Deirdre O'Dare - Randi's Hellacious Adventure Read online

  RANDI'S HELLACIOUS ADVENTURE

  by

  DEIRDRE O'DARE

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  Randi's Hellacious Adventure

  An Amber Quill Press Book

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Amber Quill Press, LLC

  http://www.amberquill.com

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  All rights reserved.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  Copyright © 2006 by Deirdre O'Dare

  ISBN 1-59279-560-9

  Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

  Layout and Formatting

  Provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

  Published in the United States of America

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  Also by Deirdre O'Dare

  Karola's Hunt

  Pickup Man

  Portrait Of A Cowboy

  The Taming of Jaelle'n

  Cowboy First Aid

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to the great staff of Amber Quill Press. Two years ago they took a chance on me in their first erotica short story contest. Since then, they've supported and encouraged me as I tried my wings in various new directions. Their continual striving for excellence encourages all their authors to reach for new heights on each effort. I keep working to be all that I can be as a writer and make each work published a little better than the last one. Thank you friends; you prove it is possible to be totally professional but also friendly, almost like another family for each of us. I am so pleased and thankful to be part of the group!

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  RANDI'S HELLACIOUS ADVENTURE

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  Everyone tells me how lucky I am. You know, like, "Miranda Ashley O'Neal, you are just too blessed for words." I guess it's true. I mean I have everything a girl could want. Well, almost everything. But lately life seems to be unbearably tedious. Like today, I spent all morning cruising my favorite boutiques along Scottsdale Road

  and didn't find a thing I wanted. All at once, I just couldn't get excited about another Vuitton handbag, a new pair of Manolo Blahnik shoes. Not even jewelry. I mean is that sick or what?

  I was just so bummed. I'd given up shopping for the day and was driving home in my little red Jag when it all happened. I really would have preferred a Maserati, but when your father has the Jag dealership in town... Of course you've heard of Daddy. You know, "If you're into steals, try O'Neal's Deals on Wheels."

  Mom says the slogan has no class. She insists he ought to change it, especially now that he has the ritziest dealership in the metro area. He says he's used it since he opened his very first lot back in the last millennium and he's not about to change it now. Something about good luck and keeping a talisman and nonsense like that.

  Anyway, before you start to think I am like so totally spoiled and crass and shallow, let me tell you that I'm working on a degree in child psychology. When I finish, and find out where Matt is going to hang out his shingle, I intend to open a practice to counsel troubled children. I mean there are so many nowadays and so many parents don't have a clue what to do for them, you know? For now, when I'm not in class, I help my friend Heather Hollister in her art gallery and volunteer three days a week in the children's wing down at University Hospital.

  Matt? Oh, yes, that's my fiancé, Dr. Matthew Marcus Conlan III. Well, almost a doctor--he's got a few more months to go. Quite the catch, everyone says. My parents adore him. He's everything a girl could ask for--good looking, incredibly suave, and he'll be as rich as Trump and Gates once he sets up his plastic surgery practice. A dream come true, they all say. We're a perfect couple.

  Right now he's doing his residency, though, and that means hours and hours of work. Of course he's so stressed and exhausted he doesn't have much left to give us. I understand. I swear I don't pout, but it hurts all the same. He acts like I can't really understand about his work and everything, but I do. I really do. I'd coddle him if he'd allow it, but he won't. I mean, what is a woman supposed to do?

  We announced our engagement at New Year's when he gave me a bling the size of Texas. It has this huge yellow diamond and around it are little white ones for my birthstone, which is April, and little sapphires for his, which is September. All my girlfriends just drool over that ring and naturally over him. He plays tennis and handball to keep fit, even now when he's slaving in the hospital, so he still looks totally buff. He says I'll always be beautiful to him, even if I inherit the Blaisdell double chin like Mom is getting. He'd fix it, of course.

  So what's wrong with me? I'm not feeling anything lately. No buzz to my toes when we kiss, no fireworks in bed. As for the big O, well, half the time I fake it, and the other times my world barely rocks. I'm wondering if maybe I'm frigid or something. I mean, like that would be awful! How come I don't get turned on? Really, the only time I came close to being wild with passion was back in my freshman year when I dated that foreign student.

  Oh, my! He was Spanish and Egyptian and soooo gorgeously sexy, but Mom and Dad thought he was totally out of my league. A foreign son-in-law would've given Mom the vapors, as Grandma used to say. We broke it off after a few weeks, but since then, sex is just like, well, having dinner or taking a shower or something. I am so disappointed. I know it isn't supposed to be that way.

  It's totally depressing. I've really started to wonder what is wrong with me. I was lost in thoughts and not paying strictest attention to my driving, I must confess. I know I didn't run that light, though. I don't care what the cops say or that drugged up redneck in the monster truck. I was in the middle of the intersection, but there were other cars ahead of and behind me. Then all at once this humongous four-wheel-drive truck comes roaring up on my side. It loomed over me like Godzilla in those Japanese animé flicks before everything went into slow motion.

  I heard the crash, metal scraping on metal. Tires were squealing on the pavement, and people screaming as the truck began rolling right over my little car. I smelled gas and oil and blood. I felt a series of terrible crunching jolts, then nothing at all.

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  I just woke up. Sheesh, it's hot here, almost like Arizona in July. It feels like a dry heat though, so it won't bother me. It's kind of dark and smoky smelling, you know?

  Where am I? Where's my car and the city and everything?

  All I can see are jumbles like some kind of ruins and a brassy, red-gray sky overhead.

  I start to look around, but it's hard to see very much. I can hear some music in the distance, like a bad garage band practicing. A few distant voices, mostly like people are yelling or screaming. This is so not familiar.

  Where am I?

  After I walk a ways, I see a crowd milling around and head toward them. The light is a little brighter here and they seem to be congregating along the edge of a huge fire. As if they need the heat when it must be at least a hundred-fifteen degrees. Yes, I can see the band now. They're all ragged and dirty looking. Their instruments look the worse for wear, too, as if they salvaged them from a really bad pawn shop. Still, the music isn't too bad. Up close I can almost recognize the tune, something out of the nineties I'd say, though I can't quite recall it.


  A few people glance at me and then look away, not at all friendly. Well, poop on them too. Looking down at myself, I see my shorts are dirty and stained with oil or blood, something dark and sticky. One side is ripped almost up to the waist. My pullover top is not in great shape, and I only have one shoe.

  Good grief, I'd never go anywhere looking like this. Where am I?

  Finally someone approaches me. He's tall, way taller than Matt who is six-two. Broader shouldered. Built, really built. He's black. I mean not African American black, but ink-jet-ebony black, shiny, almost like iridescent. As he gets closer, I can see he's totally nude, too. Oh, my God! He is huge, and I'd say he's uncircumcised. I know I'm staring like a ninny, but I can't help it. Finally I tear my gaze away from that and look up at his face. He's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, like a Grecian statue of black marble come to life.

  "Hello, sweet thing. I can tell you're new here. How about I show you around?"

  His voice is like dark chocolate, deep and rich and smooth. I feel it all over. What does one say to a naked, huge, black man? I can't even breathe, let alone talk! Do people really walk around here like he is, bare as they were born? Then I realize two other odd things about this man. First, it looks like he has hooves instead of feet, and second, he definitely has a tail! Otherwise he looks perfectly normal, well, as normal as a nearly seven foot, ink-black, beautiful, gorgeous, hunkalicious nude could look.

  Finally I found my voice. It came out huskier and lower than I usually speak, but at least I could talk. "First, can you tell me where 'here' is?"

  He smiled. His teeth were white and flashed in the flickering glow. "Why, you're in Hades, darlin'. I have no idea how you came, but you obviously just arrived. As you can see, it isn't nearly as bad as publicity makes it sound. Actually if you meet the right people, you can have a great time."

  "Of course you're one of them?"

  "Of course." He offered me his arm. Since I was limping a bit with my missing shoe--the ground was rough and really hot--I took it and let him lead me away. His arm felt like low nap velvet over iron, a sleek covering over a hot and unyielding core. I wondered why my hand didn't burn, lying on his skin as it did. I felt no pain--tingles, but no real burn.

  He led me around the band, past groups of people milling around, talking. It seemed like everyone talked, but nobody listened. Many of them wailed, cried, complained and cursed, while making rude gestures at everyone around them. I tried not to stare, but it was hard to ignore all the weird sights. A lot of people were nude, I realized, although many were clothed too. Some in filthy rags and others very nicely. I glanced up at my escort, trying not to flirt or play coy, although that wasn't easy. I mean like he was so male and so big.

  "What's your name, dude? I mean, I don't ordinarily go off with total strangers."

  He smiled, another one of those toothy smiles. I swear he had half again more teeth than normal. They were white and shiny, as gorgeous as the rest of him. "I'm called Azareal," he replied.

  To me it sounded kind of like that--AH-za-ray-al.

  "Of course informally I'm often known as Aza Long Dong."

  My gaze had to drop to the appendage he mentioned. Yes, it was doubtlessly long, and big around as well. Hmmmm. Like the bottom roller on the wringer of Grandma's old-fashioned washing machine.

  "Next to the Boss," he continued, "I'm the big dog around here. Consider yourself privileged, sweet thing. I don't ordinarily take new recruits under my wing, but there was something special about you."

  Wing...something about his words sent a chill down my back, like someone had dropped an ice cube down my shirt. As surreptitiously as possible I tried to look behind Azara--well, I'll just call him Aza.

  Did he really have wings? It seemed like his back was always in the shadows, but I thought I saw something there. More than shoulder blades anyway, and it certainly wasn't clothes! If he did have wings, they were folded, so I was not under one at all. Yes, I know that's just a saying, but it gave me such a strong image--myself tucked under a leathery span, kind of like a bat's wing, only enormous. It gave me the weirdest feeling.

  In the reddish, flickering light, his eyes kept changing. Now red as the fire, then yellow-green and glowing like a cat's. A second later they were flat black, as if they ate up every bit of light that came his way. In all, he was like one really weird dude, you know? But sexy, really, really sexy!

  I should have been scared spitless. I was, and yet I was also growing more aroused by the minute. The strange musky scent of his body seemed to wrap around me like a sensuous fog. He had long fingers. He'd folded them around my hand when I withdrew it from resting on his arm. I could imagine them touching me everywhere, all over my body, slipping into every secret sensitive place. Oh, my God, just the thought had me ready to incinerate!

  My thong panties were getting damp and the seam of my jean shorts rubbed against my swelling clit. My skin felt itchy all over, like it was too tight, making my clothes an almost unbearable irritation.

  "Wait." My voice sounded hoarse and strange. I pulled my hand free of his as I stopped. One of my bra straps was broken anyway, so it didn't take much to shrug the other one off, reach up the front under my top to unhook the clasp and pull it out. I wanted to yank the top over my head, too, but I didn't. I stuffed the bra into a pocket of my shorts. It was from Veronica's Treasures and had cost me plenty. I wasn't about to just drop it. Just because I've always had money doesn't mean I'd throw it away so carelessly.

  Aza watched me with a knowing smile. "That's it," he said. "Get comfortable. No one stands on ceremony here. If it feels good, do it."

  As we continued our stroll, I saw many more who were nude. No one seemed to think it odd. In this region we'd now entered, there were fewer who looked ragged, dirty or appeared lost. In fact most of the females were young and attractive. The males were pretty hunky, too, although none could match Aza. This dude was one amazing piece of eye candy, even if he was a demon or something--wait a minute. Just where did he say this was?

  Could it really be...then why am I...? "Oh, my God!"

  "Watch your language, sugar. We don't talk like that here. It really upsets Nazagal to hear that word. I told you. This is the place known as Hades, hell, the underworld. No point in being alarmed. In fact, I can almost guarantee your fondest wish will be granted and I promise I can show you the best time you ever had."

  My instant of panic faded before the silky power of his voice. Moments later we arrived at some kind of club. Walls partly broken and no roof, it ended up being a kind of amphitheatre open to the reddish-gray sky. This band was fab! No garage band of untrained boys here. In fact I would almost swear everyone in it was legendary. I began to imagine Jimi Hendrix, Eric Clapton, Mick Jagger, one of the Beatles--as if the top rockers of days gone by were playing together and really jamming.

  The beat was a throb of pure sexual energy. My blood coursed to it, my heart beat with it, and my bare foot tapped silently on the shiny black-and-red parquetry floor. It was impossible to stay still. I was getting so excited that in a few more minutes, I'd be playing with myself in sheer lust. I glanced up at Aza. "Do you dance?"

  He nodded. "Of course." Taking my hand again, he led me out onto the floor. Couples moved to make room for us. A few of the women looked at me with envy. Apparently Aza had not lied about his status. He was clearly a personage here, so anyone with him was touched by his glory.

  I had never danced like that in my life! Between the music and my partner, I think I learned to fly. He tossed me up and caught me, twisted me across his muscled thighs and around his shoulders. I leaped and turned, shook my booty and did tricks I had only seen on MTV and shows in Vegas. It was exhilarating. It was wildly arousing. After a while I realized I had lost my shirt. Somehow it didn't seem to matter.

  Aza flipped me into a somersault so I landed straddling his thigh. His erect cock brushed my leg sending a rocket of desire straight to my intimate center--no, my cunt. That's what it was. Why be
prissy about it? I was no longer with Matt, who wanted words to be clinical and precise, nothing so crude as the four-letter kind.

  I was about to go up in flames. "Ehhrr, Aza, can we go somewhere, some place a little more private?"

  He smiled once again, a smile full of teeth and silvery glittering eyes. "Do you really want to leave? We don't have to, you know. We can do anything you want right here."

  I looked around then. I'd been so caught up in dancing that I hadn't noticed, but half the couples in the place seemed to be engaged in some kind of sex. I saw positions I'd never even dreamed were possible. Both men and women kneeled before their partners to pleasure them with hands or mouths, women with women, and men with men, and threesomes, and foursomes, and... Like wow. It was shocking, but also titillating in the extreme. To think I could get fucked right here in front of everybody. There was no doubt Aza was ready and able. No doubt I was ready, too, almost dripping now.

  In the back of my mind I knew I should be shocked, even horrified. But I wasn't. This place made the wildest party I had ever attended look like Sunday School, but it didn't put me off. My panties were so wet I could've wrung them out. Still straddling Aza's heavy thigh, I rocked, rubbing on the iron heat of his muscular leg. Quivers of pleasure rippled through me. A little more and I'd climax without any other stimulation.

  He sat back on one of the little round tables, balancing me since my toes barely touched the floor. From somewhere he produced a pair of little clips linked by a glittering chain. They looked like miniature clothespins, the kind grandma used to use years ago when I'd visit the farm back in South Carolina.