King of Diamonds

Sex Excerpt

Poignant minor-key refrains played as Charley Orange removed his size 13's and sank his feet into carpeting as white and soft as cotton tufting in the field.

"I'm Shakti and this is Shanti," said the taller of the two saronged daikinis who greeted him. "We're here to bathe you and prepare you for Clitorea."

Shakti - long, dark and slender as a Stradivarius, with a river of hair the color of moonlight that brushed as softly as a forbidden breeze across Charley's skin as she approached him - Shakti unbuttoned his shirt. Shanti - smaller, as full-bosomed as two cellos, her angel face framed by hair the hue of a Louisville Slugger, her eyes the color of cornflowers in the summertime meadows of Charley's boyhood, her skin as soft and white as the Rice Dream in the mushy granola of her heart - Shanti slipped the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall. Shakti unbuckled his belt; pulling down his trousers turned into a mock tug-of-war, leaving them collapsed in giggletry. Is this really happening to me? Charley kept asking himself as his hungry eyes feasted on them removing their sarongs. Shanti's boobs burst out of her chest like marching cheerleaders: Oom-pa! Oom-pa! Shakti's expansive violet-brown aureolae gave her breasts one-eyed Happy Faces the diameter of baseballs. They crowned mounds smaller but more flexible than her sister's: as she swayed her torso to and fro, they swung plenty pendulously enough to tick-tock Charley's clock.

Both women sported fashionably-Mohawked yonis. Below Shakti's amber fuzz, swollen pink labia puckered before retreating coyly between her thighs. Shakti's delicate inner lips protruded beyond the outer like anthers on an anthurium blossom.

Now, the spacesuits of the sweet sisters boasted other features equally worthy of adulation - Shakti's nose, for instance, so aquiline that it had starred in a tissue commercial - but let's face it: if you invite a starving man to a feast, he's not going to admire the cutlery. Charley saw breasts and yonis, yonis and breasts, incidentally fastened to elbows, insteps and other assorted body parts.

"May I hug you, Charley?" As Shakti's softness marshmallowed slowly into him, Shanti massaged his shoulders, then melted into him from behind, wrapping her arms around them both. "Charley sandwich!" she burbled and bit his shoulder. Led by his long-suffering lovestick, Charley's entire body went a-quiver as a Cuisinart. He wanted to throw Shakti down and take her, right there in them old cotton fields back home, but he was trapped between two succulent slices of warm woman. Finally he surrendered the controls. "M-mm h-mm!" he purred. "This is one slice of bologna that's just won the lottery."

Things were getting pretty crowded inside his jockey shorts when Shanti removed them. "Shall we bathe? ...Oh my! Speak of bologna! Look, Shakti, he's glad to see us already!"

The bathtub was cream-colored, kidney-shaped and, as Shanti described it, "queen-sized." Already drawn, the water was perfumed with frangipani and topped with more bubbles than beer drawn from a firehose. Built for multiple occupancy, the tub fit three at once comfortably and cozily. Shakti leaned against the back with Charley resting against her, his head turned sideways so that his cheek lay on the swell of a pop-top breast. His legs intertwined with those of Shanti, who faced him, his knees rubbing the gracefully-arced swell from her waist out to her hips. Squeezing bubbles and water from a loofa sponge over his hairy, muscled frame, she dawdled over those places where whatever time spent is always too short.

Long and langourously did Shakti and Shanti scrub and stroke, Shakti all the while playing with Charley's hair and singing softly into his ear. Then at last came the time for Charley to de-tub, get patted dry and receive anointment with oil of lavender. Namaste-ing, his geishas ushered Charley through the portal into the temple proper.