The Jim Morrison Heist Pt. 03

By the time Jallen learned Zoey and he would be seated apart inside the theatre the time to object had come and gone.

Lady Anyys, Zoey and her grandmother swept up to the balcony soon after they got inside. Jallen would not see her again apparently until the ceremony concluded. That left him alone with the woman in hornrims and wild hair who'd coyly admired his bulge at the card table. She was amiable enough, and knowledgeable about the Ceremony of the Virgin. She ought to, she'd written the script.

"Mrs. Arista Spladt," she introduced herself, chest outthrust, hands on her hips. She'd worn a chiffon dress that evening, roomy and loose above the belt but tight as a pencil skirt around her hips and thighs before it fanned wider out above the knees. Sturdy ankles, strappy heels.

"Missus?" he asked. Spladt was 28 or 29 at most.

"Yes. My husband bailed out on me tonight. Conducting business in the Black Country. He says. You won't terribly mind filling in?"

Her request seemed an odd choice of words. "But of course, darling," he said.

Her luxurious hair smelt of vanilla when she bent forward to formally peck him on each cheek in greeting, tits pushed against his chest. He felt her nipples through his shirt and her blousy top. Her body splash doubled as an aromatic aphrodisiac. Zoey had met the woman too and been in her presence so she had to know about the overt scent, and the fact Lady Anyys (in league with granny?) had adroitly separated them. Why had they caused that? What would Zoey think? Was someone running a bait and switch con on him? In the event Mrs. Spadlt inquired about Mr. Darling's nonexistent curriculum vitae he would stick to Zoey's script no matter what. Jallen doubted Arista would try to pump him, not that way anyhow.

Squashing excess tit meat against his arm, Mr. Spladt's wife latched onto him to be properly escorted inside. Was that important to her, was that why this happened? Her body exuded heat. And that is a nice long neck you have, dear.

The theatre seats afforded ultimate privacy unlike any known to him. Wide as loveseats and set apart from other enclosures like them, their big clamshell backs enclosed each couple in a velvet cocoon, unseen from sides, back or overhead, open only in front to allow visibility of the stage. From the balcony Zoey would be unable to observe Mrs. Spladt or him, or anyone else under her. He didn't know how seating worked in the balcony, but downstairs no one saw anybody else except the performers. From the stage to the back wall the floor gradually elevated like in a regular cinema. Everyone downstairs commanded unobstructed lines of sight to centerstage and an inordinate amount of privacy. The novel approach so impressed Jallen he wondered why it hadn't been adopted in movie and playhouses worldwide.

At first Mrs. Spladt sat at the opposite end of the loveseat; she was a married woman, reserved, respectable. Had Zoey sat by him instead he imagined fingerfucking her then, or she honking his horn. His imagination created more distress in his trouser front. Or was the culprit Mr. Spladt's wife and her narcotic scent? Jallen's penile strain ever increased as the woman scooted closer and closer to him throughout the ritual. She missed no opportunity reminding him she had authored the silent playlet. Understandably she was prone to explaining its murky significance to newcomers and the symbolism of sundry props and gestures made by the actors. No doubt lingered once their actions became abundantly clear.

Shortly after the curtain rose Jallen ceased to regard the players as actors. Certain acts typically mimed in performance actually occurred on the Runesgate stage: actual action, reacting instead of acting, the only dialogue infrequent verbal articulations of the virgin, a gasp or moan of pleasure from the sole female performer. Large mirror panels lined the three sides of the stage. As the action began Mrs. Spladt drew attention to the mirrors subtly repositioning themselves, but not by means of magick. Stagehands stood behind each reflective section clutching its handles like a shield large enough to hide behind and not distract from the featured players.

"Moving mirrors is an art form in and off itself, takes years to master," Mrs. Spladt whispered. "All of them are magnified to enlarge subtleties for the benefit of those seated in back of the house."

Jallen didn't need to be told most of the performers were naked or soon would be. The soft parade of mirrors enabled close up reflections of the virgin's nakedness from all angles. Would the play end with her on a stage full of naked men? Would she prosper or perish? While he enjoyed the ingenuity of what he saw of the entire production it was down to Mrs. Arista Spladt's hands-on style to etch a memory he'd never forget.

The ceremony ritual opened with the virgin walking onto the stage, an astonishingly beautiful girl with blonde hair cut shorter in back than front; her breasts, pubic hair and divide of her buttocks visible through a white truncated shift. She laid facedown on a white platform. The mirrors on stage right reflected her face and blunt tipped breasts spilling from her shift, exposed. From stage left the audience viewed her pubes between her parted legs and crack of her bottom in the magnified mirrors. The only sound in the theatre as the audience held its breath came from a guitar, out of sight and softly strummed.

"Wait till you see this girl's tits," enthused Mrs. Spladt. "She won the role for two reasons. The left one and the right one."

Jallen said, "One would think every young starlet has them."

"Yeah, but not like our star. She's too old to really be a virgin anymore but those tits take off five or six years," the wistful author/directress said.

"But they're imperfect, Mrs. Spladt, they don't seem fully fleshed out yet, the nipples point in opposite directions."

She pushed her hornrims up with one finger. "Call me Arista please. You would not believe the titty casting call debacle. Nothing but beautiful girls with perfect breasts everywhere."

"You should have rung me."

"The casting director and I diligently sought character vulnerability and unusually shaped breasts, less than perfect, to project a reachable tangent warm and fuzzy."

Jallen thought it wise to not make the flippant comment he almost made.

Arista spoke in whispers so only he could hear, requiring her moving closer. His head whirled. She said, "The major symbols in the opening scene are the colours white and red. That couch on which our virgin lies is white, as is her shift. White is virginal: simple, uncomplicated, obvious." She sighed, "And in this case, unfortunately spurious."

"Seems fine to this untrained eye."

"The other prominent colour you see is red."

Jallen swiveled toward her to reply. Arista sat closer to him than he realized. Another inch and she'd be in his lap. Inadvertently the top fastenings of her top had come undone accidentally baring the fleshy globes of her splendid breasts, one nipple visible. Arista must have grown warm in the theatre, she'd hiked the hem of her long skirt all the way up around her waist. What woman would want to hide legs like hers? Jallen noted a triangle of purple nylon between her thighs. Her tanned skin went well the purple panties. Jallen played a fingertip up her thigh to the edge of them.

He almost forgot what he turned to ask her while his fingers readjusted the nylon so as not bar entry to where his fingers wanted to go. "Have you any children, Arista?"

"No unfortunately, and me with three husbands. Oh, you are exciting me, Doctor Darling."

"Mister. If it's any consolation you are still blessed with a charming figure, a flower in bloom, a blessing in disguise perhaps."

His fingers located her clitoris. Arista gulped, hugging him and lightly kissing at his ear, hornrims halfway down her nose. She looked very sexy wiggling her bottom down to the edge of her seat to more handily display herself and increase accessibility for Jallen's wandering finger.

On the stage a young man in a white loincloth carried a white bowl of cherries to the facedown virgin on the platform. Jallen said to Arista he knew the meaning of the lad holding a single cherry to her mouth. The virgin licked it seductively before eating it. She sat up on the couch facing the audience. Her loose fitting shift was now a circle of silk around her waist revealing pale pear-shaped breasts with pink tips. Those plump imperfect mounds quickly endeared themselves to Jallen and his prick desperately sought escape from his trousers.

The youth fed more cherries to the virgin. She chewed them slowly and purposefully. Arista leaned still closer to ask Jallen what he thought the symbology of this portion of the ritual was, placing her left hand almost in the middle of his lap to balance herself. The next time he checked her other nipple had freed itself from containment of her gown. He and she touched one another as they talked, and talked like nothing happened in each other's laps.

The temperature in the theatre rose nonstop as the ceremony on the stage progressed. Jallen felt uncomfortably warm. He reminded himself it was a sex magick ritual and he'd anxiously volunteered to attend. Was the unnatural heat generated by the crowd or supernatural means? Off the top his head Jallen knew at least two conjurers who could heat up a room like a furnace. Or plunge it down to icy cold.

"I think I'd interpret this as the aging young entering into innocence lost territory," he said eruditely while his finger experimented with her anus.

"Well done," she gasped in a long groan as his experiment proceeded. "You talk like a poet."

"So glad you didn't say anything about a chap named Sean."

On the stage the youth had set aside the unfinished bowl of cherries, an erection evident in his loincloth. The virgin's shift was now around her ankles. The young male gently thrust her knees apart to reveal the virgin's pussy causing an appreciative murmur from the crowd. The young man put a finger and thumb on the rounded tips of her nipples. He squeezed them uncertainly, searchingly.

The strumming guitar increased in tempo and volume. Jallen couldn't tear his eyes away from the mouth of the girl's pussy. Its lips glistened then parted, opening like a blossom in new sunshine without being touched. None of this helped Jallen suffering the most uncomfortable erection of his life, confined by the zipper of his pants. Arista's adventurous hand contributed to the delinquency of his penis as well. The young man on the stage experienced the same condition, the tip of his penis pointing higher by the second till it poked from his white loincloth. A woman in the audience gasped, the rest laughed.

Not the first time did Arista's left breast press against Jallen's arm, firmer and firmer as time passed. "This is so erotic," she breathed in his ear. Her hand in his lap continued to familiarize itself with the petrified bulge beneath the surface. She said with approval, "I can feel the sex magick working inside you."

He grimaced, "I'm powerless. What could be more pagan than a virgin ceremony?"

Arista touched his erection again, stroking it with a scholastic interest. "You're achieving an understanding all your own now without any coaching from me."

"Oh, I'm bloody achieving something alright but don't know that I'd call it understanding."

"Of course it is, darling. It's a simple universal truth, the magick of lust. It has an identical effect on the young man on the stage."

Jallen could see her face was flushed, her top down, the naked slopes of her breasts exposed. Arista openly caressed his hardness without guile. "It's positively manifesting in you," she squeaked. "That ominous lump under your trousers reveals much about you."

"I can't argue with that. But you never know, I might just be busting for a piss. The magick of your groping hand is the root cause, not that I mind being afflicted. I just bought this suit and the trousers are too tight. I'm having my tailor let them out next week."

"I'll let it out right now," offered Arista.

Considerately she helped set him free with both hands, kneading his tumescent flesh, an obelisk hard under her touch. Jallen was enormously relieved and loosened his tie and unbuttoned his collar while she tugged and pulled on his gristle.

"Oh my gosh, you are not circumcised." She sucked on his dick with a greedy expertise. And none too quietly mind. One wouldn't want to spoil her fun telling her she made a lot of noise blowing a stranger. She was sincere in wanting to give pleasure and sucked like a woman married three times, with a refreshingly intense expertise, cheeks hollowed, glasses on the tip of her nose.

"I repeat, it is awfully warm in here."

Her skull stopped bobbing momentarily. Arista pushed her glasses back in place. "Pagan rituals are routinely subject to heat and conducive of whipping up the flames of human lust." Her head lowered and started to bob again. She took him deeply enough her chin touched his balls, it felt the first night of a honeymoon.

"You think? I take it you've seen this ritual performed more than once."

"Nine or ten times. It's always arousing, I'm so very hot too."

She looked better with her breasts exposed, their shape and weight shifting when she moved. Jallen reinserted his hand in her panties and discovered Mr. Spladt's wife's arousal on a par with the young woman's onstage. He withdrew his hand and put two wet fingers in her mouth. Arista sucked them obediently. He withdrew them from the eager mouth and got hold of her lovely neck.

"Choke me, I love that, it makes my pussy wet."

"It was wet long before I had a finger up you."

She exhaled heavily, her breathing uneven. "Listen, do you hear that?"

"What am I listening for? I hope a dragon hasn't been summoned, it's hot enough in here already."

In her tiniest voice yet she said, "No, listen to the couch opposite, hear that wet suction noise. Sounds like somebody is getting a blowjob."

That did it. Jallen pushed Arista's head in his lap. She deep throated him, gagged, and returned to raising and lowering her head frantically over him, slurping. When the cat's away the mouse will play. "Yesss, I think I hear it now too," he said. Grabbing fistfuls of her long curly hair he forced her head down to control her depth on him. He kept her face pressed into his pubic hair for long moments at a time. Frequently she choked and gagged, but she'd had enough husbands in her time to have the skills to cope with what he intended to make her do. She wasn't the only who could give directions.

"Suck it like you would Percy Anthony's. Disappear it with your mouth. Do I need to assist you with a hand on the back of your head? Such a rude sound from your throat. Oh my, you really are a magician with a mouth like that. Obviously you underwent extensive training holding your breath. Wonderful, my darling. Let me see how deep I can stick my finger into your behind. Who'd've thought it? All the way to the knuckle."

From different parts of the theatre he heard several people giving voice to different orgasms. Jallen glanced at the stage just in time to see the deflowered virgin, ear to ear smile on her face, taking her bows along with her leading man and a trio of young Afrikkan lads who'd joined the cast unbeknownst to him. Arista had shown herself to be a good listener and arresting conversationalist who captured Jallen's full attention. As the playlet drew to a close and the curtain lowered he fittingly filled Arista's mouth with strong jets of semen. She swallowed the contents and said yummy. With a fingertip he dabbed an errant pearl bead off her upper lip and wiped it onto her tongue. Lady Anyys and granny might get dark and grandiose ideas should Mrs. Arista Spladt resurface from a dark theatre with splashes of come on her face that formerly weren't there.

Moments after Jallen told her, "Lovely to make your acquaintance, Arista, and ta for the elucidation. I'm embarrassed to say I need to visit the loo, and soon. Until next time."

He kissed her cheek and ducked out as warm applause came from the crowd. Honestly he didn't need to use the men's room so much as to clean up before seeing Zoey face to face again. Wash his hands and give his cane a quick scrub before Zoey got her mouth on it. At the top of the stairs leading up to the ballroom he saw her for the first time in an hour. After the theatre production she acted cross, but not so much with him. He knew she'd spent an uneasy hour with granny and Lady Anyys. Zoey didn't ask about how he enjoyed Arista Spladt's company during the play, but did brush the back of her hand across his groin.

He pointed a recently washed finger at her. "Naugthy naughty," he said without severity.

"Oh, Dickie, you're a bit stiff. Am I the reason you have a pronger?"

"What do you think? Mrs. Spladt unscrewed the lid to my jar of passion and let all the flames out?" he said.

Zoey didn't respond, didn't seem to care, only half-listening. Had he over-answered her question, rambled too much? Did she know he was lying? He shouldn't have let Arista Spladt suck him off but couldn't take it back now after she'd digested most of it. Jallen admitted to himself being guilty of inspecting Arista's internal plumbing too, another opportunity he shouldn't've taken advantage of.

At the punchbowl a man getting a drink stood with his back to them. Once they queued up the man turned around and fixed his eyes on Zoey's chest. Jallen felt a hypocritical sting of jealously when the man, a dashing fellow in a sharp tux, spoke to Zoey with the familiarity of an old friend. She positively beamed at the chap.

"Zoey Quark," he boomed, "it's been too long!"

She clapped her hands to her mouth and gasped delightedly. The man whispered something to her that made her smile.

A look passed between them that made Jallen uncomfortable. The man set his glass down to embrace her as if Jallen was not there, each hand kneading a cheek of her ass. He kept talking. "When did I last see yer? Now I remember, at the Rod & Ring."

"No," Zoey insisted, "it was at the Herbie Kirby Hyperbole concert last weekend. You'd remember if you hadn't been so pissed."

When Jallen heard Rod & Ring it got stuck in his head. He'd heard about the club's unsavory reputation, a swingers' hangout whose name said it all, rod and ring common euphemisms for penis and vagina. The regular activities in the dive were none so subtle as its name implied. Orgies had taken place inside its walls. Coppers raided it as routinely as any bent Soho strip club or knock shop.

The man in the tux never shut off. "Remember that night you got right snozzled and misplaced yer knickers, Zoey? Still in my glove compartment if memory serves. One of the best times I ever had. We should to do that again soon." He lewdly ground his loins against hers and put his hands on her upper arms (both thumbs casually buried in breast flesh) then held her away from him. "Now lemme have a decent look at yer, Zoey. Yer look smashing tonight, girl."

Jallen announced, "What a coincidence, I was thinking about smashing just now myself. Not in the same context mind."

Nipples still protruding, Zoey still beamed at the boorish lush like Jim Morrison had just pinched her arse. Not making a move to disentangle herself, she said to him without looking at Jallen, "This is my escort this evening, James. His name is, uh, Richard Darling."

James glanced Jallen's way a split second before lowering his voice, but not enough Jallen couldn't still hear, and said: "That old man? Yer havin' me on, I thought he was yer granddad." Zoey giggled hysterically. "Speaking of grandparents I saw granny Gertie at the Seven Suits table a minute ago. I'll never forget the time she walked in on us in yer boudoir," he then leaned over to whisper something else to Zoey that Jallen could not hear and she erupted with delighted laughter. When that stopped she remained smiling up at him like a lovesick fourth form girl.