Sappho Intl (Songs of Silk Book 1) Page 21

  “…But you didn’t hear it from me, homey…”

  "I got you. I got you, bruv…good looking” Pharaoh had quickly switched and drifted into her own reminiscence. “You know, Sir Sheik used to be way cooler than she is now. She used to be so carefree and a lot more genuine. I thought she was one of the strongest, wisest and coolest persons that I’d ever come to know, despite what her and her father was going through. But then her younger sis…while she was away no less…it just changed everything…”

  She must’ve been talking about the little girl that was in the pictures with her at the Palace.

  "What happened with her sister?"

  "Sam’s sis was badly raped and murdered in London, when Sir Sheik was in her second year at the university. They say she started not to give a fuck about her family rank, after Sam left...then she started to rock the streets with some wild estate kids. I used to run with them, too, back in the day—but I've always been tough enough to roll wit em’. The Sheik’s sis was rebellious, but way out of her element. It was just way too fast and way too heavy for her.”

  “She always blamed herself for it...for not being there. Before Sam had to come to Manhattan, her sister was practically her best friend. After she was sent away, her sister lashed out majorly... and to make it worse, it was unsolved. Sir Sheik’s whole world was shattered. She's been in and out of rehab ever since and she's never been the same—always with the need to control” She took a long drag of the blunt and then exhaled. “I truly miss those days before all of that...”

  "That's fucked up!"

  "Shit man, I'd never heard that before... that explains a whole lot.”

  "Yeah, I know...”

  We all slumped and looked to the floor, as though the weight of it had begun to bring us all down.

  “Well, shit, here I've gone and blown the buzz. Jeez, I’ve gone and turned into a soft-lass! Quick, where’s my floozies, I need some ass…stat, man stat.” She fell out like she was losing oxygen. “Cheer up! This supposed to be a party...”

  Together, we all laughed away the sudden pain.

  “Suez, you got the lemon and lime?”

  Suez and I looked at each other.

  “Speak American English, homey?”

  “The time, bruva, the time!”

  “Oh…yeah, it’s going on four.”

  “I guess I need to go play host now. Mr. Jim Beam is definitely calling my name…rock on, rockets.”

  "Yezzzirrr...”

  “Be easy, breezy.”

  Before, I wasn't sure if Pharaoh was a part of Sir Sheik's madness—but now it was all starting to make sense. I deduced that Pharaoh was probably an innocent bystander to Sir Sheik's activities and simply the friend that most people could only wish they had—a friend that, through all of the tragedy, still stood by Sir Sheik’s side.

  As we continued to toke, we chatted about how fucked up it was that Sir Sheik had to endure what she went through. But to me, it didn’t excuse the toxic behavior or the corruption that came with it. It seemed that the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to take a look around Pharaoh's house.

  "Dude, let's check out the crib a little more...then we'll get back to the party!"

  We walked through the hallway toking on the blunt and chatting about how Suez would’ve died if anything were to happen to her own sister; and how she’d practically raised her sisters and brothers while her single mother worked to support the family.

  We got close to the end of the hallway and Suez said that she had to take a leak real quick and ash the blunt.

  While she made her way to find a bathroom, I kept walking to the end of the hallway to turn into what looked like a lower level of the house. I walked down the steps and walked through a slightly opened wooden door.

  As I entered the basement level, the light was already on and six wooden crates stood neatly in a row by an unused flat screen television. One of the crates was open and something was telling me to take a look inside.

  Rolls and rolls of purple, yellow, pink and red fabrics stood side-by-side. I thought to myself that this must’ve been the shipment that Sir Sheik was talking on the phone about.

  So it was only fabrics. I am such an ass. Man, I gotta to get a grip.

  I turned to leave, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just another one of her illusions.

  I removed a couple of the rolls carefully and down at the bottom was a shrink-wrapped package full of white powder.

  “Fuck me running!" I whispered to myself as I brushed my hand over my scalp—this was truly some heavy shit.

  But even though I was wildin' out inside, I had to maintain my composure and keep my wits about me, because someone could come in at any moment.

  I quickly looked behind me to make sure that I was still alone and began to scan the room.

  A private charter manifest had been crumpled up near one of the other crates and held ‘Sheik Textiles’ as the receiving company—it seemed that she was getting it flown in from Mexico under the guise of one of her companies and then shipping it from Arizona to the final destination.

  Well, so much for Rule #3. In fact, she seems to have broken every one of Sappho’s rules since the day I met her.

  I quickly unloaded a few more of the rolls of fabric and took out one of the keys of cocaine. And instantly, the pale smell of powdered metal resonated from the brick. I took pictures, from my iPhone, of the kilo along with the inside of the opened crate that still held some of the other keys and fabric. I also took a close-up picture of the details of the manifest.

  Then I heard footsteps echoing down through the basement doorway. The voice of Sir Sheik soon followed, as she was talking to another voice on the other side of her phone and hesitated before entering the basement.

  “Yeah, all 25 of them are here…Yes! They should be here in about five minutes. Make sure to tell those assholes to pour the coffee beans on top, put them in the plastic basins AND put the false bottoms in the crates over them THEN place the textiles on top. I know this is the first run but we’ve got to be airtight for the next runs…we’ve been moving the skag up there flawlessly. So we should expect the same down here partner—no slip-ups.”

  As her voice reverberated and grew nearer, I quietly rearranged the kilo and the rolls of cloth back to where they’d been found and quickly scuttled to a nearby closet. I left the door slightly opened, so that I could have an unobstructed view from my hiding place.

  The Sheik finally came down the steps and began to pace the floor next to the crates.

  “Yeah…After it lands in Miami, it’ll be dropped at Cherry’s factory…Don’t sweat it, she has no clue. She thinks it’s just a normal shipment of fabrics. She’s outside partying, as we speak, with the shit-eater…yeah…” She giggled.

  Sir Sheik stopped at the opened crate and took out her car keys. Then she took out a small bag of cocaine and dipped the tip of her key into it. She took a key bump as the voice on the other side of the phone continued speaking to her about the transaction.

  “Yeah…the next run will come from Miami to the base but it's just too much going on with Cloud9 for me to handle both right now.”

  As I shifted my weight inside of the closet, a shirt that was hanging inside of it fell to the floor.

  “Hold on…” Sir Sheik turned to look at the closet and slowly made her way across the room to stand directly in front of it; while I had quietly backed up to the furthest corner of the closet at the same time.

  She stood staring at it for a second and was about to open the door when the bell to an old grandfather clock tolled from across the room and her other line beeped at the same time.

  "Hold on...” She checked the number on the phone. “Yeah…that's them... I'll call you right back.” Sir Sheik quickly clicked the line over.

  "Yeah, come to the side door…everyone's partyin'. I'll be there in a sec.”

  She disconnected the call and took another quick key bump. The Sheik then paused at
a large antique mirror that brooded by the closet. She anxiously wiped her nose and smiled to herself while she straightened her rocker skinny jeans and gentleman’s vest that she wore over a grey t-shirt.

  She then walked briskly up and through the basement doorway, as I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  Seconds later two huge studs came through the door with a dolly and quickly began to stack and roll the crates out of the basement.

  For most people, seeing is believing. So I took a picture of all that I saw—just in case my word was not enough. Throughout Cloud9, I had let my work speak for itself and now I would allow Sir Sheik’s to speak for her.

  “Let’s get a move on because I need to be back before the party ends.”

  They’d completed the task as quickly as they’d arrived. And before I knew it, they’d loaded the last crate and closed the door behind them.

  The universe had led me to stumble upon her whole operation and with poise I would carefully expose her corrupt heart when the time was right.

  I’d opened the basement door after reviewing all the pictures that I’d taken. Then as soon as I’d put the phone back into my pocket and closed the door, I bumped into Suez.

  “Damn, Suez, you scared the shit out of me. Where you been at?”

  “It’s so many twist and turns in the Dungeon, I’ve been wandering around lost for a minute now.”

  “Shit, I got lost, too! We both trippin’, huh? We better get back to the festivities.”

  “We got some time to kill before they start the next skate expedition. Wanna race the desert buggies, homey?”

  “You know I’m game!”

  I’ve got to get these pictures to PrimaDonna a.s.a.p.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  It was a full moon in the wastelands of Arizona. Suez and I sat on top of an old rusted car as we witnessed what Mad Max’s wet dreams were made of—Leather and Silicone at Pharaoh’s Thunderdome.

  The desert that served as Pharaoh’s backyard had been transformed by old and dusted muscle cars, trucks, stripped Yamaha motorcycles and old, unused oil rigs, to seat the onlookers for tonight’s event; and rusted tin, trash bins were used for bonfires to light the clear Arizona desert sky. A gargantuan steel-cage jousting arena sat in the middle, encircled by us cheering stallions and Sapphians alike. Some leather-clad Sapphians had crawled up to pepper the steel orb’s skeleton and some sat in hovering bird cages that dangled from inside the spherical structure. A wrestling match was occurring between two ecstasy-filled femmes, that were coated in the oil that filled their ring and fed the frenzy of the participants of tonight’s entertaining event.

  Pharaoh’s Thunderdome was wild and unrestrained—and I was enjoying every minute of it.

  I was dressed like an urban outlaw—black beater with black leather chaps and jeans with steel-toed crucifix-stamped black rocker boots. And I’d decided to let my silky hair down to flow freely.

  I’d been drinking a pineapple Cîroc cocktail out of a plastic cup, as I cheered the oil wrestling match that was taking place and surveyed all of the fineness that was gathering around the arc of old muscle cars that we were now seated within. Sexy femmes in black leather hot pants and matching bikini cut tops kept winking at Suez and I, as they walked by; while studs decked in leather chaps with jeans and tank tops would wink at them.

  “Hey, Suez, you wanna get a refill? I heard they got almost the same kinda cage inside and I wanna go check it out.”

  “Ten tu camino conmigo!” Suez had caught the eye of one of the Sapphians that walked by with a leather whip wrapped around her shoulder and yelled out to her.

  “Tu eres un chico muy malo!” The tall brunette motioned with her index finger for Suez to come to her.

  “Mmh, I think I’mma have to catch up with you in a minute, boss. I got one on the hook.”

  We worked our way down the hood of the car. “Handle dat, broki. Let yo freak flag fly. I’ll catch you later.”

  “Ooh, quiero saber la frase más común para decir esto.” I laughed to myself as Suez began to spit game.

  I smoothly worked my way to the inside ballroom, as flocks of femmes threw kisses at me, smiled, and whispered as I passed. A few of them, who’d obviously been drinking for a minute, even called out my name and boldly complimented my ass.

  By the time I made it to the ballroom, I opened the double doors and would really understand why this place was called the Desert Dungeon—this place was not for the faint of heart.

  Nestled right inside the doorway was an entry area with a large table strewn with feathered whippers and leather paddles, exotic lubricants, and every color and type of dildo imaginable—as well as small leather shoulder pouches with which to carry them.

  A few of Pharaoh’s team members hung by the table and were covered in nothing but gold and silver body paint. They greeted me with a peck on the cheek, as I proceeded down the steps and into the main floor.

  The room instantly transformed into a billowing sea of intertwined bodies and purple velvet. There was a much smaller version of the outdoor Thunderdome, inside the ballroom, and it served to anchor the room’s floor, which had become enlivened with rolling displays of revved up libidos. There was a center aisle that ran through the central dome, but the floor on both sides had seemed to be naturally customized into two room-sized, multi-leveled, purple velvet cushions with larger-than-life-sized velvet pillows strewn all over it. An overhead steel platform served to support swings and life-size bird cages that hovered over the velvet floor. And there were horny women everywhere to take advantage of every inch of the Dungeon’s room.

  It was primal. Cages situated in the corners of the room, as well as the central Thunderdome, were tagged with black light paint as a red light scanned the room from overhead. White lights from the back would flicker to reveal supple beings in black leather bustiers, with buckles, and leather corset and G-string sets. Some of them were strapped with leather garter belts and arm bands. And most were armed with some of the items from the front table and were now putting them to use.

  It was raucous. A homegrown mix of Nubian rock rhythms, laced with the dark yet intimate lyrics of Pharaoh’s soul, pumped through the room's system to echo through the veins of the room's pulse. High moaned riffs of her guitar siphoned with deep and slow-droned utterances of an ancient song, which served to rev the crowd to drive faster and deeper into themselves, like an auditory seduction. It was Tricky meets Santana on ecstasy—a musical mind fuck. And the crowd was eating it up—literally.

  It was tantalizing. Trails of entangled bodies and lust-drunk limbs led to a sensual sea of ecstasy; and the ocean of bodies stormed the full length and breadth of the room. I passed multiple ménage-a-trois sessions, as I began to tread the center aisle. But then sprinkles quickly became a torrent of the lust-filled synergy and a collective panting of the largest orgy that I’d ever witnessed. With every step, swells of feminine fervor had instantly spilled over into the center passageway behind me. And, like an eel, I snaked through the corals of interlocked bodies that obstructed the path in front of me. It was a near-overwhelming odyssey, as alien, yet amorous, binges became organically intimate. And the moans and kisses that erupted from each wave became the siren to call and persuade me to indulge in my own destiny. It was as if the sheer vastness of leather and lush and naked fecundity mixed with the rock and roll and became the anatomy of an aphrodisiac that I could not refute. I’d yet to reach the central Thunderdome and it was getting harder and harder to deny the current’s beckoning call.

  I was surrounded on all sides by rapturous femmes that were kissing and fucking with a carnal passion and unabashedly inviting me to join in. They were provocative and alluring. And as all of my senses were swamped and flooded, I sunk deeper and deeper into my own hypnosis. The surf of orgies soaked my eye’s docks, while my nipples became painfully stiffened and my body tingled with yearning. The scent of sweat and pure passion spiked my adrenaline, as I was wrought with desire and began to drown in the Dungeo
n’s sensual intoxication and tantric powers. I closed my eyes, as my head would lift to the ceiling. My feet became bound and no longer moved. And as I now panted with desire, the room threatened to finally claim me. I would become its latest victim and I feared becoming lost amidst the abyss of it.

  Then with primordial instinct, I turned to survey behind me and it was as if with divine intervention, the sea of bodies was being parted—PrimaDonna was serenely gliding down the walkway with calf high tie-up stilettos and a classic slim, black, little leather dress. She balanced naughty with nice ideally and one could no less give pause to her distinctive flawlessness. It seemed that the tides had turned in my favor after all, as PrimaDonna’s light had begun to captivate my focus, as she walked directly towards me.

  I inhaled deeply. I exhaled deeply. And then I went to the flickering candle in my mind. The whole room phased out and I was instantly calmed by her lighthouse. I could feel the pulse of my being become leveled, as she glided towards me. And once again it seemed that PrimaDonna would be my saving grace.

  "You’re the picture of perfection. I like you in all black.” She whispered into my ear.

  I wanted to tell her about the photos and of everything that I’d found, but between the sexual haze and the Cîroc in my system, I was in no position to think of nothing else but the tingle in my lap.

  "I..I..I…well thank you…” I dragged out the words like a kid caught napping in class.

  “No, thank you…” She now circled me as if to survey me from head to toe. "Mmh. Nice ass!"

  She whispered again, into my ear, with the sensual tongue of Italy. And even though I began to melt with every word that graced my ear’s canal, I fought to maintain my composure.

  PrimaDonna would prove to be a more than worthy opponent at this game of chess—she was a master of the game. And it seemed that she was no stranger to the virtue of patience, as well. As a sophisticated woman would, she always timed her entrances and moved with precision and absolute poise. And although she was not playing hard to get, she played me as a huntress does her prey—with a silent and graceful watching and taunting then pouncing when the time was just right.