Message-ID: <23803asstr$956373057@assm.asstr-mirror.org> From: Saynesberry@aol.com X-Original-Message-ID: MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="US-ASCII" Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Subject: {ASSM} The Saga of Blanche, Part VI: Blanche Meets Coyreen Date: Fri, 21 Apr 2000 23:10:57 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: english, gill-bates The Saga of Blanche, Part VI: Blanche Meets Coyreen by Frank Saynesberry (This story is for adults. If you are under 18, or dislike graphic descriptions of sexual activity, please don't read it.) ********************************************* It would be hard to explain just how Blanche Snowe worked her way into the hearts of the Devil's Dwarves, and why the Dwarves meant so much to her. I know, because I've had the chance to interview Blanche, as well as all of the surviving Dwarves, and none of them were quite able to put it into words. All they could say for sure was that the Dwarves had discovered her, nude, abandoned, and terrified, in an alleyway in Watts; that they'd taken her back to their home/headquarters and tried to take care of her; and that she had, in her unique way, taken care of them in return. Of course, Blanche and the Dwarves had a few things in common: they were all outcasts, rejects, and what polite society calls "failures;" even Blanche, the one who'd led such a quiet and sheltered life in the Midwest before coming to LA, where she'd landed a secretarial job at O'Smiles Productions, had now been brutally "dismissed," and nearly killed, by her employers. And each one of them, from beautuful, gentle Blanche to Chang, the Chinese Goliath, and Chief, the lean, intense Paiute whose savvy held the group together, to Benny and Nacho and Snap and Ernie and Burt, were absolute individuals: for good or ill (and it was usually ill, until Blanche came along), they were genuine, authentic, the real deal. How could Blanche, a delicate beauty straight out of a cameo, as well as a nineteen-year-old virgin (oh, hadn't I mentioned that part before?), have meshed so seamlessly with this gang of hardened street thugs? Don't ask me. Ask a sociologist. Me, I'm just a private eye who thought he'd seen it all before, and then he saw....well, that's what I've been telling you about. After fainting in the alleyway and being "adopted" by the Dwarves, Blanche had been unconscious for over eight hours. (The Chief had been right: she hadn't just fainted; she was in genuine shock.) So the Dwarves attended her as best they could, which wasn't half-bad, because even in their mid-twenties, these guys had had a lot of experience with life. Example? Well, like when the Chief told Nacho to go to the drugstore and lift some Pedialyte: maybe the Chief couldn't have explained it to the others, but when he lived on the Rez he'd seen plenty of cases of dehydration, and shock can cause dehydration; and he'd seen the Rez medics pouring the sweet, sticky fluid down many parched throats. One of the Dwarves lifted a new electric blanket for her: they never plugged it in, but they wrapped her in it, despite the springtime heat outside. And finally, after they'd been watching her "sleep" for the entire afternoon and evening, she awakened abruptly, and sat up, and looked at them: and they were hooked. Remember me telling you that in her early films, Coyreen the Porno Queen could roll her eyes at the camera, and make you think she was looking at YOU, that YOU were the only person she cared about? Well, that was her genius as an "actress." But Blanche did the same thing whenever she looked at you, in person: but with Blanche, it wasn't an act. At that moment, you WERE the only person in her world, whether you were her millionaire boss, or a Mexican gardener, or one of the Devil's Dwarves. She loved them like brothers on sight: and they loved her, in a pure and sexless way that astounded each and every one of them. "First time I see Blanche," Burt once told me, "I says to myself, Burt, that li'l pink twat's gonna be squirmin' like a fish on Mr. Johnson before this day's over! But yo, man, once she woke up, and started talkin,' why, any one of the brothas would've died to keep her safe an' sound!" Then, of course, Burt's big, brown eyes filled with tears. "Thass right," he said, choking back a sob, "an' one a' the brothas sure did, you know what I'm sayin'?" Yeah, I knew. Anyhow, Blanche was what us Jews call a "mitzvah:" she was a blessing to the Dwarves, a sudden breath of hope. And they were her friends and brothers and her zealous protectors. And there was absolutely no fucking around on the side. The Dwarves had "old ladies" for that; and if a particular old lady disapproved of Blanche, then there would be a NEW old lady! But here again, I need to qualify somewhat, because here comes another of those little hints of magic. I said Blanche was a virgin, which is true. I said there was no fucking around, which is true. But there was a little bit of sex: and it didn't start with the Dwarves, it started with Blanche. Blanche spent most of the days doing things for the Dwarves, primarily in the area of making a livable home for them, and cooking for them, and taking care of their wounds. (She saw this as a way of repaying their kindness, and pulling her own weight as well.) But sometimes Blanche would even do "favors" for the Dwarves at night, when they were asleep.....and only when they were asleep! Although a virgin, Blanche had, until recently, been working in a very "promiscuous" environment: the offices of the most successful porn studio in California. And she was familiar with, so to speak, the company product. She was also slightly familiar with men; her family in the Midwest included brothers. So Blanche, who always wanted to do just a little something extra for the people she loved, began visiting the Dwarves, one at a time, during the pre-dawn hours when even gangs slept. She would go to the Dwarf she had selected, usually because he had had a bad day, or was depressed, or maybe because he'd done something nice that day, and very quietly kneel on the floor next to his mattress or bedroll. (She was not nude when she did this; she slept in a beautiful lace nightgown Snap had shoplifted for her.) When she was absolutely sure that the man was asleep, she would sit down, lean over, and very carefully slip her fingers into the waistband of his underwear (if he wore any), and pull it down just far enough to release his cock and balls. Even if the Dwarf's cock had been relaxed before Blanche sat down, it was stiff and erect now, although the man would continue to sleep. Whether she was "visiting" the gigantic Chang, or Snap, or the Chief, or either of the blacks or Latinos, she would sigh in contentment and admiration, and lean her head over just far enough to lightly rest her soft cheek on the man's shaft, holding her hair out of the way with one hand so as not to tickle him awake. Then, as the man murmured or groaned or even snored, Blanche would do whatever she felt like doing (although this was limited by her desire for the man to remain asleep). Sometimes she would simply stroke her fingertips back and forth, back and forth along his balls and the underside of his shaft; sometimes she would take the shaft in her hand (or hands, depending on which Dwarf she was visiting) and slowly, deliberately pump it; but no matter how she started, she always ended the same way: watching the man's cock stiffen and swell and throb, feeling his orgasm rising beneath her fingers, until she would slip the head of his cock between her blood-red lips and moan, very softly, while his cum erupted into her tiny mouth. And after swallowing the last drop, she'd dry him off, and pull his drawers back up (if necessary), and rise quietly and return to her own mattress, where she would sigh, and dream about the man who would one day come and carry her off to a new life, and she would hum softly as her long, white fingers stroked and tweaked all the appropriate places between her virgin thighs. Who told me about all this, if the Dwarves were asleep when it happened? That's not important. Like I said, I did a lot of interviews. ************************************************************* Of course, I never had the opportunity to interview Coyreen. But using the various eyewitness accounts and the police reports that some old friends leaked to me, I was able to reconstruct her movements that night pretty closely. You know, the night the computer blew the whistle on Blanche, and Coyreen set out for Watts on her own, after first icing the young security guard assigned to protect her. The night when Coyreen's egomania was downsized, and all that remained was mania. The night all Hell broke loose. After killing the guard and "appropriating" his electric stun-gun, which she dropped into her bag along with her .32 Beretta, Coyreen hopped into her little yellow Porsche convertible and laid rubber from Brentwood to the Sunset Strip, where she scored a Baggie full of coke from a burned-out junkie who had been one of her leading men a few years earlier, before he learned that it wasn't the sight of his prick that was moving Coyreen's videos off the shelves. "Holy shit, thanks, Coyreen," he mumbled as she handed him five one-hundred-dollar bills in exchange for the Baggie. "Hey, listen, man," he sniveled, emboldened by her generosity, "what say we get together sometime and party? Kinda like old times?" After a split-second's irritation, Coyreen replied sweetly, "Well, honey, why wait? Step over here a little closer and string that big boy out, and I'll give you something special right now!" "Really?" he exclaimed, and lost no time moving up against the driver's side of the car. Coyreen reached out and unzipped his pants, allowing his once-famous cock to jump free. "Oh, baby," she purred, "I'd forgotten just what a big man you really are! Now, close your eyes, babe, and just think back to our days in the studio together. Remember our big scene in 'Rutting Rhonda?' " As the man wheezed out a laugh and squeezed his eyes shut, Coyreen took his prick in her hand and licked it until it was sopping wet. "No fair peeking, now," she reminded him. Then she reached into her handbag for the stun-gun, and the next thing he felt was 80,000 volts burning through the soft skin at the base of his shaft, where Coyreen's saliva had accumulated, providing a helpful conductor for the electricity. He collapsed without a word, and as he thrashed uncontrollably in the street, Coyreen checked the battery level in the device, and primly replaced it in her purse. After snorting a couple of lines that would have done Tony Montana proud, she goosed the little car through a screeching U-turn and headed for Watts, oblivious to the shouts and honking horns that followed her. Her former co-star lay in the street, his thrashing stilled; his drug-ravaged body had been unable to survive Coyreen's nasty little surprise. "'Blanche has made a brand-new start,' has she?" Coyreen snarled, repeating the message N Synch had delivered to her an hour earlier on the ill-fated computer. "'Coyreen's got a hooker's heart,' has she?" She shrieked suddenly with laughter. "We'll see who's got what kinda heart when I hook up with that little twat! Her and her nigger friends!" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the freeway entrance that would have taken her to the O'Smiles Studios, if that had been her destination. "Kiss my ass, Rosecrans fuckin' Boulevard!" she screamed. "I'll get back to you later, when I'm ready to settle up with that cocksucker Miles!" Although she was speeding in more ways than one, she stopped at an occasional red light to snort directly from the Baggie; she had dropped her solid-gold razor blade and cloissone mirror back on Sunset, and didn't have time to search for them. She also checked and re-checked the clip in the Baretta, and stuffed three extra clips into the waistband of her already-tight jeans. At her final red light,after inhaling as much of the coke as she could, she happened to glance to her left. There in the center lane, stopped immediately beside her, was a Los Angeles Police cruiser. Its siren and lights were not howling or flashing; apparently, the young woman officer had just turned onto the street, and hadn't been pursuing Coyreen at all. She looked over at Coyreen, began to smile and nod courteously, then spotted the red eyes, the mottled complexion, and, most damning of all, the white powder which stretched from the bridge of Coyreen's nose to her bottom lip. "Oh, God," thought the policewoman, and she reached for her radio to call for backup. She was about to ask, "Are you alright, miss?" But Coyreen's vision had merely registered the pretty young black woman's hand reaching for something, and in a split second, she was pointing the Beretta with both hands and crying out, "Mind your own fuckin' business, bitch!" Thee shots directly into the policewoman's face ended what Coyreen had seen as a threat, and by the time she threw the Porsche into gear and sprang away from the intersection, the policewoman was dead. A single mother raising a three-year-old son, she had graduated from the Police Academy only a month before. Her hand had never made it to the radio. *********************************************************************** Whoever called midnight "the witching hour" would have appreciated what happened next. In the little house on the edge of Watts, six of the Dwarves sat or sprawled out on the floor in front of an ancient console television, laughing and jeering at two rather inept fighters stumbling through the undercard of a pirated pay-per-view boxing extravaganza, as Blanche glided back and forth between the so-called "living room" and the tiny kitchen, emptying ashtrays and bringing fresh beers to her friends. "Yo, Blanche," called Ernie, patting an empty spot next to him on the floor, "c'mon and sit with us!" He nodded toward the television, where a bantamweight from Compton was battering away at a hopelessly-outclassed Mexican. "Homeboy here is about to put this fuckin' spic away, an' then it'll be the main event!" "Who you callin' a speec, main?" scolded Benny, slapping Ernie's arm playfully. "Chico just be gettin' hees second weend!" The other Dwarves laughed, as did Blanche, who added, "I'll be there in just a minute, guys. Keep a spot warm for me." A chorus of suggestive, but clearly joking, remarks erupted from the group, and Blanche laughed again. The only Dwarf missing from the group was Chang, who had gone out for pizza about a half-hour before. Amid the general merriment, nobody heard the sound of the little yellow Porsche coasting to a stop at the curb outside. Nobody except the Chief, that is, whose ears had been trained from infancy to hear things that others took for granted. He tensed slightly and glanced at the front door, smoothly and inconspicuously coming out of his cross-legged posture and sitting up on the balls of his feet. None of the others noticed, their attention focused on the television. A few moments later, there came a knock on the front door. All eyes turned to the sound; the Dwarves were not accustomed to visitors. "I'll get it, guys, just enjoy your fight," Blanche called out, setting down an empty ashtray and wiping her hands on the hips of her tight, white Levis. As she started for the door, however, the Chief silently rose from the floor and walked behind her. The other Dwarves had returned to the boxing match; if Chief wanted to miss the knockout, that was his business. The Chief close behind, Blanche opened the door. There stood the denim and ermine-clad form of Coyreen, the employer who Blanche had never actually met, her eyes red, her nose running, clutching nervously at her handbag. She had wiped the telltale powder from her face, and now bore the appearance of a woman who had been crying, and crying hard. "H-hi, Blanche," she said in a tiny voice, "You don't exactly know me, but I'm Coyreen, and I'm in big trouble. C-can I come in, please?" Blanche was confused. In her conversations with the Dwarves, she had realized that Vitaly Arkhoff had been ordered to kill her on instructions from her employer; so why would her employer be here now, coming to her for help? Unless the orders to kill had come from her OTHER employer, Coyreen's husband, Miles! The Chief's hand grabbed the edge of the door, as if to shut it in Coyreen's face, but Blanche was Blanche, and she couldn't turn anyone away. She laid her hand gently on the Chief's arm and whispered, "It's okay, Chief," then stood aside so that Coyreen could enter. Coyreen sniffed pitifully and skipped across the threshhold. "Oh, thank you Blanche," she blurted, "I knew you'd help me!" Then, looking directly at the Chief, she blurted out, "Why, you don't look like a nig ..... I mean, you sure don't look like a Dwarf!" She tried to flash a charming smile, but the Chief's eyes narrowed: he knew a junkie when he saw one, and he didn't like the looks of this bitch at all. "Oh, Coyreen," Blanche said quickly, "this is my good, good friend, Chief! And THOSE" - - - she nodded in the direction of the men sitting on the floor, who had started looking up from the television - - - "those are my good friends, the Dwarves! Guys, this is Coyreen! We, um, used to work together!" None of the Dwarves responded, except to stare. The Chief wasn't the only one who could sense trouble. Blanche reached out and put her hands on Coyreen's shoulders. Reluctantly, the Chief closed the front door. "Now, Coyreen, what's the matter? What's going on? How can I help you?" Before the Porno Queen could reply, the Chief added, in a rumbling voice, "And how did you find us?" Looking nervously at the Chief, Coyreen replied, "Oh! Well, I heard that my friend Blanche was in Watts with her...friends....and since I have some friends here, too, I just asked around!" "What friends?" Chief demanded bluntly. "Oh," replied Coyreen innocently, "well, it was my old friend, Sister Rosetta Conklin, the leader of the Watts Mass Choir! You know, down there at the First Church of the Everlasting - - -" "We know who you mean," Ernie interrupted from his place in front of the television. Rising to his feet, he scowled at this sluttish newcomer. "How long you been knowin' Sister Conklin?" "Oh," Coyreen laughed, "it just seems like forever!" As indeed it would be for Sister Conklin, who had met Coyreen for the first time that night, told her where the Devil's Dwarves lived ("Now, don't let the name scare you, honey, they're good boys at heart!"), and had immediately been sent to her reward by Coyreen's Beretta. Suddenly remembering that laughter was inappropriate, she looked back at Blanche. "Oh, honey," she cried, "it's so awful! You know Vasily Arkhoff, my chauffeur?" she asked, mispronouncing his name as usual. "Of course you do! Well, it seems that he and Miles....oh, Blanche, it's so humiliating!....he and Miles have had this GAY thing going on, and they decided to KILL me, so they could run away together, and just for practice, they decided to try to kill you, first! And I don't know how you got away from Vasily, but now they're both coming after me!" She burst into sobs, burying her face in her hands. "Oh, Coyreen," gasped Blanche, "that's horrible! And here I had it all wrong! I thought that you - - -" Now Snap was on his feet, all 6'3' of him. The former Alabama farmboy began to approach the little group at the front door. "Hey there, Blanche, it's none o' my business, but I don't believe a word this bitch is sayin.' Look at her eyes, man! They look like a pair o' fuckin' bowling balls! She's a got-damned crackhead!" Blanche turned to rebuke Snap's "cruel" remarks, but before she could speak, Coyreen's handbag had dropped to the floor, and in her hands were the Beretta and the stun-gun. Without an instant's hesitation, she stretched out her arm and placed the point of the little gun directly between the Chief's black, glaring eyes. "Stay where you are, cracker," she snarled at Snap, "or you'll be cleaning Tonto's brains off the wall tomorrow morning!" Cursing under his breath, Snap stopped. By now the other Dwarves were on their feet, poised to spring at the woman, but held at bay by the sight of the gun at their leader's head. Now Blanche looked back at the murderous sex-star. "Coyreen, what are you doing? Why are you doing this? These are my friends! Shoot me if you want to, but leave them alone!" Coyreen squealed a delighted giggle. "Why, Blanche, I don't want to shoot you," she said cheerfully. Then, her face growing purple with rage, she snarled, "I want to fucking fry your ass!" With a single, sudden move, she jammed the stun-gun up against Blanche's soft, white throat, right under the chin, jabbing the two electrodes in deeply. Then she mashed her thumb down on the button. Blanche's eyes grew impossibly wide, and she started to scream, but it came out as a strangled, rattling sound. As Coyreen held the gadget in place, discharging more and more electricity, Blanche's body vibrated and froze and the flesh on her neck began to sizzle. The Chief let loose a savage snarl and slapped Coyreen's gun hand downward, away from his face; the Beretta discharged directly into his gut. He gasped wetly and fell to the floor, rolling in agony. Finally, mercifully, the stun-gun stopped, exhausted, and Blanche slumped to the floor, falling almost cheek-to-cheek with the Chief, who keened and cursed in fury and pain. "You fucking bitch!" screamed Snap, and launched himself toward the sweating, wild Coyreen. "Oh, you want some too, you redneck shit?" she snarled, and fired wildly at him. The bullet took his left leg out from under him, and he crashed to the hardwood floor. The other Dwarves were moving now, several with switchblades or butterfly knives in their hands, but the group's supply of firearms was in an adjoining room. "Come on, you trash!" Coyreen screamed. "I got plenty more!" When the group hesitated, she cackled and whirled, throwing open the front door and lunging out into the night air. Running to the little convertible, diving in without even opening the door, she fumbled for her keys and finally jammed them into the slot, firing up the Porche's engine once again. Most of the Dwarves remained behind, trying desperately to help Blanche, the Chief, and Snap, but one stuck his head out the door, glanced down the street, and screamed, "Chang! Stop her! She killed Blanche!" The mammoth Chinaman dropped the armload of pizza cartons he had been carrying, and with an astonishing display of speed for such a giant, he crossed the street in two loping strides. As Coyreen began to pull away from the curb, he leaped over the back of the car, and grabbed hold of the passenger's headrest next to Coyreen, his body completely extended, his feet hanging off the edge of the trunk. And as the sirens announced the approach of the Emergency Trauma Units to take care of Blanche and Chief and Snap, Coyreen floored the gas pedal, and the little yellow convertible went screeching out of Watts, with Chang, the biggest Dwarf of all, holding on for dear life...and even dearer revenge. NEXT: DEATH OF A QUEEN (If you enjoyed this story, write! Saynesberry@hushmail.com) -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+