The Jim Morrison Heist Pt. 01

"Oh, I'll permit that alright, just don't make promises you can't keep." Then she smirked, "Now am I guaranteed to pass your class, professor?"

"You would even if you slagged me off and were uglier than a sea hag. If you don't mind my playing the academic, you're one fine poetess, too, and I mean it. I genuinely dig the work you turn in in my Hogfarts class, more than any others. Our little secret."

"You're not just saying that because I cleaned your tubes for you?"

"That's beside the point, facts are facts. Thank you for your contribution to the well-being of my circulatory system."

He sounded like he tried to sound like Sean Connery and she playfully slapped his leg. "You are such a comedian. Or should I say smartass?"

"Better a smartass than a dumbass," he said.

"Tell me more why you like my poetry. You'd only begun to scratch the surface."

He thought and said, "It's an art form, that much is obvious. The best definition I've heard of poetry is it says one thing, but means at least two things. And if you're a heavyweight like T.S. Eliot, it can mean a thousand things. Do you like Eliot?"

"Of course. And I love e.e. cummings."

"I love coming too."

Zoey slapped at his leg again. "We're two of a kind."

"Which one's better?" Jallen asked, not trying to be serious.

"As much as I like e.e. cummings I'm not going to answer that, you're just going to have to wonder. We girls must cling to at least one shred of mystery."

"Fair enough, I got off the subject anyway."

"Please continue, people talking about my poetry is a subject I happen to find infinitely fascinating."

"Let me indulge you, poetry-wise I like yours for its use of imagery and evocative language. You work well with free verse and rhyme schemes. I like your word shapes too, the way your poems fit on the page, they look good. I call it the squint factor, or the ten foot rule. Those are not official real terms mind. As far as I know I made them up. If you squint at a poem to blur the lines, the poem itself either takes on a pleasing lackadaisical formation, an attractive geometric shape, or it doesn't. In other words it's pleasing to the eye. Same applies if you look at a poem from a distance, ten feet for example. Yours always have a sophisticated architecture, if you will."

Did 007 just recite a sonnet to his Beretta in Connery's voice? "Wow, sophisticated architecture. You can write the blurb for my first book."

"I'd be delighted, Miss Quark. All true, no b.s."

"Don't make me blush, professor." She thought a moment. "Why does Hogfarts call your class poetry? Aren't your students mostly memorizing spells by rewriting them in poem form?"

"More or less, it makes spells easier to learn. My class is only a summer school elective. It's not spellcasting or learning ritual steps like Guerlain Gape's labyrinthine classes. She comes to grips with heavy duty solid magick. I do not, I'm in a lighter weight class than she. But you know I assign students to write poems that aren't magick related too. And make no mistake, good poetry can be magical regardless what your subject matter is. Bad poetry can be magical too in some instances. Personally I don't believe there's any such thing as bad poetry."

"What about rap?"

"They're keeping poetry alive and there'll always be a place in my heart for Pac. He is undeniably a true poet in every sense of the word. Or was, still is."

Zoey said, "What did you say about Jim Morrison in class today, before it started raining? You have some of his original poetry or something? Did I hear you right?"

"Yeah, I do, from the Lizard King himself."

Zoey sat up. "Morrison is my favorite poet, next to Edna St. Vincent Millay of course. I have every word Mr. Mojo Risin' ever published."

"Including the article he wrote for EYE magazine in 1968?"

"You better believe it. Dad gave it to me for my fifteenth birthday, it cost him a fortune."

"You know I met Jim Morrison twice when I lived in Los Angeles."

"You did not!"

"You don't trust a guy you just made love to with your mouth?"

"Have you got his autograph?"

"Better than that. Jim Morrison gave me copies of all his own books of poetry. He had them privately printed, just a hundred copies apiece of the first two, 500 of the third. It looks like a little church prayer book."

"Is that what you were talking about today, those books?"

He said they were.

"And you still have them?"

"You're a poet too, would you ever part with treasures like that?"

"I know all about those privately printed books, slobbered over photos of them. The ones in good condition are worth tens of thousands of quid apiece."

"Those of mine are like new."

"How did you get them?"

"I met Morrison in a topless bar across from The Doors Workshop. Jim seemed impressed I didn't ask for his autograph and told him Celebration of the Lizard inspired me to write poetry. In my car I had a notebook of poems I'd written up till that time. He went out to the parking lot to read some of them, encouraged me and so on. He said there was something across the street he wanted me to see in the Workshop. Two boxes were on a desk, one full of copies of The Lords and the other with The New Creatures. They'd arrived from the printer a few days before. Jim said nobody seemed interested and gave me one of each. I read them everyday for months and wrote like a fiend. Next year I went to Western Lithograph where Jim had his books printed, had 'em print mine too. I hung round the Workshop and topless place hoping to find him, give him one of my own books. Finally bumped into him, he remembered me. I showed him my book, I was so proud. He said he had a new book too. I'll never forget he said, 'Trade you my new book for yours.' Western Litho printed my other one too."

Zoey noticed Jallen drifted into another time reliving those memories. His stock shot up even higher with her than it already was. She asked if he'd bring them to Hogfarts and let her see them.

"'Fraid not, sweetheart. They're locked away in a fireproof safe. I'm scared to lug them around."

"I understand, so would I. Uh-oh, we're not far from where I live now."

"We made it safely," Jallen said, back in the present. "I'd make this trip three times a day in the rain if you were my passenger."

"Just three times? I bet you would. Was I a good little slut for you?"

"In pillow talk parlance, yes, you were divine."

"Pillow talk being bedroom talk? Like I know some girls who love being called names like bitch and whore, or like their hair pulled and their asses spanked."

"Yeah, but a gentleman doesn't pull that crap on them when he takes a lady to luncheon."

"I know right." Zoey made a frustrated sound and said, "I live on this next street. Go left, seventh house on the left, the one with the huge oak in the front yard. It's my granny's cottage. It's closer to Hogfarts than my parents' place so I live here when attending school."

"It'll be dark in a few minutes."

"I know, but what does that mean?"

"If I park catty corner to the oak your granny won't even recognize my car, or realize you're home yet."

"Of course not, it's only as big as a small hulled freighter."

"The question is are you in a hurry to go inside?"

"I wouldn't mind having something to drink, I've got come breath. And not long from now I'll need to pee. I know a dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste, professor. What have you got on yours?"

* * *

Jallen Delete reached over to pull the lovely Zoey Quark close to him.

He put an arm around her. He'd had affairs with many of his female students in the past, at other universities and occasional summer school assignments like Hogfarts (including a couple of prior dallies). Seldom were they as stunning as Zoey although he didn't bother unless they had traits he found endearing or were smoking hot one night stands. But girls tend to talk some, and word usually gets round to the wrong faculty ears. Enjoying the reputation among a select group of girls for being well endowed came in handy; until a snitch bitch like Guerlain Gape blundered upon a choice piece of intel like that. He'd been circumspect and had a few close calls before but never been dismissed. Divorcees in their thirties were more his style. Usually they'd settle for good sex and weren't as fussy about fidelity and other bothersome baggage that came with an active love life. He never fooled around with the young ones. Too many male (and female) teachers he'd known over time just couldn't keep their hands off.

He'd not asked how old Zoey was. As a college freshman she likely was no more than 18 or 19 but, as evidenced by that afternoon, she knew how to strut her stuff and sucked a mean dick. Jallen thought someone older had trained her or she had a lot of experience with lads her age or she was just a natural. Her background details held no interest to him. If he and she hung out enough they'd soon know everything about each other. The thought of wanting to move on from Zoey never entered his mind. He'd had a blowjob and wasn't complaining but she had other treasures to offer.

The rain had not let up.

Jallen parked the Cadillac, hugging Zoey tight and conversing while stroking and squeezing her right tit inside her jumper. She purred her approval and idly played with his prick as they talked. She'd succeeded getting him hard again. Since he had yet to mount her, he looked forward to that sooner than later. But probably no sooner than she wanted.

He said, "I'm in no hurry this evening if you're not. Wanting something to drink or finding a bathroom are minor issues easy to solve. I saw a fast food place not far back. I'd be happy to buy you a supersized Coke and a meal. You can inspect their facilities while we're there. Then we can roll back here and park under this big tree. I'll introduce you to my back seat."

"Can you introduce me to your back seat before we do that?"

Right ho! "You're the boss, Zoey."

"That's the first time you've used my first name."

"I think we're well enough acquainted now to be on a first name basis. Hullo, luv, me name's Jallen."

"Okay, but professor or sir seems, seems so much more laissez faire."

"I comprende. And I won't call you slut or spank you."

She gave his love muscle a squeeze. "You're no fun."

"All right then, my brazen little meat puppet. There's only one rule in the back seat: no clothing allowed."

"You're the boss, professor."

Though it rained and twilight fell upon them Jallen could still see in back of his old Cad. Zoey looked magnificent naked, her tits and ass seemed larger without deceptions like jumpers and skirts. When Jallen eased her white thong down her legs she told him she'd changed her mind; he could keep it as a souvenir. It had been damp in the classroom but he could've wrung drops out of it now. He deposited it in the front seat for safekeeping then slid his prick inside her with a delightful squish. She said a dirty word as he stretched her to capacity. He thrust into her with considerable force and banged her hard, but just for a minute.

Zoey complained he'd slowed down but Jallen let her know that only foreshadowed the last lap. "Your professor's tongue has an appointment south of your belly button first."

Zoey complained no more. Fortunately the heavy rainfall camouflaged all kinds of racket and activity. Jallen discovered Zoey was very vocal and easily brought to orgasm though not in any spastic way. The inside of his car already smelled like well exercised pussy and she'd only had a dick in her a few minutes. In another hour Jallen would be inhaling his personal favorite all-purpose aphrodisiac and scent (happy snatch).

"How many times have you come in my mouth, Zoey?"

"Uh, uh, uh, f-f-four or f-f-five, ohmigod, ohmigod . . ."

"When our positions are reversed I'm putting you on a pure protein diet, the breakfast, lunch and dinner of world champion sluts."

Jallen filled her ears with as much talk like that as she filled his mouth with girl come. And the young slut was either having the time of her life or the greatest actress this side of the Great White Way to have ever drawn a breath. His face was soon wet from nose to chin, and a change of pace in order. Jallen straightened up to admire the quivering of Zoey's breasts in the aftermath of larger seismic orgasms minutes earlier. She twitched and shuddered helplessly on her back, arm across her forehead, eyes almost closed. The smell of sex came off her sweat slick body in waves.

"Has any guy ever licked you---right down here?"

Zoey mumbled wordlessly and Jallen reentered her unexpectedly to pound away at her pelvic bone once again, reveling in the wet sounds her defenseless pussy made as he lunged forcefully in and out of her. She reported she would come again, forcing Jallen to deliver a surprise swat to her fat left buttock to snap her back to reality. Overcome in the moment, Zoey jabbered inarticulately.

"I asked you a question, you mindless slut, I expect an answer or you're going to find yourself on your tummy with something a lot bigger than my tongue in your ass." He administered another smack, this time to her other cheek.

Zoey blubbered, "Whu-what was the question again?"

"Do you need to rest for a little while, love?" said Jallen softly.

She babbled, "No, no, you're making me come too much, too hard."

"You want to go back to fucking guys your age who'll fumble around and not make you come at all? That's a lotta fun, innit? Staring at the pattern on the ceiling until some amateur atop you pops after a passionate forty seconds, dismounts, leaving you nothing but a lukewarm mess to clean up. That what you want, to go back to school, to missionary position hell?"

"No," she said, slowly getting her feet back on the ground, trying not to laugh.

"Howzabout I check you into an old folks' home and they feed you soft food till you recover. You don't even need teeth in there. If I remember correctly I saw a 50-year-old jar of Gerber's rolling around in the boot. Your favorite flavor: mushed green peas. "

"Fuck you," she couldn't help from laughing.

"I think you're fucked out." He raised his voice to shout, "Hey, granny, can you come out here and get your granddaughter. It's past her nap."

"Will you shut up," she laughed, flailing her fists weakly at him. "You are so not funny."

"Then roll over, Zoey. There's a good girl, get your sweet rump higher up in the air."

She complied with a groan.

He spread her cheeks wide, wider. What a sight she presented: plump little pink snapper yawning wide open, sexy, fragrant, her sphincter muscle a relaxed, inviting circle of flesh. Jallen paused admire the scenery.

"Higher, honey, bring your pretty butt up a bit more."

He leaned forward and began to tongue her anus.

She didn't clench and go tight on him. Instead she pushed backward, welcoming the sensation, doubtless the most intimate thing any man had ever done to her. And more than that lay ahead.

"That feels so good," she moaned, "You are a naughty naughty boy."

"One has to work at it." His tongue still in play, he brought a fingertip to her neglected clitoris peeping out of its hood. Zoey's moaning became more prolonged and she jabbered again. Unless he was mistaken she was having a very good night, one she would boast to her girlfriends about. Minutes passed. Jallen himself could hold off no longer. He pulled his face back from her glorious bottom, took his finger away from her clit, moved his hand up, replaced his tongue with a thumb, initiated a constant predicable circular pressure against her saliva slippery asshole and slid his length into the mouth of her ignored pussy.

He started fucking her dog style in earnest, building his rhythm up minute by minute until he pounded away like a berserker.

"How does that feel, sweetheart?" he asked her.

She assured him it felt fantastic and she didn't want him to stop.

"You're the boss, baby."

"Fuck me now," she ordered, her body shaking.

"And I can do whatever I want?"

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't. So don't disappoint me and fuck me like a whore."

"If you lived with me you'd never get out of bed, would you?"

"Only to bathe and make water."

Jallen kept up the call-and-response pillow talk, slowly inching his thumb deeper and deeper into Zoey's anus. He fucked her with a constant machine-like motion, repetitive, relentless. Every time Zoey whimpered he knew she'd come again, the smell of her juices overpowering now in the closeness of his car. Jallen was drunk on sex; Zoey was a primo piece of ass. He'd write a paean tonight to her feminine beauty and power. He knew it would be good because she'd re-excited poetic aspirations of his.

The cheeks of Zoey's ass wobbled gloriously with the insistent slam of his thrusts. Jallen could barely see inside the Cadillac. Darkness had fallen not long ago. Rain battered the rooftop, the street. An infrequent car would drive through the neighborhood and illuminate Zoey's body in ephemeral headlights. He couldn't see her face but suspected drool might be seeping from her lips.

Finally his thumb could go no deeper. He removed it over a gradual period of time. Just before he came he wormed the tip of his penis past the now relaxed ring of anal muscle, flooded her behind with his second outpouring of the evening. His back arched and he made some noises of his own before collapsing on top of her.

He awoke still lodged inside her ass, she beneath him, slumbering. Both had passed out after their rigorous exercise routine. He squinted at the luminous hands of his watch: 7:10. Extracting himself from her wicked tightness awakened Zoey. She asked the time, he told her and asked if she wanted to get some food before going inside for the night.

She pushed hair out of her face and said, "I definitely want to eat but definitely do not want to face my grandmother looking like I just got home from a gangbang. Can I crash on your couch tonight? I'll go into school tomorrow whenever you do, even if it means missing a few classes."

"You can't sleep on my couch."

Zoey said nothing, at a loss for words after providing him one of the better rides of his recent lifetime. Jallen should've phrased his response differently. It wasn't what she expected judging from the look on her face. Now he felt bad teasing her. "If you want to spend the night it'll be in my bed."

"That joke fell a little flat, Mssr. Comedian. Maybe I'll just go inside and face the music with granny."

"Sorry I didn't extend the invitation first, Zoey, I feared you'd think I was zeroing in on you. The way I answered was misguided, a romanticism to emphasize my desire to hold you close."

"Okay," she said, "but you'll have to make it up to me."

"Cracking the whip, are you? Anything you like, love, name it."

"First, you're going to have to eat my pussy again."

"Didn't expect to get off that easy. And second?"

"Before we go to bed tonight someone is opening his safe and wowing his guest with the collected works of Jim Morrison."

"I should be delighted to comply. What will you tell granny about not making it home on a school night?"

"That I waited for the rain to quit in a friend's dorm room at Hogfarts. Since it's never let up I've decided to stay over, and for her not to worry."

"A believable fable, covers most plausible angles."

Zoey excelled at all she set her hand to as far as he knew, including lying like a villain in the dock. How disappointing: one demerit on that score. But the lie benefited him, no angel himself, and he did play the role of willing co-conspirator. Both facts rubbed him wrong and he dismissed the thought. What he'd already said may have been too much. They dressed and crawled into the front seat again.

Jallen found her soiled thong where he'd put it. "While I've got the safe open I believe I'll store this with Mr. Morrison."