Now, tonight, it seemed to Donna that they picked up where they'd left off last night. Witsy kissed her, hugged her and then began to undress her.
"Now, Witsy, I don't think-"
"We have to try on the clothes you brought," grinned Witsy. She indicated the bundle. "Sure, but-"
"Trust Momma," said Witsy.
There was something commanding, almost masculine about Witsy, and Donna obeyed, undressing, with her eyes downcast.
Witsy lived in seventh heaven. Down here among her own she was always the shy, backward one. Got fondled and teased into sex by some guy. With Donna, Witsy was in charge, taking the lead. She thrilled not to see Donna's nakedness. After all the years of seeing nude bodies in varying shades of dark, it was almost a miracle to see that that glossy black pubic hair, that pink slit of a cunt, so innocent "Are we alone?" asked Donna anxiously.
"Safe as a bank vault," said Witsy. "The Cluster is all out on the streets tonight with jobs to do." She jerked a thumb at the out-doors and Donna could hear the sound of rushing feet and faint cries. The parade must've started. The action had already started.
But Witsy said: "Down on your knees, girl."
"What?"
Witsy swept the naked Donna into her tan arms and kissed her on the mouth. Her firm breasts pressed warmly into Donna's softer ones. Her belly rubbed in open sexuality against Donna's pelvis. Witsy found the love spots around Donna's neck and kissed them, making the white girl shiver.
Witsy said: "I want you down on your knees. You can suck Kark's come out of my cunt."
"Oh, my God," said Donna, but the vein in her throat throbbed wildly.
Witsy wet her own fingers in her own brimming cunt and licked them in front of Donna's wide eyes. "Mmmmm," she went. "Good." Then she wet her fingers again, held Donna's head firmly and forced the gleaming fingers into Donna's mouth, past soft lips. Repulsed, fascinated, Donna obediently licked those fingers, tasting Kark's come and Witsy's cunt oils. She shuddered in guilty delight. Her cunt flowed freely, she felt the same streaks of sex she'd felt last night.
Thrilled out of her mind she sank to her knees under Witsy's firm thrust and smelled the wild sex smell, saw the graceful girl cunt of the beautiful tan girl. Still she hesitated.
"I can't!" she wailed.
"Drink!" commanded Witsy in mock firmness. She pulled Donna's face to her cunt and undulated her loins. Donna ate cunt. Warm sex oils slid down her throat. Tentatively and then more avidly Donna ate the other girl's sex.
"Oh, God," moaned Witsy. "God! God!"
Her knees trembled. Hands on smooth tan thighs, Donna felt the power of the sex and sucked harder. It was a golden moment. Last night she had come for Witsy. Now she took Witsy into come-land. Donna made a happy sound in her throat and boldly grasped Witsy's smooth buttocks to hold her target firmly and ate fiercely.
"Ah, ah, yessss," gasped Witsy. "Oh, Donna, I'm loved to death. Crazeeeeeee!" Her ass pumped as she rose right up to glory. "Ah, eh, ah, eh."
Hanging in the sex void, delicious, delirious.
"URRRRRR," went Witsy and held Donna's head and had a tremendous convulsion, ending in a sex freeze of nerve-tight heaven, and then releasing rich cunt quakes against Donna's tongue. "Eeeeee."
For the first time in her life Donna felt awake, alive, fulfilled. She had given orgasm and she had taken orgasm. She might still be a virgin but she'd finally quenched a bit of her carnal appetites, so long held under iron control.
Witsy recovered with sighs of satisfaction and dressed Donna in the clothes Donna had brought. Donna's role tonight was a prostitute. She'd scrounged up some impossible clothes. Smoky black pantyhose as sheer as moonlight, and old-fashioned miniskirt tight across her ass, making her buttocks move like jelly, a thin satin blouse in which her soft breasts would move provocatively, nipples clearly out-lined against the cloth. Trim boots, of course. Finally Witsy made her up with a bit too much makeup and stood back to admire her work.
"Beautiful, Donna. You look ready to handle any trick on the streets."
Donna felt beside herself with excitement. Playing this role so far from her true nature was kinky. The high tension of the sex, plus the thrill of anticipation of the action to come screwed her nerves to the bursting point. Outside, the night clamor rose. Both girls heard the sound of pounding feet, the shouts, the sound of shattering glass, the sirens. And a strange sound Donna couldn't identify.
"Fire hoses," laughed Witsy. "They're cooling off the marchers."
She led Donna to the door, picking up a large, brown paper bag.
Donna hung back. "I wish we could stay here and make love some more, Witsy."
"Sorry, girl. Duty calls." She opened the bag to show Donna the bomb, an ugly looking thing of metal, wires and plastic putty.
"Oh, my God."
"You can't desert me now," said Witsy. "This is the high point of your thesis paper, the life and times of Witsy Brock, girl of the streets."
Feeling more exposed than if she were naked, Donna let Witsy take her outdoors.
The wild night closed around them. People running. Smoke. The frightening sight of massive flames from a burning building. Debris on the street, running, shouting people. A chicano dashed by shouting: "Run. Tear gas, por Dios." His face was white in terror.
Donna pulled back toward the house. "Witsy, I can t.
"You can. Come on."
Witsy pulled her along at a half-trot, as calmly as if she took a jog in some park. As they moved, Witsy filled her in.
"There'll be a rope between lampposts protecting the sidewalk in front of the bank. There'll be a couple of cops there on the lookout. It's a block away from Canterbury, so it won't be too rough."
Donna touched the bandage that Witsy had fixed on her forehead. Mercurochrome made a bloody spot in the middle of the bandage. "They won't believe me."
"They'll believe you, honey. You look scared shitless. Green. A kid whore caught in this mess."
They ducked around a man who lay groaning on the sidewalk and rounded a corner. "There she is," said Witsy. "The goddam red-lining bank. We poor people put our money in it, but they won't lend it back for our homes, or even ghetto apartments. They invest our money in yachts and condominiums for the rich-"
It was a small bank, hardly more than a storefront, with the sidewalk in front kept clear by the rope, as Witsy had told her. Two deputies lolled by each lamppost several feet apart. Things were fairly quiet here, a block away from the parade.
"Why can't Kark and the Imperial Cluster do the bank?" whined Donna.
"Because they have to do a store on Canterbury. The bastard high prices his goods for the poor that can't travel to other stores. He cheats on food stamps, too… Kark's got another college kid working with him. Like you're helping me. Earl Minton."
"Oh, my God, I know Earl," said Donna. "I've dated him. Back home his folks know mine."
"Well, he has a different date tonight, and I'm sure he won't tell his folks back home about it. He's doing a paper in psychology on the Imperial Cluster. He calls it "Quasi-religious Groups in the Ghetto." Witsy, who had done a couple of semesters at the college before dropping out, was eternally amused by the pretentious studies that emanated from the college. But very gratefully, it had brought the soft, succulent Donna into her life.
Somehow the knowledge that Earl Minton was down here in the thick of this horrid nightmare encouraged Donna.
Time for action. Donna felt sorry for the bank and scared of the bomb, but she'd given her promise… Witsy slipped away into the dark and Donna walked slowly on alone towards the deputies, beginning to stagger. Closer and closer, and one of the deputies looked up at her with a piercing, hostile glare. He had a billy club in his hand and a revolver at his belt at ready.
"Hey, sister, where you think you're going."