Morgana's Gift

Chapter 4 -- Thursday's Child

Ashley did indeed wake him the next morning with a blowjob, but it turned out she wasn't alone in that aspect, as Elizabeth had decided to help her on that pticular morning, with the blonde's lips wrapped around the head of his cock while the brunette tended to his balls, two tongues working his flesh with deliberate intent, neither wanting to rouse him from his slumber too quickly, but neither having enough patience to approach their task with complete serenity.

As soon as it had become apparent that he was waking up, the two women had increased their tempo, both moving to take turns pushing their mouths down on his cock, forcing it as deep into their throats as they could before pulling back, kissing each other around the head of his shaft before letting the other have a go at deepthroating him.

After a moment or so, he realized the girls were having some kind of a competition, trying to see who could stay with his cock lodged in their mouth for longer, and Ashley started giggling as Elizabeth struggled to keep pace, her eyes starting to water before she finally pulled her lips back, shaking her head. "No, I can't do it, I can't keep up with you," she said. "You win."

"Well, let's both win then," the blonde coed purred. "Give me a pat on the head when you're about to cum, Daddy," she said, looking up at him.

"You know how uncomfortable I am when you call-all-all--" he said before his train of thought was completely derailed by her pushing her head down onto his cock, a low groan escaping his throat as his back curved, his body betraying him by trying to shove his shaft even deeper into her mouth, as he felt her tongue slathering over it.

Ashley was many things, and a truly exceptional cocksucker was high among that list of most remarkable, as Kevin had always sort of been lackluster on blowjobs before she'd come into his life. He'd found them never to be as good as the hype had portrayed, but if Ashley was any indication, perhaps he'd just had inexperienced or disinterested partners, because with her, he struggled to remain unpopped. It made him feel a little like a teenager himself again.

It didn't take long, and after what could've only been a minute or two of her bobbing her face down into his crotch, he tapped her head, knowing he was about to burst, and at that point, Ashley grabbed Elizabeth by the neck, pulling her face over, and the two women began to kiss around the head of his cock while the blonde stroked the base of his shaft with her slender fingers, their tongues writhing against each other and the sensitive tip of his cock.

Resistance was useless.

As he released, he could feel the two tongues shift from tugging on each other to scrambling to ensure they each got as much of his release as possible, gobbling as much of his cum into their own mouth, the idea of sharing his release having been forgotten once the opportunity presented itself. They continued to lick and suckle on his shaft until his load was spent. The two women pulled their mouths back, looking up at him with wide smiles.

"Good morning, Daddy," Ashley purred.

"Good morning, sir," Elizabeth echoed.

"Good morning ladies," he chuckled as Ashley gave his cock one final stroke, like squeezing the last toothpaste from a tube, before she leaned down to lick it away. "Decided to share this morning, did we?"

Ashley hopped out of bed, completely naked, as she headed towards the bathroom. "She seemed to think deepthroating was easy, Daddy, so I told her I was going to prove her wrong," she said, stepping into the bathroom, turning the shower on.

Kevin glanced over at Elizabeth with a suspicious eyebrow raised.

Elizabeth winked at him, confirming his suspicion.

The younger girl was still so eager to prove her place that Elizabeth had enjoyed convincing the girl to go the extra mile without even being asked. Kevin had talked to Elizabeth about it, but his majordomo had insisted that it wasn't causing any problems, and that stoking the girl's competitive urges now and again was simply playing into who she was.

As always, Elizabeth made a compelling argument.

Natalie had left breakfast out for them, as she had to go and teach one of her classes, something Kevin had been adamant she not totally give up. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to be isolated with him in the house all the time, and making sure that each of the girls had their own lives was a high priority for him, so Natalie had agreed to keep a handful of her classes that she was teaching, most of them early in the morning, before Kevin was usually up.

Kevin's schedule for the day was actually mostly open, and he intended to spend most of it putting together some initial comps for Emily's movie. He wouldn't be able to do scene-matching scores until he had the film to watch and pace to, but that wouldn't stop him from getting some initial scoring arrangements down so that Emily and Alice could hear something.

In the afternoon, he had his meeting with Miriam, but until then, he decided to get to work in his studio, turning off his cellphone as he settled in to put the new household studio through its paces. Neither Kerry nor Dandy Randy were going to be by, so it let him get deep into the zone.

The new studio had a ton of potential, but Kevin spent the first hour or so of the day getting the new gear he'd bought yesterday hooked up and into his system. What should've been only a couple of minutes had resulted in him rewiring basically everything, as he needed to swap inputs around, add some splitters into some pathways, and halfway through, he'd thrown the entire organizing system out and started from scratch, putting post-it notes on cables and boxes, sketching out an organizational chart on a yellow legal pad to keep track of what fed into where.

By the time he was done, he wished he'd bought a labelmaker when he'd been out yesterday, but the post-it notes would do for the time being, and he now had access to all of the various levels of gear he needed without having to constantly plug and unplug patches.

It was all worth it, however, for when he finally plugged his Gibson hollow body into the board and let a wildly distorted chord fill the room.

The Truth Knife sound was back, baby.

The next couple of hours, Kev was composing and recording snippets of sound into the computer, a melody line here, a basic drum sound there, not working on full tunes yet so much as setting up a style guide for the sounds he was going to need.

He knew the hardest challenge was still a good bit ahead of him instead of behind him. While he knew how to write sheet music, he'd only done scores with a handful of instruments, most of which he played himself. Thankfully, Emily Rouchard wasn't looking for him to use a ton of orchestral sounds, but he still felt it would be important to have at least one scene in the movie where he used an orchestra to contrast with all the rock and electronic flourishes he was going to be layering their soundtrack with.

He also set up a corkboard map of the movie on one wall, trying to establish what general things he was going to do, based on both his memories from yesterday as well as the notes that he'd been given. Alice had said that a copy of the script would be delivered to him in the next day or two, and he could use that to start bracketing out what each section wanted and needed, and how to approach them, but what he'd written down yesterday gave him a massive head start on that.

Based on what he'd seen, he would be composing about 50 minutes of score, give or take, which sounded like a lot for such a short period of time, but Kevin reminded himself that he'd had even less time to do "The Devil's Confession" and that had still been impressive enough to get this job, so bitching about the time window was only going to be wasted time, and it was better to simply get right down to work.

The main theme itself was going to be the keystone, so he decided to do his best to get that out of the way first, since everything else would flow out from that naturally. He would have Kerry come by and lay down actual drums later, but he set up a relatively basic drum pattern through a sequencer first, and then began laying down components one at a time -- the rhythm guitar framework, the bass pattern, the swells and ebbs of synth beds, then layered it all up with distortion and effects.

He'd intended to just work for two hours, but when he finally felt satisfied with the base demo for the main theme, he glanced at his watch and saw it was nearly four, his interview with Miriam in just a few minutes. He hastily emailed Alice and Emily the file which he'd marked "RoughMainThemeTempMix1NOTFINAL" so they would know how placeholder it was, turned his phone back on and headed out of the studio and upstairs, just in time to hear the gate buzzer ring.

Kevin stopped in front of one of the control panels, pushing the button. "Yes?"

"Miriam Bitam, here to meet with Mister Bishop," the voice on the other end of the line said, so he pushed the button to open the gate.

He headed to the front door, making sure his cat Stu was mostly asleep on one of the couches, otherwise the cat might make an attempt to bolt out of the house, not to go anywhere, but just to be a general nuisance, wandering around the courtyard for a little bit.

The car driving into the little circular driveway was a black Escalade with tinted window, and he wondered if that was what she always drove, or if it was something she used especially for when she was working. They were so ubiquitous in Los Angeles that they had all basically become background noise to him.

Elizabeth had been extremely coy about Miriam, telling him time and time again that she didn't want to taint his opinion of the woman who might basically be by his side for the foreseeable future, and so Kevin was left to form his own opinions.

The electric gate closed once more, and Miriam slipped out of the car, giving the area a looksee, and Kevin wondered if she was considering the area tactically. "You must be Miss Bitam," Kevin said. "I'm Kevin Bishop. C'mon in. Get you anything to drink?"

Miriam wasn't a tall woman, a little over five feet tall, with olive skin and black hair that hung down to her collarbone. She was thin, but he suspected the look was deceiving, and that those willowly limbs of hers held powerful muscles. She wore faded green pants and a black turtleneck shirt that covered most of her skin, and based on the way the shirt bulged, he suspected she had a bulletproof vest on underneath it. She had a leather jacket on over the shirt, and he wondered if she had a gun holster concealed inside. There was a satchel bag hanging around her neck, too big to be called a purse, but not so big as to be overwhelming. She also had on a pair of giant mirrored aviator style sunglasses, so he couldn't see where she was looking.

"No thank you, Mister Bishop. Let's get inside. This area isn't as secure as I would like it to be."

He stepped back inside of the house and waited for her to follow him, closing the door behind her as she pulled the sunglasses from her face to reveal a striking pair of light blue eyes, a dramatic contrast to the darkness of her face. She wore some makeup, but kept it minimal and light, enough to let her blend in and still look very attractive without having to take a long period of time for application, so she was always ready to go at the drop of a hat.

"Welcome to my home, Miss Bitam," he said, leading her down the hall to the dining room that had also become his interview and meeting room, the place where he'd met Alice and Emily not so long ago. "I appreciate you taking the time to drive up here. My executive assistant, Elizabeth, seems to think I'm in need of personal protection services, but I don't know that I see the point, really."

In the first change of facial expression he'd seen from her, she gave him a very tight-lipped and brief smile, almost patronizing or condescending, as if humoring a small child. "Yes, well, I find that most people with newly acquired wealth tend to underestimate their personal security needs, and I can already confirm you do as well."

He cocked his head at her as he moved to sit down at the table. "How so?"

"I gave you my name at the gate, but I could be anyone. You didn't ask me for identification, you didn't verify my identity in any way before letting me past the first line of defense."

"Why would anyone

care

, though, is what I'm struggling to understand?" Kevin asked her. "I'm just a musician with a nice house and some money. This is Hollywood. Literally any house in any direction is someone worth five to ten times what I am, and most of them don't have private security."

"And that's

their

failing, Mr. Bishop, but that doesn't mean you should let it be yours also. Yes, you are correct that you are not what I would consider a high value target, but I am meant to understand that your star is on the rise, so it is better for you to get accustomed to private security now, when the stakes are lower, than being forced to adapt when there is a more imminent threat," she said, moving to sit down across the table from him. "Your assistant seems to think you're going to become both much wealthier and much better known in the near future, and she wants you to be properly defended, so that your safety is tended to."

Miriam moved with precision and didn't seem to move at all if she didn't have to, like she was conserving her energy in case she might need it suddenly. Kevin found it almost a little disconcerting, although the woman was strikingly beautiful enough not to mind.

"Alright then," he said, leaning back in his chair a little bit. "Let's start with you first. Tell me a bit about yourself and your qualifications."

She nodded a little, as if expecting the question. "I am 28, a dual-citizen of Israel and the United States. I joined up with the Israel Defense Forces at 18, and moved to work with the Mossad, which is the Israeli equivalent of the CIA and the FBI rolled into one, when I was 22. About three years ago, I chose to leave that agency and to make the United States my permanent home, after a falling out with my family, which is a personal matter you do not need to concern yourself with."

Kevin raised a finger in objection. "You might consider it something I don't need to concern myself with, Miriam, but I don't agree, and I like to know everything about the people who are going to be this close to me, wouldn't you agree?"

He saw another brief tight-lipped smile from her only for an instant before she nodded. "I actually do, Mr. Bishop, but I wanted to see exactly

how

lax you are about these sorts of things, and I am glad to see that it is not as bad as I had feared. Yes, my family wanted me to remain within the Mossad, and I had a particularly harrowing experience on a mission that made me rethink what I was doing with the agency. When I announced that I was leaving, they chose to disown me, saying I had shamed the family."

"What can you tell me of the experience that made you decide to leave? I'm sure some of it is probably state secrets, but anything you can--"

"I accidentally killed a nine-year-old girl," she said suddenly, cutting him off mid sentence. "There was a terrorist cell operating in a dilapidated building, and the decision was made to take the cell out with a surgical strike, a shape charge that would collapse the building in on itself and kill all the men involved. It did do that, but one of the men had brought his daughter to the hideout with him, and she was killed. 'Collateral damage' I was told by my superiors, and they stressed that I should not concern myself with that, but I found myself unable to continue with further assignments, as I kept seeing the young girl's face. I went to therapy, and while it helped a bit, in the end I decided I no longer wanted to work for the Mossad, or any intelligence agency."

"I'm... I'm so sorry," he said, struggling to find the words. "That's horrible. I mean, you obviously didn't mean to kill her, and some times accidents happen in your--"

"That's just it, Mr. Bishop. Whatever I intended is of no consequence, and that girl's mother had to deal with the loss of two people, her husband and her daughter, when only one of them truly needed to die. But I intended to kill that man, and he very much deserved it, so accident isn't the correct word. Carelessness, maybe."

"What could you have done?"

"Turned off the bombs. Waited another day for when she was gone."

"Why didn't you?"

She sighed. "I didn't actually see her come into the building, and even if I had, my orders were very clear -- the cell was to be killed and no delays were to be tolerated. They were planning an attack, and we weren't sure how many windows of opportunity we were going to get. When you're fighting people who you know will kill you given a chance, it isn't hard to compartmentalize and rationalize what you're doing as the right thing, but when you also end up killing someone too young to know any better, it becomes that much harder to justify. I suppose the reason I decided to leave the Mossad came not from my guilt over killing the girl, but how callously my superiors seemed to treat the matter, as if the girl was tainted by proximity, that the very act of being near her father made her death an excusable act. If they didn't have remorse about this, how much further would that lack of remorse go? I had been with the Mossad for almost three years, and the more I thought back to my previous missions, the more I came to realize that the agency was about results no matter the cost, and that showed no signs of changing. So perhaps I am not cut out for that line of work."

"That's no shame on you."

"My family disagreed, and we argued greatly over it, but my mind had been decided and I would not have it swayed, so I left Israel and moved to the United States full time. Like many attractive women who served in the IDF, they had used pictures of me in uniform for propaganda, and that had drawn the attention of agents for modeling and acting work, so when I arrived here, I got an agent and began auditioning for things. It was soon I would learn that beautiful women are, as your saying goes, a dime a dozen here in Los Angeles, and while I was getting offers for work here and there, many of them were the sorts of work that do not endear themselves to long-term success."

"Did you want to be a model? I mean, you're certainly stunning."

Again he saw a smile, but this time it was a bit more surprised, a bit more genuine, and lasted a slight bit longer. "I was less interested in modeling and more interested in acting, but it seemed like if I wanted to be given a real break, I would need to compromise my values in order to progress, something I am unwilling to do. So while still trying to break into acting as a career, I have defaulted to using my old skills, and have been working in the protection services to pay the bills. While I do stand out, many men are willing to have a bodyguard with them if she looks like I do. Of course, sometimes the clients try to get handsy, so that isn't without its own collection of problems."

"So all of this basically leads me to one bigger question, Miriam. Why do you want to work for me? With all you've told me, I can't imagine why you wouldn't want to take on high profile clients who might be able to get you acting work."

Miriam reached into the satchel and pulled something out, setting it on the table before sliding it over to him. When it slid out from under her hand, he recognized it immediately. It was a copy of the Truth Knife CD, and he could see through the clear case that the CD sleeve was autographed by all the members of the band.