Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures Volume 6
In Volume 6, Vicky Valentine glides down the Mekong Delta in a Laotian open boat, engaging in a little voyeurism and self-pleasure on the way to Ho Chi Minh City. Later, she participates in a four-way oil massage in a Vietnamese “barber shop.” She discovers the whereabouts of an enigmatic cult leader who knows the location of her prey, Don Diab. The dangerous journey to the Bates Family compound becomes a whirlwind of jungle peril, anal play, and sex-cult shenanigans. Vicky reluctantly accepts an invitation to a licentious ritual, but will she succumb to the cult leader’s animal magnetism or enact her bloody revenge?
*Warning: This is a serialized story with massive cliffhangers.
Print Length: 52 pages
Type: Cliffhanger Story In A Series (For Men & Women)
Price: $2.99
Table of Contents
Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures Volume 6 (Excerpt)
My thoughts meander through a mindscape of dire consequences as I glide down the Mekong Delta on my way to meet Johnny Crepax. A revelation too insane to entertain, the stolen document, weighs heavily on my heart. Why was it in Countess Carmilla Karnstein’s safe at Arcadia Roulette? And what about the name on it? Is it legit? I don’t know, but I intend to find out.
After my larceny, I bolted from the stronghold, leaving the Golden Triangle and Wilhelm Wilder in the dust. I lost my way for a few weeks in Laos, smoking weed, keeping out of sight. A few days ago, I received another email from Crepax. After a few correspondences, I agreed to meet him at the Quicksilver Club in Saigon.
Now I sit in an open boat as it glides across the brackish water’s surface like a lurking crocodile. A sweet breeze cuts the incalescence. Slight waves patter against the old but reliable hull. The craft resembles a penis but wider; precisely three dicks wide by one dick long. Rickety posts hold the ramshackle corrugated roof from collapsing atop bench seats. Four chairs surround an olive-colored champaca table in the center. I lounge in front of the cranky motor, far from the other insipid travelers, finishing my battered copy of Love for a Day. The Civil War reaches its conclusion as the dramatic conflict tears Lance from Bryn. That’s the way love goes, Lance, my dear.
A tiny Laotian man captains the boat with a cool expertise as he sits atop a rickety stool with a ratty pillow at his back. The man’s silence satisfies my need for anonymity. Every hour, he negotiates the penile boat to shore with amazing accuracy, finagling into “a tight spot” amidst many other craft vying for perch. Insert a gang-bang joke here, but I’ll refrain for now.
In one of my Laotian guesthouses, I butchered a Ronnie James Dio “Rainbow in the Dark” t-shirt into an impromptu wife-beater. Despite the heat, obsidian remains my color of choice. Tight 1970s athletic shorts reveal my tan legs. A fedora angled toward one eye shields the bright sun. Pitch-black Ray-Ban sunglasses complete my rainforest chic. Every few minutes, I eye the other travelers through my dark sunglasses, wondering if agents of Carmilla or Diab sit among them.
At noon, we make a stop at a local village.
I dislike these intrusive visits into these communities, but the people enjoy travelers because of fat wallets. The scene plays like voyeuristic National Geographic, with barefoot kids frolicking naked in the streets, chickens clucking, and dozens of thatched houses resting on stilts. A group of kids play a game similar to volleyball. Instead of a ball, they use a wadded plastic hunk fashioned into a sphere. More kids run nearby, play-acting. Some ride rusty bicycles. I marvel at these merry children who entertain themselves without televisions, computers, or other doohickeys—or even a fucking Spalding.
We exit the boat for a quick break near Vinh Long. I enter a dilapidated shack with a “drinks and snacks” sign above it. An orange soda beckons me from the iced cooler. I grab the can and place it against my forehead. The crone tending the shanty offers her palm for payment. I toss her the meager sum, crack the can open, and swig the liquid in a greedy gulp. She smiles. I return it. I motion with my hands about where to pee. She hooks her thumb behind her. I nod and head in the direction.
A dirt path winds through a slim alley. Cracked pavement reveals watery sections where yesterday’s rain cleansed refuse from the lane. I hop from one concrete island to another as I search for the “bathroom.” It’s not my first rodeo in Southeast Asia. Meager holes with concrete blocks defining the edges often act as bathrooms. I arrive. Yep, a hole in the ground. I squat and do my business. An odd muffled grunting materializes from the wall next to me. My head turns toward the sound.
I finish my business, pull up my shorts, and investigate. I lean forward, trying to discover the source of the noise. A crack in the wall boards allows me to see into the next living area. I peer inside. Two silhouetted men spit-roast a tiny woman in the other space. One man thrusts his hips into her face. The gal’s lips greedily slide up and down his cock’s length. Her other lover slams into her butt vigorously. Wanting pleas fill the shadows.
“Good gravy,” I mutter.
To Be Continued…
Read More
If you want to read the bundled neo-noir erotic collection, please check out Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures: The Bundle or for a print collection see Vicky Valentine’s Erotic Adventures: Volumes 1 – 4 (Collection + Bonus Prequel). Vicky also has a few more free stories HERE.
