abruptly, pulling her hard against his body to kiss her. There was no denying he was a sexy man she thought as he broke their kiss and slid onto his bike without a word. Grinning, she pulled the barrette out of her hair and shook it loose before climbing onto the AstroGlide behind him.

She cradled her legs around him, her fingers toying with his semi-erect cock as they rode. It wouldn't take them twenty minutes to get back to the trailer and Billie couldn't wait to make love with him. It was practically the only thing on her mind all day.

"Home, darlin'," he crooned as they pulled up out front and she eased herself off the seat, running ahead as he wheeled it into the shed.

"Just give me a sec," she called out over her shoulder as he climbed the steps behind her and headed to the fridge for a beer. "Be right out."

Billie hurried into the bathroom, undressing hurriedly and hopping into the shower to get the smell of stale cigarettes and fried food off her body. He was waiting for her in the bedroom when she came out, his back propped against the headboard and naked as a jaybird except for his guitar. His eyes drank her in before he whistled long and low in appreciation.

Aside from a pair of heels, Billie was wearing nothing but stockings held up by a satin, lace-trimmed garter and a sheer black shortie she'd picked up the week before. "You like?" she asked, spinning around in front of him.

"I do. C'mere and let me show you just how much," he drawled, setting his guitar down beside the bed and gesturing for her to come closer.

"Lay back," she whispered, pressing her hand on his chest to push him down against the mattress before straddling him and shivering with expectation.

Harry's hands smoothed over her silky stockings, a half-smile playing over his face when he noticed the way her nipples jutted out from the center of their puckered areaolae, inviting his touch. Obedient to their command, his hands roamed up her sides and over, hefting the weight of her breasts, his thumbs swirling over them as her fingers encircled his cock.

Grinning, she guided it into her slick cleft and rubbed the swollen, purpled head back and forth over her clit. "Mmm... " she murmured huskily, using his cock to masturbate in the same way she would have used a vibrator. His eyelids closed for a minute as he basked in the sensations she aroused in him, but Harry let Billie play as she knew he would.

He was watching her face, his fingers twisting and tugging at her nipples as Billie poised on the brink of orgasm. "Turn around," he demanded suddenly, grasping his cock to keep her from it.

Mewling a complaint, Billie did as he asked, turning her body so that her pussy hovered above Harry's mouth and his glistening erection jutted up lewdly toward her face. Nibbling along his length, she cried out when he parted her, burying his tongue in her slippery folds.

Billie ground against him salaciously, moaning as she sucked. Voracious, ravenous for the eruption of his seed, her tongue swirled tantalizingly against his cock as her lips held it firmly in place. Harry thrust his hips up into the hot moistness of her mouth, fucking it as the sounds of his own pleasure were muffled in her madid depths. Faster. Harder. Urgent for release, they came together in a mind blowing climax that left them breathless and shaking, though far from satiated.

It was time for round two. And three. And four.

As the sun peeked through the slit in the curtains, Billie climbed quietly out of the bed not wanting to wake Harry who was sprawled across the bed snoring lightly. Almost a month late for her period, she'd picked up one of those home tests and intended to use it this morning.

The results were not what she hoped for but exactly what she had expected. Billie Moore was pregnant. Pregnant by a man she loved more than she had any other, but who wasn't dependable in the way that a husband or a father should be for a child born or yet to be. There was just no way that she could stay.

Rarely using her own car since they'd started dating a few months back, Billy quietly packed up the few clothes she'd kept at Harry's trailer and caught the first bus back to town. She'd made a mental list of things she needed to do and ticked them off one by one as she accomplished them. Next-to-last stop would be her mom's.

Fumbling in her bag for the keys, Billie Moore let herself in the back door and headed up to her room for more packing. She wouldn't take much, there wasn't much she couldn't get new where she was going; some clothes, a couple of her favorite books, some snapshots of her mom and a few of her and Harry. For posterity's sake. Her eyes were held by one. The one her friend Janice had taken outside the diner, Harry and Billie sat on the bike, maybe two weeks into tangling their lives together. She sighed and put it quickly into her bag.

She scribbled a note for her mother, leaving it beside the coffee maker, and within an hour she was on I-25 heading south. It would take her roughly sixteen hours to get arrive after an entire lifetime preparing. New place, new life, new... everything. Karma, Billie mumbled to herself, sighing.

At first she had meant to drive straight through, but changed her mind near Las Cruces, pulling off the interstate when she saw signs for lodgings. It was as good a place as any, Billie thought. She was bone-tired, needing to eat and just stretch the kinks out overnight.

After a quick drive-thru order at the local McDonalds, Billie pulled into the first motel she came to. It was far from fancy, but it was clean and the bed looked... okay. She ate quickly, and not bothering to undress, flopped down on the well-used double, falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

 

[chris2c4u]

Manny said she hadn't turned in to work and Harry asked around the other waitresses. Everything had seemed normal said Janice; she'd been Billie's best friend at the diner and she looked genuinely concerned Billie it seemed hadn't told anyone what was going on and Harry wondered whether to go to the police but had a stop to make first.

Mrs Moore was thin and small, the cheap Walmart dress she wore hung from her gaunt form. Her face was nicotene yellow, parchment like due to the cigarette that was always hanging from her mouth. She squinted in the smoke at Harry as he stood the other side of the screen door.

"She just up and left her job -" he was going to add "and me" but thought she wouldn't be to concerned at his loss. For a moment she studied him then seemed to take some pity and nodded, "she was here, came for some things and left a note. She's OK, says she'll phone when she gets settled."

"Settled? She's gone for good?"

Her mother shrugged. "She's the flighty type. Mind you, never saw her sticking around in a trailer for too long myself."

Harry bit back any reply and started to walk down the drive before stopping. He turned around.

"You got any family she might visit?"

Again a pause as she wondered whether to tell him. "Cousins down in Brownsville." She closed the door before he could ask the address. He headed back to the diner and Janice fished her handbag out of her locker; it was voluminous even by woman's bag proportions and she pulled out a battered photo of a couple of young women. Turning it over was an address in Brownsville. Harry kissed her cheek and she wished him luck.

"Ring me when you find out what's happening," she called after him as he headed out to the bike, leaving Albuquerque trying to work it out, on the road again, chasing something he wasn't meant to have but needed. He needed the taste of her in the morning, needed to watch her over him as she rode him inside her. Needed to taste the wine she sipped and held in her mouth as they kissed, feeling the warm liquid spill between them for her to lick off his neck.

He needed her laugh, her smart remarks; even he was calling himself Harry now. He sat just off the interstate, another faceless diner, sipping coffee - he'd almost ordered two, as if she was just in the restroom.

He pulled through Las Cruces and it was on North Church street he thought he saw her car; he turned the bike around on the one way street and headed back to where it was parked in front of a pharmacy. He pulled up beside it and a Mexican kid in the back seat waved at him. He sighed and looked up as a worried looking mother scampered out towards her car. He smiled to reassure her he meant no harm and pulled out back on the highway, headed down the Rio Grande.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

2.

Billie woke with a start, immediately reaching for Harry before she remembered... "Harry." Whispering his name released a freshet of tears that she choked down even as she stumbled to the bathroom to throw up. It was gonna be that kind of a day and she still had almost fourteen hours to drive. This time she'd go straight through.

It was just coming on eight when she pulled into the driveway of her cousin's house in Brownsville. As Billie turned off the engine, a very pregnant Selma stepped off the porch with a baby on her hip and a toddler glued to her leg with grape jelly. "Hey, gal!" She was greeted with a broad grin and a one-armed bear hug that would have put a grown man down, but it felt good. Billie was glad she'd decided to come down there.

"Hungry? Thirsty? Gotta pee?" Selma drawled, looking over her shoulder at her husband as he stepped outside. "Bob! Billie's here. Get the keys and carry her stuff in, will you?"

It took another three hours to finally get settled in with Selma carrying the brunt of the conversation and Bob nodding whenever she said, "Ain't that right, Bob?" Billie guessed he'd caught on early that he'd never get a chance to say much once he married Selma, but they'd been married nearly seven years now and he really didn't look the worse for wear. Not to mention that he made a great cup of coffee.

"I need to find work quick, Sel" Billie finally managed as they put the freshly bathed ratlings in their respected beds.

"I threw up today!" The squeaky clean three year old announced as Billie covered her up. It was the first thing the child had said to her since she'd gotten there.

"That's nice, sweetie. I did, too."

"Really?"

"Scout's honor!" Billie said soberly, holding her right hand up.

"Mine was all full of... "

"That's enough, Lenny!" Selma interjected, trying not to smile too broadly. "Billie doesn't want to hear that. In fact, I don't want to hear that. Sleep. Quick." Kissing the tip of her finger, she pointed it at her son like a gun and he flung himself back onto his pillow as though he'd been shot. "Night, mommy. Night, Billie."

"Night, Lenny" they replied in unison as Selma turned out the light. They'd almost made it to the hall when Billie heard his little voice adding "Peas and carrots." It looked like someone in that house could get a word in edgewise after all.

"Well, you might as well get used to it. It won't be long, Billie," Selma said with a giggle. "When you due?"

"Dunno exactly, Sel. I need to see a doc, too. I just used one of those home test thingies yesterday to find out for sure."

Selma nodded. "I'll fix you up with the one I use."

Within the next few days, Billie Moore's fresh start had begun to settle into a mild uproar. She had seen Dr. Lopez who had given her a tentative due date for the beginning of April -- plus she had a job! Next step would be getting a place of her own and with any luck she'd manage that by the end of September.

 

[chris2c4u]

"I'll get it, Billie," Selma called out when she heard the knock on the front door.

"Yes?" she said peering through the screen at the long tall drink of water standing there and beyond him to the bike parked on the front sidewalk.

He leaned his right hand against the door frame and waited; peering through the mesh that kept insects like him outside he said, "Hi, you don't know me but I think you know a friend of mine? Can I speak to Billie?"

Selma bristled, suddenly realizing who this guy was. "What do you want with her?"

"Nothing. Just an explanation."

Behind her, a voice, Billie's voice called out, "who is it Sel?" and suddenly she was there, standing a few feet behind her cousin, still as a statue. Taking a breath, Billie walked up behind selma and placed her hand on her cousin's shoulder and squeezed. "It's okay, Selma. I'll just go outside for a bit, okay?"

"Hello Harry," she said quietly, pushing the screen open and stepping out onto the porch. "How'd you find me?" Not stopping to wait for his answer Billie continued down the steps, walking toward his bike before turning around.

Harry listened while his stomach dropped and he wondered about the drive, down the Rio Grande, wondered how to ask her to come back, to pick up where they'd left off, the easy life that could just keep on drifting by.

"Billie," he moved forward and made to embrace her but she folded her arms across her chest as if to shield herself from him and he stopped and looked. She met his eyes for an instant as if she wanted to unfurl her arms in welcome, ask him to take her home. Then her gaze fell to the grass she stood on, barefoot. They stood caught up in their own thoughts that kept them from one another like poles of toy magnets in the hand of a child, repelling each other yet still being brought together.

"How are you?" she asked finally, lamely.

Harry didn't answer, he looked at the child's bike abandoned in the grass, looked out at suburbia. Did she want this?

Finally, distractedly, he said, "me?"

What decision had she reached, he wondered between words and glances? He looked at her, arms tight around her, withdrawing from him with every breath.

"I'm...ok..." he lied to himself.

Billie nodded. "Me too, Harry. I have a chance for a new job here. A good paying one." He nodded then she added, "A new life."

"I'm not in it then?" He chewed on the end of a spent match as he waited for what he knew she would say.

"You're not the settling down kind, Harry. I need settling down."

He suddenly realised he'd no chance; he wasn't even up against a guy, she'd just run away. He looked at her and threw the match away.

"The name's Joe. Joe." and walked back towards the bike.

He didn't look around as he drove away and just kept driving before he bought a bottle in Del Rio and sat staring at Mexico's heart, shimmering in the haze that the heat had brought through the day. He dreamed of feeling her honey skin moving next to him, he wondered if he should have tried harder having found her. But Joe wasn't a trier, not back then; he'd thought it was going to be easy, that she'd just fall right back into his arms, into the trailer, that life would drift on. She'd shown him that there were things worth fighting for but he wasn't grown up enough yet.

He walked down to the border bridge as the sun returned, it's red eye meeting his own. Leaning back he threw the empty bottle into the middle of the water rolling past and he watched it float away. Down the Rio Grande.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

3.

Billie had clinched a plum job waitressing at the Casa Grande, a high class restaurant at the Rancho Viejo Resort and Country Club and a far cry from Manny's Diner. The pay was good and the tips she made in one night were more than she earned in a week and sometimes two back in Albuquerque. She had her own place now. A two bedroom apartment not far from Selma, it was sparsely furnished, but she was taking her time decorating. With the baby on the way, she was going to have to be more practical minded.

She made friends readily, passing on the liquor but rarely refusing a wind-down glass of wine with the rest of the wait staff after a long shift. Other than that, Billie kept to herself when it came to the guys and dating. Until...

David Chappelle. He was a regular. Well, as regular as every Tuesday and Friday for the past three weeks and he always sat in her station. Sometimes he had company, sometimes not -- but they were always other men, in business suits or having the freshly showered look of golfers who'd just finished a round. Being a member at Rancho Viejo didn't mean you had to have megabucks, in fact some people even owned or rented property here.

He always greeted her by name and thanked her before leaving. His tips weren't over the top, but they were a generous cut above the norm. She liked him. When he asked her out, she was surprised and more than a little leery.

Exhausted from a long week of pulling doubles while Fran was on vacation topped by horrific temperatures of a heat wave, Billie had skipped the wind down with her workmates and headed for home almost as soon as her shift ended. As she approached her car, she noticed him... sitting on the hood, smoking a cigarette and smiling. Just smiling.

"Hey, Billie."

"Good evening, Mr. Chappelle," she'd replied, a little nervous at finding him on her car and obviously waiting for her. For a minute, her memories flashed back to Harry and the way he'd pick her up from Manny's every night, but Chappelle didn't give her much time to dwell.

"Call me Dave," he responded immediately, easing himself off her car to stand in front of her, producing a single long stemmed rose from behind his back. "I know it's late and you're probably beat, but... I didn't have your number and I didn't want to sneak around for it, so... "

The look on Billie's face must have indicated the way her head had spun at the last bit, and Dave backtracked pronto to make it right. "I didn't mean that the way you may have taken it. I didn't want to embarrass you by coming on at the Casa Grande the way I've seen other men do. I wanted to do it proper-like and this was the only way I could think of."

"This is all very nice, Dave, but I just don't... date."

"Look, Billie. I really want to get to know you. I... " Billie nodded, inhaling the fragrance of the rose as she listened. It seemed Dave Chappelle was far from finished speaking his piece and it didn't much look like he'd take no for an answer either. "I'm not after a piece of ass, dammit. Coffee? If you don't drink coffee, how about tea? Hot or iced? Lemonade? Coke? Pepsi? Sprite?"

By the time he'd finished offering a litany of beverages that was beginning to rival Casa Grande's wine list, Billie was chuckling and so was he. It had been a long time since she'd laughed, centuries it seemed. She accepted his offer.

Over the next couple of weeks Dave courted her, wooed her, treated her like a queen. He sent her flowers and chocolates, bought her CD's to share the music that he enjoyed, books to share whatever he was currently reading and they discussed them during and after, talking late into the night, sometimes until dawn.

When they finally made love, it was everything they'd hoped for and more. It was slow and romantic, hot and desperate, kinky and spiced vanilla. They pleased, teased and appeased. Excited, delighted and always always requited. By the time Billie started to "show", Dave believed the baby was his. She neither denied nor confirmed and they were married as fast as he could say Mexico. Billy Moore Chappelle was truly, madly, deeply in love and she didn't care who knew it and neither did he.

He was no Mr. Moneybags, but they were comfortable, closing on a three bedroom house in a good neighborhood just a few weeks before their son was born. They named him Harry.