Dear Penthouse Letters,
I looked in the rearview mirror. Yes, there he was, coming up to pass me again. We had been playing this little game of leapfrog for miles now, and it had somehow taken on a life of its own. It started innocently enough. I noticed him slowing a bit after we made eye contact on the second pass, and the game had begun. It was now the sixth time we had passed each other. Our gestures had gone from eye contact to casual flirtation. He blew me a kiss as he overtook me in the left lane, and, as I expected, he slowed about two car lengths in front, allowing me to retrieve my position. Getting bolder, I looked over as I drew alongside, taking my foot off the gas to keep pace with him. I put my finger in my mouth, all the way to the hilt, withdrawing it slowly as I watched his eyebrows raise over the rim of his sunglasses. A grin split his face, and I stomped on the gas pedal, pulling in front.
In the distance I saw a sign announcing a rest area a few miles ahead, and a naughty thought crossed my mind. Would he? As we drew closer I moved into the right lane and hit the turn signal. He fell in obediently behind me, and I wondered what was going through his mind. What was I thinking? Was I crazy? The fact that it was dangerous, and that this was someone I had never met before somehow made it all the more exciting.
My heart racing, I pulled off the highway into the rest area, slowly making my way past the cars and trucks to find a secluded spot in the back of the area. He pulled in next to me. I sat for a moment, gathering my courage, then I quickly darted to his car and hopped in.
His eyes were wide with a mixture of amazement, pleasant surprise, and wonderment. He looked even better than I imagined, shirtless, tan, and buff. I guessed him to be in his early thirties. His mouth opened to speak, but I quickly covered it with my own, drawing him into me with my kiss as I felt him embrace me, hesitantly at first, then strong and firm. He recovered from his shock and began to take charge, entangling his hands in my hair as he pulled my head back to kiss my neck. My body gave in, and I fell back into the car’s plush seat as he covered my neck and shoulders with kisses and gentle bites. I felt his hand move to caress my breast, and in an instant he was inside my bra, tugging at my nipples. I felt a throbbing between my legs, and I thrust my hips forward, squirming in the seat.
He pulled my shirt over my head, and had my bra off in a flash. Backing away slightly to look me over, he seemed pleased with what he saw before diving back in to take my right nipple in his mouth, gently biting it. I arched my back, offering myself to him. I saw his cock bulging behind his loose shorts, and I pulled the waistband slowly, setting it free of its confines. I gasped in surprise! It stood straight at attention, almost to the center of the steering wheel, and was nearly as big in diameter as the bottled water I carried.
“Must be my lucky day,” I said with a grin.
“Yeah, your lucky day,” he chuckled with a devilish grin.
I winked at him and bent to playfully lick the tip of his immense cock. I was greeted by a glistening droplet of precome, which I greedily lapped up. He let out a tiny gasp, and I felt him rise to meet my lips. I took the head into my mouth, using the tip of my tongue to lick the underside, then, burying my face in his crotch, I sank as far as I was able. I managed to take three or four inches into my mouth, but it was so wide I couldn’t seem to get it past my back teeth. This disappointed me, as I wanted to impress him with my ability to deep throat. He didn’t seem to mind, however, and his hips began to move rhythmically with me as I felt his hands on the back of my head.
He pulled me back up to his mouth, and I felt his hand tugging at the button of my shorts. They opened easily for him. He pulled them off and casually tossed them into the back, panties and all. His hand dove between my legs, and he began to massage my hungry pussy. I was already so turned on that I nearly left the seat in my effort to meet his touch. He slid a finger inside, feeling the wetness that suddenly doubled as I came. One finger became two, and I rode his hand with reckless abandon, glad for the loud stereo to mask my cries of delight.
He withdrew his hand from my dripping cunt, and with one skillful move lifted me toward him, centering himself on the seat as he deftly impaled me onto his throbbing cock. Straddling him, I felt the length of it ram into me, filling me as full as I had ever been, and I let out a scream. He looked at me in alarm, but I quickly recovered what composure I could and kissed him. He began to guide me, gripping my hips in his hands as we moved together. I felt another orgasm begin to overtake me, and my moans became cries of ecstasy. I ground myself onto him, feeling him pulsate. His movements became more urgent, and I felt his hot liquid explode into my gash, our juices gushing out of me with every stroke. We both collapsed into the seat, his cock still inside me. We sat that way for a moment, then I slowly, reluctantly, crawled off him, feeling his spent cock slide out of my wet, freshly-fucked pussy.
Wordlessly, I gathered my clothing and quickly dressed. He looked at me again, unsure what to say. I kissed him, and before he could speak, I quickly exited his car and climbed into my own.
He was still sitting there as I backed out of the parking spot and drove away, hardly able to believe it myself.TravlinGalCFL
Dear Penthouse Letters,
I just have to tell someone what happened last night. My boyfriend, Jason, works out of town for long periods of time and when he’s gone, I have to look after my own needs. We have sex pretty much every day but when he’s gone I find I sometimes get tired of masturbating.
Well, Jason’s out of town again and, after a couple weeks of being alone, I invited our friends, Patrick and Catrina over for a bit of company. The four of us have been friends forever and often have dinners, and vacations together. Anyway, I was about crawling out of my skin, wishing Jason was here. So, I figured dinner with Pat and Cat would be a good distraction.
They arrived early, bringing two bottles of red wine and dessert, which consisted of vanilla ice cream and fresh strawberries. We opened one of the bottles and started drinking, sitting around in our very private back yard, enjoying the warm summer evening. By the time we’d had dinner, we’d finished the two bottles and were starting on a third bottle I had. I knew I was a little drunk and more than a little horny. I couldn’t stop looking at the bulge in Patrick’s pants and I knew he saw me looking because he met my eyes, lifted his glass in a silent toast, and smiled.
I felt the blush spread from my cheeks down to my breasts, my hardening nipples barely concealed by the tight tank top I wore with my little summer skirt. Mortified, I quickly looked over at Cat and saw her wearing the same knowing smile. She was running an ice cube along the bare skin of her chest, just above the unfastened top button of her shirt.
Cat’s always been a beautiful woman and I’d once told Jason that, if I ever wanted to try sex with a woman, I’d want it to be her. Now, seeing the droplets from the melting ice running down the valley between her two partially exposed breasts, I felt myself getting wet and blushed even more.
I couldn’t look at Cat, afraid she’d know what I was thinking and be upset by it. But I couldn’t look at Patrick again either. What was wrong with me? So, I looked down, concentrating intently on my strawberries and ice cream. I heard Cat get up and she came over to stand by my chair.
“Krista,” she said, gently taking the bowl from my hands.
She reached down and took my hand, urging me to a standing position. I looked into her beautiful brown eyes and for a moment, couldn’t breathe, imagining I saw the same desire there that I was feeling.
“Pat talked to Jason this morning and Jason’s worried you might be a bit lonely. He asked us to look after you.”
She reached up and stroked my cheek, as I stared stupidly at her. She licked her lips and her full mouth moved so close to mine that I could feel her breath. She leaned forward and kissed me. I could taste vanilla and strawberries on her lips.
“Would you like us to look after you, dear?”
I could only look at her and nod, not really believing this was actually happening. Surely she meant something else. But as soon as I nodded, she moved forward, took me in her arms and kissed me again, gently at first, but then she slid her tongue into my mouth, nibbled on my lips, caressed my back, as her mouth grew hungrier and more demanding. Before I knew it, I was moaning and kissing her back, touching her face, the front of her neck, fondling her beautiful, full breasts through her blouse. I heard a noise behind me and remembered Patrick was there. Turning, I saw him watching us, his hand stroking the hardening bulge between his legs through his shorts. He just smiled broadly at us.
Cat’s hands pulled me back to face her and she kissed me again, sliding her open mouth down the front of my neck, down to kiss the tops of my exposed breasts. I closed my eyes and arched my back, pushing myself up towards her mouth. She pulled my tank top off over my head, exposing my naked breasts and their hard nipples to the cooling evening air. Then she reached up and began playing with one hard nipple while she took the other one into her warm, wet mouth. I gasped, feeling myself grow soaked between my legs, wanting so much more.
“Please Cat,” was all I said.
I watched, fascinated, as she slowly pulled off all of her clothes. It was getting dark but the light from the rising moon and the candles on the table made it easy to see her beautiful, fit body. I’d never seen her completely naked before but now she was standing there in front of me. I went to reach for her but a pair of strong hands came from behind and stopped me. Turning, I saw Pat, also naked, standing there. He, too, was fit and gorgeous and I couldn’t believe all this was happening to me.
He reached down, pulling my little skirt off leaving me standing in my lacy black thong. Then, he turned me back around to face Cat and tugged my panties off, helping me to step out of them. Cat kissed me again, moving her mouth down my body until she was kneeling in front of me. Pat was against my back, kissing my shoulders and neck, reaching around to fondle my breasts. I could feel the heat of his hard cock pressing against my back, just above my ass and I leaned back, loving the strength of him against me.
Cat reached up to touch me between my legs. I was so wet and slippery. I immediately adjusted my stance to spread my legs wider. She smiled up at me and slid her fingers into my eager, wet pussy, as Pat’s mouth worked the sensitive flesh beneath my right ear. I looked down at Cat and she opened her mouth to taste my pussy on her slick fingers. Then, moaning in appreciation, she grabbed my hips and pulled them forward, burying her face between my thighs. I cried out as she licked my pussy and took my aching, swollen clit between her firm lips. She sucked my clit and fucked me with her long, beautiful fingers, moving them in and out in a tempo that matched the delicious movements of her lips and tongue. My knees grew weak and shaky but Pat was tight against me, kissing and fondling me, supporting me from behind. He whispered in my ear how much he liked watching Cat fuck me and how much he wanted to fuck me himself. I came listening to him urge me on as Cat’s fingers and mouth worked faster and harder. I didn’t know where I was anymore, conscious only of the two bodies surrounding me and the way they made my own body melt, becoming fluid and light, until I exploded in their arms.
Cat stood and kissed me, hard, on the mouth. I tasted myself on her lips and licked them greedily. She laughed and pulled me back toward the table we’d eaten on. Sitting up on it, she moved back toward the center, pulling me along. She spread her legs, showing me her wet, shining pussy and stroking it in invitation. I didn’t hesitate and leaned forward over the table, my eager mouth finding her pussy and lapping up its sweet juices. She held my head, and moaned encouragement as I felt Pat, once again, behind me. The tip of his hard cock pressed against my dripping pussy, demanding entrance and, as Cat came for the first time, he slid into me, hard, and began fucking me, holding my hips as I leaned forward. I moaned against Cat’s wet pussy, loving the taste of her and the feel of Pat fucking me from behind. I kept licking and sucking on her as I spread my legs further, making it easier for Pat to push deep inside me.
The three of us moved in unison and the air was filled with the scents of our heated bodies. Finally I came, my cries mingling with both of theirs as we all climaxed together. For a moment, we all lay there, an exhausted heap, on the table. Then we gathered ourselves and went inside to continue the fun in my bed.
In the morning, Jason called and asked how dinner went. When I told him what had happened, he laughed and said he couldn’t wait to get home so he could join in the fun too.
Something more to look forward to! Mountaingirl1699
Dear Penthouse Letters,
Mike and I have always enjoyed a wonderful sex life. When we first met in college, it was normal for us to have sex two to three times a day every day. After marriage, children and life “happened,” sex slowed down to what we thought was a more normal, grown-up pace.
A few years ago, we decided to spice up our sex life with the addition of friends to our fun. Not knowing exactly how to do this, we discussed options like online swinger sites and sex clubs. The thought of going to a sex club both intrigued and scared us, so we opted to post a profile on one of the more popular swingers sites.
We found that some experiences were good and some were not, but our eyes were definitely opened to the joys of swinging and swapping. The experience last night, for example, was over the top! A fantasy of sex with strangers was fulfilled!
Mike had purchased some furniture, completely out of character for him, but he found a nice new leather sofa and loveseat, bought it, and had it delivered. We spent some time rearranging things in three rooms and on two floors. When the dust had settled, I noticed a small rip in the leather of the new furniture. Distraught, Mike soon had the store on the phone, and they agreed to send someone out but warned us that it would not be until later that evening.
Mike and I had finished dinner and sent our daughter off to her sleepover by the time our doorbell rang. Mike greeted our company as I topped off my glass of wine.
I heard Mike say, “The furniture is here in the family room.”
I turned to greet our guests. There standing in our family room was the most scrumptious couple I had ever seen. Mike introduced me to Christian and Alyssa. Christian was probably every bit of six feet two and looked extremely well built I noticed broad shoulders and a nice trim tummy under his dress shirt and slacks. Alyssa was also tall, standing about five feet eight, and she had the most gorgeous body that was nicely showcased by a tight, V-neck spring sweater and matching skirt. Both had dark features, thick wavy hair and deep chocolate brown eyes not at all what I expected.
As Mike and Alyssa began to talk furniture, Christian joined me in the kitchen. We both casually leaned up against the island and chatted. I found out that Christian and Alyssa were from Greece and owned the furniture store. Their customer service approach was to get directly involved when problems arose.
I soon found myself lost in Christian’s eyes, and I blushed when he asked if I was feeling okay. Embarrassed, I realized that my distraction had shown through. I could not believe my response which was, “I’m sorry Christian. I’m just lost in your gorgeous features.”
Did I just say that? Was I that bold? Our recent sexual experiences had impacted me such that I was more comfortable speaking so openly with strangers. To my surprise, Christian placed his hand on mine and replied, “Thank you Ann. I am just as impressed with your features. All of them.”
Mike and Alyssa had already developed a get-well plan for the furniture. As they joined us in the kitchen, I realized that our night might end too soon. I quickly offered a thank you for the customer service and asked them to join us for a drink. To my delight, they accepted. An hour or so passed with great conversation and some bold wine which prompted even bolder flirting between the four of us. When I went to the kitchen for another bottle, Christian followed me.
I soon felt him behind me and his hands went to my waist. He pulled me back against him, and his hard cock pressed against my ass. I turned to face him concerned about Mike’s reaction. I was just in time to catch a glimpse of Alyssa and Mike in a passionate kiss. With the knowledge that Mike was open for tonight’s festivities, I looked back at Christian and lost myself once again. He leaned forward for our first kiss. I opened my mouth to receive his tongue and ran my hands up his muscular frame. He wrapped his arms around me and began to caress my ass. I gently massaged his shoulders then ran my fingers through his thick hair. My hands found the buttons of his shirt, and I began to undress him. His cock was hard. I could not wait to explore every inch of his body.
As clothes were discarded in the kitchen, the same was occurring in the family room. The house was filled with soft moans as two new couples experienced each other for the first time. Swinging and swapping had allowed us to recapture that “first-time” feeling again and again. It is so hot and an absolute addicting high!
I stood before Christian in a hot pink bra and panty set. He stood before me in a pair of boxers.
“Ann, you are so beautiful and sexy. I need to see more, to touch you, to taste you, to make love to you.” His words were just as intoxicating to me as his tight physique.
“Please . . .” was my only reply as I reached to stroke his cock through his boxers which were as damp as my lace panties.
Christian slid down the cups of my bra to expose my nipples to his gaze. He rolled and toyed them with his fingers before sucking one and then the other into his mouth. I tossed my head back and moaned as he pleased me. As I took a firmer grasp of his cock, he pressed one hand against my wet pussy. Soon expert fingers had exposed my cunt to him. One finger, then two, found my depths as I bit my lower lip.
“Mmm . . . so wet baby . . . you feel so good, so tight,” Christian moaned.
I glanced toward the family room to see Alyssa kneeling in front of Mike who was naked and reclined on the sofa. I had a perfect view of his cock sliding across her lips. I was overcome with the need to have Christian in my mouth. I pushed him back against the island and knelt at his feet. I gently massaged and kissed his balls as I scraped my nails against his thighs. I opened my mouth to suck his length into my throat.
“Fuck . . . Oh, my god, baby . . . That is soooo good!”
I stroked his cock quickly, and he laced his fingers in my hair and helped set my pace. I once again glanced toward the moans in the other room, and as Christian fucked my face with his massive cock, I watched Alyssa straddle Mike on the sofa and lower herself onto his hard rod they both squealed out in delight.
“Fuck me Christian. Please fuck me!”
Christian pulled me to my feet and pushed me down onto the island on my stomach. From this angle, I had a perfect view of Alyssa fucking my husband, and all indications that they would both explode soon.
“Hurry!”
I didn’t have to say another word as Christian sank his cock into my wet pussy. I lifted my left leg onto the island to give him the ability to stroke deeper inside my cunt. Spurred by the sights and sounds of Mike and Alyssa, Christian began to fuck me wildly, deeper and harder with each stroke. His cock seemed to grow larger with each movement. I reached down and fingered my throbbing clit. The combination of watching Christian’s wife fuck my husband, Christian’s enormous cock splitting my cunt, and my finger on my clit was leading me to the point of no return.
“I am going to come Christian. Fuck me hard! Here I come baby!”
Waves of pleasure washed over my body as my first orgasm struck. My body clutched tightly to his cock, and he continued to pound me. To my surprise, his strokes continued. A second orgasm shook me before he yelled out that he was coming. He spurted shot after shot of warm juice inside of me until he was spent. We stayed together as we watched Mike and Alyssa slowing down from their passion.
I thought the night was over, but it had only just begun. The next thing I knew, the island had been cleared, and Christian had lifted me on top of the cold quartz countertop. Alyssa had crossed the room saying something about dessert. She pulled me close to the edge of the counter, spread my thighs, and began to feast on her husband’s come as it seeped from my body.
As I said, the night had only just begun. Mikeandann4fun
The rain changed to snow in the forty minutes it took Saberson to get there. The address was nothing special, a five-story brownstone. Except tonight it had a body. A small crowd of the curious, braving the weather, gathered at the police line. Saberson identified himself and was let through. Waiting on the steps was his partner, Jeff Monroe.
Monroe was sixty-three, two years from retirement, a good friend and a valuable teacher. Monroe led him inside and up the stairs.
“Who is he?” Saberson asked.
“Morris Goldsmith. He worked down in the department’s property room,” Monroe said. He paused on the third-floor landing. “Neighbors heard the screams and called it in.”
Saberson had to show his badge again on the fourth floor. Apartment C was a beehive of activity. The body was in the bedroom, under a sheet. He walked over and gently slid the sheet down.
Goldsmith’s face was a mask of frozen horror: eyes closed, neck muscles tensed like corded rope. His mouth was locked open, still trying to let out a scream, it seemed. Blood slicked his belly and legs. Beneath, the mattress was soaked with it. The cause of death was readily apparent. Where Goldsmith’s crotch had been, there was now a ragged hole.
“If this keeps up,” Monroe’s voice said, “I’m retiring early.”
Saberson’s partner stood in the bedroom door. Beside Monroe was the coroner, Parker. Saberson, putting the sheet back, knew what his partner meant. It was maddening. They had almost nothing to go on. Goldsmith’s death was the fifth in the past nine days. Three of them police officers. All the men were found nude with the same ghastly wounds. The mayor’s office was developing an interest in the case. The heat was on to break it. Now.
“You done, Detective?” Parker asked. Saberson nodded. The coroner and his assistant, Stone, wheeled in a stretcher.
Parker flipped the sheet off the corpse as Stone readied a body bag. They pulled the body to the edge of the bed and, in the process, knocked off the pillow. It hit the floor with a thud.
Saberson knelt beside the pillow and reached inside the pillowcase. Inside, Saberson found a small, leather-bound book. It was eight inches square and perhaps an inch thick. Its worn look told them it was very old. The others gathered around.
The book contained drawings of couples in various positions of copulation. Saberson slowly flipped through it. He stopped at a page that depicted a beautiful, young Oriental woman on her knees, bent forward. Her lover, also Oriental, was kneeling behind her. She supported herself with one arm outstretched. With the other, she guided her lover’s member toward the mouth of her sex.
Saberson noticed the woman was the same throughout the book, though the men were different. A strange euphoria came over Saberson as he flipped through.
“Let me see that,” Monroe said, reaching for it.
Saberson recoiled, slapping Monroe’s hand to the side, his euphoria suddenly replaced with anger. How dare he, Saberson thought. It’s mine! The look on his partner’s face shocked him back to reality.
“Sorry,” Saberson said, handing over the book. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Forget it.” Monroe shrugged. He waved Parker and Stone back to work. “This damned case has everyone edgy.”
Saberson nodded. Monroe opened the book, looking closely at the drawing. Something about that book made Saberson uneasy, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
“I know what this is,” Monroe said. “During the Korean War I was stationed in Japan,” Monroe explained. “There was this brothel in Kyoto we used to visit. One of the girls had a book like this. To illustrate the different positions. She called it a pillow book.”
“So? Goldsmith had some Oriental sex manual. Is that something worth killing him over?”
“The book was very old and valuable,” Monroe said. “This one might be too.” Monroe yawned into his hand.
“Why don’t you go on home,” Saberson said. Parker and Stone were wheeling Goldsmith’s body out of the room. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly two in the morning. “I can finish up here.”
“I’ll phone some people tomorrow, see what I can find out about this book, then meet you at the station,” Monroe said. He put the book into his coat pocket. “Say about three.”
Saberson nodded. Monroe followed Parker and Stone out. Saberson stood there for several minutes, just thinking.
For a moment Monroe didn’t remember where he was. Then he heard the crackling of the fire and knew he was in the basement family room of his home. He had been planning a course of action before sleep had overtaken him. The pillow book lay next to him.
Monroe rubbed the sleep from his eyes and went to the fireplace.
There were only dying embers in the hearth. Stirring the coals with a poker, he added more wood.
The family room was his pride and joy. Since his three children had finished school and moved away, he spent much of his free time fixing it up. Aside from building the fireplace, he had covered one wall with mirrored tiles to highlight the pool table. The other walls were covered with dark wood paneling. A couch and a short bar completed the decor.
Monroe walked over to the bar and fixed himself a strong drink in a tall glass with ice. His wife was out of town visiting their daughter. He had the house to himself. He noticed it was after four in the morning.
“Better get some sleep,” Monroe said to himself. He was going to need all the help he could get, and the last thing he needed was to have his ass dragging the next day.
He walked back to the couch, sat down and started thumbing slowly through the book again. The fire burned brightly now, casting red highlights across the pages. Perhaps it was a trick of that light, but the figures seemed to start moving.
In one drawing, a woman was receiving her lover from behind. Bent forward, her hair hung down in a black curtain and swayed with each pump. In another, the couple lay in the missionary position.
Monroe found something strangely compelling about the Oriental woman in those erotic drawings. He felt himself grow hard. One drawing in particular caught his eye. In it, the woman was kneeling and taking her lover orally. Her kimono had slipped from her shoulders, baring her breasts.
Monroe’s head felt light and his throat was dry. He raised his glass and found it empty. A rustling of cloth nearby made him look up. Standing before him was the woman from the book. He smelled cherry blossoms.
I must still be asleep, he thought. He stood up. The glass fell to the floor.
The woman stepped closer. She prevented him from speaking by kissing him. Molding her body to his, she wound one hand through his gray hair. With the other, she guided his hand inside her kimono to caress her silky breast. Monroe groaned as he felt a nipple harden under his palm.
She pulled away and slid sensually down his body. Kneeling at his feet, she deftly undid his trousers. Monroe stood frozen, aware of his heart hammering in his chest. Pulling his stiffness free, her kimono fell from her shoulders, baring her breasts like in the drawing. Her tongue, small and pink, slid out to wet her lips. Then, holding him with one hand, she moved even closer.
Saberson had gone to the station instead of going home and sleeping. With coffee and doughnuts, he’d spent the morning going back over the case file.
The doughnuts were gone, his paper cup soggy from the many refills. Saberson picked up his notes and the file, then went to see Lieutenant Hansen, the head of Homicide.
“I think I’ve got something,” Saberson told him.
Lieutenant Hansen waved him to a chair. Saberson described the discovery of the pillow book, then showed Lieutenant Hansen his notes.
“Jawloski was the first victim. He ran a small import business downtown,” Saberson said. “His partner, Kelly, confirmed that they recently received a shipment from the Orient, and that Jawloski was working late unpacking that shipment the night he died.
“Morgan and Pershall were the first officers on the scene. Whoever it was must’ve been scared off before he found the book.”
“Morgan was the second victim,” Lieutenant Hansen said. “Pershall, the third.”
“The killer must have thought they had the book,” Saberson said, nodding. “I think he was right. They must’ve picked it up at Jawloski’s. I don’t know why.”
“What about Coffman and Goldsmith? How do they fit in?”
“Coffman, the fourth victim, was the coroner’s assistant on Pershall. He must have found the book, just like Parker did last night,” Saberson replied. He yawned. Thirty-six hours of being awake was getting to him. “All the bodies were found at home. Except Coffman. He was found in the park. He had a backpack full of books with him,”
“And Goldsmith worked in property, where he had access to Coffman’s effects,” Lieutenant Hansen said. “If what you say is true, we’ve got dirty cops. Where’s that book?”
“Damn, I’ve been sitting here all this time!” Saberson grabbed the phone and dialed. “Monroe’s got it. The killer will go after him next!”
Saberson listened to the phone ring. And ring. He cursed himself. After too many rings, he thrust the phone into Lieutenant Hansen’s hand and ran for the door.
“I’m on my way to Monroe’s,” he yelled. “Get me some backup!”
Dispatch informed Saberson that his backup would be delayed because of a multicar accident. Fuck them, he thought.
His car skidded to a stop in front of Monroe’s house. Saberson jumped out and ran for the door. Letting himself in with his extra key, he knew the first place to check. Drawing his gun, he crept softly down the basement stairs.
The roaring fire painted the still form on the floor a blood red. Saberson rushed to his partner’s side.
Monroe was facedown, his pants around his ankles. Carefully, Saberson tumed him over. Monroe’s eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. He clutched his chest with one hand. Saberson was relieved to see Monroe still had his privates.
Laying next to Monroe was the open pillow book. Saberson reached for it, but stopped. As if moved by an unseen wind, the pages started flipping. Saberson watched, hypnotized, as position after position was quickly revealed to him.
Hearing a rustling of cloth, Saberson looked up and saw the Oriental woman from the drawings standing beside the pool table. She smiled and beckoned him with a wave of her small, supple hand.
Saberson was enchanted by her beauty. His gun slipped from his hand unnoticed. He rid himself of his coat and walked toward her. He could smell cherry blossoms.
Wiping his brow with one hand, Saberson unzipped his pants with the other. They slid to his ankles, impeding his steps.
Grabbing the woman by the hair, he tilted her head back and kissed her roughly. Her lips were soft and moist. The smell of cherry blossoms was stronger. Reaching down, Saberson ripped the kimono from her.
Breaking the kiss, he bent her naked body forward over the edge of the pool table. Proud and erect, his manhood throbbed. She reached back and guided him to her sex. Saberson grasped her firmly around the waist and took her in one mighty thrust.
He caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored wall. Eyes wild, a shiny sheen of sweat lightly coated his skin.
He glanced at the woman.
Reflected in the mirror was a nightmarish form. Waxy skin covered with sores. An old woman’s body. On its shoulders, the head of a fox. Saberson, his strokes dying, watched his hand caressing a saggy, cracked breast. Bile rose in his throat.
The illusion of beauty broken, Saberson staggered back. He tripped and fell, tangled in his pants. His pistol lay beside the pillow book. Saberson frantically crawled on hands and knees towards it.
Just as he grabbed the gun, a heavy weight crashed onto his back. Saberson was knocked to the floor, the pistol sent flying out of his hand. Sharp nails bit into his shoulders. He saw the book the damned book that had started all this. It was within his grasp. He reached for it and, out of helpless anger, tossed it.
Saberson tensed, but death did not take him. Hearing terrible, painful screams, he rolled over.
A strange, green fire burned about the creature’s legs. It wildly beat at the flames. As Saberson watched, it fell and tried to crawl toward the fireplace.
Suddenly, he saw the pillow book had landed on the hearth, half of it burning in fire. He realized the book was the key. Jumping up, he ran past the burning horror and kicked the book all the way into the fireplace.
The monster gave a bloodcurdling scream as green fire shot upwards from its legs and engulfed its entire body. Blisters formed and popped open, skin blackened and peeled back.
Saberson’s legs gave out and he slid down the wall to the hearth. The stones were hot on his bare ass. Inch by inch, the monster drew closer. Saberson could see his death in its eyes, but didn’t have the strength to flee.
“Monroe is going to be all right,” Lieutenant Hansen said. “Paramedic says it was a heart attack. It’s a good thing you got here when you did.”
Saberson nodded. Luckily, he’d had time to dress before Lieutenant Hansen and the backup arrived.
“I’m going to the hospital. You coming?” Lieutenant Hansen asked.
“You go on,” Saberson replied, staring into the fire. “I’ll be along.”
There was no evidence of the horrible scene that had taken place. Saberson was wondering if it had really happened, or had it simply been the delusions of his overstressed mind?
Taking the poker, he stirred the coals and added more wood. Then he noticed something on the hearth. Burned and blackened, it was the corner of a small, leather-bound book. Reaching down, Saberson picked it up and held it to his nose. It smelled of cherry blossoms.
Carefully, he set it on top of the fresh wood in the fire. Then Detective George Saberson went to check on his partner.
I am the envy of men everywhere. I am firm, I am adorned in fine leather. I’m quiet and dark. My close relationships with gorgeous women number too many to count.
Ah, the women, the beautiful women! How do I begin to describe them? How do I convey the intensity of my feelings toward them, and theirs for me? They are blonde and brunette and strawberry-haired. Some are tall, some petite. Some are stylish, some are natural, some are naturally stylish. They’re brilliant and goofy and malleable and strong-willed. Some sweat, some do not. Among them are bouncers and twisters and sliders, panters and grunters and gigglers and whistlers. They are all sensuous works of art, not to mention God’s gift to nontoxic travel.
They are the women of the university’s Delta Delta Delta sorority, and I am their bicycle seat.
I am attached, so to speak, to a ten-speed Schwinn bicycle. Though the cycle’s derailleur cable is a bit worn and one reflector is chipped, it’s nevertheless a sleek, eye-catching instrument of transportation. When people see the cycle for the first time, they make remarks about the film Breaking Away. The metallic silver and red of the frame complement each other nicely, intertwining like passionate lovers who feel complete only when together. The chrome is polished and the wheels replaced at least twice a semester by the pledges, and thus is maintained the vital aura of the ten-speed.
The cycle was pedaled to the Tri Delta house six years ago by popular TV actress Denise Shockton, prior to her participation a fund-raising ride against diabetes.
Before that day, I had served as Denise’s bicycle’s seat for two years. It was an indescribably erotic task. The dream of millions of couch potatoes was regularly my day-to-day existence: the scantily clad Shockton cheeks pressed into my leather, her scent wafting over me, the cords of her soft, sequestered flesh coiling around me. How many potatoes, gazing with dry mouths at their idiot boxes, have exploded in a blossom of semen as the fantasy of Denise Shockton sitting on their faces has utterly overpowered them?
So Denise, a former member of the sorority and still a Tri Delta at heart, had done her share in the ride to abolish diabetes, personally raising more than two hundred thousand dollars to fight the disease. She had thanked the women for inviting her as well as the press and, as a token of her gratitude, made the cycle with me attached a gift to the house. Because of Denise’s position, however fleeting, in pop culture, the cycle was destined to become a significant piece of Tri Delt history. It came to be lovingly referred to as “Denise,” after its former owner. Its maintenance and its careful use became as ritualistic among the Tri Delts as was securing a steady lay over at the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity.
I had been perfectly comfortable as Denise’s bicycle seat, but suddenly I found myself thrust among strangers, facing a future without Denise, possibly without hope or happiness.
Looking back, I can’t believe how much I overreacted, how paranoid I was. I should have realized there is always a better tomorrow.
After all, Denise was past the age of thirty, and while the pithy statement that women are at their finest in their thirties does hold a certain tiresome wisdom, there is something much more to be said for younger women.
I speak from experience.
Since Denise, I’ve inhabited the camp of a large group of daring, playful, sexually eager females who are in the best physical condition of their lives. They are, for the most part, mentally and emotionally unscarred. They are adventurous and good-natured. They hold weekly meetings primarily to discuss in terms cruder than you would ever believe who has outfucked whom. At their young age, with their carefree attitudes, a penis is an instrument of pleasure, not a weapon. They belong to what, collectively, is recognized by the male students at this Los Angeles university as its most attractive sorority.
I certainly won’t argue with that fine and accurate judgment.
The actives take turns riding me, pedaling Denise to the store for beer or to the post office for stamps or to the university’s outdoor swimming pool. Sitting on me, maneuvering Denise, are privileges accorded only to the actives. Usually, when going to the pool, they will fling an open blouse over their shoulders upon leaving the house, but other than that, they aren’t hesitant to make the journey dressed in nothing more or less than their bikinis.
That’s the difference between women in their thirties and women in college: the Denise Shocktons of the world go to the pool clothed in boring, fashionable sportswear, while coeds boldly make the journey with their skin their hungry sexuality exposed teasingly, yearningly to everyone.
Not that I mean to insult my former owner. Let’s admit it, her buttocks grinding against me provided many moments of orgiastic bliss. But it’s not like she’s a goddess or the greatest actress who ever lived. My own favorite, if you must know, is Helen Flanner. Denise may be the queen of TV, but Helen ten years her junior is able to command a cool million per motion picture. Big screen versus puny tube.
Denise is silly and does one vacuous interview after another and is rapidly exhausting her interest potential before the American audience.
On the other hand, Helen, whose legs and breasts and lips are finer than those of Denise, never grants interviews. She is savvy enough to not burn herself out or make herself an aggravation rather than a fascination to the paying public.
This is going to be a great night. Denise is propped carefully against a tree in front of the Tri Delt house, and from here I can see Theresa getting ready to stroll out the front door and slide onto me.
It’s typical that the Tri Delts need K-Y jelly and other sex-related items on Friday evenings, but Theresa rarely makes the run. She is a second-semester senior and, besides that, an expert at exhibiting calm independence. She rarely performs belittling errands, despite the fact that she’s a member of the sorority She makes it obvious, without saying a word, that she doesn’t want to be disturbed, and the stunning thing is, her sisters respect her, even though she isn’t forceful or even verbal in expressing herself. She is strong without being threatening or obnoxious.
She exudes.
But tonight, for whatever reason some mix-up in sorority scheduling, perhaps she has agreed to go buy the K-Y jelly.
Theresa is, no contest, my favorite Tri Delt of this or any year. Life as a leather bicycle seat takes on profound dimensions when Theresa’s sweet posterior smothers me. She may not be Helen Flanner, but how much can a sentient piece of a two-wheeled machine expect?
Theresa sprays a perfume into her panties that absolutely drives me nuts. The bottom half of her ass looks better hanging out of a pair of shorts than Denise Shockton’s ever did. She is athletic and feminine and, when on the cycle, wild in an endearing sort of way.
Theresa exits the sorority house and grabs Denise. As she curls her left leg over the cable bar and coaxes her butt into place atop me, she lets loose with a brief squeal that makes me tingle with desire.
She exudes in more ways than one.
I’ve indulged in four years, more or less, of Theresa’s crotch. Not with pronounced regularity, I admit, but twelve or fourteen times is nothing to sneer at.
Theresa pedals down the sidewalk and out into the shadowy fog of the street, steering in the direction of the drugstore. She massages the shifters, pushes against the crank arm. She momentarily lifts herself off of me and flexes her legs on behalf of velocity.
Ah, they are fine legs, the loveliest I’ve ever seen. In four years they’ve only gotten better. They’re not tanned, they’re not toned nor have they ever been. They define the woman, quivering and gleaming, with tiny regions appearing to constantly reshape themselves, convincing me one moment that I want them, I want her, and the next moment making me aware that they will be even more irresistible two, five, ten years from now.
Having built up sufficient speed, Theresa sits back down and pedals in a more relaxed fashion. The odor of her sexual machinery is intoxicating. Her terrycloth shorts are halfway up her ass, allowing her cheeks to dangle and flutter at my edges. Fine, silky hairs gracing her inner thighs tickle me as she plunges down on the pedals. Beads of moisture appear out of nowhere up near her cunt, like morning dew, and are dragged across me.
She rides past two fraternity types who are crossing the street, going from darkness to darkness. I hear one of the boys say to the other, “Damn, I wish I was that bicycle seat.” No doubt he thinks he’s being funny and original, but I must have heard that line a hundred times. Fellows, if you only knew whereof you speak. If only your imaginations were capable of taking you half the distance to the heavenly realm in which I dwell.
Theresa continues pedaling. Without warning, the fog ahead explodes with light. No car approaches, and then I realize a vehicle is roaring at us from behind, its headlight beams bouncing off the gray mist as if off a brick wall. The fog has muffled any engine noise until the last instant, and then I see the six-door limousine lunge forth and crash against the rear of the Schwinn. The drive chain lets loose with a protesting scream, the rack buckles and as the cycle shoots forward at an unnatural speed, Theresa’s feet flail above her head, searching vainly for purchase. Already the invisible limo driver has managed to steer away from the cycle, but he navigates into the curb at fifty or sixty miles per hour. The limo’s suspension system growls its outrage, and the big car, lurching and flickering, flips over onto its side, half out in the street, half decorating sidewalk and shrubbery.
The cycle skips over the opposite curb and slams into a fire hydrant, catapulting Theresa against a nearby stop sign in a distorted flight that tears skin from her knees and scalp. For all its intensity, the moment soon passes, the accident ends and Theresa, stretched out on the ground, appears to be alive and at least semiconscious. She mutters incoherently, her chest rises and falls. Blood streams from her kneecaps, but she is hearty, and those knees will repair themselves completely. I’m relieved to note that nothing about Theresa or the cycle looks broken
A woman’s oddly familiar panic-stricken voice comes from the direction of the limo. Squeezing her way out of one of the skyward pointing windows is none other than world-famous actress Helen Flanner. “Hello? Is anyone out there? Oh, God, the chauffeur, he’s I think he’s !” She buries her face in her hands, consumed by sobs, unable to finish.
A pain-filled groan issues from somewhere within the limo, startling Helen. She squints back down into the car. “Roscoe? Roscoe, you’re alive! I’ll call for help. I’ve got to get to a pay phone the limo line went dead.”
Glancing around her, she is again overcome by panic after failing to spot a phone booth. She wails and gurgles and beats her fists against the car door below her.
Abruptly, like a child recovering from a fit, she quiets herself and pulls her calves from inside the limo, whirling in her seated position and then leaping awkwardly down onto the grass. She ambles cautiously across the street, peering in the direction of Theresa and the cycle
The woman of my dreams. The actress lusted after by more men than any other. Thirty feet away from me. Twenty. Ten.
“Hello?”
Theresa, starting to go into shock, twitches in response.
“Are are you all right?”
Five feet. Three.
Now Helen stands directly above me, seized by some powerful combination of fear and indecision. She looks at the cycle, at Theresa, back at the cycle, at Theresa a second time.
Helen’s long legs meet her black miniskirt at mid-thigh. With all my talk of female lower limbs, you must have figured out by now that I am definitely a leg seat. Beyond the upper portions of the garter trolleys, up past the dark spaces leading up to her flawless ass is an even blacker region that hides her panties and the dimples winking out from their fringes.
Helen regains her mobility and steps past me, kneeling over Theresa.
“I’ll go get help,” the actress says. “I’m going to take your bike.”
My lucky night.
I’m sure Theresa, in her wounded state, fails to comprehend Helen’s words, but reciting them seems to fill my dream girl with a formidable sense of determination. She returns to the cycle and, grabbing the handlebars, raises it out of the dirt.
She wiggles her butt onto me, and from my protruding frontal area I watch her lips swell and her eyes narrow. Even in the night, in the fog, her gimlet eyes gleam more brilliantly than they do on screen. She tests the pedals, ascertains her grip on the handlebars and takes off down the street.
Either many businesses have closed early in honor of some obscure holiday or else the fog is blocking out neon, for no store signs can be seen blazing anywhere. I couldn’t care less.
For I am massaging the naked buttocks, straddling and stretching the delicate crack, of actress Helen Flanner.
Who, I have discovered, likes to wear crotchless panties.
My concern for Theresa is not extreme at this point, though I do love the dear girl. Thing is, she is as healthy as a horse, and even if she has to lie all night by the side of the road, she’ll be just fine by tomorrow, so long as blood-crazed gang members do not make her a victim of wilding or spray her with bullets from AK-47s. Long before that, however, familiar as I am with her constitution, I suspect she will get up and simply walk away, negotiating a path back to the sorority house. She will decline from reporting the accident to the authorities, she will tell her sisters the cycle was stolen while she had it parked somewhere and I will miraculously become the property of the world’s most desirable woman, who will keep the cycle for lack of knowing whom to return it to.
As far as the chauffeur is concerned, he deserves to be abandoned, if not die, for no other reason than his reckless, irresponsible driving, though I grant that his incompetence in motoring has resulted in my present blissful circumstance.
I, in the meantime, have more important matters to attend to. I am conveying the very essence of Helen Flanner to the nearest phone booth, wherever that is, and hopefully the battered cycle will not fall apart and the destination will remain elusive.
Helen is my favorite breed of bicycle rider. She’s a slider.
Who would have guessed that she would think of sex at a time like this, but perhaps Helens brush with death has activated some animal mechanism couched within her subconscious. In any event, as she pedals blindly along, she leans forward, her torso parallel to the street below, and begins sliding her bare crotch up and down my leather expanse, her vaginal juices churning, her erectile tissue vibrating, as small, helpless noises escape from her throat.
Her tongue dances hungrily in the air and the muscles in her back tense as her pumping legs swirl with adrenalin and her clitoris stiffens.
A wonderful moisture coats me as Helen’s head lolls back and she moans uncontrollably.
First there was Denise Shockton. When that relationship ended I was afraid life was over.
Then there were hordes of Tri Delts, and they were my rebirth. What will tomorrow bring? Who knows. Who cares for at this moment I have Helen, fabulous and famous Helen Flanner, with her fluids and smells and mintuscule hairs and skin textures enveloping me, becoming one with me, making me a trusty bicycle seat secure and complete.
There were a few reasons we liked “Firing the Maid” enough to make it a runner-up in the short story contest. It is nicely written the prose crisp and alive, the characters interesting and humorous, the dialogue incredibly believable. But first and foremost the sex scene is as hot as hell! Better turn up the air conditioning and mix an icy, frothy pi a colada before starting this one, friends. E.L.
“Listen to that racket!” Karen cried, angrily tugging the comb through her freshly washed blonde hair. “Don’t you hear it?” she demanded, glaring at her husband in her dressing-table mirror.
“Of course I hear it,” he muttered absently from the bed, not looking up from his book.
“It’s eleven-thirty at night and she’s down there in her jammies, watching reruns of ‘Star Trek’ with the television on full blast! How are we supposed to sleep through that? She has to go, Frank! That god damned Jamaican bitch has got to go!”
“So fire her ass,” Frank said, momentarily glancing up, slightly irritated by the interruption.
“Frank,” she wheedled.
“What?” He sighed and reluctantly put down the book.
“I can’t fire her,” Karen declared plaintively, turning to face him.
He grimaced, resignedly dog-eared a page and set the book on the nightstand. “Why the hell not?” he asked in quiet exasperation.
“I just can’t. You do it.”
“Oh, no!” He vehemently shook his head. “Now Karen, I told you when you hired her that managing her was going to be your responsibility. You wanted a maid? Fine. I agreed that you needed help with the house if you were going to make a go of selling real estate. At the time I thought you were talking about a once-a-week cleaning lady, but you hired a live-in maid. OK. I didn’t object. I didn’t say a word. But the deal was that you had to supervise her and manage her yourself. That was the agreement. I’ve got an office full at people to manage. That’s what pays her wages. I’ll be damned if I’m going take on the same duties at home. When I come home I want to leave that sort of thing behind and relax. Now we agreed on that in the beginning.”
“I know, I know. But firing Jean just isn’t going to be that easy for me,” Karen declared helplessly.
“Firing people isn’t easy for anyone unless you happen to be a sadist,” he informed her, a little condescendingly, “but it’s part of management. If you hire them and they don’t work out, you have to be prepared to fire them.”
“I know, but Frank, this is complicated,” she whined, screwing up her pretty face into a Greek tragedy mask.
“How so?” he reluctantly asked, his patience wearing thin.
“Well, Jean really hasn’t done anything bad enough that I can point to and say, ‘Look at that! You’re fired!’”
“Oh, bullshit!” he scoffed and picked up his book again.
“No, she really hasn’t. She’s lazy, but she’s very clever. Every time I tell her to do something, she gives me a pretty ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ and then proceeds to do a half-assed job of it. How can I fire her if she does what she’s told?”
“Oh, c’mon,” he groaned, laying down the book again. “That’s just silly rationalization. If you really want to get rid of her, then anything you don’t like is cause enough. You just pick out something and fire her. It doesn’t matter whether it makes sense or not. You don’t have to justify it to some labor relations board,”
“Frank!” she begged looking like she might cry.
“Forget it!” he said, knowing she was faking. “Besides. I have no reason to fire her. I’ve got clean clothes all the time, and I like having bacon and eggs every morning. This is the first time since our honeymoon that I can get out of bed and look forward to a decent breakfast. It’s also kind of quaint having it served by a waitress in pajamas. She has so many buttons missing it’s like having your own topless restaurant.”
“She does have a good body,” Karen conceded absently.
“Uh-huh,” Frank agreed. “Well, not any nicer than yours, of course,” he quickly added, seeing her expression, “and you have the face to go with it.”
“Oh, thanks!” she declared icily. “That’s why you won’t do it for me, isn’t it? You want to get into her little body!” she accused. “I’ve seen you look at her!”
“Karen, for Christ’s sake! I’ve never made the slightest pass at her!”
“Well, it’s a good thing. You’d just get your male vanity slapped down,” she informed him.
“You think so?” he asked, pretending complete indifference.
“Of course! Why would a good-looking, twenty-year-old girl be interested in a thirty-five-year-old man?” she asked, with a touch of contempt in her voice.
He wanted to respond with a few examples that would prove his desirability to younger women, but restrained himself and, with a snort, went back to his book.
She glared at him for a short moment, and then went back to combing her blonde hair, her brows knit in concentration. A small smile began to play around the corners of her mouth. Suddenly, laying down the comb, she swung around and faced him.
“Frank, dear,” she cooed seductively.
“Yes?” He grudgingly looked up.
“I have a sporting proposition for you, dear.”
He put down his book.
“Now listen to this,” she directed. “I want to get rid of Jean, but I don’t want to have to fire her. You’d like to make a pass at her. No, don’t interrupt,” she stopped his denial. “I know you would. Well, let’s both get what we want,” she proposed.
“What are you talking about?”
“You make your pass, and then she’ll quit! You get to grab one of those big tits, and I get rid of her!” Karen triumphantly explained.
He stared at her. “What are you saying? You want me to make a pass at Jean?”
“Oh, come now, don’t pretend you’ve never made a pass at anyone before. You’ve not only made passes, but apparently you’ve even completed a few. Let’s see. Last year there was the little red-headed secretary at the Christmas party, and before that there was someone named Carol, and before that “
“All right, all right” he quickly conceded. “You don’t have to drag all that up again! So I’m not shocked at the idea. But I find it a little hard to believe that you really want me to do it.”
“Frank, I’m serious,” she declared with grim conviction. “She’s not worth a damn as a housekeeper, and I want to get rid of the bitch. If you’re not going to help me out and fire her, then the least you can do is make a pass at her so she’ll quit!”
“You really mean that?”
“Yes, I really do!”
He sat up and studied her. “Now let me get this straight. You think that if I make a serious pass at Jean, she’ll quit right on the spot and you won’t have to fire her.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, there’s a major flaw in your plan,” he informed her.
“What’s that?”
“You assume she’ll be outraged, slap my face, pack her bags and tramp out the front door. What happens if, instead, she flops on her backside and spreads her legs?”
“She won’t,” Karen said confidently.
“But what if she does?” he persisted.
“Then you fuck her,” she said simply.
He stared at her in disbelief. “I fuck her?”
“Of course. That’s the bet. If I win, she slaps your face and leaves. If you win, you fuck her. That’s the bet.”
After looking at her for a moment, he smiled and sneered, “Sure! Sure!”
She held up her hand. “I swear to God I won’t say a word.”
“You won’t hold it against me?” he demanded, incredulously.
“Nope. How can I do that? I’m trying to talk you into it. Besides, you won’t succeed, so there won’t be anything to forgive,” she added confidently.
“But assuming I do succeed?”
“I told you. In that unlikely event, you fuck her. I promise I’ll never say a word about it. Cross my heart and hope to die.” She solemnly made the motions.
Frowning deeply, he continued to study her, unconvinced.
“Well, just for the sake of argument, let’s say that instead of slapping my face, she’s receptive and I screw her. That doesn’t get you anyplace. She’s still here, except that now I get something more exciting than bacon and eggs every morning for breakfast.”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Karen declared emphatically. “I said you could fuck her. That’s one fuck and only one fuck. There will be no seconds. She’ll be gone!”
“I don’t get it. You expect me to fuck her and then fire her?” he demanded. “That’s your price for the fuck? You expect me to lay her and then pull up my pants and say, ‘Sorry, Jean. Your performance wasn’t good enough. You’re fired?’ I’m not going to do that!”
“No. You fuck her and then I’ll fire her.”
He looked at her, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I catch you,” she quickly explained. “Look. Let’s say you’re right and I’m wrong. Let’s say she responds,” Karen said, her voice betraying her excitement. “How much time do you think it will take you to get her on her backside, as you so graphically put it?”
“I don’t know. Depends on the circumstances. If I get her alone, with no interruptions, maybe half an hour. Why?”
“I’m coming to that. OK. You go down there now and do your thing. If, in thirty minutes, I don’t hear her come running up the stairs to her room “
“Hold on!” he interrupted in shocked surprise. “Just a god damned minute! You expect me to do this now? Right now?”
“Why not? You said you wanted the right circumstances. These are ideal. She’s down there in the dark in your favorite jammies. Anyway, as I was saying, you go down there and do your thing, and if I don’t hear her come running up the stairs in half an hour to pack her stuff, as I’m sure she will, I’ll know that she was receptive instead of outraged. I’ll give you another fifteen minutes to finish up, and then I’ll come quietly down the stairs and discover the two of you in some sort of postcoital pose. You have to make sure I find that. I’ll throw a jealous fit and demand that she leave immediately. See? Either way it works! Whether she slaps your face or spreads her legs, either way she’ll be out of here in less than an hour!”
He stared at her like he’d discovered an imposter posing as his wife. “I can’t believe you’re serious!”
“I am! You don’t have to look at me like that. It’s a great plan.” she said with pride.
He threw up his hands “Well,” he began hesitantly, and then said in a rush, “I don’t know if I can screw her, I mean I’m not sure I can get an erection if I know you’re going to come leaping out of the shadows any minute to discover us!”
“Frank! For Christ’s sake! You’re a stud! You’ve always been able to get it up anyplace, anytime. Remember the time we did it between the shelves in the public library? And the time I went down on you in a phone booth? You can do it! I know you can! Now stop being a wimp! Get off your ass and get down there! Her program is going to be over in a few minutes.”
“I’m not a wimp!’ he angrily informed her. “OK! By God, if that’s what you want you got it!” He swung himself off the bed, jammed his feet into his slippers and jerked on his robe. At the door he paused, turned back to face her and announced dramatically. “All right, Karen! I’m going! This is your last chance to stop it!” he warned.
“Go!” she ordered. “Look, I know it’s a little crazy, but it’s a good plan and I’d do damn near anything at this point to get rid of her. Besides.” she added salaciously, “this way at least one of us may get some use out of her! Now go!”
He shrugged. “All right I just wanted to be sure. If you insist. I’ll go fuck the maid. Hell,” he added with a smile, “like my mother always used to say, ‘Marriage requires some sacrifice.’ Wish me luck,” he directed.
“Screw that!” she laughed with suppressed excitement. “I’ll wish me luck!”
“Whatever you want.” He smiled, gave her a conspiratorial wink and went out, softly closing the door behind him.
Once outside the bedroom door, his bravado was replaced by nervousness. He wasn’t at all sure what Jean’s reaction would be. Maybe Karen was right. Maybe he would get his face slapped. He paused at the top of the stairs to calm himself.
When he had himself under control and his confidence level up again, he started down the stairs.
Reaching the bottom, he stopped and peered into the dark living room. In the light from the TV he saw Jean in her pajamas, sitting there, bent forward, intently watching an old episode of “Star Trek.” Her light brown skin had a greenish tinge.
“How’s the program, Jean?” he asked with false heartiness, letting her know she was no longer alone.
She glanced up, startled. As she moved he noted her full breasts swinging against the thin fabric of her pajama top. “Oh. Mister, you scared me! The program’s very good. Very exciting. Why aren’t you asleep?” she demanded as an afterthought. Her voice was spiced with a Jamaican accent he found extremely erotic.
“Too many worries. Couldn’t sleep. Besides,” he added with a grin, “the thought of you down here in your pajamas was keeping me awake.”
She gave him a quick smile before returning her attention to the television.
“Since the program is good, I think I’ll get a drink and join you.”
He went quickly to the kitchen and within two minutes was back with a double shot of vodka for himself and very strong gin and tonic for her. He wasn’t too sure about her drinking preferences, but had noticed a steady evaporation in the gin bottle since her arrival.
“Here Jean, I brought you a drink,” he said. He handed it to her and sat down next to her on the couch.
She glanced at him in mild surprise, and then returned her full attention to the program. Absently sipping the drink, she said, “Oh, gin. I like that. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Frank said and, as casually as possible, put his arm behind her, resting it on the back of the sofa. She appeared not to notice.
Pretending to watch the program, he studied her surreptitiously. She really wasn’t bad looking. Her mouth was perhaps a little too full by Hollywood standards, but it was very sensual. The rest of her features were good, and her body was great. The pajama top with the missing buttons gaped open as she leaned intently forward watching the screen, and one of those full breasts was so exposed he could see most of the purple nipple.
“You know, if you ever want a drink, just tell me. I certainly want to keep you happy,” he whispered. He moved his arm from the back of the couch to her shoulder and patted it affectionately.
He squeezed her shoulder gently and attempted to draw her toward him. She didn’t budge. She just sat there, staring at the television.
He eased closer to her until they were thigh to thigh, and then tried to pull her toward him again. She not only didn’t move but, without looking up from the set, motioned him away like he was a distracting insect.
He would have quit right there and gone to bed if it hadn’t been for Karen. How the hell was he going to face her? He could just imagine the jeers and sarcasm. He couldn’t take that! All right. The only thing left was to proceed to the point where Jean couldn’t possibly ignore his advances.
He’d probably get slapped for his efforts but at least that was part at the plan. Fortunately, the goddamned program was about over.
After taking a deep breath and gathering his courage, he slid his hand down her hunched back and up under her pajama top, lightly caressing her cool skin.
“Ummm. Feels good,” she murmured. “Rub there. Right there. Right where your hand is,” she commanded, still staring at the set.
There was nothing else he could do but obey and rub her back. It was crazy! In a few minutes Karen was going to come bursting in on them and find nothing more sinister going on than a back rub! If she could turn that into grounds for dismissing the girl, then she was a much better actress than he thought she was.
Summoning up all his courage and bracing himself for the coming slap, he placed his other hand on her knee and quickly moved it up the inside of her thigh to her crotch and held it there. His facial muscles were tight in preparation for the slap he knew was coming. He was only dimly aware of the warmth and the feel of coarse pubic hair through the light fabric of her pajamas.
Without looking up from the screen and the final moments of the program, she reached down, picked his hand up from her pubic area, put it on the couch between them and held it there.
Completely confused and not knowing what else to do, he relaxed his facial muscles and sat there with one hand on her back and the other trapped in hers and pretended to watch the last few moments of the program.
“Oh, that was good!” she pronounced enthusiastically when the commercial came on, turning to face him for the first time since he’d joined her on the couch. To his astonishment, she seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact he’d stuck his hand in her crotch.
“That’s one of my favorite shows!” she declared. She stood up, walked to the television, turned the sound down and then walked back. She stood in front of him, stretched languidly and then asked casually, “You want to fuck me now?”
He stared up at her in astonishment and finally got his wits together enough to nod.
“Good, I’d like to fuck you too, but not during my program!” she admonished. Then, after stretching again, she slowly peeled off her pajama top and dropped it on the floor. Looking at him, she undid the tie on the pajama bottoms, let them drop and stepped out of them. Smiling seductively, she slowly ran her hands over her naked body. “You like?” she asked, fondling her large, firm breasts.
“God yes!” he muttered.
She chuckled. “I know you like. I see you look. I let you look,” she laughed. “I’d let you see more, but Missy is around all the time. Is Missy asleep now?”
He nodded.
“Good! Now you look!” she ordered, and slowly turned around while he obediently stared at her naked body.
“You want to suck my tit?” she asked, holding out her breasts and stepping between his legs.
He nodded again, running his hands up her thighs.
“Good, I like my tit sucked!” she declared, and lowered one of her breasts to his mouth. He eagerly sucked and lightly nipped her large nipple, squeezing the rest of her breast with his hand. He could feel his erection growing.
“That’s nice,” she murmured above him. “Now feel my cunt,” she ordered. “Not during my program,” she scolded.
He did as he was told and, while continuing to suck her breast, ran his free hand up between her legs and lightly rubbed her coarse, tightly coiled pubic hair. Finding her vaginal lips, he eased his fingers inside and played with the opening and her clitoris. She groaned softly.
He felt his huge erection straining against his pajamas, the tip insistently poking its way through his fly.
Moaning louder, Jean suddenly knelt down in front of him, fumbled in his robe, grabbed his penis and eased its entire length out of his pajamas. “Oh. Nice cock!” she said, eyeing it and running her hand up and down its length. “You like suck suck?” she asked, sticking out her tongue, licking his cock and gently rubbing his balls while smiling at him suggestively.
“Yes’” he emphatically declared.
“Me too!” she said eagerly and quickly took his penis between her lips. She just mouthed it at first but then tightened her lips, pressed it hard against the top of her mouth with her tongue and slowly moved her head up and down in his lap. She took it all the way in until the tip was pressing against the back of her throat.
He instantly realized she was an expert. Karen was good but, by God, this girl was great! Thinking of Karen, he nervously wondered how much time he had left and glanced over at the foot of the stairs. He was shocked to see his wife standing there in the dark, watching them!
Good Lord! Don’t come in now! he silently begged. You promised! Please! Not yet! Don’t stop her yet! Wait! He glared at his wife and tried to communicate the plea telepathically.
Karen just stood there, barely visible. He took a hand off Jean’s head and surreptitiously waved his wife away.
She didn’t respond. He could hardly see her in the dim light, but she appeared to be just standing there, watching them with her hands clasped loosely in front of her. At least she hadn’t moved! Perhaps she’ll wait awhile, he thought with relief, and returned his concentration to the wonderful feelings Jean’s mouth created.
Glancing nervously at Karen again during a bright scene on the television, he saw that her robe was open and her hands weren’t clasped. They were underneath her short nightgown, working feverishly at her vagina. She was masturbating! His wife was standing there masturbating!
He lost his fear of being disturbed too soon. Watching Karen masturbating inflamed his own lust. He grabbed Jean’s head and repeatedly forced it all the way down on his penis. She took his entire cock in her mouth and moaned in delight. She slid one hand between her legs and started fingering herself and moaning louder.
Whenever a bright scene came on the TV, Frank watched his wife working her fingers in and out of her vagina and rammed his cock into the girl’s mouth, feeling the orgasm beginning to grow and pulse within him.
Karen suddenly moved and, for one terrible moment, he thought she was coming in to “discover” them but, instead, she took off her robe, dropped it on the floor, then pulled off her nightgown and tossed it aside. She very quietly walked into the living room, one hand still caressing her clitoris, her nude body lit by the flickering light from the television. Stopping behind Jean, she stood there for a moment and watched the girl’s head bobbing up and down in his lap. Frank, who had been watching her and apprehensively holding his breath, finally breathed again. She knelt down close behind Jean, reached around the girl and fondled her breasts.
Jean, startled, suddenly released his cock and looked over her shoulder in surprise. “Missy?” she asked in amazement. “You’re here? You want to feel me? You want to fuck me too?”
“Yes,” Karen replied in a throaty whisper, still pulling at the girl’s nipples.
“OK,” Jean quickly agreed. “I’d like that! You do my cunt while I suck him,” she directed, “and then you and me lick lick. OK?”
“OK,” Karen agreed. Jean, to Frank’s relief, immediately returned her mouth to his cock.
Karen obediently slid one hand under Jean’s ass and eased her fingers into her vagina. She reached around with the other and fondled the girl’s clitoris.
Jean moaned in delight and worked her head up and down on Frank’s cock. He felt like the life was being sucked out of him. He tried to hold back and enjoy it, but the sensations, plus seeing his normally sedate wife fingering another woman’s vagina, was just too erotic. The force built and built until it couldn’t be contained and, grabbing Jean’s hand, he forced her all the way down on his cock, held it there and blasted into her throat. He bent over her, groaning with each burst until he was finished. He was sucked dry, and fell back on the couch exhausted.
“You come good, Mister!” Jean congratulated him, licking off the last of his sperm. “Taste good too,” she smiled, licking her lips and releasing him. She turned to Karen. “You finger-fuck good too, Missy. I come one time. Now we both come!” she promised and, embracing Karen, pulled her down on the carpet.
She lay Karen on her back in front of the television and, bending over her, kissed her, easing her tongue into Karen’s mouth and, at the same time, fondling one large breast and kneading the nipple. Karen felt for Jean’s breast and did the same.
Pulling back for a moment, Jean asked, “You do this before, Missy? You ever lick lick with another lady?”
“No,” Karen admitted in a whisper.
“OK. I did, so I’ll show you how to lick lick with another lady,” she promised generously. “You do what I do, OK?”
“OK,” Karen agreed. “But hurry!” she begged.
Jean chuckled. “Just wait, Missy. I make it good for you,” she promised and, getting up on her hands and knees, moved around to Karen’s head and crawled over her until her head was over Karen’s breast. Jean lowered her own breast to Karen’s mouth, which was open and eager to receive it. Then she lowered her mouth to Karen’s breast and sucked it. Soon they were both moaning.
Frank, completely drained, watched almost disinterestedly from the couch as his wife nibbled and sucked the black girl’s breasts and had her own breasts sucked in return. However, when Karen suddenly reached back, grabbed the cheeks of Jean’s ass and urged her further down her body, he felt a surge of excitement and his cock suddenly started to rise again.
Jean looked back at Karen beneath her. “What? You ready for cunt now, Missy?” she asked, grinning wickedly.
“Yes! Please, yes!” Karen muttered.
Jean nodded. “Me too!” and crawled slowly across her, kissing her stomach all the way down until she was positioned over Karen’s vagina. She paused for a moment and then lowered her head and kissed it and then, sticking out her long tongue, licked it. Karen immediately bucked her hips up to meet the tongue and, at the same time, pulled Jean’s hips down around her face and drove her own tongue into the girl’s vagina. Soon they were both buried in each other, bucking and moaning.
Watching the black girl entwined with his wife, Frank was suddenly fully erect again. He stood up, took his cock out of his pajamas and walked over behind Jean’s beautiful ass, which was bouncing up and down on Karen’s mouth. He knelt by his wife’s head and tried to insert himself between them. Karen pushed Jean off her face, grabbed his cock, fitted it into the girl’s vagina and then quickly pulled her ass down again and licked both his cock and her clitoris as he thrust in and out.
After a few moments of thrashing and groaning, all three of them came. Frank, gasping for breath, slowly pulled out, crawled back to the couch and, leaning against it, sat there on the floor utterly exhausted. Jean rolled off Karen and lay still for a moment. Then she stood up, looked down at them, stretched and scratched her crotch. “That was damn good!” she pronounced. “Damn good fuck!” She smiled vibrantly at them.
Karen sat up, absently wiped off her face with her hands, clasped her knees and sat there in a daze.
“Was it alright for you, Missy?” Jean asked, picking up her pajamas.
“God yes!” Karen said gratefully, eyes brightening, coming alive and looking up. “It was the greatest I’ve ever had!”
“For me too,” Jean told her and patted Karen on the head. “You lick lick real good for first time! I come once very good before Mister fuck me. Next time you get lick licked and fucked and I just get lick lick. OK?”
Karen chuckled. “OK,” she agreed.
“You did good too, Mister,” she said. “You made it two times. That’s good. But next time we start earlier,” Jean ordered, carrying her pajamas and sauntering toward the stairs. “I have to get up early to make breakfast, and I don’t want to miss my program. Next time we start and finish before ‘Star Trek,’ OK?”
“OK,” Frank and Karen agreed in unison, watching as she walked up the stairs, carrying her pajamas and swaying her naked hips from side to side.
Frank smiled. “God. She’s something! How do you like that?” he muttered, shaking his head.
“Better!” Karen declared firmly, and then laughed. “Much better! In fact three orgasms better! That girl may not be able to dust, but she sure as hell can lick lick!”
Frank laughed. “She does a mean suck suck too. You had three?” he asked, surprised and a little jealous. He had never been able to give her more than two.
She nodded empathetically. “Three great ones! God, that really turned me on! Watching her eat you and then she and I eating each other and then you fucking her right in front of me! Right in my face! Christ, I could have come a dozen times! I’ve never been so aroused! I tell you, Frank, I was holding back. I thought for awhile I was going to have a heart attack! I really did! I hate to mention this, dear, but our sex life has been getting a little dull lately.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted, knowing better than to say more. “But I think the doldrums are behind us. We have a new entertainment director.”
“I guess so!” she chuckled.
“Well, I suppose three orgasms is some consolation,” he said, getting up and turning off the television.
“Consolation? For what?” she asked, as he helped her up.
“Well, things didn’t work out as you planned,” he explained, handing her the nightgown and robe.
“Didn’t work?” she repeated, slipping on her nightgown. “Oh, you mean getting rid of Jean.” She looked at him for a moment and then shrugged. “You’re right. Plan A didn’t work for shit,” she agreed indifferently, pulling on the robe. “But I guess I didn’t fully explain Plan B to you,” she added with a sly smile. “Believe me, Plan B worked just fine!”
Across the parched field of battle rode the King and his army. Following the setting sun, loudly singing of their glories, the victors passed over their enemies and left dust clinging to the twisted, bloodied corpses. They rode onward toward the castle to feast on suckling pig and drink sweet wine till even the leper girls looked good. Dusty mouths watered at the mention of wench and wine. They rode hard and fast, each wanting to be first, each wanting first pick.
He had other things on his mind. He had somewhere else to be. Upon reaching the castle, he bade farewell to the King and rode off into the darkening woods. He rode until the burning torches of the castle were no longer visible. He rode to his special place beneath the stars. Moving in a well-practiced fashion, the knight tethered his horse brushed and watered the animal before he even removed his helm.
The whispering stream beckoned as he undid the clasps that held his outer self. Bright as the rising sun, the armor fell to the ground. The defender was now naked, his body vulnerable to the edge and his soul exposed to those who were seeking. Stripped of his armor, the champion was of flesh and blood, and the flesh was found wanting. Stepping into the frigid mountain stream, his manhood retreated, seeking the warmth of the body. Using the leaves of a witch hazel bush that grew on the bank, he scrubbed the weeks fighting off his body.
He made ready a bed of dry and sweet moss, carefully woven and laced with scented lavender. All was ready to receive his guest. Wrapping his naked form in a fresh woolen blanket, he lay upon the bed.
Horrid visions of torture and death haunted his sleep. People, so many people, laughed as his nude body was stretched upon the ground. Sore, broken limbs were bound to wild stallions who eagerly waited for the signal to run and rip his life away. Looking up into the castle through blood-covered eyes he saw her, her ghostly white skin, hard erect nipples and blue eyes wide in terror. His last sight would be of her, bound to a cold marble pillar, being chastised by her husband, the King, the all-powerful ruler, who was never to be disobeyed by anyone. Including his wife.
The King looked down upon the wilted and broken form in the street and laughed. That was the signal the stallions waited for. The sudden beat of hooves tore at the knight’s ears as he tensed for death.
Sitting up with a jolt and shaking his head to clear the sleep, he saw an angel atop a gray horse.
“I was taught never to awaken a sleeping knight,” the angel whispered.
“For fear of disturbing a dream of heaven?”
“Nay. For fear that the knight is dreaming of battle and might mistake me for the enemy.”
“When one smells as sweet as you, that mistake could never be made,” he said as he extended his hand toward her.
The Queen did not move, only looked down upon the knight and smiled.
“I would think that the Queen’s champion should at least assist her down from her mount,” she said in a mockery of regal tone.
“Begging her royal majesty’s pardon, but I am quite naked under this blanket.”
The Queen became frustrated, put a finger to her red painted lips and whispered to her lover, “Please, these games are for the courts of Brittany, not Camelot. We risk our very lives meeting like this. Please, my love, let us share this forbidden joy while the night is still black.”
He never removed his eyes from hers as he rose slowly and let the blanket fall. He saw her hand drop off the rein and her tongue nervously lick her ruby red lips as the blanket came away. Walking to the front of the horse, the faithful champion tethered the animal to a tree. Stepping once again to her side, he saw her loveliness radiate in the soft moonlight. Golden blonde hair whispered in the summer’s breeze, soft round cheeks and ruby red lips called out loud to his blood.
Real passion was not something most knights were used to, yet he knew how to be gentle, and he knew how to please. He reached up for her and lifted the Queen off her saddle. Holding her closely to his body, he laid her upon the bed. A soft sigh escaped from her lips as she smelled the bouquet of lavender.
“My love, this was meant to be,” she said as she began to kiss the long scar that ran across his chest. Slowly she moved upward to his neck, nibbling lightly on his tight and hard skin.
He responded to her every touch. Waves of heat swept through his flesh as he continued to grow larger. The Queen was the master, and he knew that she would be the one to teach him, she would be the one he had to please. Their eyes met and locked. He knew what to do. Lifting the sheer linen dress over her head, he exposed those beautiful breasts, the smooth, flat stomach and the tangle of blonde hair between her legs.
They embraced under the setting moon, and the lovers kissed for the very first time. Slow and deliberate at first, their mouths opened to accept each other. With eyes closed, they saw with their hands. He caressed her breast, felt the silky nipples harden and heard the Queen’s moans.
Wanting to touch his flesh, the Queen slowly traced a soft line down his stomach with her hand. She stopped to run her fingers through the wiry hair at the base. Delicately, she wrapped her hand around his flesh and pulled downward to expose a pulsing, glistening head. The champion trembled at this new experience and was about to speak when she flickered her tongue across his nipple.
Like a woman possessed, she grabbed his flesh with both hands and softly growled to her lover, “We will experience the things we only dreamed about. Things practiced by savages in faraway places. Yes, Lancelot, we will truly relish this moment!”
No other word was spoken. Guinevere began licking the entire shaft of Lancelot’s manhood with abandon. She engulfed the straining head and then drew it out of her mouth, only to continue sucking on the veined shaft
Lancelot was completely at her mercy. His body seemed paralyzed, yet he felt wild sensations coursing through every part. His toes curled, his eyes watered as the Queen madly licked and sucked him. The champion’s heart skipped a beat, and the pressure begged to be released. He grabbed at her long hair, his fingers tangling in the satin locks, as he held his breath and exploded into the warm, wet mouth of the Queen.
He drew his Gwen to him and kissed her wildly on the lips, their saliva and his seed mingling in their mouths. He turned the Queen onto her stomach and began to trace her spine with his tongue. He stopped at the small of her back and returned slowly to her nape. Lancelot spent an eternity kissing her neck and caressing her round, soft ass. His manhood never withered. It was eager to be released again.
“My dearest Gwen, I have never loved anything so fully and so willingly before. Please let me feast on your beauty.”
The Queen slowly and teasingly rolled over onto her back. She spread her legs and offered him her body. Lancelot gently rubbed her inner thigh with one hand and her breast with his tongue. Her eyes glazed, she was ready to be consumed. The knight placed his hand between her pink folds and caressed each tender lip until it became swollen. Gwen’s juices glistened on his fingers as he spread her legs wider and placed them on his shoulders.
Lancelot buried his smooth face into her sweet flower and began to feast on its nectar. Gentle, short strokes along the innermost folds had Gwen bucking her hips wildly. He kissed and sucked on the hood of skin, and the Queen cried out in joy, calling out his name and telling him, “Kiss It! Suck it!” He had found the key. The secret of a women’s pleasure, the hidden spot.
The Queen’s cries grew louder and more intense. Lancelot became even more excited and quickened the pace. Guinevere removed her legs from his shoulders and grabbed his rock-hard shaft. She pulled him to her and directed him into her steaming nest.
“Please,” she moaned desperately. “Take me, my champion!”
Lancelot softly rubbed his flesh along the straining and parted lips between the Queen’s legs. The Queen was wet and ready to receive the lance. The knight placed the tip of his shaft into her warm flesh, feeling shivers flow down his spine. Slowly he advanced the attack. Inch by inch he slid his hot shaft into the Queen. The Queen’s eyes rolled and she arched her hips, enveloping his flesh.
The lovers moaned and screamed of love as they moved to some distant melody played by the gods. The champion kissed her neck and softly squeezed her white mounds. The Queen, with her legs about his back, urged her stallion on. The fury was building to a peak. Breaths were now gasps, and the strokes were now faster, The Queen bit into her lover’s neck, tugging his skin with her white teeth. They both came together in a torrent of emotion. The Queen sobbed and clutched onto the knight, kissing him gently on the cheek. Lancelot wept with his eyes closed, his face nestled beneath her golden hair. At this moment their past was but a distant dream. The two lovers who were kept apart by a cruel world where unknown creatures roamed in a land of make-believe. They fell asleep as they lay, neither wanting to move, neither wanting to wake and face the truth.
“It has finished,” said the old man, his words sharp and biting as they echoed off the stone walls.
“Go to them. Tell them that I know nothing about what has happened. Tell them that I still love them.”
“Arthur, it must never be known by anyone that you, the King, allowed this to happen,” said the old man.
“Merlin, they are two of the most important people in my life. How could I destroy their lives without destroying my own? How could I begrudge my Queen the love that I could not give her?” The King looked over to the pair of white doves on the mantle. The same white doves that he
Arthur Pendragon, King of all Britain had given to his wife on their wedding day.
“My friend, we are men of vision. Love and women are not part of our existence. Indeed, a King must have a Queen, but only to produce heirs. A King’s true love must be his kingdom, not a wife. Your wife is but a bit selfish in her pursuit of love. She should have sacrificed her needs, just as you have done.
“When we found her to be barren, it was only in the kingdom’s interest that your seed was saved for another. My lord and liege, it is not your fault that you cannot provide for Guinevere’s needs. Perhaps, when you meet in the place of peace, you once again can be her husband. Now you must be King and decide their fate.”
“Merlin, you old crow, you always ramble on with these long speeches and never give me a straight answer,” the King said sharply, banging his fist on the round table before him.
“That is because you are the King. The King must decide, not a crow.”
“Then, by my command, Merlin, you must go to the forest and tell them of my love. Tell them that they are henceforth banished from Camelot and all royal properties. They are ordered into a vow of silence. They must never reveal their true selves to anyone but God and his disciples. The Queen Guinevere will be accepted into the care of the Sisters of Kent. Lancelot du Lake will be stripped of his holy knighthood and thus disgraced in the eyes of the Knights of the Round Table. Tell them of my will, Merlin,” said the King as tears rolled onto the shiny round table. “Tell them of my love.”
The boat deck was cold and silent when Jake finally made his way out of the crowded corridors of the ocean liner. He looked around frantically for any signs of lifeboats being lowered away. Every davit on either side of the enormous ship had been emptied of its contents. He looked at his watch. It was nearly five minutes past two in the morning almost two and a half hours since the R.M.S. Titanic had struck an iceberg.
Fast asleep in his cabin, Jake hadn’t even felt the collision, which ripped a three hundred-foot gash in the starboard bow at twenty minutes to midnight. Commotion in the corridor outside of his cabin woke Jake up with a start some thirty minutes later. Putting his foot to the floor, he noticed that the ship was listing towards the bow slightly. He wondered why. Growing alarmed, he hastily dressed and rushed from his second class cabin to investigate what had happened.
The scene in the hallways of the doomed ocean liner was chaotic. Jake ran from person to person asking what had happened, only to be told a thousand different stories. One claimed that the ship had run aground on the shores of Newfoundland, while others were certain that they had collided with another ship. Finally, a man placed a jagged piece of ice the size of a pocket watch into Jake’s hand and informed him that the ship had hit an iceberg and that there were chunks of ice all over the forecastle deck. Jake stared at the ice in disbelief.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” stuttered Jake, “The Titanic’s unsinkable. Everybody knows that!”
“Tell that to the people in the lifeboats,” said the other man coldly. He smirked at Jake for an instant, then moved on. As Jake looked at the ice, he had the uncanny feeling that he was being watched. Looking up, he noticed a woman staring from her stateroom at the ice in his hand. Though she only had the door open a foot or so, Jake immediately recognized who she was.
Since leaving the English port of Southampton four days earlier, Jake had noticed her as she made her way to the dining saloon on “D” deck each morning for breakfast. She appeared to be about his age, twenty-seven. With very little to do on the voyage, Jake found himself sitting in the second class library for hours at a time gazing at the mysterious woman as she read French fashion magazines. She was very tall and exceedingly slender. Every so often she would run her fingers dreamily through her long brown hair and gaze out of the portholes at the unending ocean. She seemed melancholy for some reason which Jake was powerless to understand. He couldn’t imagine how such an extraordinarily attractive woman could ever be sad about anything, being blessed as she was by her face and figure. More than once she would look around the room and their eyes would meet for an instant. Her light blue eyes seemed to give off an illumination all their own. Each time, though, Jake would look away. He had a wife waiting for him in New York and, although the marriage had been a stormy one, he wasn’t altogether prepared to launch into a shipboard affair with this woman he found so beautiful.
Jake studied her face as she looked at the ice in his hand. She was afraid, just as he was. She had evidently dressed quickly, forgetting to button her blouse completely. It was parted slightly and offered a partial view of small but firm breasts, which Jake noticed were unencumbered by a bra.
After looking at him for a moment, she closed the door slowly. Realizing that he might be wasting precious time, Jake tossed the ice aside and made his way through throngs of confused passengers as he headed for the upper deck.
One thing led to another, and it took him nearly an hour before he finally reached his destination. At every turn, someone had needed help finding a life jacket, or the path had been blocked by passengers. When Jake eventually walked out onto the deck, he found that only women and children were being allowed in the lifeboats. An officer assured him that the men would be allowed to board once all the women had been taken off the ship. Jake looked towards the front of the ship. The slanting decks made it obvious that the mighty Titanic was sinking hard.
Jake ran below deck again, determined to retrieve a few of his valuables from his stateroom before going back to the deck. As he passed the mysterious woman’s room, he had the sudden impulse to find out if she had made it to one of the lifeboats or not. His heart beat heavily in his chest as he rapped on her door. After a few seconds, it opened and the woman looked out. She gazed at him in surprise.
“Hello. My name is Jake.” His voice nearly cracked.
The woman smiled slightly. “Mine is Yvonne,” she said in a soft voice. Her accent was distinctly French, lyrical and gentle in tone exactly as he had imagined it to be.
“You need to get on deck. They’re lowering the lifeboats!”
Yvonne opened the door a little wider. The bright lights in the corridor made it possible for Jake to see her nipples pressed tightly against the sheer fabric of her blouse.
“It’s pointless, Jake,” she said calmly. “The Titanic’s lifeboats can only hold a third of the people onboard.”
Jake paused. “You have to at least try, don’t you?”
Yvonne undid the latch on her door and indicated for him to come in. Once Jake was inside, she shut the door completely. She looked at him and smiled.
“I’ve seen you look at me all week…in the dining room and the library. I know that look. I know it very well. Do you want me?” she purred, running her hand lightly down his arm. “There’s no time for modesty, Jake, not here, not now. Tell me.”
Jake nodded, unable to answer. Yvonne kissed him suddenly. Their mouths opened and her tongue found his. She guided his hand to her breasts and rubbed them over her erect nipples. Undoing the buttons, Yvonne opened her blouse and enticed Jake with a view of her naked breasts. He grabbed them excitedly and began to fondle each nipple, causing Yvonne to moan with desperate pleasure. Suddenly Jake stopped and withdrew his hands.
“No!” he shouted. “We have to get to the boats or swim for it or something!”
“The water is freezing. I will not freeze to death bobbing back and forth in the ocean in the middle of the night. I won’t listen to others dying in the water around me as I await my turn. I can think of a better way to spend the final moments we have. Can’t you?” As she said this, she ran her hand between her legs and began to masturbate through the fabric of her skirt.
Jake watched for a moment, captivated by her display of wanton desire.
“I . . . I have to try to get off the ship. Will you come with me? Please?” he said quietly.
Yvonne moved closer to him. “No, I won’t. You must do what you feel you have to. But be back before it is too late! I think we can make it worth our while.”
Jake kissed her again and left the stateroom. Yvonne smiled knowingly and began to remove her clothes.
The lifeboats were gone. Jake shuddered as he looked back and forth over the deck. Far off, on either side of the ship, the tiny white lifeboats looked like dots bobbing up and down on the surface of the frigid ocean waters. There were more people on deck than before. They walked around in a confused daze as they tried to come to terms with the fact that they were going to die very soon.
Jake made his way below deck and back towards Yvonne’s stateroom. The listing of the bow increased and Jake found himself using the walls for support. Passengers all around him cried and hugged one another or stood silently staring out of portholes as the water came closer.
Yvonne’s door was unlocked. Cautiously, Jake opened the door, half expecting her to be gone. Yvonne lay on the bed. She pulled the sheet away to show him she was nude.
“I knew you would be back,” she whispered as he climbed on the bed.
“I want to make love to you,” Jake whispered back.
“I don’t want you to make love to me, Jake,” she returned, “I want you to fuck me. Making love is something you spend hours doing. We don’t have that luxury. That’s why I want you to fuck me. No words of love, no soft, gentle caresses, just take me, just fuck my cunt!”
Jake needed no further urging. He moved his hands over her body hungrily. She was already wet, the soft lips parted slightly. He buried his head in her crotch and began to lick the entire length of her vagina. She shuddered in orgasm, pumping her juices into Jake’s mouth.
Suddenly bottles, combs, and other assorted items began to fall off the vanity onto the floor. Distant crashes began to be heard all through the ship. People began screaming somewhere far down the hallway. Yvonne lifted Jake’s face from between her legs. “We don’t have much time!” she said, reaching for his cock and caressing it in her hands. She leaned forward and placed the entire length of his penis into her mouth. Jake’s head rolled back in surprise and pleasure and he tried very hard not to notice how quickly the ship was sinking.
Yvonne took her mouth away from Jake’s penis, lay on her back and spread her legs seductively. She shoved a forefinger into her vagina, then offered it to Jake. He took her finger and licked it slowly.
“Fuck me now, Jake, like you wanted to when you saw me in the library. Ram your cock into me. Fuck me harder than you’ve ever fucked a woman before.”
The room began to come alive with moving furniture as the waters of the Atlantic swept over the bow of the Titanic and the giant ocean liner sank deeper into the sea, preparing to make its two-mile plunge through the cold, black water to the ocean floor. An end table and all its contents came crashing down next to the bed. Fortunately for the two lovers, the headpost of Yvonne’s bed was right up against the wall facing the bow, so it had no place to move to. Jake took a perverse pleasure in the thought that the odd angle of the room would allow him to penetrate Yvonne more easily.
“Now!” urged Yvonne. “Enter me now!”
Jake slid his penis into her as far as he could until his testicles bounced against the firm cheeks of her derriere. Yvonne groaned and muttered something in French as she began playing with her own nipples. Jake took a deep breath and began to thrust in and out of her vagina.
“Fuck me harder! We have so little time, Jake!” panted Yvonne as her hips began to work in unison with his thrusts.
Jake leaned forward and kissed her deeply. As their tongues intertwined, the lights in the stateroom blinked off for a second, blinked on, then went out for good. A sound like that of thunder began. It increased in volume as the Titanic’s twenty-nine massive boilers slid out of their holding beds and crashed into bulkheads three decks below.
In the blackness that enveloped the stateroom, Yvonne grabbed Jake’s buttocks and pushed him in deeper. The thundering sound grew deafening as he pounded into her with all the intensity he could muster.
Suddenly, ocean water blasted into the stateroom through the porthole which Yvonne had neglected to close completely earlier in the evening. The mist from the gushing water settled on the two lovers and they shuddered from the coldness of the sea waters.
“Don’t stop!” screamed Yvonne in the darkness. “Shoot your come inside of me before it’s too late!”
Jake slammed even harder into her. He dropped sweat onto her belly as he reached an orgasm.
“I’m coming!” he shouted hoarsely.
“Yes!” screamed Yvonne with great pleasure. Jake collapsed in her arms, panting heavily.
The freezing ocean water began to fill the stateroom rapidly. Yvonne, however, took little notice as she savored the feeling of Jake buried to the hilt inside of her. She kissed her lover tenderly as the ocean liner began its plunge through the depths to the bottom of the sea.
“Jesus! What a catch!” Gregg happily exclaimed, leaning forward in the lawn chair and staring excitedly at the small television set on the patio table. “Did you see that?” he demanded. “Christ, he must have been six feet in the air!”
“Yeah, but he didn’t come down in bounds,” John, in the other chair in front of the television, hopefully declared.
“Bullshit! Watch the replay. See that? Both feet down and in! First and goal on the five! You can kiss that twenty goodbye, John,” Gregg said, leaning back and contentedly rubbing his stomach.
“The game isn’t over yet,” John grimly pointed out. “Still have over a quarter to go. Hand me a beer, will you?”
Gregg reached into the ice chest by his chair and felt around. “Ah shit’” he muttered. “Gail!” he called plaintively toward the two women sunning by the pool. “We need some more beer! There’s another six pack in the fridge,” he added helpfully before returning his full attention to the TV.
“My master’s voice,” Gail announced, sitting up. She adjusted her bikini top over her large breasts and fluffed out her long dark hair with her fingers.
“Let them get their own,” Sandy advised drowsily, still laying on her stomach in the sun. “It’ll be the only exercise they’ll get all day.”
“Gregg get his own?” Gail scoffed. “He never eats or drink anything unless I hand it to him.”
Sandy rolled over and sat up. “Well, he’ll never learn to feed himself if you keep fetching and carrying for him,”
Gail nodded in agreement but shrugged helplessly. “You want another gin and tonic?” she asked, picking up the empty glasses from the small table.
“Sure. Two is my limit and this will make four, but what the hell? Might as well be drunk and bored rather than just bored.”
“That’s my girl,” Gail smiled. She stopped for a moment, pulled her bikini bottom out of the crack of her nicely shaped buttocks and tried unsuccessfully to spread the tiny piece of fabric over her cheeks.
Sandy, who was watching, smiled understandingly and closed her eyes.
When Gail returned with the drinks she declared, “God, I hate football!”
“Did you arrive in time to save them from dying of thirst?”
“It was close, but I made it. I think they’ll live.”
“I don’t suppose either one of them said thank you,” Sandy guessed.
Gail snorted. “Thank you? They didn’t even look up. Someone had just scored.”
“Well, it wasn’t John!” Sandy muttered. “He hasn’t scored in a month!”
Gail glanced at her with interest. “I thought I was the only football widow. Saturday Gregg plays golf and mows the lawn. Sunday he watches the games. At this time of year, every time I ask him to do anything the answer is always the same: After the game.”
“That’s the same line I always get,” Sandy said, laying back down. “Of course there never is any after the game. By that time he’s too exhausted. You’d think he played all four quarters himself!”
Gail chuckled. “Gregg is exactly the same.”
“So my husband didn’t even try to get a look at your tits when you delivered the beer?”
“Nope. 1 almost dumped them in the ice chest along with the beer but he didn’t take his eyes off the set. I might just as well have been the pizza delivery boy for all the attention I got from those two,” Gail claimed, drinking.
“Well, that shows how far John has fallen. During the summer when we were over here his eyes were glued to your tits.”
“Really?” Gail asked, pretending surprise. “I never noticed John staring at me,” she lied.
“You’re the only one, dear,” Sandy informed her. “I thought the bounce had him hypnotized.”
Gail laughed and shrugged. “I guess we’re even then because Gregg was certainly fascinated by your ass and your boobs,” she claimed, looking over at Sandy’s slightly smaller but nicely shaped breasts.
“He was?” Sandy asked with interest.
“You should have appreciated the attention while it lasted,” Gail told her, “because I don’t think either one of them would notice now if we were both topless.”
Sandy chuckled and lay down. “You really don’t think they’d notice?” she asked after a moment.
Gail shrugged. “They’re so engrossed in that silly game that we could dance around the yard stark naked and they wouldn’t pay any attention unless we got in front of the television. Then they’d just tell us to move.”
Sandy suddenly sat up. “Why don’t we try it, Gail?” she proposed.
“Try what? Dancing around the backyard?” Gail laughed.
“No. Take off our tops and see if they notice.” She reached behind and started to unhook her bikini top.
“Sandy, what are you doing?” Gail demanded, chuckling nervously and watching her. “Are you drunk?”
“A little. So what?” She pulled off her top and tossed it on the grass.
“Sandy, what if John and Gregg see you?” Gail hissed under her breath, looking nervously from the firm, jutting breasts to the two men in front of the television.
“John’s seen them before. He isn’t interested. Gregg may be interested, but he’s too involved in the game to look.”
“But what if he does?” Gail insisted.
“Then he gets a thrill, but he won’t. That’s the whole point. You say he wants to see my tits, well here they are!” She defiantly stuck out her chest. “We give them each a thrill they won’t get because they’re both more interested in that goddamn game than they are in us! C’mon!” she ordered. “Give John a thrill he won’t get. Take off your top.”
Gail scowled uncertainly but then laughed, reached behind and undid the strap. She slid it off, but looked doubtfully down at her breasts and then at Sandy.
“If you say so.” Gail smiled doubtfully and self-consciously.
Sandy looked over at the males. “They aren’t paying the slightest attention to us. By God, John would kill himself if he knew what he was missing! “
“Well, don’t tell him!” Gail ordered.
“Why not? I think we ought to take off our bottoms too,” she proposed.
“Sandy! We can’t do that!” Gail declared, sitting up. “What if Gregg and John do look over here?”
“That’s the idea. I’m going to take mine off!” Sandy announced decisively. She lifted her bottom, pulled down her bikini and tossed it aside.
Gail stared at her, half in shock.
“Your turn,” Sandy proudly announced.
“Jesus, Sandy! You are drunk!”
“Just a little. C’mon, don’t be a chickenshit. Get it off!” Sandy ordered. “I want to be able to tell John that you were laying here stark naked. I want to see him drool and cry. Take it off!”
Gail laughed nervously and threw up her hands in defeat. Reluctantly, she lifted her hips and slid the bottom off. “There! Now what?” she asked self-consciously, lying back down.
“I guess we ought to put some lotion on those big tits of yours before they burn,” Sandy said casually.
“You’re right,” Gail admitted, starting to sit up.
“No. Just lay back,” Sandy ordered, pushing her back down. “I’ll do it.” She dumped some oil in her hands and rubbed it on Gail’s breasts.
“Sandy,” she objected when she felt the other woman’s hands on her breasts.
“What? I’m just rubbing on some suntan lotion, for God’s sake,” Sandy innocently claimed, lightly rubbing the breasts with her oily hands.
“But what if they see us?”
“So what?” Sandy asked, rubbing harder. “Haven’t you watched any of those dirty tapes those two are always renting and exchanging? Most of them have some scenes of women playing with other women. It must be a big turn-on to men. In fact, I know it is. John admitted to me once that he wants to watch me make love with another woman.”
“Really?” Gail asked, shocked.
“Yes,” Sandy confirmed in a hoarse whisper, still rubbing the oil on Gail’s breasts. She cupped them at the base and then slowly slid her hands up to the nipples. She could see the large nipples growing. “He wants to watch while I lick another woman between the legs. That’s his big fantasy.”
There was an embarrassed silence and then Gail nervously whispered. “He wants to watch you have oral sex with another woman?”
“Yes,” Sandy confirmed.
“You haven’t done it, have you?”
“Made love to another woman? Me?” Sandy chuckled. “Hell no. Oh, I had a girlfriend in junior high school and we used to sleep over at each other’s house and play around, but it was just touchy feely stuff. Exciting as hell at the time,” she added wistfully. “My first orgasm. But we never did any oral sex. I don’t think we even knew it existed, and if we had, we certainly weren’t adventurous enough to try it. Have you ever done it with another woman?”
“God, no!” Gall quickly claimed.
“But haven’t you ever thought about it?” Sandy whispered, still caressing the large breasts.
Gail didn’t answer for a moment. “I guess I’ve thought about it,” she finally admitted, “but just to wonder what it’s like. Jesus, don’t you think you’ve got enough lotion on my tits?” she asked, chuckling nervously. “They’re going to be sliding out of my bras all week.”
“I like playing with them,” Sandy said lightly, continuing to rub them. “Don’t you like it?”
Gail reluctantly nodded and then laughed nervously. “That’s the problem. I do like it,” she admitted in a whisper. “You’re getting me all hot and bothered!”
“I know. Your nipples are hard,” Sandy informed her, continuing to fondle them. “I’m doing just what John wanted. I’m playing with another woman. Don’t you and Gregg ever talk about sexual fantasies?”
“Not really,” Gail admitted uncomfortably. “I have them, of course. I guess everybody does and I suppose he does too, but we don’t talk about them.”
“So what do you fantasize about?” Sandy asked in a casual whisper, continuing to stroke Gail’s breasts.
Gail vehemently shook her head. “I can’t tell you. It’s too embarrassing!”
“Okay,” Sandy shrugged. “I guess we ought to do that white spot down there too.” She slowly slid her hands down Gail’s body, across her stomach, and rubbed the oil into the skin around the pubic mound. She soon started lightly rubbing the mound itself.
“Sandy! You’re getting me excited!” Gail muttered in a reluctant whisper, involuntarily moving her hips under the rubbing hand.
“I know,” Sandy whispered back. “I’m getting me excited too.” A few moments later she tried to slip her hand between the other woman’s legs. Gail opened them slightly to accommodate the intrusion. Sandy slid her hand between them and lightly caressed the reddish pubic hair.
“So what do you fantasize about?” Gail murmured, opening her legs wider.
“If I tell you, will you tell me about yours?” Sandy asked, slipping a finger between the wet labial lips and sliding it up and down.
Gail absently nodded.
“Okay. It’s kind of weird,” she warned, “but here goes. I fantasize about being kidnapped by a motorcycle gang. They take me to this room behind their hangout and then they strip me and put me down on this dirty cot. Then they take turns screwing me, sometimes two at a time.”
“Two at once?” Gail gasped.
“Yes. One in my cunt and one in my mouth.” She slipped a finger inside Gail’s wet vaginal lips and slowly slid it up to the clitoris.
Gail groaned and pulled away for an instant, but then pushed her hips back to meet the finger. “Is that all of it? The men fuck you in the mouth and the cunt?”
“Well, if John and I are making love, or I’m masturbating, I usually come by the time I get that far.”
“You masturbate?”
“Sure,” Sandy readily admitted, working her fingers. “A lot lately. Don’t you?”
Gail nodded. “Sometimes. Well, pretty often.”
“What do you use?”
“My fingers.”
“Like I’m doing now?” Sandy asked.
Gail moaned and nodded. “But you’re doing it better. Much better. What do you use? A vibrator?”
“No. Usually I go to the store and buy a cucumber.”
“A cucumber?” Gail repeated in disbelief, opening her eyes. “You fuck yourself with a cucumber?”
“Sure. What’s wrong with that? Haven’t you noticed all those women in the produce section checking out the cucumbers?”
“You actually stick a cucumber up yourself?” Gail asked, still not quite believing it.
“Well, I wash the cucumber first. Then afterwards I cut it up and feed it to John in a salad,” Sandy chuckled.
“You don’t!”
“I do!” she claimed, still chuckling.
“I figure if he doesn’t want to eat my cunt, then he can eat what’s been in my cunt.”
Gail laughed. “So what happens if you don’t come with that part of your fantasy where all the men are fucking you?” she asked, closing her eyes and gyrating her hips again.
“There’s another part. They lay me down nude on my back. The guys have their girlfriends there and while the men are taking out their cocks and playing with them and lining up at the foot of the bed, the girls are pulling off their boots and their jeans and panties and lining up at my head. The first guy climbs between my legs, and while he’s sliding his cock in my cunt he orders me to lick his girlfriend and she climbs on my face and sticks her cunt to my mouth.”
Gall excitedly forced her hips against Sandy’s fingers. “Do you do it?” she muttered. “Do you lick the cunts?”
“I have to lick the cunts of all the women while all the men take turns fucking me.”
“Oh God’” Gail muttered, wildly heaving her hips.
“Of course I never get through all of them,” Sandy admitted. “I come before that. The third or fourth in line is this big guy with a huge cock. His girlfriend is this beautiful black girl with a shaved pussy. I never get beyond them.”
Gail groaned again. “Now I want you to tell me your fantasy,” Sandy ordered.
“I can’t!” Gail moaned, shaking her head from side to side on the beach towel.
“You promised!” Sandy hissed. She stopped moving her fingers and just sat there.
“Oh, don’t stop!” Gail pleaded. “Okay, okay. Are they looking?”
“No, they’re not paying any attention,” Sandy assured her, moving her fingers again. “Tell me!” she ordered.
“It’s so embarrassing! Okay. I don’t fantasize about strangers. I fantasize about people I know.” Her voice trailed off in a groan.
“So, which people?” Sandy whispered, working her fingers faster. “Well, you and John come over…”
“And?” Sandy prompted.
Gail groaned. “You and John come over and we’re all bored and a little drunk, right?” She groaned again. “So one of the men suggests we play strip poker and pretty soon we’re all sitting there naked.”
“But I don’t know how to play poker,” Sandy interjected, concerned.
“I don’t either. So what? It’s just a fantasy. God, I was right on the edge and now I’ve lost it,” she complained.
“Sorry,” Sandy apologized. “I’ll get it back for you,” she promised “Then what, after we’re all naked?”
“Jesus, I don’t want to tell you!” Gail whined.
“Goddammit! You promised!”
“Oh, all right!” She closed her eyes tight and said in a rush, “Then Gregg and John decide to swap mates and they start playing with us. Gregg plays with you, feels you up, and John plays with me, feels my tits and fingers my cunt.”
“And then?” Sandy asked in an excited whisper.
“Oh shit!” Gail moaned.
“You tell me or I’m going to stop right now!” Sandy threatened.
“Jesus, don’t stop!” Gail begged. “Okay. Then Gregg wants me to suck John,” she admitted under her breath.
“Suck his cock?” Sandy whispered.
Gail nodded.
“Jesus!” Sandy declared and worked the fingers in and out of her own vagina much faster. “So, do you do it? Do you suck his cock?”
“Yes,” Gail admitted, thrusting up her hips. “I get down on my knees in front of his chair and suck him while you and Gregg watch.”
“I just watch?” Sandy asked, surprised. “How come I’m not sucking Gregg’s cock?”
“Jesus Christ, Sandy! You want to suck Gregg’s cock? You can suck it any time you want!” Gail promised, groaning.
“Then what? I mean in your fantasy.”
“Oh Shit!” Gail moaned. “Then John, when he’s big and hard, takes me over to the couch, lays me down, spreads my legs and fucks me. Gregg takes you over to the chair, sits down and you sit on his cock. I watch while you ride it up and down.”
“God!” Sandy muttered, excitedly fingering both herself and Gail. “Is there more?”
Gail shook her head and moaned. “I think I’m going to come!” she whispered through clenched teeth.
“Oh no! There’s more, isn’t there? I can tell. No coming until I hear all of it!” Sandy slowed her fingers.
“Oh Jesus! Don’t stop now, for Christ’s sake!” Gail pleaded.
“I’m not stopping. I’m just slowing down until I get all of it. Then you can come,” Sandy promised.
“Okay. Okay! So after the men finish, you and I are still hot.”
“So?” Sandy demanded.
“Oh God, this is embarrassing!” she wailed.
“You tell me, or I stop right now!” Sandy threatened.
“Okay! What the hell?” Gail declared, defeated, and then confessed, in a rush, “So you and I get down on the rug in the middle of the floor and, while the men watch, I lay down on my back and spread my legs and you climb on top of me the other way and we lick each other off. There. I told you the whole thing!”
“We lick each other to orgasm?” Sandy whispered.
Gail groaned confirmation. “A fantastic orgasm.”
Sandy was silent for a moment and then whispered, “That’s the climax of your fantasy, where you and I lick each other off?”
Gail, gritting her teeth and working hard for an orgasm, absently nodded.
“Do you want to do that?” Sandy hesitantly asked, slowing her fingers.
“What?” Gail vacantly demanded, grinding her hips faster.
“The end of it. Where I get on top of you and we lick each other,” Sandy explained hoarsely.
Gail suddenly stopped moving and opened her eyes. “I don’t know,” she whispered, surprised and excited. “I’ve never done that.”
“Me either,” Sandy told her. “Should we try it?”
“God, I don’t know if I’d be any good at it,” Gail nervously confessed.
“I don’t either. I’ll take a chance if you will.” Sandy offered, still playing with herself.
“But what about the men? What if they see us?”
“They haven’t looked over here in hours,” Sandy assured her. She quickly crawled around until her knees were on either side of Gail’s head. “Should we do it?”
“Okay,” Gail muttered excitedly. “Wait!” she suddenly ordered. “You aren’t doing this just to get even with John, are you? You know, making love to me just because he isn’t watching?”
“No!” Sandy denied, poised above her. “I want to lick your cunt.”
“I really want to lick yours too,” Gail confessed.
“Then let’s do it!” Sandy whispered and slid down across the oiled body beneath her until her mouth was over Gail’s vagina and her own pubic area was covering Gail’s face.
They quickly slid their tongues into each other and licked feverishly. Moments after Sandy’s tongue touched her clitoris, Gail convulsed in orgasm, but Sandy didn’t stop. Gail kept licking the vagina pressed against her face and soon felt another orgasm building. She heard Sandy moaning and felt the vibrations of the sound inside her. Soon they both came.
After it was over they lay there quietly for a moment and then Sandy slowly climbed off and sat down, dazed.
“God!” Gail whispered, wiping off her mouth, “That was even better than my fantasy! Those were the best orgasms I’ve had in months. In fact they were the only orgasms I’ve had in months! How was yours?”
“Great!” Sandy gasped, still trying to catch her breath. They looked at each other self-consciously, then exchanged secret, guilty smiles and heartily chuckled.
Gail glanced nervously at the men, but they were still watching the set. “I think we’d better get our suits on,” she warned. “It looks like the game is about over.” She grabbed the pieces of her bikini and dressed. “Hurry up, Sandy!” she ordered.
Sandy came out of her stupor. They were both laying down with their suits on when the game ended.
John and Gregg stood up for the first time that afternoon, stretched and exchanged money.
“How do I look?” Gail asked nervously, sitting up and fluffing her hair with her fingers.
Sandy examined her. “Well, perhaps a little too satisfied. You don’t look like you’ve been transformed into a dyke, if that’s what you’re asking. But you do look good enough to eat. How do I look?”
“The same.” Gail said, ending her examination by staring pointedly at Sandy’s bikini-covered crotch and smiling. “Very edible.”
They both chuckled and then smiled at each other knowingly. “Speaking of edible,” Gail said, “next week I think I’ll make our husbands a nice salad so they have something to eat during the game while we’re having our snack. Why don’t you bring a vegetable?”
“Cucumbers?” Sandy giggled.
“Exactly!”
Hector Rodriguez pulled hard three times on the cord before the lawn mower roared to life beneath the steadying influence of his left foot. Rivulets of sweat forged down his face, the hot Savannah sunshine the cause, along with the trouble brewing across the yard. Mrs. Chesterfield and Hector’s father were talking near the greenhouse. Without his glasses, Hector could only make out their fuzzy outlines: Papa nodding, the elderly woman squawking, pointing her bony finger Hector’s way. Her hat flopped about as she talked to the large, brown gardener. Papa’s palms faced her, buffeting her words.
The scene depressed him. Trouble with a capital T. Hector let the mower’s drone whisk him away as he pushed the machine to that forever daydream, Theresa…Theresa Carmasilla and her flowing, brown hair, four seats in front of him in Sister Lena’s homeroom. She raises her hand, and Sister Lena calls on her. Theresa stands and turns, and walks to him, her eyes locked to his. She stops before him and unbuttons her plaid, parochial skirt it drops into a hoop, covering her patent leathers. She stands there like a dogwood tree in bloom, her white bikini lace at his eye level.
“For you. Hector,” she says smiling, and removes his glasses.
The engine died as a heavy hand rested on his shoulder. Hector looked up into Theresa’s face, which had become his father’s. “Where’s your glasses?”
The question startled him. “You, um, in my shirt, in the truck.”
“Let’s go.”
Jorge Rodriguez turned and started across the lawn. The anger in his voice lashed at Hector like a slap.
“What’s this about, Papa?” he asked, catching up to him at the patio.
“Get your glasses and meet me and Se ora Chesterfield in the greenhouse.”
The truck door creaked, hot air kissed his face. Mrs. Chesterfield found where I ran over those asters with her mower, he thought Let her try to push a mower while swatting a yellow jacket. She’d have trouble pushing a comb.
Droplets dangled from his jaw. He mopped his face with his shirt and put on his wire frames, pushing them up to the bridge of his nose with his finger.
“Four-eyed Geekmonster. It’s not enough you’re a clumsy shithead,” he told his reflection, “you gotta look it too.” Hector adjusted the clasp of his gold chain to the back of his neck, fingering the cross at his collarbone a moment for strength, and slammed the door.
Inside the greenhouse, Jorge Rodriguez stood aside with his canvas hat in his hand. Hector entered and avoided his gaze. The moist, hot air and the musk of peat enclosed him with a fleeting vision of being buried alive. Mrs. Chesterfield stood at the far end of the aisle between rows of exotic orchids and ferns, the afternoon light painting the frail, old woman and her plants with an orange glaze. She was wearing a floral-print smock and matching gardening gloves, one of which firmly held a trowel. Her recessed face almost disappeared behind her black, rectangular sunglasses and floppy hat.
A hanger would fill that dress better, you bag of bones, he thought. “I’m really sorry about the asters, Mrs. Chesterfield.” Hector had decided to go on the offensive: apologize and get it over with. Just like confession. “You see, I was almost stung by a bee and lost control of the mower.”
“Asters?” Mrs. Chesterfield’s voice wavered as it rose an octave. “You ruined my asters?”
Shit. “Uh, just a handful. I, um, clipped the edge of the bed, with the mower, when the bee…” The story trailed off. “Uh, isn’t that what you wanted to speak to me about?” Hector looked from her to his father, who groaned and shook his head.
“I found these four pots smashed on the floor here,” she said, jamming the trowel into some peat and picking up some terra-cotta shards. “You were in here this morning getting the hose. I wanted to see what you knew about it.”
The shards scraped hideously against each other in her hand. Hector’s face flushed and he cringed at the sound. “Are there any other surprises you have for me, young man?”
Hector felt the temperature rise and slowly shook his head. “I, uh, know nothing about the pots, ma’am.”
“You will wear your glasses, Hector,” Mr. Rodriguez said sharply into his left ear, “from now on, until your grave! I don’t care how hot it gets.” The words clung to him in the silence. “Lo siento, Se ora Chesterfield. His eyeglasses are new, he neglects wearing them when he should. He’ll pay for the damage from his wages. I’ll see to it” He draped an arm across Hector’s shoulder. “Hector tries hard, but he’s at the age when his mind doesn’t stay with his body.” Hector felt his father shrug. “I’ve had a hard time running the business these weeks since my partner broke his leg. Hector’s been mucho help to me.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Not to excuse him for what he’s done.”
She paused before speaking. “You’ve worked for me for six years, Mr. Rodriguez, and for the most part, I’ve been extremely pleased with the job you and your partner have done.”
Her bottom lip quivered and she gestured toward Hector. “Hector here may not mean to be careless, but he is, nonetheless!” She lobbed the shards into a cardboard box and retrieved her trowel. “It costs me,” she said in a weak, raspy voice. “These orchids, my gardens, they’re my life now,” she said, gesturing with the trembling trowel. “They’re all I have left that gives me pleasure.” She paused again. “When a plant dies, I die a little with it.”
Drama, he thought, pure Oscar material. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Hector said quietly. “I promise to try harder.”
The three of them stood in the suffocating silence until she dismissed them and turned away, disappearing behind the orchid jungle.
Outside, Mr. Rodriguez swabbed his forehead with his handkerchief and put on his hat. The sweat under the uplifted arm of his khaki shirt was shaped and colored like a large Spanish olive. “I have to collect from the Bakers, for sodding their lawn last week. Finish cutting the grass. I’ll be back for you within the hour.”
Hector walked beneath the rose-covered veranda that skirted the stuccoed mansion, and out onto the flagstone patio that stretched across the back of the house. He dipped his hand into the water plume from the fountain in the goldfish pond and touched his forehead, then finished, by habit, the sign of the cross.
The L-shaped yard sloped down and away from the house like a velvet-green cover of an overstuffed bed. Tall hedges surrounded the property, bordered with beds of colorful annuals: purple and pink zinnias, blue asters and rows of yellow marigolds. The yard was bisected by tall lilac bushes, now beyond bloom. Past the lilacs, surrounded by a ring of grass, a horde of wild tiger lilies grew, three hundred or more in a ten-foot oval bordered by brick, one massive bunch of burnt yellows and reds, and all the oranges in between. After resuming mowing, he noticed his glasses did make everything he saw more beautiful. If they didn’t slip down his nose, he really might not mind wearing them.
He pushed the mower past the bed of asters how vibrant they were! to where the “disaster” had occurred. He thought he’d done a good job covering it up, but now, a full week later, he could still see mower tracks in the dirt. How could Se ora Chestless miss that gaping hole? She had hawk eyes when it came to her beloved garden.
His glasses slipped again. He knew it was only in fantasy that Theresa Carmasilla would notice him and his desire. Having four eyes meant his chances for her love went from slim to nonexistent. I could become a priest, he thought. I look the part. Father Geek. In his next thought he knew that option would never be. He’d choke to death the moment he put on the collar. God could read every shameful thought. Besides, priests can’t have erections. He was certain it said so in their vows.
Hector finished circling the main yard, then shut down the mower and wheeled it past the lilac gateway to the tiger lily den. All that was left to do was dip the grass around the flower bed, then he’d be finished. Hector put his foot on the mower and pulled hard on the cord. The mower bucked, then sputtered itself silent. Low on gas maybe. He looked at his watch: forty minutes till quitting. No hurry. No worry.
The tiger lilies buzzed of honeybees. Hector wasn’t afraid of honeybees, yellow jackets yes. He watched one dance at the maw of a maroonish lily. It crawled up the petal tongue and burrowed its head against the stamen. Its wings fluttered as its legs fervidly dusted its belly with the yellow pollen. The bee backed out, took off, and hovered among the adjacent flowers.
The petals formed a mouth, especially this large flower here, pumpkin orange with a blood-red throat. Hector coaxed the blossom closed with his hand so that it pursed like lips. His heart thumped…Theresa Carmasilla undoes the buttons of her plaid skirt, which falls. She steps forward and removes his glasses, slipping the wire-rims into the pocket of his blazer. “For you, Hector,” she whispers to him. The classroom falls away. Just the two of them, in the Garden of Eden. Theresa slithers her fingers behind the band of her panties and lowers them, ever so carefully. They pass her knees. Hector can wait no longer…
He stuck his thumb into the lily. The pollen jumped from the stamen onto his skin, yellow blazing against brown. A wicked thought entered his mind. He tried to banish it, but could not. He looked around nervously. The coast was clear, no one here but him. And the bees.
He had decided to risk it, to give in to temptation. I just want to feel it, that’s all, Hector told himself, then I promise, Lord, I’ll stop. He reached into the front of his cutoffs. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been six days since my last emission.
The petals were softer than anything he’d imagined. Like fine satin, oh Theresa, you’ve done this for me. “For you,” her voice echoed. His heart pounded, his nipple danced. The brightness of the flower in the afternoon sun, the yellow dusting his skin, the heat and the danger, all wrapped itself into one rising sensation. Hector sought a quick release. He felt his breath become irregular as he bucked, transferring all his strength and lust, five pulses worth, into the orange flower-virgin.
It was a few moments before Hector recovered and collected himself. He released his hold on the tiger lily, closed his zipper and watched the flower droop against the spiny blades that shot up and out from the lilies in all directions. This was the closest he had ever been to Theresa. Now spent, he felt a bit unsettled.
He reached down and gave the mower cord another yank. From the corner of his eye, to his horror, Hector saw Mrs. Chesterfield’s stockinged legs standing in the entryway.
“I was…I didn’t…you…” were all the words he could manage. Her mouth was agape. She had seen everything. Her sunglasses made black holes where her shocked eyes should have been. Her face looked like a skull on a scarecrow’s body. Mrs. Chesterfield trembled, turned, and tottered back toward the house.
Damn it all, damn, damn, damn! Hector paced the grass. She saw everything, Jesus, you sure punished me good this time! He fingered the gold cross at his throat. She’d tell his father for sure. We’ll lose her business, after six years, shit, Papa’s gonna kill me! Hector took hold of the cord handle and jerked it wildly. The mower roared and lurched forward. In one frenzied second, he saw himself mowing the lilies down into a colorful, flying mulch.
Instead, Hector finished cutting the grass. After returning the mower to the shed, he headed for the greenhouse. He had to talk to Old Chestless, beg for forgiveness. I’ll never come back again, he’d tell her, I’ll go to mass every day for a year, I’ll move to South America, anything, please don’t tell Papa.
Hector found her transplanting seedlings from starter trays into clay pots. He bit his lip and entered the aromatic room. “Se ora Chesterfield?” he asked cautiously. She kept working. “Excuse me,” he said loudly.
Mrs. Chesterfield lifted her head. “Go on, get off my property!”
“Please…”
“Go on, you degenerate.” she stammered, approaching hysteria. “leave before I call the police!”
The police! Out front, Mr. Rodriguez honked the horn. Hector turned and ran for the truck.
Mrs. Chesterfield propped another pillow behind her back, trying to get comfortable. A moth flew drunken circle around the bulb of the reading lamp by her bed. A soft rap sounded at her bedroom door. “Come in, Grace.”
Her live-in nurse entered carrying a tray with a tall glass of iced tea and sleeping pill on it. Her peppered hair was cut short and held back with barrettes. She was dressed for bed in a powder blue nightgown that masked her considerable bulk. “Just listen to the night creatures singing up a storm,” she said cheerily as she crossed to the night table. “You can hear them over the air conditioner.”
“I feel a chill, Grace. Turn it down would you?”
Grace handed Mrs. Chesterfield the pill and the glass, then turned the dial on the thermostat. The pill was gone, the glass sat untouched on the tray. “Anything else, ma’am?” The old woman seemed engrossed in her reading. “Mrs. Chesterfield, anything else?” With a murmur and a wave of her hand Mrs. Chesterfield dismissed her, “Very well. See you in the morning.”
The door closed. Evelyn Chesterfield looked up into the room, resting the book on her lap. The events of this afternoon still troubled her thoughts. She had turned pages for an hour and not retained a word. It had been quiet in the yard, too quiet, the mower had been silent. All she could think of was that Hector had run through her tiger lilies. I must watch his every move now, she remembered thinking. Never in all her years did she expect to see what she had seen. At first she thought the sun was playing tricks, but no, live as Lazarus, Hector Rodriguez stood there, mating with the lilies!
The grotesque act appalled her, twisted in her gut like a bad meal. After the scolding I just gave him! Throughout it all, she did not move a muscle, or utter a sound.
And, strangely, when he noticed her, she felt his embarrassment, as if it were her own, as if she had been the one caught in the act by him. She recalled rushing to the safety of the greenhouse and her orchids.
She had tried to call his father: “I’m sorry, Mr. Rodriguez, but you and your vile son are not welcome here.” She had picked up the receiver, but couldn’t bring herself to complete the call, and that troubled her now.
Mrs. Chesterfield realized she was rolling the sleeping pill around in her hand like a worry stone, and dropped it into the glass of tea. On the movie screen inside her head, the sun reflected off Hector’s glasses as he tossed his head back to the sky. His breath grew shorter. His wet, chocolate skin was drawn tight across his ribs as he spilled his fluids into the flower like some kind of fountain of the gods. In his rapture, Hector was a beauty she hadn’t recognized for decades.
Tossing the sheet aside, she crossed to the large mirror above the oak bureau. Her once lustrous hair was now reduced to gray strings, and there was no trace of youth left on her spindly frame. She touched her face, all cheekbone and pasty folds of skin. That boy oozed moisture from every pore like a succulent peach, and here you stand, dry old husk of womanhood, ravaged by the locusts of time.
I was young once too, Hector.
The cricket serenade filled her ears as her eyes lost focus. The twenties, what a pip, and suddenly she was Miss Evelyn Hardwick again, behind the wheel of her yellow Duesenberg, with her girlfriends Carole and Shelly, the three of them beaded head to foot in flapper dresses, driving to the bash at Reginald’s. Whatever became of that ivory holder I used to smoke my cigarettes from? Oh Reggie, so young and handsome, and wealthy! The sharpest man I ever laid eyes on, in his straw bowler, white slacks and high-collared shirts. He would have no other, not Carole or Shelly, how envious they were! I was his Peaches ‘n’ Cream. We were exclusive, two birds on a branch.
Never for a moment did I think I’d be left alone.
Evelyn Chesterfield found herself on the patio. The crickets were joined by peepers and cicadas, becoming a symphony. She gazed into the goldfish pool as the moon’s reflection splintered in the rippling water. The air was warm and heavy like an electric blanket. Fireflies weaved and blinked. She followed them to the lilac bushes, flowers long since perished, leaving a faint potpourri behind.
She knew the exact flower her mind’s eye viewed it a thousand times since this afternoon. It listed before her in the half-light, weighed down by his semen. Cupping the blossom with her withered hands, Evelyn Chesterfield leaned forward and pressed it to her lips. Youth’s venom, she thought, a poisoned drink for a thirsty, old woman.
The phone rang twice Saturday night in the Rodriguez household. “I got it!” Hector called out each time on the first ring. Both were false alarms. She wants me to sweat it out, he figured. Hector toyed with the idea of telling his father, but each time he ran the conversation over in his head, he couldn’t see himself getting beyond the first sentence: “Papa, I fucked a tiger lily.”
At Sunday service, Hector prayed enthusiastically for his salvation. At mass’s end, the congregation gathered informally in front of the church. Hector heard his name in the crowd, and turned to see Theresa Carmasilla standing in the distance with a couple of her girlfriends. She smiled and waved. He waved back. She then made two circles with her fingers and held them to her eyes. The girls giggled and walked away.
That evening, while reading a comic book, the phone rang. His father answered it. “Yes? When did this happen? Oh my. I’m very sorry to hear that. Yes. Yes.” Hector started counting yesses. “I’ll speak to my son, right away.” He hung up. “Hector!”
Hector slumped down the stairs. Maybe I should open the front door, he thought, and keep walking. He walked toward the kitchen. Deny it. Deny everything. The old bat is out to get me.
“Sit down, Hector, I’ve heard some bad news.” Hector sat on the kitchen chair and looked past his father to the teapots on the wallpaper. “Se ora Chesterfield died this morning.”
Hector looked into his father’s solemn face. “She’s dead?” This morning? While he prayed at church?
“She wandered out sometime last night. Her nurse found her lying in the backyard. That was her sister from Raleigh on the phone. She wishes to retain our services until the house is sold.”
“Um, did she, uh, say anything before she died?”
“She was dead when her nurse found her.” He wrinkled his brow at his son and Hector shrugged. “The wake is Tuesday at noon, at the house. I want you to go there Tuesday morning. Water the flowers and the lawn you know, general maintenance, make sure the garden is presentable.”
“Sure, Papa.” Thank you, Jesus, for calling her number.
“Oh, and Hector,” patting his son’s cheek, “do me a favor and stay away from the mower.”
Hector arrived before the morning sun had a chance to dry the dew. Half asleep, he had forgotten his glasses on his nightstand. Within the hour, he had swept the patio, skimmed the fountain, pruned the hedges and replanted the damaged asters, all the while keeping himself from venturing near the tiger lilies. Lead me not into temptation.
He staggered the sprinklers, which shot jets of water in wide circles, covering most of the yard. With the handheld hose he attended to the flower beds and lilac bushes, and wrestled with the thought that he’d have to water the lilies. Papa will know, somehow, if I don’t. I promised to do a thorough job. I can’t let him down again.
Standing in the gateway, Hector viewed the lilies from a distance. He arced the hose so that it rained on the blossoms. In the early sunlight, fractured rainbows appeared and disappeared. Without his glasses, the bed of lilies looked like a giant, beating heart in the morning peace. Hector ventured closer.
Hector saw a tall, white lily with creamy petals growing from the center of the bunch. It had not been there Saturday. Its stamen extended out well beyond the petals, overloaded with silky, yellow pollen. He snaked the hose into the lilies and, standing on the brick border, leaned over to get a closer look.
Hector closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. He then felt lips touching his. He opened his eyes to see the face of a young, blonde woman in his cradled hands. Her skin was pale and soft. Her lashes were long and dark, her lips deep red. She wore a beaded headband. “For you, Hector,” she seemed to whisper, “for you, and me.” She leaned forward and her tongue met his, then traced a yellow, powdered line down across his cheek and down the curve of his neck, to his nipples, then beyond.
This time I got to go to a more upscale address. Not some two-bit bar to discuss smoky innuendo and infidelity over beer, but a nice house in Connecticut. It’s got to be good to get me to cross the state line.
I even knew the guy. James Furwell, son of a noted business associate of the Kennedys. Yes, those Kennedys. Furwell’s dad, Arthur, knew Joseph, and so James and John F. became childhood chums. James was later made a personal assistant to John, and some say he even helped with speeches. But the best bit, the juiciest part for a man like myself and all the scandal-hungry Americans I serve, was that Furwell helped clean up some of John’s messes.
So when I got a call from Furwell the man himself, not an assistant promising me huge up-front money, and expenses, and the goddamndest bombshell on J.F.K., complete with physical proof, and could I be there in the next six hours, I was out the door before my editor could question my judgment.
The name’s Carter Sams, and I write the stories the whole world reads and doesn’t believe or so they say to themselves . I write for The National Expose, the fastest up-and-coming tabloid rag around. We’re even gaining on People. What I or the other writers can’t prove, we fabricate, since it all comes out in the wash. I figure for every beefed-up story and half-truth never a half-lie that’s a forbidden term in our biz , there are two or three untold full-truths.
The Expose is different from the other rags. We don’t publish newspapers, but rather offer slick magazine pages with full color, presenting a huge smorgasbord of titillation. I specialize in celebrity faux pas and any other hint of scandal. It’s a living. We’re an equal-opportunity muckraker. If a sports figure fucks up, we’re there. If a star gets a disease or a speeding ticket, we’re there. We have sexy pictures alongside government scandals. We rip the lid off everything we can find crawling under America’s proverbial rock. That’s what sets us apart, and we sell lots of copies.
Why Furwell had called me instead of The New York Times, I didn’t know. My suspicious mind began to give me encouraging signals. I figured, on the way to Furwell’s house, that he had suspicions of his own and that he could count on there being contacts at the Times who would be ready to squash his revelation. It stands to reason that the Federal Bureau of Investigation wouldn’t bother to set up snitches at the Expose. At least not yet. We would have the chance to run this thing and get it on Nightline and Entertainment Tonight within forty-eight hours if the story was big enough. By then, the Expose in general, and me in particular, would be running point on this operation.
As a guy who spends a lot of time in cramped editorial offices, bars and phone booths where the phone book has been ripped off, I was reasonably impressed with Furwell’s house. I must admit, it was something to roll up that long, lazy driveway, ring the doorbell on what was practically a mansion and have the door opened by Furwell himself.
James Furwell had always been a handsome man. If he hadn’t been close to Kennedy, he still would have gotten nookie. But the years had not been gentle with Mr. Furwell. The man who opened the door was thin, stooped, and his mottled, unhealthy skin hung loose on his bones. His hands shook and his voice was rough and labored. Still, I had to admit that his eyes held a fierceness, and it became evident that his mind was still very quick.
“Mr. James Furwell? I’m Carter Sams.” I stuck out my hand. His jaw shook.
“Let me see some ID first.”
I shrugged and pulled out my wallet. I showed him my driver’s license and my press card.
“They give you one of these for the stuff you write?” He handed my papers back.
“News is news. Some of it ain’t exactly edifying, but it’s news if someone wants to hear about it.” I paused. “Think I could come in?”
He stood back a little to let me through. Before he closed the door I saw him check the horizon. This made me even more hopeful. Don’t think too harshly of me for being gleeful over an old man’s paranoia, but my instincts were screaming, “This could be big!” And yet my pragmatic side cautioned, “If he hasn’t gone loopy.”
“I’ve let all the help off for the day. I don’t want them around if something is going to happen, and I don’t trust them enough to be in on this.”
“And what exactly is this, Mr. Furwell?”
He smiled and his neck wattles shook. “A ten-minute reel of film, Mr. Sams. Ten minutes of black-and-white film taken with a hand-held camera. A camera held by me.”
My heart began to speed up. This was going to be fun. “And what were you filming?”
A smile and a sharp twinkle came to his eye. “The last time John F. Kennedy had sex with Marilyn Monroe.”
In my business, proof is everything. Everybody reads the articles and sees, “An insider says…” or “A source close to…” Can you sue us? Well we can’t reveal our sources, so sorry, next case. So we get away with quite a lot, while our credibility suffers. We have a picture, we don’t doctor it so you see UFO’s or Bigfoot. We don’t touch that stuff anyway. But you catch a drunken star being a floozy on film, and we’ll pay you nicely for the negatives.
Everybody knows our thirty-fifth President had an affair with old Norma Jean. It’s part of our popular mythology. But nobody’d ever had absolute look-it-in-the-eyes evidence that this affair ever really occurred. What was a man’s word worth? It might be worth a check and it might sell some magazines, but it seldom made a fortune and seldom made history.
“Hardened newsman like yourself, and you flinched, my boy,” Furwell said. “Your mouth’s still hanging open, but at least you’re still on your feet.” He let out a dry, rough laugh. “Now you’re only the second living person who knows about me and my camera. Feel honored?”
I nodded dumbly.
“As well you should be. And you should also be sharp enough to know why I called you instead of some flunky at the Times. In fact, we should get this show on the road.” He dropped his eyes to look at the floor. “They’re probably listening in right now.”
“Who?”
“The FBI. You’re smart enough to know this isn’t a matter of national security. You’re also smart enough to know that this particular piece of film history is something the feds would love to turn into guitar picks. It doesn’t look good to have your beloved, tragically slain President fucking on film. Never happened before John, hasn’t happened since. In fact the very existence of this film would say a lot about the character of the idolized President. It’s a bad penny no matter how you look at it.”
“Why come forward now? If you were Kennedy’s friend, why do you want this film released to the public?”
“So you’re finally acting like a newsman and starting to ask questions. Let’s go into the library and I’ll tell you everything. And then we’ll watch the film.”
Furwell drew the shades and his spacious library was enclosed in darkness. I heard a click and a small lamp came on. Furwell already had a home movie screen set up. He moved it in front of the window.
On the long table I was standing next to sat a film projector holding an ancient-looking reel of film, It looked like one of those old loops that we were forced to look at back in grade school.
“To answer your first question Mr. Sams, I am dying. I have the fabled less than a year to live. Lung cancer at first, now it’s all through me. Right now I’m comfortably high on very expensive painkillers The miracles of modern science at least you can go out with a smile on your face, dying happy.”
He walked toward me. “The reason I’m trying to put this film out for public consumption is that I really don’t care anymore. Me and Jack, we were Democrats. Democrats like freedom of speech and fucking. This is about both.” He looked down again and leaned against the table. “You’re right, Jack was my best friend, and I didn’t hesitate to help him with this project. In light of what happened, it would seem that I’m doing him and Marilyn a disservice.” He looked up and smiled. “She really was a nice lady, you know. Not some smart-ass, big-shot Hollywood bitch.”
His eyes grew distant as he continued. “But I don’t think she would’ve appreciated what I did for Jack. You see, there came to be a lot of pressure to break off all the womanizing, especially with famous women like Marilyn. Don’t think too harshly of Jack. If you were in his shoes, it would be a little difficult to cut off the ladies.” He shook his head. “No offense to Jackie, but between her and Marilyn…”
He coughed and went on. “Deep down, Jack was a great man. He was strong and he believed in a lot of good things. He was my friend, but I can say honestly that I think he was a great President. That makes all of it tragic.” He looked hard at me. “Why couldn’t the asshole who shot at that limp dick Reagan have been a better shot?”
I had to ask. “Did the FBI play any role in the deaths of John Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe?”
“Am I Oz the All-Knowing? I can’t say about Marilyn, as I still have my doubts, but no proof. But Jack…” he shook his head. “America hates to believe in randomness and madness. It’s a lot easier to accept if you believe your great man was struck down by a vast conspiracy. Give us melodrama and not senseless tragedy. So to answer your question: Oswald did it. And Ruby? Shit luck. Life’s like that, no matter how much we try to deny it.”
“And the film?” I felt drunk with knowledge. It is power.
“Well, like I said, Jack had to cut out the women. Marilyn was to be the test case.” He gave me another hard look. “Don’t you think if you could give up Marilyn Monroe, the rest would be cake?”
“I’ll bet.”
“But Jack didn’t want to let it go so easy. If you had to say goodbye to the greatest sex goddess of our time, wouldn’t you want something more than fond memories? Now if Marilyn had found out, there would have been hell to pay. And the only person he could totally trust was me.”
He walked over to his liquor cabinet and took out two glasses. “Bourbon?” It sounded like a fine idea to me. While he poured, he continued talking.
“I have to admit that, shameful as it was, I was excited.” He finished pouring the drinks. His hands were shaking as he handed me mine.
“Cheers.” And he drank.
“There’s a little bit of the voyeur in all of us. I don’t think there’s any exception. From the dawn of man to The National Expos , people want to see, to know. Especially the weird, the sexy, the forbidden.” He took another sip.
“By now we’ve all seen Marilyn naked in those famous photographs, but not live, not moving. We’ve never seen her cunt, never seen her sucking a cock. I don’t care who it is, if you have hardcore footage of any mainstream star, it would be worth a lot to people.”
“Look at Rob Lowe,” I offered.
“Exactly. Jack had me behind a huge two-way mirror installed by me for the occasion. Marilyn didn’t mind doing it in front of a mirror. Everybody has at least a little kink, right? So in the room where they did it, there was just a big plush rug and this mirror. This allowed me to get really good footage. I got everything.”
“In ten minutes?”
“Well, I chose my moments. I was only going to get the ten minutes worth, so I got the best of the encounter. I was pretty handy with cameras and stuff. And if I hadn’t been, Jack would have made damn sure I learned, because I was the only guy who could do it.”
He finished his drink. “Now it’s time to see what you have come to see. I’ll only run it once, then I’ll hand it over.” He looked suddenly very vulnerable. “When you have it, don’t make any stops. Go straight to your office and do what you have to do.”
“What’s your stake in all this?”
“I get to rub it in those FBI bastards’ faces. Like I said, I still have doubts about Marilyn. What a dumb waste. Just watch the film and you’ll see some of that. But always remember, everybody fucks. That doesn’t change who they are. Jack was still a good man, and Marilyn was still a kind girl. Everybody has sex. But it makes such a goddamn big difference when you’re not just a regular guy. Hell, nobody’d pay to see me have sex with my wife.”
“It’s a tough world.”
“Bullshit.” He wound the spools until the film was tight. “I’m going outside. I don’t want to see it. The next time I want to see any of it is with little black bars over the naughty bits on 60 Minutes. Think you can do that?”
“Hell yes. Set the VCR for this Sunday at seven.”
He nodded and I could actually see his shoulders lift a little, like some weight had been lifted off him. “Good.” He pointed to the projector. “Just turn this knob to here and watch the fun.” He started to leave.
“What, no popcorn?” I tried to joke. But I felt like I was about to jump off a high cliff.
“It’s not that kind of movie, son,” he said as he went through the door. I heard the lock click. I didn’t care. I was alone with destiny.
I found the switch and the projector rattled to life. The sound made me feel once again like I was in school. The leader even had a countdown.
Then darkness and a blur. The blur began to clear and I saw a closeup of John Fitzgerald Kennedy deep-kissing Marilyn Monroe. The shot pulled back to show Kennedy in his boxers and Marilyn in black underwear.
The scene jumped and next I saw Kennedy kneading and sucking the nipples of those beautiful Monroe breasts. I regretted that they hadn’t gotten color film somewhere. This was a weird scene, but you would have to be castrated to not appreciate seeing someone touch Marilyn’s breasts. The scene jumped.
Then I saw one of those sights that can change your view of life forever. Marilyn was on her knees, her naked breasts bobbing slightly as she took JFK into her mouth. I began to understand why he needed to womanize. With a cock that big, you’d want to do it as much as possible in order to whittle it down some. And Marilyn, with her wide mouth, was doing a bang-up job, her lips wrapped tightly around Kennedy’s massive organ, her fingers pulling at his balls. She took him deep, but not too deep, lest she ruin her lovely pipes.
Marilyn on her knees. She really seemed to enjoy it. A good closeup of her rubbing his dick over her priceless features. Christ in a sidecar.
The next shot was of Jack’s cock between her breasts. She held him tight as she rubbed up and down. My throat became very dry. The scene jumped.
Like Furwell had said, we’d all seen her breasts, her legs. But never her pussy. Now before my eyes I saw that famous vagina being fingered and licked by a President. I leaned on the table for support. Who wouldn’t pay to put their fingers in Julia Roberts’ mouth, to give head to Kim Basinger or Winona Ryder? And here was…well, you only needed the first name: Marilyn. She did have a lovely cunt indeed, with a nice swollen mound and thick, loose lips. The kind of cunt I liked. The scene changed.
Kennedy was behind her, his hands on her hips, driving into her. Furwell was a fine cameraman. He had a good eye. I had to admit also that this thing was getting pretty weird for me, like some advanced form of voyeuristic necrophilia. Watching two dead people enjoying intercourse.
Then I was looking at Marilyn astride Kennedy, him squeezing her breasts. And I heard a loud combination of noises outside the door. Shouts, a crash, some muffled bumps. I didn’t look away.
Then the pounding started.
“Open up, Mr. Sams! There will be trouble if you do not open the door immediately!”
I could hear it in his inflection. Feds. I looked at the screen. Now I saw Kennedy’s backside, his ass pumping between those glorious legs.
I guess it was all doomed from the start. Whatever Furwell’s motivations were, the men in the suits never intended for him to get away with anything. They’d probably been monitoring him ever since that day in Dallas. Nothing better to do, I guess. What’s murder compared to ten minutes of film?
Either way I was fucked. When they busted in they’d know I’d seen at least some of the film. No way to rewind it before the gig was up. And besides, they’d have figured that Furwell already told me something about the content. I guessed if I was up front about seeing it then I could avoid sitting in a dark room playing good cop-bad cop.
It might’ve even got me dead quicker, but who cared if I died quick or slow? Dead is dead, and how many people have had a chance to see Marilyn Monroe lying on her side facing a camera she didn’t know was there while John Kennedy entered her from behind?
They began to hammer at the door. I could hear the wood splintering. I looked at the screen.
A closeup of Marilyn in the throes of what appea red to be an intense orgasm. They went out with all the fireworks.
Then her sucking him again. Light poured in as the door gave. On the screen, Kennedy ejaculated on one of the most famous faces of all time. I felt my own semen smear my shorts. Not quite as prestigious as Marilyn’s face, but an orgasm is an orgasm.
A gun was on my neck as the film ran out. Now we could make hand puppets. The film flapped wildly on the rear spool.
“Don’t move, Mr. Sams. You are in big trouble.” A suit turned off the projector.
“Hey, you guys missed a great show” I didn’t care that they saw my stained pants. One of the suits was taking the film off the projector. “You gonna kill me now?”
The suit behind me pressed the gun tighter against my neck. “Don’t tempt us.”
“Fuck you. I can die happy.”
The suit with the film threw it in the fireplace. He soaked it with lighter fluid that he’d undoubtedly brought along for this mission. He flicked in a match and the greatest hardcore film of all time began to bubble and melt.
I should have been incredibly depressed watching the film twist and pop in the flames. I should have been depressed about losing my greatest story and possibly my life. But I’d also seen one of the greatest sights a modern man could see. I’ll bet more than a few women might have enjoyed it too. They could’ve put the gun right up to my temple and pulled the trigger and it wouldn’t have mattered, because I’d watched the whole thing, seen it through to the end.
But I didn’t have that elusive proof my lifetime meal ticket was now so much blackened slag so maybe they wouldn’t have to kill me after all.
But even if they did, then I could die happy with a smile on my face. Furwell had been right. You could, unlike Jack and Marilyn, die happy. Even if it had to be at someone else’s hands.
The dark brown bottle of Dos Equis dripped huge beads of perspiration even though the sunlight was quickly dissipating. The air was moist and it still held its warmth, but the sun was slipping carefully into the turquoise-blue oceans and the winds coming from offshore had grown strong.
The advancing night was reddened by the sunset, and the moon had turned her new face toward Nicholas. Flushed and outlined in the evening sky, he knew she watched him. She watched and waited. Just as he did, she waited to see how he would handle the new situation that Denise was creating. The moon’s shadowed face usually soothed him, but tonight her featureless darkness brought him no peace. He wished he could understand the emotions that darkened her face.
Nicholas sat on Denise’s balcony, enjoying the breezes and trying to take in the evening’s calm. He’d waited all day for this hour, for Denise to return with her guest. When their plane should have been landing, Nicholas shaved and showered. He dressed in a black polo shirt and white cotton shorts. Denise had promised to arrive just after sunset. Nicholas waited and sipped at his second beer. All the while he battled the jealousy and anticipation that were tight in his stomach.
His heart raced when he heard her key in the lock. A moment later, the front room was filled with the sounds of girlish laughter. When he did not greet her, Denise came and stood close to him.
“She’s here,” Denise whispered to him. Her words traced along his ear as if they’d never left her tongue. Her voice pierced him, moving down his spine to settle into the pit of his stomach. His chest was tight and his head was light. Despite himself, his erection was growing.
He didn’t want to look at her he wouldn’t maintain what was left of his resolve if he saw her face. As he repeated the thought to himself, his eyes betrayed him. Her brown eyes melted him. Her face was bright and beautiful, and as he gazed at her his indecision faded. Her thick curls were black and fragrant. Nicholas traced her curls over her shoulders and into the curve of her breasts.
Unmindful of his mood, Denise kissed him with her full, soft lips. “Don’t be afraid,” she said to him. “I need you to be with me. I need you to know.”
She leaned against him and he could feel the prick of her nipples through her light dress. They were hard, and Nicholas tried to figure whether they felt more like fine pearls or rose thorns.
In an instant Denise was walking toward the bedroom. The fierce curve of her rolling ass caught his eye, and he followed the movement down to her long, sculpted legs. Memories of the past year flooded into his mind’s eye. He remembered meeting her at the villa on the lagoon, and of all the weeks he’d had to work on her before Denise accepted his dinner invitation. Finally he thought of her naked, for the first time, on his bed. He was moving toward the bedroom before he realized he’d taken a step.
When Nicholas entered the bedroom he found both women on the bed. They were partially undressed. Taking a position against the dresser, Nicholas watched them tenderly kiss and caress each other. Rene glared at him, fuming, and Denise pretended not to notice him.
Denise sat between Rene’s outstretched legs, facing Nicholas. Rene held her so that Denise’s body was tight against her breasts. She buried her face in the nape of Denise’s neck. Then, pressing forward, Rene sucked on Denise’s earlobe until Denise twisted to kiss her. Their burgundy lips met and Denise opened her mouth to accept Rene’s long, probing tongue. Nicholas felt the bottom of his stomach drop out.
Rene’s eyes held only contempt for him. Reveling in Denise’s surrender, Rene loved flaunting it in front of him. Her hands moved skillfully over Denise’s body, releasing the buttons on her dress, the dress Nicholas had bought for her. In a comfortable and practiced effort, Rene quickly stripped Denise to the waist.
Denise’s breasts swelled into Nicholas’ view. Angular tan lines crossed her brown skin like streaks of creamed coffee. Her areolas and nipples were the color of sweet, ripe plums. Again Nicholas was struck by the elemental beauty of her body.
Admittedly, Rene was equally hot, more Spanish in appearance. While Denise had a round, willful ass, Rene’s had a softer curve. Denise had an ass that Nicholas loved to nibble, but Rene’s demanded to be kissed.
On his perch across the room, Nicholas folded his arms and tried desperately to appear dispassionate, but his erection gave him away. It pushed through his shorts with such force that his left trouser leg was conspicuously shorter than his right. He was controlling his breathing, forcing himself to take sharp, short breaths.
Rene continued to undress Denise slowly. With kisses and licks and delicate caresses, she paid homage to every inch of Denise’s soft skin. She nibbled bends and joints, and thrust her tongue into every fold.
Nicholas found he was both angered and fascinated by the relationship the women shared. Rene was the aggressor and he identified with her love for Denise. At the same time he was angry at the ease with which Denise acquiesced. She was totally compliant, lifting and posing to allow Rene access to all she showed interest in. Squeezing and presenting her breasts, she allowed Rene to suck one nipple and then the other. She raised her knees and spread her thighs when Rene’s thick tresses moved between them.
Nicholas could not help but wonder why he was there. Denise’s relationship with Rene was complete and separate from anything he shared with her.
He was leaving when Denise spoke to him.
“Where are you going, Nick?” she asked.
“Yeah, where are you going?” Rene mocked. “We’re just getting started. Stick around and I’ll show you something dirty.”
“You don’t need me here,” he snapped. “Rene has everything in hand, and this has nothing to do with me.”
“This has everything to do with you,” Denise countered. “This is who I am, Nick. I need you to share it with me. I want you to share it with me. I want you to share everything with me.”
Like a cat, Rene lay across Denise’s lap. She watched Nicholas with a calculated intensity. Her hair was free and covered part of her face. The idea of crawling into bed with her was both daunting and irresistible.
“Come here, Nick,” Denise beckoned, extending her hand. Rene’s expression became a pout of mock sympathy. When Nicholas stood at the side of the bed, Rene snickered and drew away.
Ignoring Rene, Denise circled his waist and pulled him closer. She kissed his erection through his shorts and squeezed his ass. She smiled up at him and wiped at his shorts where her lipstick stained.
Denise unbuttoned his shorts and, at the same time, Nicholas removed his shirt. He moved onto the bed with her. Rene backed up to the headboard. She clutched a pillow to her breasts and fell silent.
“She is a part of me, just as you are. I want you to know me. I want us to share this. Of anyone, I want you to share this. Help me, Nick.”
This is how it always began. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. He’d done two chicks at once. He’d even gotten paid to be the third. It had never bothered him before, but Denise had a way of drawing him into things. There was always so much drama with her. Every action became the most important of his life. At times, their very lives seemed to balance precariously on his next gesture or infliction.
In Nicholas’s estimation, none of this should have been so important, but he wanted Denise. He needed Denise, and to have her he had to accept her view of the world. Her needs and desires overshadowed everything in her life. Nicholas was being invited into the center of her needs. Rene already dwelt there.
Her hunger was so strong that Nicholas could feel it. It stimulated him on a basic, primal level. He always rose to meet her need. He was no longer able to help himself. Denise encouraged him to act on instinct. She cleared away all his inhibitions and doubts and, most importantly, she loved everything about him.
Nicholas kissed her fiercely. This was the way things had always been between them. Their joinings wore torrid, and this flood of passion was what drew Denise to him. She couldn’t explain it to Rene, but she always thought of Nicholas, and most men, as sexually ruthless. Her feeling and fears were abandoned whenever she joined him in the single-minded search for orgasm. She often felt as though they became a new, composite animal, struggling to achieve some level of hyper-ecstasy.
Denise pulled Nicholas on top of her. He supported himself on his hands and knees above her, and Denise raised her thighs to lock him between. Reaching down, she grasped his erection.
Squeezing him lovingly, she guided him to her mons. She rubbed the head over her labia, using him to massage her clitoris. Nicholas held his breath and tried to control the sensations that bombarded him. He shut his eyes and fought the orgasm that was rising too quickly.
Denise poised him at the opening of her vagina, so that his head lay just within her lips. Denise pulled him forward by his hips and Nicholas thrust until he’d settled deep inside her. He could feel her vaginal walls expand to accommodate him, and then contract to grip every inch of him.
In that instant, nothing else mattered to them. Nicholas began his long, slow thrusting, clenching his buttocks as ho completed each penetration. Denise lifted her hips from the bed to meet his thrusts, and when he was completely inside her they settled back onto the bed together. Sometimes Denise would stop him so she could feel him filling her. At other times, Nicholas stopped to slow the pace of the orgasm that hovered near, just beyond the next few strokes.
Nicholas dropped his head to her breasts and Denise urged him on. She raised up to kiss his throat and then whispered, “Come on. Faster. Faster.” Nicholas responded with a grunt that burst from somewhere deep inside him.
Their thrusting became more intense and their skin met with a slapping sound. Her vagina sucked at him when he withdrew and Denise cried out when he plunged in. As her own orgasm swelled, she tightened her legs and pulled at the lean muscles of his back and buttocks.
Rene seemed distressed by Denise’s cries of pleasure and now she stirred hesitantly. Denise caught her hand feverishly and put two of Rene’s fingers into her own mouth. Denise sucked until Rene’s fingers were wet, and then she pressed those fingers to Nicholas’ skin. Rene pulled away as if his skin had burned her. Nicholas scowled at her but never lost his pace.
Just then Denise cried out again, swept away in the throes of orgasm. Rene dove swiftly under Nicholas. She took Denise’s nipple into her mouth and reached down to seize her clitoris. Rene’s touch made Denise convulse, and her mouth opened to release a silent scream. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, Denise clutched Rene’s head to her breast.
Nicholas’ movements became labored as the flames of his orgasm licked at him. The sensations started at the tip of his penis and spread over his loins to the rest of his body. He lost track of his surroundings until his entire universe seemed bounded by his tingling skin. When he erupted, Denise pulled herself up against his straining form. She rubbed herself against him until his orgasm began to flow into her. Her orgasm rose again and the volume of her cries soon matched his own.
When the fire between them had burned itself out and only the warm embers remained, reality closed in. With a sense of despair and impending loss, Nicholas disturbed the stillness. Close to Denise’s ear he whispered, “I love you. You are all I need.”
In that moment he knew it was the absolute truth. There were no other women dancing invitingly in his mind. There were no distractions. For her, his words confirmed something she already knew. She felt his devotion not only when he was inside her, but during each minute they were together and whenever she thought of him. It had taken weeks for him to accept his feelings. Now Denise wondered whether she could return his love in such a single-minded and selfless fashion. He had carved out a spot in her heart, but he was not alone there.
And what room did remain for Rene? There was a time when she had been everything to Denise. Could Nicholas replace her? Denise hoped for something more. Rene and Nicholas had known about each other for almost a year, but Denise had managed to keep them apart. Maintaining the separation was simple until her attraction for Nicholas became more than physical. As soon as she’d begun to love him, the lines were crossed. Rene knew right away and, in time, as Nicholas began to need more of Denise, he became aware of how divided she was.
Denise had a different love for each of them. When her love for Nicholas grew beyond her expectation, she found it crossed into areas she’d reserved for Rene. Confident, she knew she still had more than enough love for them both now she needed the love she shared with one to stretch and include the other.
As wakefulness returned to her, Denise felt the hand in her hair. The delicate palm was soft when it touched her face, and Denise kissed the fingers, tasting herself on them. She opened her eyes and smiled at Rene.
Beside the bed, Rene’s eyes were full of concern as she looked down on Denise. This exchange was almost the exact opposite of what had come before it. There was a nurturing quality about Rene’s approach. This was the difference. It was feminine and healing, and while it struck a chord deep inside Denise, she knew what would follow. It wouldn’t be absolutely predictable, but it would be familiar.
Perhaps what she enjoyed most in Nicholas was his male essence. He responded to her femininity sometimes with softness, but most often his response was wild, masculine passion. Effortlessly she fed his fire until the flames flowed freely from him to her. He made no apologies. He took her to places she had never been, and she joined with him in acts she had never imagined. She loved his masculinity.
While Denise still clung to Nicholas, she twisted to return Rene’s kisses. Jealousy stabbed at Nicholas and a liquid chill spilled over him. Seeing her still so receptive to Rene, even as he lay inside her, wounded him deeply. Rene crept closer until Nicholas found himself in her way. His rage flared when Rene began pushing him in a weak attempt to dislodge him.
“Get out of the way! Move, bastard. You’re finished. Why don’t you get out?”
Nicholas raised his head until he could see her. His eyes were sharp with anger, but his face remained expressionless. When Rene lunged again, Nicholas caught her arm and pulled her toward him. His speed surprised her, and she didn’t try to pull away until she was being dragged across the bed.
Denise moved away from the struggling pair. She sat on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. She waited to learn how the two people she loved most would react without her between them. She was unsure as to what would happen, but she was eager to find out.
Nicholas pinned Rene to the bed. Holding her firmly, he kept her immobile, but he was at a loss as to what he should do next. Rene stopped struggling and smirked up at him.
Sarcastically she asked him, “What are we going to do now, hero? Should I swoon in the face of your masculine charm or should I squirm and beg for it? You let me know.”
Nicholas exhaled loudly and his anger left him. In a defeated tone he answered, “You don’t have to beg anything from me. I’m yours. Right now, I’ll be whatever you want.”
Rene hesitated and she was suddenly unsure of herself.
“I don’t…want you,” she stated in a faltering voice.
“Don’t you?” Nicholas asked. “Don’t you want to know? I do. I need to touch you. I need to know why Denise needs you and wants you so much.”
Taking hold of her shoulders, Nicholas rolled onto his back and pulled Rene onto his stomach. She held her hands against his chest to put some distance between them, but she did not try to get away from him. Nicholas was encouraged.
“Don’t you wake at night, wake with her and wonder what she sees in me? Haven’t you touched her hair or spread her thighs and tried to imagine what attracts her to me?”
Nicholas lifted his thighs and gently pressed them against her legs. He pressed his erection into her lower stomach and admitted, “I remember every detail Denise tells me about you. Everything she thinks about you.”
Gently caressing the small of her back, he was careful to allow her plenty of space. His touch was light, and he wanted her to know that she could stop him whenever she wished.
He was aching to fuck Rene. In the hours between late night and early morning, Denise would lay in his arms and recount her most exciting liaisons with Rene. Nicholas always listened quietly because Denise needed him to. His reactions to her stories about Rene often made him feel perverse but, at the same time, she could keep him hard for hours. He stifled his urge to rush Rene. He wanted her to love him without reservation.
In a hushed tone, he continued, “Rene, I need to know. Show me. Love me. Just once, love me.”
For a few breathless seconds, Rene allowed her head to rest on his chest while she considered his request. Then she backed away from him. Nicholas sat up, but Rene refused to look at him. He climbed off the bed and stood before her.
“Isn’t this why you’re here?” he asked. He ran his hands over his chest and down his tight stomach. “Isn’t this what you want?” His erection pointed at her questioningly and he added, “Don’t be afraid. I won’t take anything from you that you don’t want to give.”
He walked to where Denise sat huddled and stood sideways to Rene, looking at her. “Touch me,” he requested. He directed his words at Rene, but it was Denise who got to her knees. She held his thighs and kissed his erection. Taking his head into her mouth, she began to suck.
Nicholas ran his hands through her hair as he continued to gaze at Rene. Rene watched Denise with interest and noted that she seemed oblivious to everything except Nicholas’ erection. Licking and sucking the head first, she eventually took more of his length into her mouth. Her hands slid from his thighs to his ass. Then, pulling him forward, she took a deep breath and swallowed his entire length. Nicholas closed his eyes, awash in the moment.
Rene folded her arms over her breasts and hugged herself. Her gaze was fixed on them and her breathing was just audible.
Nicholas pulled away from Denise and crossed slowly back to Rene. At the edge of the bed, Nicholas stopped.
“Love me,” he said. “Love me, just once.”
He crawled forward until he was face to face with her. His cheek brushed hers and he kissed her throat. Rene lay back and allowed Nicholas to straddle her. He unbuttoned her dress and cupped her breasts, gently rolling her nipples between his fingers. Her nipples were longer than Denise’s. He nudged forward so that his erection lay nestled between her breasts. Nicholas brushed her hair from her face, and Rene smiled nervously and stroked his thighs.
Nicholas reached out and Denise took his hand. She leaned over and kissed Rene, moving to her throat and then to her breasts. Rene watched Denise’s glistening tongue lick the tops of her breasts and Nicholas’s erection.
Denise coaxed him off Rene and onto his back. Her hands caressed him and, after a time, Rene joined her. Denise concentrated her sucking on his head while her deft fingers worked the shaft. Rene was content to explore his thighs while she watched Denise work. When her hands inched higher, she fondled his balls with curious fingers. An unexpected thrill raced through her each time Nicholas moaned. She became more active, changing positions again to explore his chest. She tasted the coarse hairs there and then fastened onto his nipple. Putting an arm around him to draw him close, the three of them remained a warm tangle of bodies.
“Move up,” Nicholas urged.
She lifted her torso clear off the bed until she sat low on his stomach. Rene pulled her dress over her head. Nicholas’s erection pressed into the cleft of her buttocks.
Nicholas slid beneath her until she was kneeling over him and his lips were pressed against her labia. Rene let out a sigh when Nicholas’s tongue began to explore her. Always remembering to take it slowly, he held her ass and sucked lightly at her clitoris.
He could feel Denise at his thighs and he imagined her watching his technique. This was what she wanted to see. She wanted a true glimpse of him. He knew she allowed him this with Rene because, for Denise, Rene was not another woman: she was another self.
When Rene’s movements became more urgent, she forced him to focus his attentions on her clitoris. Nicholas thrust his tongue deep inside her vagina when Rene allowed. Each time he did, Rene paused to enjoy his wriggling tongue. She gripped the headboard and Nicholas could hear the click of her nails on the wood.
Her body tensed, and he locked on-to her clitoris and held her ass so she couldn’t escape him. Rene cried out again and again. She ground her mons against his lips. Nicholas kept at her until she wiggled away from him.
Laughing, Rene playfully chided, “You bastard. You want to kill me.” She slapped his stomach playfully and laughed again before she lovingly kissed Denise. They whispered to each other, something Nicholas didn’t catch.
At once Rene leapt up and straddled him again. She beamed at him with a mischievous grin. Then, placing her hands firmly on his chest, she lifted her posterior. She leaned close enough to kiss him lightly before Nicholas felt Denise’s hands on his erection.
Denise angled him up until his head made contact with Rene’s labia. For Nicholas it was electric, and he felt Rene flinch at the contact. She closed her eyes in concentration.
Nicholas watched and thought that she was more beautiful now, if that was possible. She lowered herself slowly onto his erection. At times she would lift up suddenly, like a new swimmer who was afraid to go in too deep. She was incredibly wet, and in his haze of excitement he imagined he could hear her pussy taking him in.
After an eternity she sat on his loins, totally engulfing him. Straddling his face, Denise assumed the position so recently vacated by Rene. While Denise began to gyrate over him, Rene sat still, but not motionless. She flexed her vaginal walls and Nicholas felt the ripples moving along his length. Dividing his attention between the two women was becoming increasingly difficult.
Next, Rene slid over him so that her clitoris remained in constant contact with him. Her movements were excruciating for Nicholas. He finally had to ask Rene to climb down. He needed all his concentration to keep from reaching orgasm too soon. He tried to change his position, but Rene held him in place. She threw her head back and quickened her pace. Nicholas lifted his hips, in time, to push inside her. He wished he was all organ and that he could lose himself inside her.
He almost screamed when Denise began to nibble at his inner thigh. In vain he tried to hold Rene in place, but she was unstoppable. She took delight in his distress. She enjoyed his vulnerability, although Nicholas soon realized this exchange was also taking a toll on her.
She began to moan in time with her hurried movements. Each time she settled back, Nicholas thrust deeply, lifting her off the bed. She kissed him as if she wanted to steal a piece of his soul, and then her legs stiffened alongside his. As orgasm racked her body, she held him so tightly that he thought she would crush him. Nicholas cried out and ejaculated deep inside her.
Nicholas was certain that he’d lost consciousness. When his vision cleared, Rene was still lying on his chest, gasping. Denise was beside him, but he didn’t remember how she got there. Even as she kissed him and whispered her love for him, she took Rene’s hand.
He held both women close as he gazed out at the night and tried to see the moon’s dark face. He knew she watched him, but her face was smooth and shadowed, still hidden from him.
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