Friends: Cookies & Porn
*Friends: Deleted Scenes - Cookies and Porn*
Joey was enjoying his and Chandler’s “new” apartment, having won a bet for Monica and Rachel’s place. Ross and Phoebe were with him and Rachel was raving about some guy she met named Joshua. As she paused, Phoebe noticed a scent wafting in from the hall.
“Ooh, what do I smell?”
“I don’t know,” Joey replied, “it smells good.”
Joey walked over to the door and opened it to investigate the yummy smell. Monica was standing in the doorway of their apartment with a plate of fresh cookies in her hand. She was holding a small fan and blowing the aroma across the hall. She quickly put the fan down, when she saw Joey and the others.
“Fresh cookies! Hot from the oven!” she smiled. “Please, have some!” Monica encouraged as they walked in the door.
“Oh, yumm!” Ross said, with the avid agreement of the others.
“Yeah, I’ve just been fiddling around in here making delicious treats for everyone.”
Joey went to the kitchen counter, cookie in hand. “Wow! The new Playboy!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, it’s just something I picked up,” Monica said, acting like it was no big deal.
“Cookies and porn, you’re the best mom ever!!” Ross teased his sister. She laughed. He grabbed a couple more cookies and started for the door. “Well, I’ll see you all later.”
“Wait! Wait! This isn’t take-out!” Monica protested.
“But I’ve got to go pick up Ben. And the whole idea of looking at porn with my little sister… not so hot,” he said as he left.
“It could be, ya know,” Monica said, dejectedly to herself.
Phoebe got up to leave too. “Well, I hate to eat and run, but…”
Monica quickly stopped her. “No, wait, please don’t go!” Her look brightened. “I’ve got porn for you too!”
“Really?” Phoebe asked, intrigued.
“Sure, sure, it’s over there on the coffee table.”
Phoebe and Rachel sat down on the couch. Joey was already sitting in the chair, thumbing through the Playboy. The girls looked at a small stack of magazines. The new Playgirl was on top.
“Ooo, yummy,” Phoebe commented as she opened the pages.
“WOW! Look at the muscles on that guy,” Rachel said.
“Um, HELLO!? You’re looking at his muscles. Just look at the size of his dick!”
“Mmm, yeah…,” Rachel relished, “I bet Joshua is that big.”
Rachel had been lusting all day about a guy that became a customer of hers in Personal Shopping at Bloomingdales. She would have fucked him right there in the changing room, if she could have gotten away with it.
Monica stood in the kitchen smiling. She enjoying having people in their apartment, and being the hostess. She looked around the room at her friends, enjoying her cookies and porn.
“No need to stay in the kitchen,” she said quietly, as she closed the apartment door.
Monica walked into the living room and knelt next to Joey’s knees. She dangled her arm across his lap. As he held the magazine, she pushed it to the side, so she could look at it with him.
“Wow, Monica, I didn’t know you like Playboy,” Joey smiled.
Monica felt a bit embarrassed. “Well, it’s not like I read it ALL the time. But the women in here are really pretty.” She turned to a pictorial. “Wow, like her! DAMN!”
“Yeah, she is,” Joey agreed. He flipped the page.
“I have some lingerie like that,” Monica said, then caught herself, remembering that she was talking with Joey, and not Rachel.
“Oh yeah?” he smiled at the thought.
“Um, well… yeah… but I sure don’t look like THAT in it,” she said gesturing to the magazine.
“Oh, Mon, you could totally pose for Playboy.”
“Really?” she asked, shyly.
“Hell, yeah! With your body? I’d look at ya!”
Monica smiled and thanked him, knowing that this really meant that Joey would gladly jack off to pictures of her. But she certainly wasn’t offended at his complement. In fact, she was a little turned on that she could be a lust object for him.
As they looked at the models, Monica made several comments that were quite teasing to Joey.
“Oh, I love her hair…” and… “Nice tits. I bet she gets a lot of action… ” and… “Is that a wedding ring? Now THAT’S hot!”
Monica noticed Joey’s crotch swelling. She discretely placed her hand on it, pretending not to notice the bump, or Joey’s look of surprise.
When she knew he was looking at the magazine again, Monica began rubbing his bulge, almost imperceptibly. Her motions gradually became more obvious, and they made eye-contact for a moment. She flipped to yet another beautiful woman.
“Just look at the ass on her,” Monica said, drawing his eyes back to the picture.
Joey couldn’t believe it. He’d never imagined that he and Monica would be looking at porn together, much less that she would be touching him like this.
Within moments, Joey felt his zipper going down. Still looking at the magazine, Monica was undoing his jeans!
“Omigod…” he thought, finding himself uncertain of what to do.
Her fingers pulled down his waistband, and hooked under his cock, bringing it upright. Monica slowly stroked him as he found the feature pictorial. The playmate was a blonde bombshell with long shapely legs in black stockings.
“Mmm, wouldn’t ya like to have HER legs wrapped around you?” Monica said. Then seeing Joey’s shocked look, she said quickly, “I mean, wrapped around you, Joey… not me.”
Monica wasn’t ready yet for him to know that she sometimes had sex with women. Yet, as he looked back at the model, Monica cleared her throat and said under her breath, “But maybe me…”
Rachel and Phoebe’s attention was solely on the magazine in front of them. They had overheard Monica and Joey talking, but neither had noticed what she was doing to him. A page turned and the new guy was particularly enticing to Rachel.
“Oh wow!’ she smiled as she pulled the magazine off the stack toward her.
This revealed the next magazine in the short stack of porn. It was the new issue of Hustler.
“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Phoebe commented, as she opened it.
Rachel was preoccupied with the pictures of the naked man in Playgirl. She was caressing her calf, while she imagined him doing it, gliding her fingertips over her knee, and partway up the inside of her thigh. She felt the softness of her nylons, and knew she was getting wet. Rachel debated whether she should go quietly to her room and masturbate, but then she saw that Monica was giving Joey a full-on hand job. And Rachel saw that Phoebe wasn’t holding back from doing what she wanted either.
“Well, I guess everyone stays,” she thought, smiling and looking back at her paper-man.
As they looked at the beautiful women in the magazine, Monica glanced over at the dick in her hand. A small wet spot had oozed out of the little slit. She quickly leaned in and licked it off with the tip of her tongue.
Joey’s focus was immediately drawn away from the pictures. He had almost a frightened look on his face. He looked over at Phoebe and Rachel, wondering if they saw that. Thankfully, both were “busy” with their porn.
Rachel was sitting with her knees slightly apart, unknowingly giving Joey a glimpse up her skirt. He couldn’t see very much though, since a shadow was hiding “the good stuff.” But she was gently sucking on her finger as she enjoyed her lustful thoughts. “Mmm, sexy,” he thought.
Phoebe was much further along, as she read her dirty magazine on the couch beside Rachel. Her loose black pants were already down below her knees. She had pulled her panties to the side and was rubbing her clit.
His gaze lingered on Phoebe for a moment, then he slowly looked back at Monica. As her lips floated close to his cock, her eyes looked up at him. She looked down, almost shyly, as her mouth covered his head.
Monica slowly dragged her lips over his flesh… and off, as she finished with a kiss. Then without looking at him a second time, she opened her mouth and took in much more of him.
Slowly and quietly, she slid her lips up and down his shaft, glancing up a couple times to see if he was enjoying it. His look said it all. Her eyes smiled at him as she gave Joey’s cock a couple more good sucks.
Monica draped herself across his lap, stroking his dick. She brought her face as close to his as she could, but bashfully looked at his chest.
“Cookies, porn, and oral sex… Think you wanna hang out more at Monica’s?” she asked.
“Hell, yeah!”
She smiled, and crawled around his leg, kneeling upright between his knees. Monica peeked over at Phoebe and Rachel. Left to their own devices, they certainly weren’t watching her and Joey. She looked down at the floor, wondering how far to take this. Then with a look of decision, she began pulling up her shirt.
Monica was wearing a long-sleeve medium brown top with an embroidered tan pattern across the front. It was tight fitting, as most of her clothes were those days, and it hugged her full breasts and her slim torso and arms.
She eased it farther up her stomach. With crossed arms, Monica slightly stretched it out to take it past her tits, and then over her head.
As her arms raised up, Joey saw the wonderful lift to her breasts. She brought her arms down, and pulled the sleeves off, hands out in front of her. He saw how her breasts pushed together, enhancing her cleavage.
Monica saw him gawking and she smiled. She ran her fingers through her cropped black hair to straighten it, then reached around back to the clasp on her brown bra. Joey watched intently as his friend bared her breasts, just for him.
“Way better than a Playboy,” he muttered, abandoning the magazine to the side.
Monica laughed as she dropped her bra on the floor.
“You can touch ‘em, if ya want,” she said demurely.
Joey reached out and cupped one, then leaning forward, he took the other. As Monica watched his hands, Joey gently massaged her breasts.
“Mmm, yeah, Joey,” she whispered.
He rubbed his thumb across her nipple, bringing it to a peak.
“Way better than a Playboy,” he whispered again.
With determination, Monica pushed him back into the chair. She leaned in and held Joey’s dick straight up, in both hands.
Looking at him, she ran the flat of her tongue all the way up from the base of his shaft, then brought her mouth over the top and lustily sucked. Soon, she was panting heavily through her nose.
“Ohhh, Mon,” he groaned.
Monica pushed her lips back down his cock, as far as her full mouth would allow. With a long… hard… suck, she pulled her lips slowly up his shaft and off the top with a pop. As she caught her breath, Monica watched her hand jack him rapidly.
“Hey, Monica, how come Joey gets to have all the fun? A good hostess shouldn’t ignore her other guests, y’know,” Phoebe said loudly.
Panicked, Monica quickly looked at her, then Joey. She wondered if he had understood Phoebe’s meaning. Monica enjoyed being with both her girlfriends, but none of the guys knew about them. She wondered if they were ready to know, and if Joey was really the best one to find out first.
“He’s gonna find out eventually,” Rachel added.
“You’re right,” Monica said softly, then repeated it more firmly, “you’re right.”
She got up and walked the short distance around the coffee table to stand in front of Phoebe. Monica reached out and held Phoebe’s cheek in her hand. Then, resting her knee on the cushion between the blonde’s thighs, Monica leaned down and kissed her.
“Omigod!” Joey said, pointing to them.
“Wait, Rach,” Phoebe began as her friend got up from the couch.
Monica interrupted her. “Pheebs, I can have her whenever I want… but you’re not here that often… not for THAT, at least,” she smiled.
“Yeah, she’s right,” Rachel agreed, offhandedly. She walked sultrily over to Joey. “Besides, I’ve had a hankerin’ all day for a nice piece of man-meat.”
“OMIGOD!” Joey exclaimed again as he saw Monica and Phoebe start making out.
“It’s not a big deal, Joey,” Rachel said, leaning over, placing her fingers on the side of his chin and turning his gaze to her own. He nodded, captivated by her sexy smile.
“I see Monica’s got you ready for me,” she teased, “but maybe we should start slow. I want you to enjoy me, too.”
Monica knelt on the couch between Phoebe’s open legs. The girls were necking wildly. Phoebe was caressing Monica’s bare breasts. She grabbed Monica’s back and, pulling her raven-haired partner toward her, she took a breast in her mouth.
“Oh, Pheebs,” Monica encouraged softly.
Phoebe gently suckled her nipple. Monica ran her hands through long blonde hair, enjoying her friend’s lips and tongue. She wished they had done this when they were roommates.
Phoebe licked all around the firm pink disk, feeling Monica’s soft skin on her tongue. Then Phoebe’s head moved and gave similar attention to its twin.
She barely noticed Phoebe’s hand caressing her butt. Monica’s attention was fixed on Phoebe’s mouth. She loved watching a woman, usually Rachel, lick her breasts.
“Do, do you want me to do that for you?’ Monica asked quietly.
“That… and more,” her friend smiled.
“Then let’s get you undressed,” Monica said, with an aroused seriousness.
She unbuttoned Phoebe’s flowing shirt and helped her off with it. The bra was soon gone too, and was replaced by Monica’s hands. Still kneeling close to Phoebe, she hunched down and began licking the valley between her tits. Her tongue trailed to one, and danced circles around her nipple.
“Do you lick Rachel’s tits a lot?” Phoebe asked, enticingly.
Monica grinned to herself. “Some nights, we get together. Either my room or hers.”
Phoebe looked over at their friend whispering something to Joey. Her cute round bottom looked perfect in her short skirt.
“Ooo, I’d sure like to lick her ass,” Phoebe commented.
Monica glanced over her shoulder at her roommate, then smiled back at Phoebe.
“Yeah? You wanna go do that now?”
“No… but sometime… For now, how about you show me how a good hostess serves her guests?”
“How ’bout I just do that?” Monica answered as she pulled down Phoebe’s panties.
—–
As Rachel stood in front of him, leaning forward, Joey’s eyes drifted from her face to take a peek down her shirt.
“Like what you see?’ she asked, smiling.
“Uhh,” Joey responded, with a feeling of being caught.
“Well, let’s just make sure you get a good look at the whole package. And, um, why don’t you show me… how much you like what you see…”
To emphasize this, Rachel tugged at his pants, and they both pulled them down to his feet.
Rachel stood confidently in front of him, hands on her hips, her feet shoulder-width apart. She was wearing a white long sleeve shirt with thin blue pinstripes. It was quite snug across her chest. Her nipples raise the surface of the cloth.
Her small breasts filled and strained against the fabric, making horizontal creases between them. This was accentuated by the fact that the button between her breasts was the highest one done.
Joey’s gaze wandered lower.
Rachel’s tight-fitting black skirt had a high waist, though it barely came to the middle of her thighs. Her legs were wrapped in jet-black nylons. Three and a half-inch heels gave them a stunning curve. Very professional, very sexy, and very erotic.
“I saw you trying to look up my skirt,” she said, mischievously. “Did you see anything?”
“No… well, not enough,” Joey replied, trying to act nonchalant.
“So you don’t know what I’m wearing under here,” she taunted, as she took his hand and ran his fingers up and down the center panel of her skirt. He felt the fabric give, as he pressed toward the open space between her thighs.
“Am I wearing pantyhose? Thigh-highs? Stockings and a garter belt? Panties… or not?”
“I don’t know, but I sure want to find out!” he said, now barely able to contain his excitement. He stroked himself vigorously as he looked Rachel up and down.
“Oh ya do, do ya?” she smiled. “So you want me to lift up my tight… skirt?”
Rachel eased the fabric up her graceful hips as she spoke. Joey followed the hem with his eyes, as Rachel revealed more of her sexy legs to him. The skirt crept upward.
“Thigh-highs,” she said, as if to confirm his sight of the lace top ringing each leg.
A few moments later, Joey was treated to the sight of Rachel’s trimmed light brown snatch.
“Hmm,” she said innocently, “now where did my underwear go?”
Joey’s eyebrows raised and Rachel knew she’d hooked him. “Now to reel him in,” she thought.
“I remember I was wearing panties when I went to work this morning… oh, that’s right… after Joshua left, I was sooo horny…”
Rachel moved closer to him.
“…that I sneaked into one of the change rooms at Bloomingdales…”
She straddled him in the chair, skirt bunched up around her waist.
“…and I took off my panties…”
Rachel looked into his eyes and continued, though whispering now.
“…and I sat down… and I started touching myself… thinking about Joshua…”
She settled her wet cunt against the bottom of his shaft, pushing his dick into his abdomen.
“People walked by a couple times. But, but I didn’t care…”
Rachel began rocking her hips forward and back, rubbing herself against him. Her pussy was so hot.
“…I just needed to cum… I tell ya, Joey… if you had been there? I would have let you fuck me… right then and there… Would you have done that for me, Joey? If I asked you real nice? Would you have fucked me and made me cum?”
“Hell, yeah!” he groaned, caressing Rachel’s ass, thighs and calves. He grabbed the heels of her shoes, and pulled her knees to the back of the chair, bringing her pussy lips tighter against him.
“Will you do that now? Will you let me fuck you? Will you let me screw myself on your big thick cock? While I fantasize about Joshua?”
Her lips were brushing against his, and she was teasing him with near-kisses. He had never been used like this before, but the thought of it was incredibly hot.
“Tell ya what, don’t think of it as me and you having sex. Think of it as… me masturbating you with my pussy. Just two friends… getting each other off… that’s all. And if you’d like… you can watch Monica and Phoebe while we do it.”
She turned his head to face the others. As she spoke, she breathed barely a whisper into his ear, while he took in the sight of Monica licking Phoebe’s breasts.
“What could be better than that, Joe? Getting fucked by a sexy… desirable… woman… while you watch live girl-on-girl porn? It’s your fantasy come true, Joey… isn’t it?”
“Well, one of them,” he admitted as she finally kissed him.
—–
By now, black pants were laying across the arm of the couch. And with Phoebe’s panties still hanging from her fingers, Monica knelt on the floor.
Phoebe scooted her butt forward, and leaned back into the couch, giving Monica easier access to her pussy. She caressed Monica’s face as fingertips glided back and forth inside her thighs. Monica’s hand moved up to Phoebe’s breast, gently squeezing it. Then it went further up, to slide across her lower lip, as though Monica were touching a rare jewel.
Phoebe opened the front of Monica’s pants. She slid Monica’s fingers down inside her own thong. She squirmed around a bit, to make room for her hand in her jeans.
She easily found her wet spot, and pulsed her digit against her clit. Monica took in a quick, soft breath as she touched herself.
Phoebe smiled and kissed her. As she did this, she pushed her middle finger into her own box.
“Push it in,” she said softly.
Monica followed her lead, and moaned quietly as they both masturbated, looking into each other’s eyes.
“You’re so beautiful, Monica,” Phoebe whispered.
Monica smiled, “Thank you. I think you’re beautiful, too. I want to do all this for you, Phoebe.”
Phoebe smiled back. Then she pulled her finger out, and placed the wet digit at her partner’s lips. Monica licked and sucked it, getting a taste of her friend, as Phoebe stared at her.
She wanted to do something for him, make him gasp and cry out under her mouth, but she waited while he made his way to her other breast and swallowed it down. She would be patient. She would make him beg before she was done with him.
**************************************************
He waited, trying to be patient, in his room. He pretended to work for the first hour, but then gave it up as a bad job. There was no point in pretending any longer.
He had taken a chance, and he had won.
He stared at his strong hands. He had crept to Hank’s door to place the bet, anticipating discovery at every turn, worrying that someone would be where he shouldn’t at that hour. From his years and years at the mansion, time and again he’d found out that very few of the X-men stayed where they were scheduled to be. Thankfully, for once, everyone was either in place or away from Hank’s laboratory. He’d sworn Hank to secrecy, and Hank had gladly accepted.
But now, he had won. How could he keep things quiet now? Even Warren and some of the others who were out on missions had put in wagers on Remy and Rogue’s play. Hank would have to tell, and he would be exposed.
It might not be so bad, he told himself as he picked up a free weight and did slow curls with his right arm. After all, he’d recently gone with another impulse, and it had turned out … well.
His reflection caught his attention, and he stopped smiling in surprise. He had a wicked smile! He’d never seen himself looking this way.
He speculated on that impulse. Oh, he’d enjoyed it, but she’d been a bit too … bold, hadn’t she? She’d assumed he wouldn’t change, even if she spoke to him about how she felt. He wasn’t the empathic one in their relationship, after all … how was he to have known?
It was … conceivable that he should have a talk with her. Her workout should be over soon, and then she’d be in the women’s locker room or the whirlpool alone.
He gave a small giggle at the door, preparing to go confront Hank. “Inconceivable,” he murmured, sounding far more like Wallace Shawn than he realized.
Now, if only his luck held again…
**************************************
Hank was waiting for the winner to show up when he got a call on his cell phone. He fished the phone out of his lab jacket pocket and adjusted his eyeshade. They simply did not create gear in his size. “McCoy Productions, how may I be of assistance?”
“Do you know who took it yet?” Forge’s flat voice greeted his ear.
“I believe I know who purloined the copy of the evidence created by our mercurial friend, Jubilation Lee.” He turned away from the door and unconsciously lowered his voice. “I also believe you created a copy for purposes of ascertaining who had won, should this particular ploy prove successful?”
“Yes. It shows who took it, too. Should I pipe it into your monitor?”
He thought for a brief moment. “Indeed. I desire confirmation.” He paused. “Thank you for the alteration of the signal.”
“We had to know who won.”
Hank nodded, his voice still low. “I shall give you your cut of the profit I have made for serving as stakeholder, and Kitty hers, once the winner has come and claimed the larger portion.”
“I’ll be here.” Hank’s lab monitor beeped from its corner, where it normally displayed security camera images. “You should be ready.”
“Thanks to you, my mechanically gifted comrade. Farewell.” He clicked the cell off and turned to the monitor. It showed a divided screen, the audience from the den on one side, Remy and Rogue on the other. At the moment when Remy and Rogue left, the den image swelled to encompass the entire screen. He watched as the realization hit Bobby … then the image pace slowed. He saw that he had dropped his pen (good to know where it is), that Scott looked almost panicked as Jamie pushed him aside, and that Jubilee looked offended, before the thief’s image flashed before his eyes. It was no more than a few frames of visual data, but enough to confirm his earlier suspicions.
Now, of course, the question was what to do with the guilty party. He had a copy of the master tape Forge had made, so he did not need one. Forge had a copy. However, Jubilation would persist and make all their lives miserable unless she got what she considered to be “her” copy back.
Hm. He smiled and called Forge’s number. There was a way to make everyone happy here, and he had just found it.
**************************************************
He walked with his usual measured, medium tread. He encountered no one but Tessa on the way to Hank’s lab, and she merely nodded at him and continued on her way. Good.
He knocked lightly three times and heard Hank call him by name, inviting him to enter. He did so, opening the door with outward calm and inward delight. He closed the door firmly afterward and took a stool near Hank’s position.
Hank was busily tapping away at his laptop, which was hooked up to a TV/VCR combo in the corner that looked wildly convoluted. He stopped, pushed one key, and gave a sigh. “It is complete.” He then gave the winner a grin. “How do you feel?”
“How do you think I feel?” He twisted his hands together in his lap.
“I am uncertain.” Hank stood and stretched, a mountain of blue fur, and a few strands fell down and stuck to his uniform. “You have always been difficult to sniff out, though I believe your heart rate may be accelerated and you smell of perspiration. That could easily be from a Danger Room session.”
“I didn’t expect to WIN,” he blurted out. “I mean, I just wanted to try something new.”
Hank nodded. “Be careful. You may lose your honorary title.”
He snorted. He NEVER snorted. He tried to turn it into a cough, instead. “I don’t care if Bobby has to change his opinion about me. It’s good for him.”
Hank pulled a printout from the computer. “Would you care to take stock of your winnings?”
“All right.” He gave the page a casual glance, then froze in place, nearly staring a hole through the paper. “Y…you mean two hundred and thirty dollars, right, Hank?” He looked up, mouth slightly open, stupefied. “Th…this is just another one of your jokes, right?”
“Alas, my compatriot, it is not an attempt to bamboozle you. That is, indeed, the correct sum of your earnings. Two thousand, three hundred and thirty-five dollars.” His friend’s smile was tinged with regret. “However, I do have some good news for you.”
Two thousand, two hundred…no, three hundred…why, that was nearly as much as they needed for … He did some addition in his head. Why, this changed things a lot. He rubbed his hands together briskly, the earlier wicked smile returning to his face. He could have that talk with her, and then … very conceivable.
He felt Hank’s large hand pull the page from his and looked up. Hank was frowning. “Are you completely insensible, man?”
He controlled himself with an effort and sat up straight, though his lips still curved in secret amusement. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Hank took off the green visor on his head and threw it neatly onto a nearby shelf. “I was communicating to you that if you worried about being discovered immediately, you need not. Bobby has been telling everyone he won the bet.”
“Bobby did?” Well, that changed things, too. Maybe he wouldn’t be so hard on the man this coming week after all…
“Of course, it will have to come out eventually, but you should have adequate time for preparation.”
Impatiently, he waved off the rest of Hank’s explanation. “Yes. Of course. Now, I just need to talk with my dear, dear fiancée.” He rose to his feet in one smooth move and swept the door wide open. “Thank you, Hank.”
*************************************************
Hank McCoy sighed and lowered his left hand, the one he had raised to restrain Scott from departing his laboratory. The man had been behaving unusually, even before he had gotten the chance to announce his prize. Surely someone would suspect something if he was seen by anyone other than Jean. Ah, but it was too late now. Besides, he’d known Scott for a long time, and the man’s self-control was second only to that of Professor Xavier. Undoubtedly his long-time friend would present his usual cool, introverted demeanor by the evening.
He pulled the tape from the VCR and put it into a standard VHS box. Now it was time to deal with the bandit who had taken Jubilee’s tape.
The humiliation the Scribe had forced upon him in the purple tent, by giving him no choice but to sign the girl over still burned bright. Worse than the mere loss of the girl, the Barbarian had deprived him of profit. As he and his fellow Slavers fanned out in the woods moving toward the Inlander camp, the Slaver smiled. He’d have his due now.
Among City-Goreans, Slavers are much feared. They rarely have a difficult time capturing their prey once on their trail. Many consider them human sleen. As practiced hunters of Human flesh, Slavers send a dread along the spines of most honest citizens. Being caught by a Slaver, male or female, slave or Free, is to be avoided, at all costs. It is thus, in the normal course of things, that the Slaver-Caste holds the psychological edge.
Had the portly Slaver stopped to consider two salient facts, his confidence might’ve been somewhat dampened. His smile may have withered. For one thing, Mwindu and his men weren’t Northerners, and so they lacked the culturally bred fear of Slavers. And second, the Inlander Askaris were by far the superior professional trackers.
Mwindu’s askaris smelled the Slavers coming. Their body odor was detectible on the slight night breeze, smelling of stale sweat and paga. An elementary mistake. The Slavers should’ve approached the camp from downwind.
Night birds chirped.
The birdsong seemed to come from three directions around the skulking Slavers, from behind them and to their flanks, as the intruders approached the edge of the Inlanders’ campsite. The two canvas tents were clearly visible in the fading light of the setting Moons.
The Slaver gestured with his sword, indicating his brothers should follow him into the clearing. The seven caste-members emerged from the sparse woods in a staggered line, their boots stirring the leaf littered dirt.
“Eeh,” came an amused voice from the dark trees behind them.
The Slavers all turned, weapons pointed toward the unrelieved shadow of the woods.
“Eeh,” came a disembodied voice to their left. “Eeh,” came a voice from their right.
And suddenly the Slavers were trying to look, everywhere at once.
“Eeh,” said Mwindu, emerging once more from his tent. His naked panga in his left hand. His teeth were white in his dark face as he smiled at his late-night visitors. “Jambo, Slaver.”
The fat Slaver turned to face Mwindu but didn’t reply, as the Askaris stepped into the Moons’ light in the clearing. He realized, as well as did his men, that instead of being raiders attacking a sleeping camp, they had walked into a trap. But, his people counted seven and there were only four of the Barbarians. He figured the odds were still on his side.
“Give me the girl and we’ll leave.”
“Offer to give me your weapons, your money, your clothes, and your wagon and I may think about letting you leave,” responded Mwindu, every inch the Mflame.
“There are seven of us to your four.”
“Ndio. It is an improper match. You should have brought more men.”
The Slaver snarled, there was that barbarian insolence which had so set his teeth on edge back at the Fair. “Have at them!” He yelled and ran, his short sword held high, toward Mwindu.
His six caste brothers found themselves hacking at men who had the advantage not only of longer arms, an Inlander racial trait, but they were armed with spears as well, giving them an overwhelming advantage in reach. The clang of weapons rang out in the clearing, Slaver gladius versus the short stabbing spears of the Askaris. Even outnumbering the loin-clothed warriors, two for every one, the Slavers had a difficult time of it from the outset of the fight.
In the Jungle, it is said that an Askari uses his spear with the ease a panther uses his claws.
Although a Scribe, Mwindu’s panga wasn’t merely for show, he knew how to use it. Just as among ‘City Goreans’, Inlanders of all classes were taught from childhood in weapon craft. This was not the first time Mwindu had stood ready to defend his life with his steel.
The Slaver, knowing his life was now in the balance, hoped to overwhelm his opponent with a berserker’s offensive, whirling steel jabbing, thrusting, hacking. To overbear, confound, and ultimately overwhelm the arrogant Barbarian with the intensity of his attack.
Mwindu met the man’s short sword with the edge of his panga, turning the Slaver’s blade to the side and coming back with an intended killing stroke. But the edge of his machete only sliced through the Slaver’s tunic, drawing blood from his right side. The Slaver grunted and hopped back out of reach, his belly wobbling. His blood was black on the cloth of the tunic. His eyes narrowed, realizing too late that he faced a left-handed opponent, which had thrown his timing off. Another error.
Mwindu continued to smile, slowly circling his nemesis, thrusting out his panga, feinting, keeping the Slaver off balance. A part of his mind registered the fact that there was no more clash of steel to be heard. He figured his men had dispatched the Slavers, else they would’ve come to their brother’s assistance ere now. He could see that his chubby and bleeding adversary had much the same thoughts.
“I will pay you ten gold tarns to let me walk out of here,” the Slaver rasped.
“Fifty,” Mwindu laughed, jabbing, forcing the man to slash outward. The Scribe, anticipating the defensive stroke, slashed diagonally down across the Slaver’s chest, ripping the tunic again. Opening another profusely bleeding wound.
“Fifty then,” the Slaver screeched, in shock and growing pain from the gashes.
“One hundred.”
“I don’t have a hundred!”
“Then, it seems, we are unable to reach a satisfactory agreement, Slaver. Prepare to die.”
“No!” The Slaver screamed, clearly outmatched and grievously wounded, he threw down his sword. It rang into the leaf litter as he fell to his knees. “Quarter, Barbarian. Mercy!”
Sneering, Mwindu walked up to the kneeling man, kicking the short sword beyond arm’s reach. The sharp edge of his panga was dark with the Slaver’s blood.
“Quarter,” the man begged again, fumbling in his belt for his purse, throwing the heavy sack onto the leaves. “Take it, take it. It’s all I have.”
Mwindu nodded. “I will take it, asante, Slaver. But I beg to differ, it isn’t quite all you have.”
The Slaver’s eyes were wide as he looked up at the dark barbarian. “My wagon, you mean my wagon. Aye, take it. It’s yours, as are the three wenches chained within it. And the oxen. Take them, take it all. Just spare me,” he pleaded in a shuddering whine.
Mwindu looked at his men. They stood over the inert forms of the six dead Slavers. Their expressions holding nothing but contempt for the man on his knees begging for his life. The Scribe looked back to the Slaver. “I will take all you have.” Then quicker than the Slaver could follow, Mwindu’s panga came down, thudding into the man’s neck and slicing clean through.
The Slaver’s head rolled off his shoulders and smacked to the ground. The torso tottered, then also fell.
“Eeh,” said Mwindu. And he spit into the twitching face of the beheaded Slaver.
“Eeh,” agreed his Askaris.
“See to their wagon and their goods,” Mwindu instructed, wiping his bush knife clean of offal on the dead slaver’s tunic. “And drag this refuse back closer to the road, for the sleen to find.” And with that, Mfalme Mwindu, Ubar of the Ancient City, returned again to his tent.
“Maulana?” The exhausted girl asked sleepily, stirring as her master returned. “Mai heard a noise.”
“Shh, girl. Go back to sleep, nothing but animals from the woods,” the Scribe said.
“Hai, Maulana.”
He put his panga on a table and climbed back under the pelts with his exotic kijakaza, closed his eyes, and in moments was fast asleep.
-end-
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