PART 6: CUNNING
Double crossed.
The tide was turning. The clock can be turned back. The revolution was happening in prime-time but in slow-mo. It was the morning after in America. People were choosing sides. Some men and women were standing-up for the past. The double standard was better than no standards.
Regrettably the Court of the All-Seeing Eye and the Patriarchs above them at times took their eyes off the prize and they coalesced into factions. Factions united in granting each other any means to the end-all and the be-all, but disunited by the eternal game of who will be the will and whom will be the will's instruments.
Agents' factions (Del Toro's was one of them) jockeyed for benches on the Court (which were launching pads for a seat on the Council of the Patriarchate).
The proof of an agent's success in regenerating their neighborhood was there for all to see on Whore-stoppers and its spin-offs. The hits received indicated high approval of certain agents' results compared to other...non-performers.
This encouraged the popular agents to expand into the neighborhoods of other agents who weren't up to the challenge, who couldn't perform in the spot-light.
Soon the best agents were competing over who would win the laurels for regenerating not just neighborhoods, but cities. This provoked measures, counter-measures, infiltration, ex-filtration, deception, misdirection, counter-intelligence.
Some of the factions in California were, predictably, rather...theatrical. One of the most theatrical factions seemed to come out of nowhere. It was formerly a Hindu-Buddhist meditation church, which secretly gave Kama Sutra lessons to a certain carefully selected few. Unbeknownst to the selected their lessons were video taped for pedagogic purposes. This church's HQ was known as "the Palace."
A year before the Sons of Liberty started taking back their neighborhoods, the mysterious leader (he was called Master Layman) of this church converted to American Evangelicalism. The meditation, his strange costume, and, still secretly, the Kama Sutra studies, remained. The selected few expanded.
When the regime change started the videos of Master Layman's Kama Sutra study sessions were slowly, strategically, up-loaded to Whore-stoppers. Many of his students were prominent women in politics, law enforcement, the entertainment industry and religion. Plus a lot of rich men's wives. A surprising number of evangelical wives were whores. All the students got a failing grade from their boyfriends, husbands, congregations, employers and neighborhoods. Much to the approval of fans of Whore-stoppers. Master Layman was a force to be reckoned with.
***
The Japanese sliding door was painted with a cresting wave. The left panel of the sliding door slowly opened and a large figure stepped softly into the dimly lit room. Someone closed the door. The room was bare except for a large, low, white, square bed in the middle of the hard wood floor. The bed had no head board. On the bed a smaller figure with long auburn hair, in a diaphanous mauve nightgown, knelt towards the door, face down, arms out-stretched. Leilah Yumi was kowtowing.
"Thank you Master Layman for agreeing to meet me." Leilah's contralto was muffled by the mattress so close to her mouth. She had joined one of the Evangelical Meditation Palace's advanced classes. She had given her instructor an envelope with the words "For Master Layman's Eyes Only" written in elegant calligraphy. Two weeks later her instructor whispered to her that she would be getting a special lesson tomorrow at 6am.
When Leilah arrived at the EMP she was escorted to this bare, windowless room, lit by three long, red candles in three long, iron candle sticks.
She raised herself on her palms, keeping her head bowed, her straight, auburn hair covering her face and confessed: "I really don't have any beliefs other than self-protection." The thought "I'm empty" flicked across her mind.
"You're certain?" a deep voice asked above her.
"I'll be the perfect spy, I know the secrets of Del Toro's bedroom." She lifted her head and gazed with wonder at the figure looking down on her. He was tall, covered with a black silk cape, his face was covered with a white mask which left only a cruel mouth exposed. The mask had two, long, black, sharp horns.
"Your faction is so powerful and it's growing," Leilah's Persian eyes sparkled in the candlelight as her red lips parted.
"Why the perfect spy?" the deep voice resonated like an old church organ.
"Because Del Toro wants me," Leilah's large breasts could be seen through her diaphanous nightgown, "and because his wife is fucking me."
***
Leilah Pahlavi's family fled to Los Angeles from the Iranian Revolution in 1979. The Shah was a cousin on her father's side of her family. Leilah was born one year later. That was thirty-nine years ago.
Her family flourished, her many siblings included, mostly in advertising. When Leilah was 20 she surprised everyone by marrying a Japanese man. What didn't surprise anyone who knew her is that she married a rich man, a very rich man. Unfortunately Mr. Yumi was shooting blanks. And his sex drive petered out five years into the marriage. Fortunately for Leilah, Mr. Yumi--who was twenty years older than Leila--died of a heart attack in his sleep in 2010. Henceforth Leila was known as "the Yumi Widow."
She was set for life and took life by the horns and lived it to the fullest. She had a banquet before her and carefully chose a few spicy dishes. She preferred quality instead of quantity.
Her green eyes, slightly hooked nose, her pointy teeth a little too big for her vivid red mouth, would be flaws to some. But her wealth, widow weeds and large, full, round breasts made her desirable to all and sundry. That and her narrow waist and perfect grooming: her vibrant auburn hair was always long, brushed straight back; her eyebrows, eye shade and lipstick a delicate perfection; all the hair below her neck removed except for a tantalizing flame-shaped little bush above her vulva. Her beautiful skin was unmarred by tattoos or piercings, not even her ear lobes.
Four years ago Leilah decided to try a different section of the buffet. Her network had praised Pilates, in particular a studio named Compass Rose. Even though she most certainly was not out of shape (she was moist certainly in shape) some of the praise for the Compass Rose piqued her interest.
When she sashayed into the main studio filling with women in their 30s and 40s, who unrolled their mats and giggled and gossiped, her eyes were drawn to the tall raven haired blue eyed beauty greeting each arrival with squeezes, caresses and a few delightfully long kisses. Leilah kept her distance from Darlene Fontaine, the owner of the Compass Rose. Leilah sat at the back of the crowd, furthest away from Darlene, who was wearing tight black short-shorts and a tight little red top.
After watching Darlene strengthen her core for an hour Leilah came to two conclusions: 1, she had no further interest in Pilates; and 2, she had quite a lot of interest in Darlene. She sashayed up to Darlene and invited her to what Leilah jokingly called her "Purdah" for Darjeeling tea. This invitation charmed the panties off of Darlene.
***
Their slow motion kissing accompanied their mutual strip teasing until they both floored each other.
Leilah sat with her thighs spread open season, her smooth purple hewed pussy egging Darlene on, oyster on the half shell coloured carpet. Leilah closed her dark eyes, held her slow auburning hair back with her right hand, flared her nostrils, and struck a pose with poise. Her breasts were large, saggy, with aureoles the size of sand dollars, the nipples pink buds. They were so suckable.
Darlene nearly came at the first sight of them. As Darlene began to suck Leilah's breasts, she purred, "I'm going to take you to each point on the compass rose."
So began their monthly frolics, working out the knots going from room to room in the Yumi mansion: the kitchen, the baths, the green house, the gazebo, the dining room, the showers and so on. Darlene would push Leilah against the glass shower door and while the Yumi Widow's tits got squeaky clean, her Farsi pussy got down and dirty from Darjeeling's fret working over time.
Leilah refused to let Darlene introduce toys to their bed. "I will not be toyed with," she said archly. End of Discussion. Darlene laughed at her seriousness. "And I think your tattoo is vulgar," sniffed the Yumi Widow. Darlene laughed louder.
