Not Quite a White Knight Book 5
Copyright© 2025 by LolaPaul
Chapter 24. Talk About Sharks
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 24. Talk About Sharks - Our Hero returns from the Auction/Orgy with a naked guest, the tall dark and beautiful Jessica Stern. She joins them for nights of pleasant instructional sex. Later she has an overnight with Li at a club. Resha + Irene each love 30 hour Princely dates. Sin-Sin flies to Peru for unimagined sex at a wedding. Prince gives Pope grappa + whip payback. Darnel is taken, gives up a fortune, then Prince + Red get D + Doria sex w/ a shark happy meal. Bente takes naughty pics of the girls for the Patron.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual BiSexual Heterosexual Crime Workplace Sharing Wife Watching Incest Father Daughter Cousins Torture Gang Bang Group Sex Harem Orgy Swinging Black Female White Male White Female Oriental Female Hispanic Male Hispanic Female Indian Female White Couple Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Pregnancy Sex Toys Voyeurism Royalty
Tuesday September 16, 2008
Next it was time for a talk with Darnel in the next cell. I really had to decide about Doria, but I started with some background.
After hearing the whipping on Saturday and then his next addiction sleep cycle, Darnel was broken. He had no contact with a friendly face for months. He knew how this would end, the only question was the pain involved. The people he would betray had put a price on his head. Now with his new addiction he knew the direct and terrible relationship with time awake and abject misery. Not good.
For a starter I told him about his late neighbor in the next cell. “He was my partner. Seriously, we were registered with the state. Now he is on the way to being a corpse-sickle. Well, I had my reasons. Her name was Amy.”
Man is a social animal, and Darnel was well above the mean in terms of needing contact. He had a deep-seated need to manipulate people. So the Summer of 2008 staying undercover in Chatsworth was hell for him. He was tempted several times to simply go out and get himself shot, but he was afraid of getting wounded (he knew the average Shark shooting scores) and then questioned by sadistic, sick, brutal amateurs with beatings, drugs and torture. So he had decided to do his drugs, or working up the nerve for life in Africa. (He gave me props for my drug mix system - it was too much math for him plus he had poor impulse control so he usually wound up questioning a dead body - they don’t talk too much.)
But after all that misery, he was captured by somebody who wanted to know things, not the brutal mob which would kill him based on accident or stupidity. Things were bad and the only escape was the final one, the sooner the less pain for him. Now he reasonable wondered about his future. He knew I had real whips someplace. Did one have his name on it? He hated whips.
I assured him, his heart would not survive the bullwhip. But I didn’t see that for his future. I said I would take suggestions later. Also, I mentioned that I was in touch with Doria. We were talking a trade. He did not want to hear that.
It is funny what just a little push in the right direction will do. Darnel made the connection, Doria was talking to me, so she had a plan that needed something. Doria’s plans usually didn’t go Darnel’s way. But if he could mess Doria up, that would be a win. With a little manipulation some satisfaction would be his - that quick he had something to plot, something to live for. So between the promise of more misery and the chance to screw with Doria he started talking, I had to shut him up regularly. When I needed to get him on track I snapped a whip.
He told me everything I asked about. I’m not saying it was all clear and cogent, he was out of his mind. But I felt the sincerity whenever he mentioned Doria.
That included his spy network (they were listed on his computer in text files we had not read yet) and everything he knew about Gracie (which wasn’t much, the store only gave up an address and account number - no name was even listed).
When I backed up I asked Darnel about the idea for his pain party. He said that he and Doria were spitballing ideas in early March about “shaking things up in LA” provoking a summer of gang warfare. It was part of their “fucking to do” list every year. They agreed that exploiting gang rivalries was a cheap and effective way to go. Looking for shaky borders they agreed that Seerdon Forest was an obvious flashpoint just waiting to happen. Their Aztex spies - he named names - reported a high level of tension, which may have overstated the case. Part of that was the strength of the meth faction within the Aztexs, the end-of-summer attack on the apartment building was in the planning phase.
Mr. Smith approved the project as a low cost/low risk operation to be the “fuse” for the Summer of 2008. Their might be riots after, maybe weeks of riots. Once Mr. Smith was on board, Darnel nudged him into shifting trusted elite Shark troops from guard duty at the drug storehouses into setting up a few more street sales locations, to boost the current cash flow. This shift was what Darnel was waiting for to set up his own little smash-and-grab of Shark inventory. He figured Doria and then other Sharks would flock to him. But things did not work out and suddenly he was ass-deep a bunch of always-hungry sharks.
Darnel took operational control of the Aztex/49 disruption project, he selected the Black Kings to do the dirty work and then pay for their party with their lives. Doria was just being hands-off doing overwatch. She did suggest the use of dry ice and actually provided the cooler for the pain party. (What sort of woman thinks of doing that to another woman?) She also provided the expensive high-power mix of drugs (cut with Viagra and Ex) that got the Black Kings so stoned and worked up for Gracie’s lush body. Doria provided enough drugs for five guys but the ugly overweight trio seriously overindulged and shot up the whole batch, so as not to waste any.
Then somebody - your hero - blew up Darnel’s two-stage plan by killing the Black Kings and grabbing the hottie before the moans started. At the same time Darnel jumped the gun on his smash-and-grab at the Shark drug-house, he wound up outgunned, leaving his small cadre to be cut to shreds while he ran.
Besides the Sharks gunning for him, thanks to me he was suddenly sure that a vigilante collection of law enforcement, like “Magnum Force” was gunning for his ass. He had to give up a lot of the drugs he did boost to buy his cop spy mechanic (who got caught), hire his nasty little sicarios (3 contracts) from Mexico, then once he connected Mark’s name with the fiasco he had to buy the Tuccos to do the heavy hitting, because Mark was real trouble.
After I showed Mark what was at risk (his ex-wife was killed, his current wife would be next) and what had to be done (he had a live Tucco in his possession and one of his guys was criminally culpable) he turned to the dark side. He also turned most of the Tuccos into strawberry jelly, using thermobaric bombs (gas-air, looks like a hockey puck with electrodes) to destroy his expensive home in the process. (Yes, the FBI and ATF had some questions for Mark, but he had an alibi and was currently out of the country enjoying his rich young Brazilian wife’s company.)
Darnel was sure Doria would help him, but like many he overestimated his cock. She went the other way, siding with her father and setting a trap for Darnel. Instead of moving into the Smith Mansion with his new queen and the rotating sluts Darnel barely escaped with his life. New rule: Sharks with big guns are bad shots. It was the reason he got away. He was also glad he had laid out the “dashiki bug-out option” to various Sharks ahead of time to cover his retreat to the house nobody knew about in Chatsworth. He spent the summer with no pussy (except the one time sharing Doria with Chiggs), and limiting himself to going out to Ralphs one night a week for soup and chicken and a sorry mix of frozen dinners. He had to give up cruising the Sunset Strip in fine wheels, dining at five-star eateries three times a week, and day-or-night access to the Shark’s female D-cup support staff. He even lost access to donuts and fine pastry, everything at Ralphs looked good but Darnel was used to the real good stuff from rreal bakeries so the production line fare tasted like garbage.
One issue in talking with the drug addicted is keeping them on topic. You have to let them ramble a little, but where do you draw the line? I gave Darnel a long leash when talking about Smith and his routines. That was how I got a travel tip.
Darnel mentioned that Smith liked charter jets from a company based at Van Nuys. He was not too picky about an airliner to Vegas or the Bay area, flying commercial he was sure it would work and he didn’t need details. But for charter flights he liked to book a tri-engine jet. Almost all biz-jets in the 4 to 20 passenger size have two engines. There was a four-engine line, the Lockheed JetStar, but they were effectively noise-regulated out of the US market.
Smith really liked having two engines plus a spare, he just felt better about it.
The French manufacturer Dassault produced the Falcon line which is noted for it’s three-engine design and long range. The French biz-jets are popular in Asia and Europe, (the same company is #3 behind the US and Russia for jet fighters) but they are pretty rare with the US charter industry who don’t get the fighter-bomber customer discount.
A member of 49 who worked at Van Nuys airport knew all the Falcons that roosted at Van Nuys with any regularity, as a hobby he tracked planes based on the tail numbers. (Every airport has these plane watchers.) I would give him a call on the way home.
When I asked about Robert Smith’s travel to China, Darnel said it would never happen. “The guy does not trust airplanes to travel that far without landing - he just doesn’t. I know he is short on inventory, I can do the math, he is scrapping the bottom of the sugar tin. But he would risk an all-out war in LA by raiding another gangs drug inventory before he would fly to China. Even with his girls, the travel is always over land.”
“His girls?”
“Smith has 4 sluts at the house and he grades them. Every season the slut with the highest grade gets to spend a week with Mr. Smith playing ‘rich trophy wife’ at a seasonal vacation spot. In the Fall the vacation was always this small exclusive resort in British Columbia. He meets with his old money laundering buddy, Frenchy. They even trade sluts for a night, because they are long-time buds and relatives who do that type of thing. Frenchy was the half-brother of Smith’s late wife.”
He confirmed about Smith’s ulcer and a drink of booze when he got home. “His body clock gets screwed up so he has this ritual. He has the drink while fingering the girl’s coochie, then after the drink Smith takes drugs and goes right to bed where he sleeps through the worst of the drink’s battle with his ulcer.”
“Does Doria ever get the treatment?”
“Yeah, she loves it. His first trip less than a month after she was 18 he flew back from El Paso with two Mexicans who were selling him automatic pistols. They said they had real Glocks, cases of them. Doria brought him the drink with this little wide-open nightie, and he warmed her up while the guys watched, her first time in public. She was wet and ready, his fingers slid right in and she acted like it was the greatest gift. They went for it right in the foyer with the guys watching. After he was finished he said Doria should show them to their room and get them a drink too. They could talk payment arrangements. Later Doria earned a 25% ‘overnight friendly’ discount on the guns, doing both guys.”
“What about the guns?”
“They were Indonesian knockoffs, a few Glock parts fitted with cheap inards to go full auto. There were 6 real ones in the mix for demonstration purposes, but one of the guys spotted the fakes. It don’t pay to cheat Mr. Smith about guns. The guys were used for target practice, and the Sharks are lousy shots so it took some time to kill the targets.”
Darnel kept going on about travel. That was when he mentioned something about Smith’s luggage when he traveled. Each year Smith bought a new collection of hard-side bags, everything from large checked bags to handy carry-ons, all wheeled with handles. He rotated brands. National brands were easy to replace if damaged or lost. Matching bags were less of a test for the geniuses he hired to handle his bags.
In April Smith and Darnel took a fast trip to Vegas and Frisco to meet some suppliers when drug deliveries were delayed. They each packed a carry-on bag and shared a third bag. The thing was, Darnel still had the two pieces of carry-on luggage from this year’s set, his carry-on plus the shared bag. It seemed that Smith never got the shared bag returned before Darnel’s little May revolt failed. The bag had some of Smith’s dirty laundry. He kept it in a storage locker in Kern County, north of LA.
Darnel had mentioned this to me before, one of my guys grabbed the bag yesterday. My guy was focused on just the bag, a simple snatch from a storage locker. Now I asked a follow-up question.
“Does the storage place have any cameras?” I asked.
“No. If you have cameras the cops always ask for footage, and you kind of have to say yes, which is a pain and contrary to my sacred beliefs.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, because I own the place using some corporations for legal cover. I need a secure place that is close but not too close, with employees who jump when I bark. I keep drugs and weapons there, plus a little cash, about $100K.”
That was interesting. The storage locker company was in the next county. That plus a few layers of corporate ownership made it harder for the cops to get a look at anything, plus it was actually a profitable investment for Darnel. For my purposes the bag with Mr. Smith’s DNA was the big score, but I would send a crew up there for the rest.
In the meantime I made a plan. I called my guy with the bag (use rubber gloves!) and had him ship it to a guy I knew in Canada, a professional. It was on a Fed Ex plane in hours. This pro was not a hit-man and never carried weapons, but was more of an “anyman” who was an expert at getting in, doing something simple, and getting out without being spotted. He was expensive but better than good. I had used him before. He was giving me a discount, usually he got in to extract something and get it out. Taking something into a place was much easier.
He had a quarter key of powder, and would step-on it until he had a full key, wrap it airtight then seal it in the extra piece of Smith’s luggage. His work was clean-room clean, there would be nothing to alert any drug dogs in the airport. Since the cocaine bag perfectly matched the other bags in the set, it would blend right in.
The cops would spot the guy when they looked at the video tapes of the baggage handlers days after the fact, but his disguise would stand up to a few grainy photos.
As a favor to me he also took a small glass container, filled it with a cocaine solution, and sealed that in glass so it was also safe. This type of work is tricky but I would pay well. When the cargo compartment door opened in LA it would break the glass within the plane’s luggage compartment, contaminating all the luggage. In LA drug dogs would come running, especially after a helpful citizen makes a call ahead of the landing. Mr Smith was known to the authorities, and with a key of coke in his bags, pack in with the clothes that had Smith DNA, he would have some explaining to do. No matter what he said, he and his party would spend some time in lockup without his sluts or his ritual drink.
Next I asked Darnel about his snakes. “Isn’t that a dangerous hobby?”
“Not if you are careful, and they keep the rats away, both the 2-legged and 4-legged variety. Also, cops get real careful, some cops will push on the law if they can’t get caught, but a snake-bite is news so they don’t mess with that house.”
Darnel actually had two impressive snakes his brother cared for, a “Beware of Snake” sign was very useful in his neighborhood, especially when a snake was wrapped around it. Besides the super-deadly Taipan, Darnel also had a Black Mamba he got in honor of Kobe of the NBA Lakers, who used “Black Mamba” as a nickname. The Mamba had his poison glands removed when Darnel got him, although this fact was not commonly known. The Mamba was not normally caged, it knew who fed it. Mambas are extremely fast and Darnel’s brother was told to unleash it on any intruders.
“My Brother Ray learned snakes overseas, in the army.”
Darnel Talks About Doria
After calming and relaxing Darnel’s mind, and improving his ability to answer questions 100% with a small injection of the stuff he craved, which he greatly appreciated, I asked about Doria and her father. Most folks didn’t know the truth, but it was actually an interesting and twisted story.
I knew that the skin tones of both Doria’s mother and Robert Smith were much lighter than Doria.
Darnel explained that Doria’s father was was not Robert Smith, but in fact a late South African named Bembala. Mrs. Smith was often pimped out by her husband as a “sales aid” back when he did legitimate banking. It was part of their joint career strategy. They both knew what she was good for. As a teenager she decided she was going to fuck guys anyways, it was her addiction. Why not get big bucks for her trouble?
After college graduation the new MBAs Robert Smith and Amos Muller (the current Shark high earner) were both hired by a large bank where they competed with 4 other new hires to sign large clients for their bank’s overseas business. The bank was very clear, after one year at least 4 of the 6 new hires would be working elsewhere, without benefit of their six-figure hiring bonuses.
Now, sometimes larger clients required various ‘off-books extra inducements’ before they sign on. Mr. Bembala from South Africa was such a client, the biggest balance that particular year with the biggest off-books ask. It was of a personal nature that sort of grabbed the balls for those so equipped.
From the start Bembala was explicit, he would come to LA quarterly to see to business. He traveled with 2 staffers who varied, male or female, black or white. On each trip he wanted his banker to provide him with an understanding woman for total companionship over one or two nights. She had to be clean and trustworthy, and he insisted that “she must not be foolish about condoms and such.” (This was the ‘80s, he was South African, and he made it clear that he had other women at home and elsewhere.) She might spend some time with his staff, but most of her time would be with Bembala, acting as a temporary wife, willing and naked in his bed. He said he had a full and varied appetite.
The two bank hires who were female got the first choice, but they said “no way” to such an arrangement. They were not opposed to sleeping their way to the top, but they said an international philanderer in the age of HIV was suicide and stupid besides. So Muller and Smith were called.
At the time no suitable LA professional would accept such a regular date, especially a South African, without condoms, it just wasn’t done. Muller and Smith explained the request to their wives.
Both wives were attractive former university cheerleaders who had graduated as part-time whores before they burned their trick books of clients as part of their marriage ceremony to their upwardly mobile banker husbands. They both agreed to help their husbands using what they knew, getting naked and very understanding for high-value customers in better hotels. They came home with fewer bruises than with their previous clientele. Both women knew what they were doing and considered it a move up in life, instead of counting greenbacks at the end of each evening they were earning equity on their backs.
Their husbands knew the deal, they needed the career booster and married accordingly, with full disclosure before anybody said “I do.”
During initial discussion with Bembala, Mrs. Muller decided that maybe she could not be so understanding about not having condoms. She had looked up the HIV and STD stats for different countries so it was a short meeting.
Smith’s wife was more open and closed the deal at their first meeting. When Bembala met the couple at the door of his suite she slipped off her dress as soon as the door was closed and walked past the aides to aquatint herself with the bedroom. Mr. Smith took a seat in the living room talking with the aides about business details during the entire 80 minute meeting. Meanwhile Mrs. Smith and Bembala repeatedly straightened out something in the bedroom. She was very talented and gave Bembala the full tour of what he could expect to enjoy. Out of courtesy the bedroom door stayed open and they saw no reason to hold the entirely natural noises down. Mr. Smith stayed all business, informing Bembala staff of the bank’s policies.
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