He kissed her chastely, becoming more excited only after she had thrust her tongue into his mouth and run it over the edge of his clean, hard teeth. His hands grasped the flimsy stuff of her nightie, tugging it up to bare her lower body; she pulled the string that tied it below her breasts, so that the sheer garment fell open and her bare breasts and thighs and crotch could be pressed against his hard body as she embraced him. Claire hooked her fingers under the elastic waistband of Donald's underpants and slid them down over his muscular ass cheeks.
Chapter One
"I've finally figured out what's wrong with you," her husband leered, his handsome face set in a grim look of cold contempt. "You're frigid!"
Claire gasped as the ugly accusation penetrated her consciousness: he might as well have struck her! Then her shocked sense of bewilderment and hurt changed to anger. How dare he! she thought indignantly. Frigid! For an instant, the possibility that it might be true nagged at the back of her mind like an unpleasant, half-forgotten memory. In simple self-defense, her ego thrust the horrible thought aside by giving her sudden surge of resentment full play. She hated Donald and felt extremely sorry for herself. Her husband was so insensitive-so cold and unfeeling. And he had the nerve to call her frigid! What a nasty, cruel thing to say at any time-let alone right after they'd made love (if you could call it that!), when she could still feel his warm, sticky semen in her cunt!
It was disgusting, really, and all his fault-she'd planned this little seduction so carefully all day, and now he'd ruined it for her with his coarse selfishness. Well, what else was new? It wasn't the first time he'd made it only too clear to her that he wished he'd never married her, that he thought of their marriage as a mistake, a mere convenience and one that was getting less valuable all the time. Their sex life was a disaster and it deteriorated even further every time they went through the empty motions of lovemaking, which wasn't often lately. She'd been a fool to hope that tonight could be any different.
Her day had been as boring and frustrating as usual, enlivened only by her gathering determination to entice her husband into her bed that night. Donald had gone off to catch the commuter express long before Claire was up-she always slept late to avoid having the morning to kill. When she did rouse herself, Claire had spent a lot of time bathing, dressing, and grooming herself. Then she had a Bloody Mary with her breakfast-she was dieting, just for the hell of it, since she was still a perfect size eight-and tried to think of something to do with the long day that lay ahead of her. There was nothing to be taken care of about the house: the cleaning lady was there, and Claire didn't like to get in her way. She couldn't go into town or into the city to shop, because she quite literally didn't need anything and had already unbalanced her budget on unnecessary, impulse purchases on her last shopping spree. Her bridge club and gardening club didn't meet that day; there was no fashion show, no meeting of her conscious-raising group, no interesting play or film to look forward to. She was trapped in her luxurious house in the midst of moneyed suburbia, and she was bored to death. So she spent a couple of hours on the telephone, exchanging gossip with some of her friends, and then, while the cleaning lady was doing the upstairs, settled down in front of one of their huge color television sets with another Bloody Mary to watch the afternoon soap operas.
Today, one of the half-hour melodramas seized her imagination and held it with unusual tenacity. She was familiar with the plot line, and secretly thrilled by the fictional representation of a shameless, adulterous love affair between a doctor's glamorous wife and a handsome young intern. Claire was especially taken by the actor's smooth, glossy good looks and the warm expression in his eyes whenever he was gazing directly at the camera ... the actress playing the doctor's unfaithful wife, beautifully dressed and made up, was trying-half-heartedly-to persuade her lover that they shouldn't see so much of each other for a while, because her husband had begun to get suspicious.
"I can't stand the thought of him being with you-making love to you!" the intern exclaimed under his breath. He suddenly took the doctor's wife in his arms, and Claire tensed, pressing her thighs together to contain her excitement.
"I don't let him make love to me anymore," the actress confessed in her mellow, well-trained voice, as she struggled in the young man's ardent embrace and the camera zoomed in for an intimate close-up. "I only want to belong to you-no, no, don't touch me like that-not here in his office! Oh, what if he comes in-!" Claire gasped as, right there on the screen for millions of viewers to see, the intern began to unbutton the sensuous brunette's dress down the front, slipping his hand underneath it to fondle one firm, rounded breast in its cup of lacy pink slip ... moaning, the adulteress raised her lips to his in a long, abandoned kiss ... the soaps were getting more daring every month, it seemed.
"My wife-and my best friend! Good God!" the doctor cried, shocked, as he stood in the open doorway and caught the guilty pair in the act. The lovers scarcely had time to react before the betrayed husband clutched his chest. "My heart-help-!" he gasped, crumpling to the floor. His wife, grasping the open front of her dress and frantically doing up the buttons again, rushed to his side, screaming for help ... a nurse came in ... end of episode.
Claire sat, lost in her thoughts, through the advertisement for a feminine hygiene spray that followed. She wondered what it would be like to have a handsome young lover-to surrender herself wholly to illicit passion-to be an adulterous, despising her husband and making love to another, more desirable man behind his back. Blushing at her own indelicate thoughts, she suddenly realized that the daytime serials were over and that she was watching a rerun of "Sesame Street." She switched off the television and, yawning, picked up the latest paperback Gothic novel by her favorite paperback Gothic novel writer. She found her place and immersed herself in the adventures of the orphaned nineteenth-century governess who had been forced by need to accept the position in the forbidding Cornish castle by the sea ...
"With a stifled shriek of terror, Malvina raised her bare arms to shield her corseted and whale-boned breasts as the door behind her was suddenly flung open. The young master strode over the threshold in his muddy riding boots, a candle in his hand. His ruffled shirt was open to the waist, and his face and chest were shiny with sweat. Malvina, trembling, saw that his brooding dark eyes were glazed with brandy and that his full, sensual lips were pursed in a drunken leer. She snatched up her discarded dress and held it to her body as her employer came towards her, an unholy light in his eyes.
"'I've had my fill of your damned coquettishness, woman,' he swore. 'If you won't listen to reason, I shall have to take you by force. It is useless to resist, Malvina, my oh-so-modest love. I have sworn to enjoy your body and enjoy it I shall.' Chuckling, he staggered towards her as she shrank back in utter despair ..." God! Claire shivered a little as she flipped the pages rapidly in order to find out what would happen. She knew what she wanted to happen-to Malvina! What would it be like to be-raped? How horrible! And yet, if the man was young and handsome and broodingly romantic and you had no choice but to submit-God!
Claire glanced at her diamond-studded wrist watch. She'd lost track of the time ... hurrying to the kitchen, she saw with relief that the cleaning lady had started dinner-and set the table in the dining room, bless her!-before she'd left. Oh, Mrs. Hudson was a jewel, no doubt about it. And good help was so hard to find nowadays. Claire went upstairs to dress for dinner, and it was then that the idea of seducing Donald entered her head. They hadn't made love for three or four days, she forgot which. Things were so hectic at the office, he said, and he was always so tense and preoccupied when he came home. Tonight, she'd surprise him, like a Total Woman should.
She stripped and went into their elegantly appointed bathroom. She ran warm water into the sunken marble tub, loading it with scented bubble bath and two kinds of bath oils that were supposed to be good for the skin. Critically, she examined her nude body in the full-length mirror. She was twenty-eight but could easily pass for younger. Her golden hair, pampered by weekly trips to the hairdresser, swung down over her bare shoulders like a soft blonde bell. Her face was lovely, aristocratic, with high cheekbones like a model's and large blue eyes. Claire ran both hands down over her body, caressing herself. Her breasts were full and shapely, thrusting out like a pair of ripe pears even without support from a bra. Her tummy was flat, her hips rounded and voluptuous ... she knew that she had a "nice ass" because she'd often been whistled at by construction workers when she walked past, cheeks crimsoning with embarrassment-and pride. Her legs were long and straight, two long-stemmed American beauties. Her pussy peeped out from beneath her mons veneris like a budding tea rose half-hidden by a cloud of golden moss.
She bathed languidly, using a loofah sponge to scrub her ivory skin so that she'd look her freshest, and dried herself with a huge, thick towel. What to wear? Her closets were full of expensive things, and Donald seemed equally indifferent to them all, except when he complained about paying the bills. Claire finally chose something simple and tasteful, a Yves St. Laurent original in white satin, with a high neck and flowing sleeves. She put her hair up in a neat chignon, made up her face, and fastened the big emerald-on-a-chain that Donald had given her for her last birthday around her neck.
She had just had time to check dinner and whip up a pitcher of martinis when his car pulled into the garage.
"Hello, darling!" she cried brightly as she met him at the door, handing him a martini and relieving him of briefcase, newspaper, hat, and raincoat all in one expert motion. She offered him her lips, thinking of the doctor's wife ... but he ignored them.
"What's for dinner?" he asked tiredly, walking away from her. "Christ, have I had a lousy fucking day!"
He showered and changed, and they ate-by candlelight-in near-silence. She kept dropping hints about how much she'd missed him all day and how tired she was and how she thought she'd go to bed early and didn't he want to, too? Donald read his paper, watched the news on television, and worked on the papers he'd brought home from the office in his study, while she hovered about with a worshipful smile on her lips, bringing him coffee and trying to take an interest in his work the way Mabel Morgan said an appreciative wife ought to.
"I'm going to bed, darling," she said suggestively at last, when her smoldering sexual desires finally became too much for her.
"All right," Donald mumbled.
She went upstairs and changed into her long, sheer organdy nightie, and then she lay in bed, stewing in her own juices, for a good hour and a half until Donald finally joined her.
"Darling," she breathed, sitting up in bed as he began to undress, "if you'd like to make love-" She let the sentence trail away sexily.
He glanced at her, surprised, and deposited his cuff links in their box. She thought that he was taking a hell of a long time getting undressed, and she wondered whether he didn't want her ... she admired his muscular body when he was naked except for his matching Pucci T-shirt and briefs of brightly colored nylon. Donald had long brown hair and a mustache and looked exactly like what he was, a dull young executive with plenty of money to spend on making himself look successful and sophisticated. Those nylon briefs were scanty enough, and sheer enough, for Claire to see that her husband didn't have the colossal hard-on that had been hovering in her imagination most of the day. Well, she'd soon take care of that!
Donald got into the huge double bed beside her and turned out the light. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of the perfume she'd doused herself with before getting into bed, and then Claire was rolling over against his body, her hands caressing his chest and hip through the thin underwear. He hesitated for a moment, then turned to her and kissed her rather chastely, becoming more excited only after she had thrust her tongue into his mouth and run it over the edge of his clean, hard teeth. His hands grasped the flimsy stuff of her nightie, tugging it up to bare her lower body; she pulled the string that tied it below her breasts, so that the sheer garment fell open and her bare breasts and thighs and crotch could be pressed against his hard body as she embraced him. Claire hooked her fingers under the elastic waistband of Donald's underpants and slid them down over his muscular ass cheeks.
He began to kiss her with real enthusiasm, his warm hands cupping and kneading her breasts, as she thrilled to the sensation of his cock and balls rubbing against her sleek inner thigh. He was already half-hard and she completed the process by boldly reaching down to grasp his penis and yank on it several times, her hand wrapping itself around the stiff shaft and working the foreskin back and forth until the penile tissue became swollen with blood and the rounded, moist head protracted from the pushed-back sheath she was playing with.
"Spread your legs," he ordered her hoarsely. He sounded like a domineering Victorian husband commanding his wife to lift her linen so he could exercise his conjugal rights: a feminist might have balked, but to Claire this sudden show of aggression was an encouraging turn-on. She parted her lush thighs, delighted by the sudden sensation of dampness between them as her aroused cunt began to secrete its natural lubricants and her labia quivered uncontrollably in anticipation of having a hard cock thrust brutally between them.
"Do you want it now?" he asked, sounding like a bored gas station attendant offering to fill her tank and check her oil.
"Oh, yes, please, Donald-I'm ready," she panted, burying her hot, reddening face in his shoulder, savoring the scratchy friction of his new beard stubble against her cheek. She wanted to suck his cock and have him eat her and put his finger in her pussy and do all the sexy, slightly shocking things she read about in women's magazines and books; but she knew from past experience that Donald found such suggestions distasteful. He was sexually and politically conservative-damn it!
He raised himself up a bit, so that he could pull his sweaty T-shirt up to his armpits, then over his head and off. He flung it away and threw himself on top of her again, his dark hair mussed, his torso damp with perspiration, his chest heaving as he breathed laboriously and wriggled his hips to fit his cock between her trembling, eager legs. She moaned as the head of his prick rubbed over her moist labia; deciding the hell with it, she reached down, gripped her husband's dick by the base, and jabbed it at her cunt. Donald was extremely well-hung, and even after five years of married bliss she had to strain and contract her cunt muscles, keeping the rest of her body relaxed at the same time, in order to receive his tool without discomfort. She stuffed the blunt, pulsing cockhead between her parted pussy-lips and heaved her pelvis upwards to force some of the solid shaft into her body. Her cervix stretched slowly to accommodate the mass of hard, throbbing flesh that she'd shoved up into it-God, how utterly glorious! And how long it had been since she'd had this divine feeling of hard cock in her cunt! She moaned and writhed in ecstasy beneath her husband's body as she let more and more of his big instrument push its way into her twat.
"What the fuck's gotten into you, Claire?" he demanded, panting.
Your cock! That's what hasn't been getting into me! she wanted to scream up into his bland, pleasant face that rarely lost its composed expression even in the heat of passion. But she was rapidly rectifying the omission as more and more hard, heavenly dick slid into her craving snatch, filling her, bloating her-oh, God! He was fucking her now, actually fucking her at last, his muscular ass grinding beneath its film of shiny sweat as he drove himself in and out of her twitching tunnel, resting his upper torso on his elbows, his mouth seeking her breasts and sucking on her nipples as they hardened between his wet, coaxing lips and delicious tremors of sensual gratification rippled through her twisting body at his every touch. Her mouth opened in a sensuous oval as she gasped out her passion, begging him to screw her harder-faster-to take her like the rutting stallion she could now fantasize him as being.
Now, at last, he was abandoning his usual phlegmatic stance and really putting it to her in the way her body craved, his body hammering against hers every time his cock penetrated her convulsing cunt, her vaginal muscles tightening up to increase the pressure and friction caused by his potent thrusts. She was wet, her love oils flowing copiously, drenching his dick and letting it slide in and out of her gripping cervix more freely. Her clitoris was stiff, the little bud of pleasure standing out of its hooded sheath and burning with need; she whimpered, torn between delight and frustration, every time her husband's plummeting prick accidentally scraped over her clit and gave it a second's relief.
"Fuck me, darling! Oh, Donald-fuck me!" she screamed, digging her long-nailed fingers into his firm shoulders as he grunted and heaved on top of her, his cock piercing the innermost depths of her, sending her into hysterics each time her vagina tensed up in involuntary, helpless response to the deep, stabbing, totally fulfilling strokes. "Ahhhhhhh-fuck me!"
"Christ," he muttered, plowing into her furiously now.
Claire tossed her golden hair from side to side on the pillow, her hands buried in Donald's thick hair as she pressed his head to her jiggling, sweat-streaked breasts. "Oh-darling!-touch me here, please, oh please, here," she whispered, suddenly seizing one of his hands and guiding it between their bodies. He grunted and tried to pull his hand away, but she tightened her grip on it and pressed it over her clit. He gave in and, taking the little love button between his thumb and forefinger, began to massage it roughly, pinching it and tugging at it until wild, erotic sensations flashed through her brain and left her limp with excitement. Her legs rose from the mattress and tightened around his waist, opening her cunt up even more so that he could fuck her more easily-more violently-the way she wanted him to!
His movements were more violent now, unrestrained, his hips writhing as they provided the impetus behind each of his thrusts. Strange, muffled grunts and groans emerged from his throat as he pressed himself to her, his chest flattening her tender breasts, the light coating of hair on his pectoral muscles rubbing over her pointed nipples and chaffing them. Arousal, hot and feverish, spread throughout her shivering body as her cunt cried out for more, for deeper penetration, for greater stimulation, for hands, mouth, cock to take her and use her in any way possible that might increase her pleasure. Suddenly Donald emitted a hoarse cry, his buttocks tensed, and she knew that he was about to come in her. And she wasn't ready yet! Her vagina was contracting and relaxing in steady, rhythmic surges-but not rapidly enough for her to have her own orgasm! And she wanted to come so badly! She needed it so badly!
"Oh, no-not yet-wait for me, oh please, I'm not there yet, just a little while and I will be-oh!" she cried in despair as Donald began to shudder in the uncontrollable throes of intense sexual release. He was in her, but he might as well have been a thousand miles away-they were separate-he was scarcely aware of her existence, let alone of her hungers and needs, as he lost himself in the purely physical ecstasy of his explosion. She tried to go limp, to pull away from him, in order to stop the stimulus on his cock and prevent him from coming after all-but it was already too late. He gasped in delight as his organ twitched violently within the quaking tunnel of her cervix and the first fierce jets of his sperm squirted out of it and filled her with warmth and wetness and tingling sensation. He shot in her again and again, moaning like an animal, gripping her ass cheeks in his hands and crushing her body tight against his to maintain the delightful friction for as long as possible. Claire tightened her vaginal muscles and writhed wildly in a last, frantic effort to get enough pressure on her clit to bring herself off. But it was useless and she slumped in defeat beneath her husband's sweaty body as he pumped the rest of his load deep into her cunt, his mouth nuzzling her breasts and then seeking her lips. He drove his tongue into her panting mouth as far as he could and the contact seemed to rouse him again for a moment: with a few more hard, fast humping motions, he slammed his pelvis against hers and his cock leapt and jerked within her, spraying her snatch with the last drops of his creamy fluid. Repulsed, Claire lay back and didn't kiss back-not that he seemed to notice, let alone care! He was moaning and whimpering, his big body shaking as though it had been the greatest lay of his life; yet there she lay beneath him, totally turned off. His skin felt hot to her touch, and yet she herself felt cold and clammy all over. Marriage was just a fancy form of prostitution, she decided bitterly, just like the feminists claimed! She was nothing but a receptacle for his selfish pleasure-a hole for him to stick his dick into!
But her cunt was still afire with fierce, demanding, unsatisfied need, and she groaned when Donald pulled himself out of her. He rolled over onto his back, breathing hard and muttering something unintelligible as he buried his hot-looking face in the soft pillows and wriggled about like a fresh-caught fish impaled on the hook. She couldn't help thinking that he looked a bit stupid and comical that way, but she wanted to have a good come so very, very badly, so she turned to him and, grasping his warm, sweaty hand, guided it between her moist, parted thighs. She pressed his palm to her furry bush of blonde fuzz, whispering, "Please-darling-touch me there and bring me off-I'm so hot for you tonight-I really need it, darling-!"
And that's when he chose to hit her with his monstrous insult!
"You're frigid!" he repeated nastily, tearing his hand away from her aching cunt.
"What do you mean?" she cried, sitting up and seizing her discarded nightie, drawing it around her body as though to protect herself from the cold.
He grunted, sat up-facing away from her-and fumbled for his pack of cigarettes on the night-stand. He lit one and took a long drag before bothering to reply.
"Just what I said-you're turning into a real ball-busting bitch, Claire, you know it? I knew the minute I walked in the door that this was going to be another of those fucking nights. You fall all over me like some cheap whore, you've got nothing on your mind but sex, and then when I do let you drag me into bed, you can't get enough. You lie there going through all those crazy acrobatics, just using me as though I were nothing but your hired stud or a goddam dildo, for Christ's sake; and then when you can't get off you expect me to do all those disgusting things to you until you do. The truth is, you don't really enjoy sex, but you're afraid to admit it, so I have to put up with your goddam screwy circus act every night. Christ! What a pain in the ass!"
Tears welled up in her wide blue eyes. "That's not fair!" she protested miserably. "And it's not that I'm frigid-it's that you don't satisfy me!"
"I get it up, don't I?" he growled defensively. "Most guys would be impotent if their wives expected them to be nothing but screwing machines!"
"But you don't give me enough time to-to get my own satisfaction," she blurted. "You know that it takes a woman longer! I need more foreplay to get me hot before you put it in me! Maybe if you played with me for a while beforehand, I could have my orgasm when you have yours. Or we could go down on each other. I get so excited when I think about having you kiss me down there, I'm sure I could come-!"
He glared at her with undisguised revulsion and spat out a cloud of pungent smoke. "Must you talk like such a slut, Claire? If you could get off on just plain screwing like any normal woman, you wouldn't have to fantasize about that other perverse shit all the time! It's those goddam women's lib magazines and books you read-the ones with those filthy pictures of naked men in them and those articles about taking lovers and having sex in all kinds of freaky ways. They're just trying to turn women into either lesbians or nymphos, I'm not sure which. It makes me sick!"
"You don't love me anymore, or you'd want me to enjoy myself in bed too!" she accused.
"I'm not wild about having to pretend to be a fucking porno star every fucking night," he retorted. "Why don't you find yourself some young stud to be your gigolo, or better yet, you could become a whore and get all the cock you claim you want."
She was stung by his ugly talk. "Maybe I'll do just that! At least then I'd have some real men for a change-the kind who can get it up more than once a week!"
He crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray with a vicious motion of his thumb, and stood up to pull on his silk bathrobe. "It's late and I'm tired and all this arguing is giving me a headache," he said shortly, not looking at her. "I'll sleep in the guest room tonight and we can continue this little fracas tomorrow, if you insist."
When he was gone, she threw herself face-down on the rumpled bed and had herself a good, long cry. Oh, it was impossible, and getting worse every day! She wished she were dead-or divorced. Maybe it was true, and she was one of those awful frigid, castrating women whom no man could satisfy. But she thought about sex and wanted it all the time, it seemed; so how could that be what was wrong with her? Oh, God, what if she was some kind of nymphomaniac who had to have cock in her all the time or she'd go insane? Perhaps she could find a doctor, a specialist who knew about these things. But that would mean telling him all about her perverse urges and her frustrating marriage and the intimate details of her lousy sex life with Donald; and she'd die of shame first even if it were a woman doctor. But she had to do something, and soon-she knew that. She simply couldn't go on like this.
She roused herself, dried her tears, and examined her nude body. Her thighs and belly and pussy thatch were encrusted with little splotches of her husband's dried sperm, and her labia looked sore and slightly redder than usual. Claire ran her fingertips over the wounded-looking slot and shuddered as her clit responded to her touch with a sharp jerk.
Oh, that felt so good-but she whipped her hand away with guilty haste. She felt so tense and edgy all over, as though her muscles were knotted, especially in her cunt. She decided that a long soak in a warm tub would relax her, and then with the aid of some sleeping pills she might be able to get to sleep; otherwise she'd lie awake half the night tossing and turning and brooding, and thinking about Donald in the guest room and about how good it had been to have his hard cock in her until his horrible selfishness and brutal insensitivity had ruined it for her. It was all his fault anyway, she decided rebelliously.
While the bath was running, she tied her hair up into a loose mass on top of her head so it wouldn't get wet, and enjoyed the heavy, pungent scent of the bath oils and bubble bath suds that were reacting with the hot water. She had a clever little desk-like contraption that fitted over the tub, so that she could read or do her nails or write letters while she soaked; she set it in place above the thick froth and steam, and looked for something to read. Playgirl!
Her heart skipped a beat as the handsome young man on the cover of the magazine stared up at her with knowing nonchalance. It was one of the magazines that Donald had been talking about, and Claire had to admit that she always got excited by reading the articles about sexually liberated women and the stories that placed much emphasis on the idea that a woman had as much right to lead a free, uninhibited sex life as a man. As for the male nudes-Claire stepped into the full tub, seated herself in the cloud of suds, and pulled the desk over her lap. Her body welcomed the warm water that inundated her limbs and seeped into her pores. Her muscles relaxed and she began to perspire, a good, comforting, cleansing sweat. She took a bar of cocoa butter soap and worked the rich, creamy lather all over her face and throat and breasts. Then she dried her hands on a fluffy towel and, sinking back in the tub, opened Playgirl.
"Watersports-a Playgirl photo fantasy," she read. Curious, she examined the first of the full-page, full-color, carefully posed photographs. It showed an attractive, very elegantly dressed woman watching while a young man finished repairing her car. The captions implied that she'd had car trouble and that this nice young man, a complete stranger, had volunteered to help, and now she was offering to take him to her place so that he could clean up ... he certainly was dirty from working under the hood, Claire mused, as she concentrated on the male model. He was tall and well built, with long brown hair and a mustache, and with a bitter smile Claire thought that he looked a bit like Donald, except that he was younger and less well groomed and somehow seemed-well, sexier, rougher-more male. Her smile faded, to be replaced by a dreamy look as she saw how the young man's tight jeans and soiled white T-shirt displayed his muscular body to perfection. His hands were oily and smeared with grease, he had a smudge on his cheek, the crotch of those well-packed jeans was smudged as well and drew one's eye very directly to the way one leg of the jeans was filled with a semi-hard cock. He looked enormous and Claire wet her lips as she sweated in the steamy bath.
Eagerly, she turned the page. What a coincidence-the woman in the photos was drawing a bath in a fantastic huge, heart-shaped tub and the young man was undressing right in front of her! He had that T-shirt off and the muscles in his powerful torso flexed as he bent over slightly to strip off his grimy jeans. He had no underwear on beneath them, and his curly pubic bush and just the very base of that thick cock were exposed as the camera caught him in the act of shoving the unzipped pants down his brawny bare thighs.
Claire began to breathe hard-it was getting hot in the bathroom-as she flipped the pages of the photo fantasy section with one hand and rubbed the lather of cocoa butter into her breasts with the other. Her nipples were hard as she let her fingers caress them gently, a sigh escaping from her lips as she gaped at the photos, which showed, in loving detail, how the woman accepted the young man's invitation to share the bath with him ... Claire stared at the two tanned, nude bodies in the heart-shaped tub as her free hand slid down over her belly and under the water level, and slipped between her thighs as though it were guided by a will of its own. Her body shivered as her fingertips touched her parted, waterlogged, relaxed labia and the sensual thrill shot up her spine.
Oh, I mustn't, it's wrong, it's shameless and whorish-but it feels so fucking good, and oh God am I horny! she thought wildly as she let her impatient fingers knead the lips of her willing cunt. She began to get aroused as her fingers penetrated deeper into the soft folds of flesh that guarded the entrance to her snatch. She let the magazine lie open on the counter in front of her, and raised her other hand to her breasts, stroking them the way the young stud in the pictures was doing to the woman in the tub with him. Claire had no difficulty imagining herself as the woman in the pictures. Her heated imagination transformed the still photographs into a lurid, unashamedly pornographic motion picture depicting writhing bodies interlocked in a frothy sea of bubble bath and steamy humidity, breasts being sucked by ardent male lips, hands exploring private parts below the water level, hard cock being inserted into wantonly spread labia, frantic cries and motions of unrestrained pleasure dissolving into a hot, wet blur of sound and sight as Claire's own cries of ecstasy echoed between the bathroom walls.
Her ass cheeks ground against the slippery porcelain floor of the tub as she spread her legs wide and stabbed her stiffened fingers between them, each thrust sending waves of watery pleasure through her body. Her thumb stroked her clit until she was sure that it was hot enough to electrocute her, submerged as it was in the water that pounded against her swaying breasts in miniature tidal waves as her body thrashed about in the tub like an amorous, sleek dolphin's.
"Fuck me! Oh, darling-fuck me!" she whimpered faintly, addressing the young stud in the photos. Her vagina was rippling in steady, rapid waves, as it had when Donald was screwing her in his cold-blooded fashion. It felt good-but she needed more. More friction on her clit-more pressure against the tremulous walls of her cervix-more feeling of mass and hardness in her cunt! Claire looked about the bathroom wildly. The bar of cocoa butter soap! It was brand-new and large. It filled her hand as she grasped it and shoved it between her legs. Ah!-how fucking good it felt to have that thick, solid hunk of soap between her pussy-lips! She shoved it all the way into her quaking cunt and used both hands to rub her clit and the insides of her wet, shivering thighs. God! It was better than having cock in her! Her vagina tensed-and then, oh God at last, unbelievable, too sweet to endure, she was almost there!
"I'm coming-ahhhh!" she gasped. "Oh, oh, oh-yes! I'm going to come! Fuck me! Shove it in me! Harder! Fuck me-oh yesssss, I'm coming! Come with me, you fucking stud! Come! Come! Come-!"
Her body lurched in the tub so violently that a wave went over the rim and splashed on the tiled floor that lay on the other side. Her knee accidentally struck the desk, knocking it over, sending Playgirl flying, spilling a bottle of bath salts, sinking the soap dish. Claire choked back scream after scream of hysterical erotic release as her body thumped and heaved and banged against the tub, bruising her lovely butt, as the most intense orgasm she'd had in months swept over her. It went on and on, until she was sure that she'd drown in the warm water and the fuck juices that seemed to be gushing out of her cunt and flooding the tub to overflowing, ah, ah, yes, she was coming again-again and again-was there no end to this exquisite pleasure? Yes-the shudders were less violent now, her cunt was calming down as the bar of soap popped out of it and the warm, sudsy water rushed into the vacuum, providing an impromptu douche in lieu of the spurts of semen her imagination had conjured up during her prolonged climax ... her body sagged in the tub, limp, hands languidly soothing her sweaty breasts and thighs. A heavy, voluptuous sense of complete satisfaction weighed her down-and, for a few moments, she tasted peace.
Chapter Two
Two days later, Claire went into Manhattan with Marjorie, her best friend, to shop. Claire was always fascinated by Marjorie's volubility and gossip: the other woman said the most shocking things in the most blas� manner, as though they were ordinary. She admired Marjorie's outfit more than her own, which was a very stylish suit of grass-green raw silk with a pale grey blouse and silver glitter stockings, with a pale greenish-yellow raincoat flung over her shoulders. Marjorie, on the other hand, was a tall, striking brunette, all in bright yellow and electric blue, with an ordinary dark blue trench coat; she wore no jewelry except for a single egg-sized emerald brooch pinned on her breast.
Now that was class. Marjorie chain-smoked and gesticulated as she talked, waving her well-manicured hand about in a haze of bluish-grey cigarette smoke. Claire tried not to offend her by coughing too often.
"I've dumped my old lover," Marjorie admitted cheerfully at the top of her mellow voice, not caring who overheard. "He wasn't all that hot in the sack anyway, although he did have such a nice large cock-I actually measured it once with my sewing-kit tape measure: eight and three-fourths inches long and five around at the widest part. And uncut in the bargain, not like poor Richard." (Poor Richard was Marjorie's repeatedly cuckolded third husband.)
"Anyway, he got to be a bit too expensive for me to keep, you know what I mean, Claire? Always whining for presents and pocket money-God! It was like having an incestuous affair with your own teenaged son after awhile. Then, when I found out that the cheap little faggot hustler was giving the things I gave him to his black lover, well, darling, I put my foot down and said 'basta,' or 'bastard' as the case may be, and kicked his ass out for good. Now I've got this simply heavenly little nineteen-year-old stud on my string. His name is Jerry and he's in one of the seminars Richard teaches at college! Richard invited him to that bore of a party we threw for some other super-square faculty members-thank God you couldn't make it, Claire; believe me, you didn't miss a thing-and I got in his pants upstairs in the guest bedroom while Richard was playing the perfect host downstairs and kissing his departmental chairman's ass. Nobody missed us and we balled for an hour!
"Claire, this kid eats pussy like it's going out of style! We were smoking this dynamite Colombian he had in his pocket and I was so spaced out I started rimming his lovely butch ass while he ate me. Darling, it was sweeter than any Hershey bar, and believe me, a lot less calories ... but I'm running on and not letting you say a thing, dear. What's new with you? Is Donald still jerking off in the bathroom instead of giving you your nookie?"
Claire blushed. "We've had sex-a few times," she blurted out.
"Oh, you poor thing! Not getting any, eh? Well, like I told you last week, you need a change, Claire. A little spot of adultery would do wonders for you, but you're too puritanical, I guess, and God knows I do enough screwing around for both of us. Has Donald been dipping his wick anywhere on the side?"
Claire got even redder. "I-I don't think so," she mumbled.
"Well, that's one encouraging sign, dear. Not like poor Richard. Look at this, Claire-it's a real laugh riot." Marjorie fumbled in her Hermes handbag and dug out a tiny business card and gave it to Claire. "I found this in Richard's pocket when I was getting his things ready for the cleaner's. Couldn't you just die, Claire?"
Mystified, Claire read the little card in her dainty gloved hand. MADAME DEFARGE, CURIOS, OBJETS D'ART & ANTIQUES, it read in elegant script, and there was a midtown address and a phone number.
"I don't get it," Claire confessed. "Did Richard buy something from her?"
Marjorie giggled. "Darling, men don't buy things from La Defarge, they rent them-by the half-hour, cash on the line! And the only curios and antiques she's got in that shop of hers are the black and Oriental girls and the old hookers who are too decrepit to make it on the street! Madame Defarge, Claire dear, is that kind of madam; that's her business card, and her so-called shop is a whorehouse. Richard has been going there at least once a week to get the kind of sex that's too kinky for even me to give him, but then there's no accounting for taste-or lack of it. Darling, you do look shocked! Hasn't Donald ever bought himself a piece of ass behind your back?"
"If he has, he hasn't mentioned it to me," Claire said, brushing her blonde hair back and trying to match Marjorie's own breezy manner. "I think he's been getting more sex than he wants right at home."
"Good Lord! From what you've been telling me, I'd be worried about him, if I were you. Maybe he needs a hormone shot-"
Claire managed to divert the conversation to less painful topics. She was still slightly stunned by the casualness with which Marjorie mentioned her husband's infidelities-and with common prostitutes, yet! Wasn't Marjorie just the least bit jealous? And what did she mean by "kinky sex"? Claire's mental image of a prostitute was rather vague: she thought of a cheap, tough-talking slattern with too much paint on her face, swinging a purse on a street corner or soliciting grimy, uncouth men in dirty, run-down bars. Ugh! But then, she'd heard or read somewhere that some call girls made tons of money and lived in good neighborhoods, and some were even college graduates ...
The two women shopped in Bloomingdale's and Saks, then, loaded with packages and full shopping bags, went to have lunch. Over their cocktails, Claire boldly broached the subject that had begun to occupy her thoughts ever since Marjorie had brought it up.
"Don't you feel just-the teeniest bit-well, degraded or insulted, Marjorie-because your husband goes to a lot of cheap hookers for sex?" she asked hesitantly.
Marjorie laughed and blew uneven smoke rings. "Claire, dear, you are naive. Richard and I have an agreement-we can screw on the side all we want as long as we tell each other all about it. He gets off on hearing my dirty confessions as much as I do on his. And Madame Defarge's objets d'art aren't cheap by any means. Thank God we can afford it, so I don't have to start hooking myself to support my husband's perversions. Poor Richard can be so sweet at times; I'm sure the hookers just adore him because he doesn't give them any trouble. And he says that they're all quite attractive and well-behaved. Real 'ladies' of the night, I suppose. They probably have to be, for what they charge-think of the competition: all of those five-bucks-a-blowjob sluts down on Times Square, let alone the liberated bitches giving it away for free in the singles' bars. Not that I have any right to talk. Richard says I'd make an ideal hooker, only I love sex too much to ever charge for it. Buying it myself is another matter. That's what you ought to try, Claire, dear. Just find yourself some nice-looking, smooth-talking, totally amoral young hustler with plenty between his legs and pay him by the inch or by the hour. You'll never feel the urge to rape poor bashful Donald again."
"I think the whole idea of prostitution is disgusting," Claire declared. "It's sexist exploitation, you know."
"Don't knock it till you've tried it, darling-if it weren't for all those hard-working girls in the oldest profession, there'd be a lot more frustrated husbands and overworked wives. As long as Richard doesn't come home with a dose of the clap and give it to me-and that's not likely to happen, since I understand that Madame Defarge is careful to keep her merchandise in good operating condition-and as long as he showers and shampoos before he comes home, he can pay all the girls to piss on him he wants."
Suddenly, Claire didn't feel very hungry. Instead of attacking her salad, she gulped down the rest of her Bloody Mary and ordered another.
* * *
It was still fairly early in the afternoon when Claire got home from her shopping spree in the city. Mrs. Hudson had gone home, but had left a note in the kitchen: The washing machine is broken-the repair shop promised to send a man out to fix it. Planned obsolescence strikes again, Claire thought moodily. She and Donald were going out to dinner that evening, so there was no meal to fix to keep her busy until he got home. At least she'd be able to talk about her shopping trip to him, so there wouldn't be that awkward silence between them. She went upstairs and put her purchases away, admiring them without any real enthusiasm, then took off her dress and hung it up in the closet so it wouldn't get wrinkled. She put her long silk dressing gown over her pink slip and silver stockings, and went downstairs to watch the soaps.
The doctor was in the hospital intensive care unit, still recovering from his near-fatal heart attack; his guilty wife had told her lover that all was now over between them; he was trying to win her back by making her jealous by pretending to be attracted to that young nurse who had had the criminal abortion nobody knew about, except for the man who was blackmailing her; meanwhile, her alcoholic husband was in a jail cell, accused of drunk driving and a fatal hit-and-run accident, but he hadn't been the one behind the wheel of the car ... it was all very exciting and made Claire's own life seem even more barren and banal by comparison. If only she were an aggressive, sexually liberated woman like Marjorie. Prostitutes ... how disgusting-!
The program was just ending when the doorbell rang; sure enough it was the repair man.
"I'm Bud from the appliance shop," he announced cockily, chewing on a wad of gum. "Your washing machine busted, ma'am?"
"Yes-the cleaning lady said so, anyway-please come right this way," Claire said absent-mindedly, her thoughts still with the adulterous doctor's wife. It wasn't until the repair man had followed her into the kitchen and was peering at the washing machine that she took any particular notice of what he looked like. Then she did a double take. Bud was a young stud-he couldn't be more than twenty-four or-five-who could easily be next month's Playgirl discovery. He was at least six-three, and proportionately broad and husky in build, with long sandy hair and heavy eyebrows that gave his large grey eyes a somewhat droll expression whenever he smiled-which was often-and displayed a double row of even, very white teeth.
His dark-blue repairman's uniform was a snug, revealing fit; his tool belt was slung low around his hips like a gunslinger's in a Western film. Despite herself, Claire felt her gaze being irresistibly drawn to the young man's crotch ... there was a big lump in his tight pants that created a lump in her own throat as she measured it with her eyes.
"What's wrong with the bitch?" he asked pleasantly, opening the loading door of the washer and peering inside.
"I-I really don't know," Claire admitted.
He bent down, and she expected his pants to split across his muscular ass. Bud plugged the washer into the wall socket, then stood up and turned it on. Ominous clunking and banging sounds emerged from the machinery, and a feeble spray of water gushed into the agitator. He grunted and pushed another button. The machine screeched in protest, and he quickly turned it off.
"Have to open the fucker up," he announced, getting his tools out. His grey eyes ran casually over her body, and she realized, with a fluttering sensation, that her robe wasn't tied as carefully as it could be. She turned aside for a moment to rectify the lapse, asking, "Would you like me to make us some coffee-?"
Now the robe, was drawn almost too tightly over her lush breasts and hips and ass; Bud licked his lips. "Yeah, I'd like some"-of that juicy pussy of yours, he silently added. He took his time tearing the machine apart, glancing at Claire as she puttered about, getting the percolator and cups ready. The dressing gown was slit up each side all the way to the hip, and Bud admired the way Claire's long, shapely legs flashed every time she moved.
He grinned as he imagined himself driving his tool between those gorgeous legs and getting her motor running in high gear. She wouldn't be the first rich bitch whose appliance he'd fixed in a way she hadn't planned on when she'd called the shop. He wondered if she could be had. Probably. She was sure acting nervous-either she was one of those high-class lushes who kept a bottle of gin behind every closet door, or she was dying for some good, hard dick.
Bud found the trouble easily, and fortunately he had the necessary part with him. "I'll have this baby fixed in a jiffy, ma'am."
"Oh, how lovely," Claire said. She bent over-he was sitting on the floor in a maze of parts and oily rags and tools-to hand him a cup of coffee. He thanked her, his grimy fingers brushing against hers for an instant, his eyes trained on her boobs. They were all but bursting out of the tight confinement of the robe as she leaned over. Her perfume enveloped him in a musky fog and he felt the beginnings of a giant economy-sized erection in his crotch. She was grade-A cunt, all right, and it was all he could do to keep from flinging his wrench down and her beside it, and whipping his own tool out of his pants and plunging it into her socket. His cock got harder, filling one leg of his pants and making an uncomfortable bulge. Grunting, Bud reached down and calmly pushed his lengthening rod into a more comfortable position. He glanced at Claire and grinned.
"Guess I'm just too big for my fucking britches," he joked.
She stared at his crotch, mesmerized. She tried to sip her own coffee, but it burned her lip. With a trembling hand, she set the cup and saucer down on the counter top behind her. A strange, flushed feeling was creeping slowly, insidiously up her thighs and over her loins: her panties suddenly felt uncomfortably tight and confining. She tried to stay calm. What would Marjorie say in a situation like this? Something sophisticated and suggestive, no doubt.
"I've always wondered how you men can wear those tight pants without-without hurting yourselves." God! What a shameless thing to blurt out! She reddened as Bud's grin broadened. His pink tongue flicked out of his mouth and licked those sensual red lips of his: he looked more like a healthy, frisky, but wary wild animal than a man. But he was a man-another guilty glance at his swelling crotch confirmed that!-and she needed a man, a real man's loving, so desperately. Claire shook a little as explicit sexual thoughts flooded her mind. She imagined Bud on top of her, naked, his cute ass cheeks grinding as he jabbed that massive dick into her craving cunt again and again ...
"Excuse me," she stammered, "but I have to take care of something-!" She fled from the kitchen and shut herself up in Donald's nearby study, shuddering and trying to get control of herself. She could hear Bud working on the machinery, and then, after a long pause, there was the familiar hum of the washer as he turned it on to test it and it worked perfectly. Straightening her shoulders, Claire marched resolutely back into the kitchen. She could handle it now, she assured herself ... Bud was standing in the center of the room, wiping his dirty hands off on a rag. He stopped the machine and smiled warmly at her. "All fixed."
"Oh, thank you ever so much," she said smoothly, avoiding his gaze. "Just have them send us the bill, please. Would you like to wash up-?"
"Yeah, if I could. Here in the sink is okay." He ran hot water into the sink, and helped himself to the bar of soap that was on the ledge. Thoughts of the Water sports photo fantasy flashed before Claire's dazzled eyes. Thank God, in a few minutes he would be gone and she would be beyond the reach of temptation ... she found the fluffy dish towel and approached him to give it to him.
"Here, you can dry your hands on-" That was as far as she got before he turned and grabbed her. With a gasp, she felt strong arms around her waist, wet hands on the back of her thin robe, a hard, muscular chest pressed against her breasts, a hot, eager, panting mouth being crushed down over her own moaning lips. Rape! she wanted to shriek, but her mind suddenly transformed the cry into Rape me! as she found her body responding to Bud's improper advances with fierce, savage hunger. Her tongue slid into his open mouth and her arms tightened around his neck, caressing his sandy hair. Pleased and surprised, he deep-kissed her, grunting and humping his crotch against hers. Through the silk of her robe she could feel his denim-sheathed hard-on rubbing over her trembling thighs. Hot, irrational desire took over completely as she abandoned herself to his lustful embrace.
Words weren't necessary. They fell heavily to the cold tiled kitchen floor, Bud on top of her just as she had fantasized, his big, soiled hands tearing at the knotted sash of her robe. He ripped the garment open and tore it off her shoulders as she writhed beneath him, her silvery legs spread and threshing wildly, his crotch pressed between her thighs. He hiked her pink slip up to her waist and probed between her moist, quivering thighs. Claire shrieked with excitement as his thumb slid under her panties and buried itself between her mushy, shivering labia. He continued to feel her down there as his other hand broke the snaps that joined her stocking tops to her panties. He unrolled each stocking down to her knee, then fondled her bare thighs until her body was screaming silently with acute, piercing arousal and raw sexual need. He pulled his wet thumb out of her whimpering cunt and grasped the flimsy material of her slip in both hands. A quick tug, and the expensive undergarment was ruined, split down the front ... he tore the scraps of cloth aside and attacked the hook of her brassiere. It unsnapped and her lush boobs spilled free of their lacy, wired cups, filling his palms as he grasped and massaged them roughly and buried his face between them, his tongue licking at her skin and driving her wild with lust. Her hands were already flying to his crotch, fumbling with his zipper as he reached down to tear her panties off. More than half naked, she writhed against his big, solid body as she succeeded in getting his cock out of his jockey shorts and into her fist. It was even bigger than she had expected it to be and she gasped at its lovely mass and weight as it filled her hand. He kissed her again as she masturbated him and his hand returned to her pussy and stroked it furiously.
He pulled his tongue out of her mouth and ran it along her throat. He was teasing her, driving her crazy with fuck-frenzy, taking his time and enjoying her agonized impatience and increasing arousal. His mouth nuzzled first one firm breast, then the other, his lips and tongue making ardent love to each hard-pointed nipple in turn, while Claire moaned and tossed, her hands buried in his shaggy hair. He worked his way down her writhing body, his hands planted on her hips to hold her down, kissing her belly, her navel, her thighs ... he took a deep breath and then plunged his hungry, drooling lips into her seething honey-pot and began to lick it out! Claire arched her hips and screamed out her passion as her whole body thrilled to the long-fantasized feeling of a rough male tongue stabbing into her gushing quim, of unshaven male cheeks scraping against her tender thighs, of warm, wet male lips glued to her labia and drinking her flowing feminine juices as they spurted from her over-excited, creaming cunt in a steady, pungent stream. He ate her noisily, sloppily, grunting and belching as though he hadn't tasted food for a week ... Claire screamed again and again as his practiced, tireless tongue darted over her clit and fresh ecstasies overwhelmed her.
"Eat me! Eat me, oh darling! Eat out my cunt!" she shrieked. "Put your tongue all the way into me-deeper-more-oh, God! It's too much! Too great! I can't bear it! My pussy's on fire-no, no, no more, it's too much, I'm dying, oh God eat me out! Jesus Christ-eat me out!" He was doing his best to do just that, his tongue rimming out the quaking interior of her bowl-like box, his fist around his cock, jerking it off as he struggled to satisfy her. Claire knew that she was about to have an overpowering orgasm, and her body tensed in thrilled anticipation-it hit her like a blow to the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of her straining lungs, dizzying her, blinding her, rending her cunt in two as that fantastic tongue split her labia and stabbed between them again and again with the machine-like rapidity of a sewing machine needle being plunged into her. She had only begun to recover from the shock of the pulverizing climax when Bud whipped his dripping mouth away from her cunt and threw himself at full length on top of her, driving his enormous cock right between her legs!
"AAAAAAHHHHHH-FUCKMEEEEEEE-!" Claire cried, as, simultaneously, his mouth found hers, his tongue thrusting into her panting orifice and cutting off her shriek, and his cock rammed into her cunt in a single, soul-shattering plunge, filling her completely and all but tearing her tender twat wide open. Bud clapped her hands over her jiggling ass cheeks and used them to pull her onto his dick, impaling her on his prick as he threw himself into a steady humping rhythm. Her tongue coiled about his like a snake as they kissed passionately, lustfully open-mouthed and panting with mutual desire while they fucked. Claire's buttocks were getting bruised against the hard floor they were screwing on, but she was too excited to care about the discomfort. Bud's cock was like a baseball bat in her and she marveled at her cunt's ability to stretch sufficiently to accommodate such a monster without killing her outright. If anything, she fully expected to die of the sheer pleasure of it all as increasingly intense sensations shook her body.
She was coming again-the general level of sustained arousal she was experiencing was so high, so satisfying in itself that it almost made technical orgasm seem superfluous-and it was marvelous, deep and prolonged, total, complete, exhausting-and yet it only made her body ready and eager for more of the same!
"Really give it me now!" she gritted out, loving the degrading aspect of the situation-being screwed by a total stranger on her own kitchen floor!-almost as much as the physical ecstasy of the impromptu fuck. "Put that big cock in me and shove it in and out-fast! Oh, God! It's killing me-but I love it! You fucking stud! You big, fucking bastard! Screw me! Use me like the whore I am! Really put it to me! Fuck my cunt! I want it-I want everything! I want you to fuck me out! Fuck me until I die! Fuck me to death!"
"Christ, you're really one wild, cock-crazy broad!" he gasped, sweat dripping down his face as he labored to bring himself off in her convulsive quim. "Take it, baby-love that big dick of mine-love it, you rich bitch! Get fucked, bitch-if that's what you want so bad!"
"Oh, yes-I am getting fucked, I do want it, I want you to fuck me again and again," she moaned. She was coming repeatedly-it was altogether incredible-being carried away by one warm blast of multi-orgasmic bliss after another, until she was scarcely aware of who she was or where she was of just what was being done to her that was making her feel so utterly transfigured and transfixed by passion.
The solid, rock-hard core of his cock was sliding freely back and forth within the shrunk-back foreskin, and the whole organ was being massaged by the orgasming tunnel of Claire's cunt in steady, throbbing pulsations. The hot, come was coming rapidly to a boil in Bud's seminal reservoirs, filling his aching balls to overflowing and gathering the impetus that would be necessary for its sudden, precipitous rush through the sensitive urethra and into the awaiting vaginal depths. Bud grunted with satisfaction as he became aware of a hot, buzzing sensation deep in his solid perineum muscle, in his balls, in the base of his cunt-immersed cock. It couldn't be long now!
He gripped Claire's magnificent buttocks so tightly that his fingertips bruised the delicate flesh, leaving faint red marks that wouldn't go away for two days. He held her firmly down against the floor as he reared up, pulling his dick almost all the way out of her until only the massive head was still trapped between her labia-letting her thrill to the sensation of long, hard cock slamming back down into her cuntal tunnel.
Her knees dug into his muscular flanks as she raised her legs higher, opened her loins wider to allow him unobstructed access to her body, and got ready for yet another devastating orgasm. But she sensed that Bud was about ready to blast inside her-gasping, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled his head down to hers. His cock went berserk in her cervix, zipping in and out of her faster than she had ever suspected could be possible, taking her breath away, causing the sweat of their impassioned, brutal lovemaking to burst out all over her hot, bare skin.
"Kiss me!" she choked ... his wet tongue slithered into her mouth and she lashed at it with her own as their bodies banged together in the fierce throes of simultaneous release, their pubic hair meshing into a single sweaty mat, his cock stabbing into her like a blunt stiletto, her cries and pants stifled by the pressure of his mouth as he kissed and kissed her and they came together in a volcanic eruption, his fiery spurts of warm, fluid jism mingling with the cunt oil that gushed from her overflowing pussy as he shot inside her and a delicious feeling of fullness and completion suffused her every pore ... gasping, she clutched him to her, hiding her face in his shoulder, her golden hair tumbling over his cheek like a scented silken waterfall as his lips nuzzled her throat and he finished coming deep within her secret caverns and passageways, flooding them with his seemingly endless supply of sperm. With a last, piercing cry of delight, she went limp beneath him and they lay there quietly, their breath mingling, their hearts beating intimately against one another through their satiated naked flesh.
He waited until he had gone limp and small inside her, and then gently withdrew his poor depleted cock from her dripping cunt. With a stifled cry of deprivation, she tried to take the little organ in her hand and tease it back into erection, but he pushed her hand away with a curse-his cock was sore from all that rubbing-and stood up shakily.
She watched dreamily as he wiped himself off on a scrap of her torn slip and stuffed his cock into his pants and zipped them up. He straightened his clothing, washed his hands and face in the sink, gathered his tools and left with a muttered apology for having to fuck and run. The door banged shut behind him ... she was alone in the sudden silence, but so utterly, satisfying happy at last! Claire stroked herself languidly, surveying the wreckage of her body. She was bruised slightly in places, and his come was all over her, drying rapidly into funny-looking scaly flakes. Her slip and panties were lying near her in shreds-he'd torn her robe, too, in his haste, and it and her discarded bra were smeared with dirt and grime from his hands. Her hair was a mess and she imagined that she had smudges on her face and breasts where he'd fondled her with those wonderfully dirty workman's hands, but for the moment she felt too indolent to get up and go to a mirror to see. Her stockings had runs in them from being scraped against the tiles, and they were sagging down her calves. But what did any of it matter? She had been fucked-gloriously, brutally, thoroughly taken, like poor Malvina. She was an adulterous at last-and the fact that she didn't know a thing about her lover except for his first name only made it seem more delectably sinful and shameless. As she lay on the cold floor languidly stroking herself between her legs to soothe her poor battered pussy-lips, Claire smiled. She had a feeling that her washing machine was going to need its agitator fixed again-and soon.
Chapter Three
The next time Claire went into Manhattan, she did so alone, and furtively, like a secret agent on a dangerous spy mission. She even was wearing a disguise, of sorts, for she had abandoned her usual gay colors in favor of a rather severely-tailored little black suit that she kept on hand in case anybody died. Her blouse was white satin with ruffles, her sensible shoes were black, her stockings were again silver; she had a plain black raincoat and gloves. It was raining, so she could turn the collar of her coat up to shield part of her face without anyone getting suspicious; and despite the rain and gloom she wore yellow-lensed aviator sunglasses. She held her stylish black umbrella close to her lovely blonde head as she hailed a cab. As she got in, she examined the grubby-looking driver dubiously. He didn't look like the type who'd be particularly shocked by her slightly risqu� errand.
"Where to, lady?" he growled, chomping on his cigar and taking a good look at her. Nice tits, he decided.
"Well-I really don't know-I mean, perhaps you could help me," Claire said in a flustered, conspiratorial whisper. "You see, I don't know much about these things, but-I want to buy some, ah, adult fiction, you know, sex magazines and that sort of thing-porn, I guess," she added lamely, blushing at that notorious four-letter word.
The driver coughed, getting ashes all over himself. "You mean you want to go to a fuck-book store?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes, please," Claire said, regaining some of the haughty composure she ordinarily had when dealing with the lower classes. "Do you know of any near here?"
"Well-they're mostly downtown around Times Square."
"Very well-take me there. To a large, well-stocked one, if you know of any like that." She clasped her gloved hands together over her purse and settled back in the seat like a queen, gazing out the window at the heavy traffic of late afternoon. If only she could stop blushing like a silly schoolgirl!
But the driver was watching her with undisguised curiosity as he steered the cab through the pelting rain. How insolent of him!
"Hey, lady," he asked suddenly, "just what kind of dirty books did you have in mind, anyway?"
She forced herself to meet his gaze in the mirror. "Oh, the usual, I suppose," she said airily. "I'm sure you're more familiar with that kind of literature than I am." She had intended it as a dig, to discourage further conversation, but she had inadvertently played right into his hands.
"Yeah, I had me one of them fuck books the other night, reading it in bed," he confided cheerfully. "Man, did I ever get hot turning them pages! It was all about this broad, see, and she was a real certified nympho-couldn't get enough, you know? In this one part she was taking on five guys at once. I mean, five! One in her mouth, one in her snatch, one up her rear end, and she was giving hand jobs to two more. They come all over her and then they did it all over again, different ways. And on the cover there was this picture, in color yet, of this blonde bitch with a guy's dick in her box-right in front of the goddam camera! And the title was Cock-Crazy Nympho."
"I imagine she had to be," Claire said politely but distantly. If only there was some way to get him to shut up without seeming rude! She looked out the window to see how much further they had to go.
He began to breathe hard, his eyes narrowing in the mirror. "Yeah, I got so fucking turned on reading about that, I just threw them old covers back and pulled down my shorts and took the old joystick in my fist and started to beat off with one hand while I kept on reading with the other," he panted. "I come all over the fucking bed and Jesus Christ did it feel good, I never had it so good since my fucking bitch whore of a wife left me with that Fuller Brush salesman-hey, baby," he hissed suddenly, glaring at her with lustful malevolence in the mirror.
"Why don't I just pull into that empty lot up ahead and you can get in the front here with me and swing on my dick a little, huh? Shit, I bet you really know how to suck dick-a high-class hooker like you! Come on, beautiful, gimme some good head and I'll lay some bread on you-five bucks?"
Claire stared at him, stunned.
"Ten? Fifteen? Come on, goddam it-who do you think you're kidding? You're going to the dirty book store to pick up some stuff to turn your fucking Johns on while they're waiting to take their turn laying that sweet ass of yours! I'll give you twenty-Jesus Christ, I'm so fucking horny I'll probably pop right away, you won't have to blow it more'n a couple minutes-!"
Claire brandished her rolled up umbrella and opened her purse to make sure her aerosol can of mace was within easy reach. "The light's green, you can go now," she said sweetly. "We're almost there." And thank God for it! If he tried anything, she'd just have to bash him over the head and give him a good spraying and jump out of the cab.
"Come on, baby, I'll give you twenty-five! Thirty!" he gasped, unzipping himself with one hand as he drove with the other. "Hey, look here! Look what I got for you, honey! Wouldn't you like to swing on that big fat thing and make some bread in the bargain?"
Cautiously, gripping the mace, she leaned forward to look over the seat. He was hard, and it couldn't be more than four inches long. She settled back in her seat, confident now.
"I may be a nympho," she told him witheringly, "but I'm not that crazy about cock. Now, will you drive, or do I roll down the window and start screaming at that cop who's staring at us?"
The rest of the trip was made in stony silence. Finally he pulled over to the curb in front of a row of run-down buildings that looked as though they were waiting for the wreckers' ball to descend upon them any second. "This is a pretty good dirty book store," the driver mumbled.
"Thank you very much." She paid him but left no tip. He didn't seem to notice.
"Hey, should I wait? I won't let the meter run," he coaxed. "In fact, I'll take you back to wherever you want to go for free-"
"No thanks, I've got a customer waiting inside," she lied blithely, enjoying his open-mouthed surprise as she got out of the cab and hurried away.
She ignored a filthy, horrible-smelling bum who approached her asking for a quarter, and looked for the store. The windows were all boarded up, but there was a row of flashing red light bulbs over the door, and a huge sign saying ADULTS ONLY-YOU MUST BE TWENTY-ONE AND ABLE TO PROVE IT. Claire hesitated for a moment. Then, with her heart in her mouth, she opened the door and slipped inside.
Inside, to her astonishment, everything was brightly lit and cheerful, although shoddy-the plaster on the walls and ceiling was cracked and the floorboards creaked ominously beneath her feet. She passed through a turnstile, gaping at the rows and rows of paperback books and magazines, the long tables strewn with more of the same, the glass cases stuffed with tins of film and peculiar-looking objects. She was so engrossed by the spectacle of so much raw sex on open display that she scarcely noticed the proprietor until he spoke, startling her.
"Help you, ma'am?" She turned and looked at him. She had expected that the cash register in a pornographic bookstore would be manned by a dirty old man, if not by an outright pervert; but the young man who had addressed her was certainly clean, at least in the literal sense of looking well-scrubbed. He had on tight faded jeans with a huge hole in one leg, through which his bare knee gaped, and a Western-styled shirt, white with calico patches on the shoulders, open nearly to the waist to expose a tanned, hairy chest. His face was broad and pleasant, with full lips and a straight nose, and he had nice blue eyes. He pushed his wire-rimmed spectacles up into his thick black hair as he looked at her, shoving aside the book he'd been reading. She stole a quick glance at the book; it was a chemistry textbook. Why, he must be what he looked like-a nice, respectable young college student!
"Help you, ma'am?" he repeated, smiling at her warmly in a way that reminded her of Bud. Her vanity was slightly wounded by the fact that he didn't ask her for proof that she was over twenty-one, and for a moment she regretted having worn, in the interests of anonymity, this rather dowdy-looking suit.
"Well-yes," she said, a bit nervously. "I'm looking for-well, for what it says on that sign." She pointed to a big sign on the wall, and immediately regretted having done so, for the huge red letters screamed out, HOT SEX! RAW ADULT FICTION FOR EVERY TASTE-NO MATTER HOW BIZARRE! LARGEST SELECTION IN NEW YORK! YOUR SATISFACTION (PUN INTENDED!) GUARANTEED!
His blue eyes took in the HOT SEX! part and ignored the rest. "I'll just bet you are," he muttered, flicking his eyes over her trim figure and becoming aware of a sudden stirring in his crotch. Jesus Christ, she was sure a far cry from the weirdoes who usually thronged the place.
"Are you looking for any kind of sex in particular?" he asked salaciously, savoring her ill-disguised embarrassment. "I'm sure I could help you find something to fill your-needs," he corrected himself at the last second. It wasn't a gap on her library shelf that he was thinking about filling.
Claire blushed. "Oh, I think I'll just browse."
"Help yourself," he said cheerfully, spreading his muscular legs to ease the pressure of his hardening cock against his pants. "All the sections are labeled. Just yell if you need any help. My name's Dave."
She thanked him hurriedly and sought the shelter of the book racks. There didn't seem to be many other customers in the store, she thought, looking around-perhaps they closed at five. She examined the signs above the various sections: GAY, STRAIGHT, SOLO, B & D, S & M, LEATHER, J/O, BESTIALITY, SCAT, COPRO, CHICKEN, INCEST, FLAGELLATION, ANAL-EROTIC-there seemed to be no limit to the variety and diversity of sexual experience, human and otherwise. Slightly bewildered, Claire paused by a glass showcase-and gasped as she saw the various dildos inside it-some plastic, some rubber, most of them lovingly molded to simulate real penises, many with vibrators inside or apparatus to squirt liquids from their pursed lips-an enormous double-headed artificial dick, labeled DYKES' DELIGHT, especially fascinated her.
Unbeknownst to her, Dave had just shooed the last customer out of the store, locked the door, and hung the CLOSED sign in the window. Whistling, his hands thrust in his pockets, the husky young chemistry major strutted over to where Claire stood.
"Having trouble deciding?" he asked lightly.
"Well-there's so much to choose from." She gave a little laugh. Suddenly, the store seemed awfully quiet-and empty. "My, business doesn't seem to be very good," she remarked.
"We're busy in the morning and after dark," Dave replied. "And we're closed from five until seven for supper. I just locked the door."
"Oh, then I'm keeping you!" she exclaimed flustered. "I'll come back-"
"No, take your time. I always order a sub from the deli down the street for supper; they deliver." He took her arm and led her deeper into the store, through a maze of narrow bookcases. "Now, what were you interested in? Books, magazines, films, records, toys-? We got them all."
Claire decided that it was ridiculous to be coy about it: after all, sex seemed to be his line of work and he was such a nice, helpful, good-looking boy. "Well, actually I'm curious about-about prostitutes, and I'd like to learn more about them and what they do. Do you have any books about prostitution?"
He laughed. "We're loaded with them. Fiction or non-fiction?"
"Well-both, I guess."
"Books, or magazines with pictures?"
"Both," she said again.
He led her into the STRAIGHT section. "Well, here's a new novel written by an actual hooker, and she claims that it's based entirely on her own real-life experiences. I'd say it's got some redeeming literary merit, if that's important to you. And here are some just plain fuck books with whores as the main characters-Call me Madam, Diary of a Slut, and Whorehound Cough Drop. We've, got our own rating system here, you see: one star means it's a bore, two stars means a guy on a desert island who hasn't seen a woman for years might get off on it, three means a horny teenager will want to jack off over it, four means it's guaranteed to give any guy in working order a hard-on, and five stars is for a book that'll make you come just reading it, without even having to touch yourself. These are all five-star books. You want any of them?"
"Oh, I'll take all four," Claire said, impressed.
"Okay, now let's move over here to the magazine rack. Here's the latest issue of Prostitution Times; that's their trade journal, you know, and this is Horny Fuck magazine with a special photo section on lesbian hookers, and I believe this issue of California Cream is about play-for-pay freak scenes, and-"
"What's a freak scene?" Claire asked, gaping at the lurid cover photos on the cellophane-wrapped magazines Dave was handing her.
"Oh, paying a hooker to tie you up, whip your ass, piss on you-all that sort of shit," the young man said in an off-hand manner. "Now, do you have a film projector at home? Would you be interested in a good, hot fuck movie?"
"About prostitutes?"
"Yeah-here's a brand-new release in three parts, called Doing Pleasure with You is my Business, in color and super-8-millimeter. They say it makes Deep Throat look like Bambi."
"All right-I guess that'll just about do it," Claire said, eyeing the three shiny film canisters with immense curiosity. "Can you wrap everything up in plain paper-I mean, so nobody will know what it is? And do you accept Master Charge?"
"Oh, of course," Dave said smoothly. "And, since you're buying in quantity, I'll throw in a free bonus."
She was delighted. "Really? What?"
"A surprise. Close your eyes-no peeping, now!-and give me your hand ... that's right." She waited while he held her wrist ... at last he gently guided her open hand downwards. Something warm and smooth and cylindrical was pressed into her palm. Curious, but keeping her eyes closed, she tried to guess what the object was, closing her fingers around it and stroking it. It was long and thick and shaped somewhat like a coke bottle, tapered at one end, swelling in the middle, narrowing again only to swell out again at the blunt-rounded, soft-textured, velvety end ... Claire gasped as she realized that it must be one of those awful artificial penises she'd seen in the display case! But it felt so real-so warm-even the veins were molded into the plastic, or soft rubber, or whatever it was made of-she could feel them running down the length of the shaft-my God, they throbbed to her touch! The damned thing was alive! Real! Horrified, she opened her eyes-and confirmed the fact that Dave had unzipped his jeans, whipped out his hard-on, and was making her jerk him off!
"No, no-let go!" she shrieked, trying to tear her hand away from his huge stiff dick; but he gripped her wrist and forced her to continue masturbating him.
"You like that? You want that?" he panted, his handsome young face that of a lusting satyr now. "If you like it, it's yours, baby-free of charge! And believe me, there've been plenty of women willing to lay out cold cash for a taste of that hot piece of meat-only none of them had as much class as you do, baby-none of them turned me on the way you did the minute you fucking walked in the door!"
She certainly believed that there were women who'd pay him to make love to them. And she was going to get it for free! God! Her second humpy young lover in less than a week! Things were progressing with an almost dizzying speed; she felt weak with excitement,
"Do you want it?" he repeated, his voice taut with lustful impatience.
"Yes-oh, yes!"
His hand reached out to grasp her blonde hair. "Then get down on your knees and suck it!"
Obediently, with a moan, she dropped to the floor. He wrestled with his silver belt buckle and pushed his jeans down to his knees. He wore no underpants and she gasped as his thick cock sprang completely free, standing straight out from its cloud of silky black pubic hair. Dave's balls looked like a pair of eggs in their furry sac as they swung between his powerfully chiseled thighs. His belly was flat and hard, his ass beautifully molded, muscular, sleek. He pulled her face into his crotch and she caught the musky smell of his aroused maleness as his cock slapped against her burning cheek.
"Open that beautiful mouth of yours and suck the living shit outta my whang!" he ordered her. The sheer crudity of it overwhelmed and excited her; she wet her pink-glossed lips to lubricate them, taking a deep breath ... closing her eyes to shut out the almost frightening sight of the huge mass of meat she was expected to service, she leaned forward, her open mouth seeking ... he jammed the head of his eager prick between her soft lips and she closed them around his frenulum in an automatic reflex. Her mouth was filled with cock and the tart taste of his smegma lingered on the upper surface of her tongue as she licked his dick gingerly. He groaned and began to fuck her face gently, thrusting his pelvis at her to drive more of his cockshaft into her open, sucking mouth, pumping himself at her in even, steady strokes. His hands mussed her hair, stroked her cheeks ... she grasped his bare buttocks to hold him in place, her long slim fingers caressing those smooth muscular mounds. She sucked harder, more confidently, letting the head of his giant instrument stab at the back of her mouth, attack her throat, begin, slowly, to slide down into her gullet ...
"Oh, yeah! Suck it, beautiful! Deep-throat that big fucking cock!" he chanted hoarsely. "Eat it, baby! Eat it all the way down! Swallow the fucker! You love that cock, don't you? Can't get enough of it, can you? Well, suck on it all you want, baby-it's yours!"
She threw her tongue into action, lashing it around his shaft as she milked the long cylinder of flesh and gristle with her warm lips. The big, solid cockhead was bobbing in and out of her throat now, half-choking her every time it sealed her esophagus and cut off her air supply. She ate more greedily, her fingers playing with his massive balls now, teasing them, kneading them within their bag, tugging on them.
She was astonished when, without any warning, he suddenly reached down, grasped her by both sides of her face, and holding her head tightly between his hands, thrust his dick into her mouth with unusual force-and came! She had never suspected that a man could be brought to his climax so quickly. Sperm-hot and sticky-struck the walls of her throat, flooded her mouth, mucked up her gums, her tongue, her teeth-she swallowed the saline stuff repeatedly as he shot again and again, panting and cursing as he pumped his live semen down her hatch in a seemingly interminable flood of juicy young jism. He fired so much into her that the creamy fluid lubricated her lips and his cock slipped from between them, so that his last spurt splattered all over her cheek and chin ... she gasped for breath as his cock spent itself only an inch in front of her dripping face.
"I wanted you to screw me!" she protested, her mouth feeling mushy, her enunciation dulled, from the come she'd swallowed.
"I'll have another load for you in a couple of minutes!" he boasted. Without bothering to pull up his pants, he stumbled to the glass case and reached inside it. He tossed one of the artificial cocks to her as she knelt on the grimy floor between the tall bookshelves.
"Shove it up your cunt and play with yourself-I want to watch you come with it," he announced in a frenzy of sexual excess.
Claire gaped at the huge dildo she had in her hand. It was hard rubber, flesh-colored, with all the veins and other refinements, and a head the size of an apple. The shaft was at least a foot long and as thick as her wrist.
"It's-it's too big!" she cried. "You must be crazy-!"
"Do it, God damn you!" And then he was on top of her, knocking her flat on her back on the cold, dirty floor and yanking her legs apart. She screamed and struggled as he shoved her skirt up to her waist and groped for her panties, but he was too strong for her. He ripped the skimpy bikini briefs down her thighs, baring her cunt, already moist with arousal. He tore the dildo from her hand and thrust it between her legs with savage glee. Claire shrieked in utter, horrified disbelief as the hard rubber head of the fake cock stabbed at her delicate labia, bruising them, thrusting them aside, grinding and screwing its ruthless way between them until she was sure that she'd black out from the waves of pain that rippled up into her dazed consciousness. With a wild cry of despair that blended with Dave's hoarse shout of triumph, Claire felt the rubber cockhead slamming into her cervix and stretching it to its utmost capacity.
"Ahhhhh! God! Noooo! It's killing me! Help! No! Ahhhhh!" Claire shrilled. "My God! He's killing me with that thing! No, no!"
"You love it, you bitch!" Dave jeered. "The bigger the better!" He began to work the shaft into her tortured cunt, screwing the thick piece of rubber around to get it into her resisting hole. Sweat ran down his face as he flexed his powerful biceps to apply more friction.
Claire writhed beneath him, her hair flying, her nails digging into the bare wooden floor, her black suit ripping as it dragged over the splintered boards, her shoes kicking off, her stockings running. She seized the copy of California Cream, rolled it into a cylinder, and struck Dave on the head with it. He retaliated coolly by taking the magazine from her and beating her breasts with it. The dildo was half-way up her snatch now and he was working it back and forth inside her narrow bottleneck with quick, fierce strokes. To her horror and infinite self-disgust, Claire found herself getting excited. She was almost ready to come! She realized that he was right-she did love it! The bigger and the harder the better! She began to fuck the rubber gadget he was molesting her with, shameless now in her blind desire for vaginal stimulation and orgasmic release.
"Put it in me, damn you!" she hissed. "What're you fucking around like that for? Don't you know how to fuck? Push it in and out of me! Let me have it! Oh, God, great holy fucking Christ, let me have it! Fuck my cunt with that big cock!"
"Take it, you bitch!" He shoved the rest of the twelve-inch super sized dildo into her volcanic cunt and began to fuck her with it, masturbating himself with his free hand and pressing his half-naked body against her writhing, twitching form as she screwed the dildo there on the floor beside him. She was panting like a bitch in heat as that immense phony phallus lent her the more exquisite agony and ecstasy that she had ever experienced on earth. She came again and again, her eyes rolling in their sockets, her mouth open in lustful, gasping abandon, the tendons in her neck standing out in high relief as she threw her head back and thrust her breasts out in the fierce spasms of orgasm.
She was still trembling in the delicious throes of a violent, multiple come when Dave tore the artificial cock out of her snatch and, before she could even scream out at the pain the evacuation cost her, replaced the rubber dick with his own massive bludgeon. He buried himself in her gaping twat and fucked her twice as violently as Bud had on the kitchen floor, pounding his hard young body down against her soft, pliant femininity until she expected to be reduced to a bloody pancake beneath his humping weight and the repeated impact of his thrusts.
She tore at his shirt, popping the buttons as she stripped it from his brawny, tanned shoulders so she could kiss and bite and scratch his bare flesh to relieve her agony of sexual torture. She gripped his black hair and crushed his mouth down upon hers, kissing him passionately as she came again around his iron rod that was plunging in and out of her pussy pit. As he had promised, his second load of fiery sperm built up in his balls quickly until he could contain it no longer. He shot in her, grunting, and she had yet another glorious climax as his warm wet tidal wave of passion filled and engulfed her and she let herself be borne away on the ebbing flow of surging oceanic orgasmic crisis and resolution.
Afterwards, when they had rested and put their clothes into some semblance of order, Dave locked up the shop and took her to his apartment, where they balled again for an hour before he had to go back to work and she remembered that she would already be late getting home.
"Where the hell have you been, Claire? I've been sitting here worrying about you for hours," Donald griped the minute she came in the door. "Do you realize what time it is?"
His irritation turned to astonishment as he noticed how positively radiant his wife looked as she put down her parcels wrapped in brown paper and string and went to the closet to hang up her raincoat, humming a snatch of a gay little tune as she did so. Claire had bathed at Dave's apartment after their wild second fuck session, and she'd managed to repair the damage to her clothes as much as she could, so there was no way that Donald, looking at her, could suspect that she'd just spent half the day indulging in the kind of sexual practices that were still illegal in most states. There was a bloom and a glow about her as she soothingly ran her cool hand over his forehead and kissed him on the cheek.
"Darling, I'm sorry I'm late, but there was nothing to be worried about, you silly dear. I was just in the city doing some shopping and I ran into some old friends and we lost track of the time. Then, when I tried to call you to tell you I'd be late, the phone lines were out in the area we were because of some stupid power failure or something. Anyway, I'm home. Have you had dinner?"
"Yes," he muttered, feeling uncomfortable-for no very clear reason.
"What a shame! Are you sure you don't want me to make something else for you? I'd love to, you know-" She kept on fussing over him with a warm solicitude until he wanted to grab her and shake her and demand why she was acting so unlike herself tonight. Instead he asked, "What did you buy, anyway?" pointing to the parcels.
Claire fought back a giggle at the thought of how Donald would react if she showed him even the less lurid photos in Horny Fuck or California Cream: they made what she and Dave had done seem like child's play-or foreplay. "Oh-just a cookbook and some new Gothic romances and some fashion magazines. Shall we go to bed, darling? I'm so exhausted I'm sure I'll fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow."
Chapter Four
"He entered her like a rutting stallion, giving her no quarter; nor did she desire any. Her cunt opened up eagerly to swallow up the massive cock that was being fed into her drawn-back labia, and he thrust his ruthless organ deep into her willing body. 'My God, you really get off on it, don't you, you bitch?' the sadistic John marveled as his hands dug into her lush, caramel-colored buttocks. 'And I thought all you hookers were dykes-especially you black bitches.'
'We are,' the sensuous mulatto from Martinique who'd taken the professional name of Florabel retorted in her soft, lightly-accented voice as she ground her hips to increase the friction of her brutal customer's dick against her clit. 'So why don't you show me what we lesbians have been missing out on all this while-Mister Hung White Boy?' Grunting, he drove his immense horse cock into her craving cuntal canal again and again, increasing the force of the thrust each time, until her tawny breasts and buttocks were glistening with sweat and her pussy felt like so much raw-meat being battered by a chefs wooden mallet to soften it for cooking. 'Fuck me, white stud,' the beautiful black slut breathed in a husky whisper. 'You've paid for it-now lay it! Shove that big ivory dick up my licorice hole and fuck me!' Her vagina quivered as she felt her orgasm beginning to build up in her seething loins ..."
God! The doorbell was ringing at last! Claire sat up on the sofa with guilty baste, tossing Whore-hound Cough Drop aside with one hand as she withdrew the other from between her trembling thighs. She stood up, straightened her negligee, and hurried to the back door. It was Bud, all right, looking as sexy as ever in his tight faded jeans and a snug-fitting white T-shirt that displayed his heavy pecs and massive bare arms. His grey eyes flicked over her body, pausing to take in the way her tits thrust against the sheer nylon of the negligee. Then he stepped close to her, took her in those powerful arms of his, and kissed her, driving his tongue deep into her yielding mouth. She moaned and wriggled against him for a long moment before breaking the kiss.
"Oh, darling! I've been so hot for you all fucking morning! And you're so late-it seems like I've been waiting for hours."
"I'm not late," he said lightly, releasing her and looking around the kitchen. "It's just that you're horny, babe-as usual. The other stud here yet?"
"Dave? No, but he should be here any minute." And in a few minutes she would be in the middle of her first three-way sexual experience-with two humpy young studs to service her! Claire shivered at the mere thought. She'd gotten the delightfully perverse idea from one reading one of the sexy paperbacks Dave had sold her; and when she'd discussed it with him over the phone he'd been enthusiastic, even eager. It had taken a bit longer to talk Bud into agreeing to make up the threesome, but here he was and the sheer excitement of what was about to happen made her mouth water. The afternoon soaps were on now, but Claire hadn't tuned in. She was about to turn on instead, and spend the afternoon acting out her fantasies herself instead of having them dramatized for her on the screen!
Bud smacked her ripe ass. "Well, give a man a drink while you keep him waiting, okay?"
"Let's go upstairs," Claire purred. "I have everything ready. Wait'll you see!"
Bud followed her upstairs readily enough, his curiosity aroused. And that's not the only thing that is, Claire thought salaciously, glancing at the bulge in the young repairman's well-filled crotch.
"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed when she threw open the bedroom door. "It's a fucking orgy room!"
She laughed. "Do you like it?"
"It's out of sight!"
She had intended to hold their little orgy in the guest room, but then some perverse instinct had given her the idea that it would be even more exciting to betray her poor unsuspecting husband on the marriage bed itself. And they'd be finished in plenty of time for her to put everything back the way it was before Donald got home: if anything, the slight chance of getting caught red-handed by him only intensified Claire's excitement. She'd put bright-red satin sheets on the bed, and they were pulled down invitingly; a red light bulb was in the overhead socket, shedding a soft rosy glow over the entire room. Scented candles were lit to provide further illumination. The movie projector was set up, and the big screen was against one wall. Dave had promised to bring along a couple of new fuck films from the store: Claire hoped they would be as good as Doing Pleasure with You is my Business, which had sent her into a masturbatory frenzy when she'd screened it privately for her own entertainment the other day. As a final touch, she moved the dresser and leaned the big mirror on top of it so that anyone lying on the bed could see his reflection; another full-length mirror, from the bathroom, was resting across the headboard of the bed. The total effect was decidedly Early Whorehouse, and Bud looked impressed.
"And here's the drink you ordered, sir," Claire said gayly as she poured from a bottle of Donald's best liquor and added ice from the big silver bucket they'd been given as a wedding present. "Cheers."
As he drank, Bud started to take off his clothes. "I want to lie down on that bed and see what I look like in all those fucking mirrors," he explained excitedly as he stripped. "Jesus, what a wild way to beat off!"
The doorbell tinkled faintly from downstairs. "Oh, it must be Dave!" Claire almost shrieked in delight. "You wait here, darling, and I'll bring him right up. I'm so horny I could die, and I can't wait-you needn't be formal with Dave; he's very open and liberated about this sort of thing. I'll just introduce you to him and then the three of us can get right down to getting to know each other better-carnally!" She giggled wildly at her own little joke-she'd been hitting the Bloody Marys pretty heavily while waiting for her lovers to arrive-as, blonde hair and transparent gown flying behind her, she raced down the stairs to let Dave in. The college student was wearing a denim work shirt and jeans and had several big film canisters under his arm. Claire kissed him, and with a few babbled words of welcome, she literally dragged him upstairs.
Bud had been amusing himself in her brief absence: he was sprawled out stark naked on the red satin sheets, his hairy, muscular legs spread, his hard cock in his fist, jerking himself off and caressing his nipples with his free hand while he grunted and gaped at his multiple reflection in the mirrors positioned around the bed. He sat up quickly and pulled the scarlet sheet over his crotch as Claire burst into the bedroom, hauling Dave after her by the hand.
"So this is the stud, eh?" Dave said, his blue eyes hot and arrogant as they swept over Bud's ill-concealed nakedness. The repairman blushed. "Don't hide it, buddy-let it all hang out! Let's see which of us has the most down there."
"Oh, I'd say that the two of you are about equal in that department," Claire said truthfully, to smooth over any potential rivalry between the two young guys that might get in the way of her own impatient desires. "And anyway, I think you're both adorable and impossibly well-hung and lovely in bed. I'm going to double my pleasure and double my come, as they say, so let's not have any silly competition. Dave, this is Bud-Bud, meet Dave. Let's all have a drink; I could use one, I'm a bit nervous-"
"Hi, guy," Bud mumbled shyly.
"Claire tells me you've been screwing every broad in the neighborhood whose appliance is unplugged," Dave snickered.
This broke the ice, and Claire was grateful to him. "Yeah, these rich bitches are all crazy about my cock," Bud boasted. "Can't get enough-their washers and driers and mixers and blenders always seem to be going on the fucking blink, you know, ha ha! They call up the shop and ask if I can come over and fix it, and, man, by the time I'm done with my screwdriver they're running as smooth as silk-until the next time. These broads mostly have squares for husbands, big executive types with ulcers that can't get it up-they wouldn't know what to do without me." He chuckled, and sipped his bourbon-and-water. "Claire tells me that you work in a dirty book store in the city," he leered.
"Part time." Dave stripped off his shirt and dropped it on the floor. "I go to school, and it really eats up the old money," he said in a confidential tone as he sat down to remove his shoes and socks. "So, besides the job at the porn shop, I hustle a little. I had this one rich broad over on Park Avenue who used to buy young guys like candy bars-four, five at a time, every fucking night-she paid real good, too, only after a couple of times she gets tired of you and wants some fresh meat. At the rate she's going, she'll have gone through the whole city before long and she'll have to start shopping in the suburbs. I'll give you her phone number, buddy-you don't need no introduction with her."
Bud's eyes widened. "Christ, I couldn't do it for money!"
Dave shrugged. "Thousands of guys and chicks do, man. Anything to hustle a buck!" He stripped out of his jeans and jockey shorts, and Claire felt that familiar hot, sinking sensation in her loins at the sight of the black-haired stud's long, fat cock that slapped against his thigh as he stood up and took the drink she'd mixed from her.
"I heard that a lot of them guys that peddle their cocks do it with queers, too," Bud said cautiously.
Dave shrugged again, his handsome face impassive. "Like I said-anything to hustle a buck. Don't knock it till you've tried it. You tried it?"
"No!" A pause. "Have you?"
Dave laughed. "Is that a question or a proposition?" As Bud got redder, Dave slapped Claire on the ass. "Let's get this show on the road, doll. Load up the projector and let'er flicker-if you think that thing can take it without melting." He sat down on the edge of the bed beside Bud and drank thirstily.
Despite the red light bulb and the candles, it was dark enough in the room to show films without extinguishing them. Claire picked up one of the film canisters. Four-way Fuckfest, the label read. Her hands shook a little as she eagerly threaded the film through the projector and started it rolling. She'd already made sure that the projector was properly focused. Bloody Mary in hand, she joined the two naked men on the bed as the numerals and patterns on the lead strip of the film flashed on the white screen. Then the actual footage began, without titles, credits, or other preliminaries.
Claire gasped as the very first seconds of the film showed two naked women embracing on a big bed in what looked like a sleazy motel room. Both actresses were big-busted, voluptuous young women with tanned bodies.
Bud and Dave made comments under their breath as the hot sapphic action got underway on the screen. One girl, the platinum blonde (obviously fake) threw herself upon the dark-haired one and began to suck her large, rosy nipples while she thrust a hand between her thighs-provocatively parted, with ass aimed right at the camera-and played with her own pussy. Mouth wide open, tongue rolling, the other girl writhed and tossed on the bed to show her partner how good it felt. She pulled the blonde into a sixty-nine position, and they ate one another's cunts, tongues stabbing into the moist depths of gaping, aroused pink slits. The sex got more and more furious ... and Claire shivered, but was in no mood to resist, as she felt Dave's hand creeping up her thigh under her negligee. He thrust the flimsy nylon aside and pressed his warm hand into her furry mound, one fingertip stroking her damp labia. He tugged at the string that fastened her gown under her breasts with his free hand, undoing the knot and drawing the sheer stuff down over her bare shoulders.
On the screen, there was a bit of crude pantomime as two young men supposedly surprised the lesbian lovers in the act ... the two flushed, sweaty women sat up on the bed, looking ashamed. One of the studs, a husky bearded man, grinned as he unzipped his pants and fished his hard cock out. Claire gasped again at the sight of the enormous, curved penis that the actor was now jabbing towards the blonde's parted lips. She took that immense cockhead in her mouth and, eyes closed, feigned ecstasy as she began to suck on it ...
Claire writhed impatiently on the bed between Bud and Dave as the other couple on the screen got it on, the man stripping naked and shoving his own superb instrument between the dark-haired whore's parted thighs, fucking her from behind, doggy-style, as she knelt on the bed. Four naked bodies squirmed before the voyeuristic camera as the fuckfest got under way.
Dave, thank God, was already too turned on to wait until the film ran out. He seized a handful of Claire's long, golden hair and pushed her head down into his crotch, spreading his muscular legs to give her free access to his cock. He stripped her negligee completely away from her body and fondled her dangling breasts as she leaned over him and began to suck his cock. "Do it!" was all that he said ...
Bud, equally inflamed by the film, his shyness forgotten, threw himself on the bed beside them. He grasped Claire's hips and raised himself between her legs, his mouth seeking her cunt and finding it. Claire wriggled and almost lost her firm oral grip on Dave's hard-on when Bud's slick, wet tongue flicked tantalizingly over her clit and then penetrated her labia, tasting her seeping juices as he kissed the delicate, petal-soft lips of her pleading pussy. Four hands caressed every inch of her twisting body as she trembled, caught between the two men ... she tongued one hard cock while a tongue slid in and out of her palpitating pussy and the hoarse moans that escaped from his lips as he ate her confirmed her suspicion that Bud had seized his cock in his fist and was jerking himself off while Dave fucked her face.
Claire was amazed by her unexpected response. Although she was aroused-as sexually excited, in fact, as she could ever remember being-for the first time, the erotic sensations were not centered in her cunt. Instead, they seemed to permeate her entire body. She felt sensual and marvelously, vibrantly alive, all over; every pore was an orifice crying out for penetration; her skin tingled as though a hot wave of air was brushing over it, searing her. She got more and more excited as Bud and Dave pressed their muscular, sweaty bodies tighter against hers and rubbed their brawny limbs over her breasts and buttocks and thighs. She blew Dave as eagerly as she had ever done anything, as though his hard, throat-filling cock was the meat and drink she thrived upon, upon which her body relied for nourishment. Nostrils flared, she breathed heavily through her nose as she deep-throated him, gathering his massive nuts in her hand and pressing them to her throat and chin as she sucked, rolling the solid testicles around in their fleshy bag until she had the young man purring with pleasure.
On the screen, four bodies writhed together in living color; on the bed, three more nude, embracing forms squirmed in sensual abandon, bathed in the soft rose-colored light from the ceiling bulb.
That fierce, burning, melting sensation in her crotch got to be too much for Claire: she pulled her mouth off of Dave's cock to groan, "Oh-! Fuck me! Make me come! I need it-I need your cock in me! I want to come!"
"Let's both screw her at the same time," Dave hissed, his blue eyes blazing as the sweat ran down his face. He grasped Claire by the shoulders and flung her down on the bed, tearing her cunt away from Bud's slithery tongue. "You in her snatch and me up her ass!"
"Oh-no, no, no!" Claire gasped, as the significance of what he was proposing struck her sex-numbed mind. She tried to wriggle away, to fight him off-but Dave gripped her around the waist and flipped her body onto its side, so that she was sandwiched between the two overexcited young studs as Bud pressed up against her, his mouth now seeking her breasts, his tongue laving her stiffened nipples as he moaned in ecstasy and jabbed his immense hard-on into the soft area between her thighs.
Dave took her lush ass cheeks in both hands and parted them with a brutal gesture, holding them open as he fitted himself between them. Claire squealed in hysterical protest as she felt Dave's huge cock sliding up and down in her narrow crack, the head-lubricated by her own saliva-battering at the tiny door of her ass, demanding admittance.
"Fuck her, man," Dave commanded Bud coldly. "Shove your big rod up her hot cunt-make her beg for it! Let's get the bitch so hot for cock she'll do anything!"
"Yeah, I'm so hard up I'm about ready to shoot!" Bud panted. "Eating her cunt and jacking off and watching her suck on yours-Jesus Christ, this is terrific! I'm so fucking hot to trot I could die!" He grasped Claire's sleek, creamy thighs, his fingers bruising the delicate flesh, and helped Dave keep her pinned between them. At the same moment, Bud pushed his dick into the moist cunt he'd been tonguing only seconds previously. She was ready for him, her pussy-lips bursting open in a lewd, silent gasp of welcome as hard, thick cockflesh was forcibly crammed into the narrow space between them-and driven home!
"Oh, my God-fuck me!" Claire cried, her hands clawing at both men's muscular bodies as she tried to impale herself on the long, solid club of Bud's manhood. "Stick it in me!"
"That's more like it, baby-way to talk!" Dave grunted. He shoved his own eager hard-on between her painfully separated buttocks. Claire shrieked in unimaginable agony as the savage friction penetrated her asshole, her sphincter tightening up like a vise in an instinctive gesture of sexual self-defense as the thick cockhead stabbed into it. Cursing, Dave thrust harder-and her anus popped wide open to accept him!
" AAAAARRRGHHH-!" Claire shrieked as the raw red pain tore through her bowels and Dave's cock pierced her completely. "NOOOOOOO-!" Her screams died away in a gurgle-or death rattle, she feared!-as she unthinkingly thrust her pelvis forward to shrink away from the raping prick-an unfortunate move, for it only buried the rest of Bud's dick into her from the front, and she was trapped between the two men-stuck between their penetrating pricks like a roast suckling pig on a spit-being ass- and cunt-fucked simultaneously by the two largest cocks she'd ever been taken by! It was a terrible yet transfiguring experience, her doubly-violated body responding violently to every nuance and twinge of sensation as one massive instrument was thrust rapidly, eagerly in and out of her cunt and another was plunged deep into her anal canal, bringing to life nerve endings there that she'd never suspected she possessed, igniting a fierce sexual fire in her bowels that blazed up like a bonfire as it swept throughout her smoking flesh and blood, consuming her with white-hot, incinerating physical passion until she felt that she must either explode or die from the sheer unendurable intensity of it all.
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!" she chanted at the top of her strained-sounding, shrill voice, like a madwoman or a crazed prophetess of some dark sex cult. "Oh, God, yes! Yes, yes! Fuck my cunt! And my asshole! Ass fuck me, Dave! Oh, darling! Screw me, Bud! Oh almighty fucking God-you stud! You pair of studs! You rutting, dirty bastards! Give it to me from both ends! Fuck me to death, God damn you both! Fuck me-both of you! Ah, ah, ah, yes, oh God, fuck, shit, God damn-fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! FUCK ME!"
"Really let the bitch have it now!" Dave shouted to her fellow fucker. His cock slammed into the murky depths of Claire's ass. Her whole pelvis tightened up like a coiled spring ready to unwind. Bud gasped in surprise as her strong muscles flexed, nipping at his cockshaft like a set of tiny, blunt teeth.
Dave, too, gave a grunt of satisfaction as Claire's ravaged sphincter milked and massaged his organ as he worked it around inside her snug, moist, tremulous colon. Claire shrieked repeatedly to relieve the frenzied pressures that were building up in her body, as though her shivering, sweaty flesh were a steam engine being stoked from both ends, the hot coals, raked up within their bed by the two stud's driving, piston-like cocks, overheating the furnace to the point that it must either let off the excess steam through the safety valve of her screaming throat, or burst in one climactic cataclysm of frustrated lust.
Dave could feel the hard, probing mass of Bud's hard-on through the thin, quivering layers of flesh and muscle deep within Claire's body ... he fantasized freely, imagining what it would feel like to break through her completely, so that his cock and Bud's would meet inside her, joined in a sea of blood and gore. The sadistic thought only excited him more, and he screwed Claire with demonic, anal-obsessive glee, laughing and gasping breathlessly as he plowed into her from behind. He threw his arms around her body and grasped Bud's ass cheeks, kneading them and using the hold to pull their three bodies still closer together.
Dave threw his head forwards, over Claire's shoulder, until his cheek was pressed against her throat, his handsome, lust-contorted face, half-hidden by her showering golden mane, only inches away from Bud's open-mouthed, panting, helpless-looking features. "Kiss me!" he whispered passionately, while Claire, too spaced out to take any notice of what he was saying, whimpered and squirmed between them. "Kiss me, man!"
Startled, his mind befogged by the wild sexual sensations that were sweeping over him, Bud hesitated ... it seemed vaguely perverse, if not downright queer-but Dave's hot blue eyes, panting, wet-lipped mouth, and general facial expression of naked, erotic abandon were a real turn-on. Bud couldn't resist. He put his hand in Dave's sweaty black hair and began to bring their heads together over Claire's smooth shoulder ... their rough, unshaven chins scraped her delicate skin as each man felt the other's breath hot against his face.
"Kiss me!" Dave repeated in a moan. "Stick your tongue in my mouth-make me come-!" Their lips met in a fierce, bruising kiss. Bud's tongue slid deep into the other guy's open, sucking mouth. They remained like that, tongues intertwined, mouths crushed together, whimpering as they banged their muscular bodies against Claire's pliant feminine nudity in a desperate effort to bring themselves off inside her.
Dave, thrilled by the kiss and the proximity of Bud's hard body as much as by the enveloping pressure of Claire's asshole, came first, blasting his sperm into her anus like a fire hydrant knocked off at its base and erupting, showering everything around it with its high-pressure charge. He pumped his hot, wet semen into her, his tongue exploring the interior of Bud's mouth as the sandy-haired repairman came inside Claire's insatiable, demanding cunt.
Claire's vagina swelled as the flood of thick cream bloated it, then relaxed again as the excess come spurted out from her flared labia ... only to tighten up in knots as her long-delayed orgasm shook her and she began to come around the implanted mass of Bud's exploding, jerking prick.
"Oh, oh-I'm coming! Fuck! My God! It's the greatest ever-the biggest-oh, oh, my cunt, my ass, good God-!" Claire babbled wildly, the two men, oblivious to her existence, continuing to neck and pet around her-through her, as it were, as her come-filled body twitched like a puppet on high-tension strings between the two gasping studs. "I'm coming again and again and again, oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!"
The film had run out long ago, unnoticed, and Claire heard the flap-flap-flap the loose end of the celluloid strip made as the full reel spun on the projector.
"Fuck!" Dave exclaimed, breaking his long, lascivious kiss on Bud's lips. Saliva trickled down his chin as he sank back and eased his come-smeared cock out of Claire's behind. She oohed and ahhed, wriggling, as the withdrawal was accomplished with some difficulty and pain for her. The warm sap that the two men had shot into her orifices dribbled down her thighs, wetting the crumpled satin sheets. Bud yanked his dick out of her cunt with a brutal, awkward movement and, looking sheepish, seized a corner of the scarlet sheet to wipe himself. Both men lay flat on their backs on the bed beside her, breathing deeply, their hairy chests heaving, their soiled cocks, still semi-hard, flopping down over their taut bellies like a pair of fish fresh off the hook. Dave let out a long, satisfied moan, and Bud echoed him. The oppressive smell of sweat and sperm and unwashed male crotch filled the room.
Claire rested quietly for a moment, curled up against Bud as he stroked her thighs and ass with one hand. Then she got up, turned off the projector, and made her slow, unsteady way into the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and sat down naked on the toilet. God! how utterly exhausted she felt-but now; at last, she could say that the expression "fucked out" meant something to her! But it had been glorious, too, and she knew that she'd want it again-soon-in fact, the moment Dave and Bud were ready again!
She examined her body gingerly to make sure that nothing had been damaged during the furious fuck. When she relaxed her sphincter, she was embarrassed by the way a rush of still-solvent semen trickled out of her asshole and splashed into the toilet bowl. She had to take a pee, too, but how sore and inflamed her pussy-lips felt from the ruthless battering they'd received from Bud's gigantic dick! Claire pissed, then wet a washcloth with warm water in the sink and cleaned herself carefully. She felt better once she was clean and fresh again. Smiling happily, she brushed her disheveled blonde hair and thought about how lucky she was to have not one lover, but two, both of them so young and virile and eager to satisfy her hot sexual urges.
She could hear Bud muttering something under his breath, and then Dave, quite audibly answering him: "Let me, man-you'll really dig it-I'll be the best you ever had ... " Whatever was going on out there? Claire decided not to keep her humpy lovers waiting; that would be impolite. She opened the bathroom door, and the sexy suggestion that was just forming itself on her pursed lips emerged as a gasp of stunned disbelief.
Bud was sprawled on the bed with his brawny legs spread wide, the way he'd been when she'd brought Dave upstairs-and Dave was kneeling between the other man's thighs, his hands gripping Bud's muscular ass cheeks, his black hair tumbling down over his forehead and getting into his eyes, his cheeks hollowed, his lips parted wide-as he sucked Bud's cock! It was hard again and Dave was already bending over more so he could take it down into his throat while he masturbated with one hand.
Bud groaned and squirmed on the bed beneath him as Claire stood, rooted to the spot, her hand to her mouth, staring, horrified, at the lurid spectacle of Bud's hard-on sliding in and out of Dave's mouth. The blowjob went on and on, with Bud making little secret of the fact that he was enjoying every sucking second of his first experiment with gay sex. When he caught sight of Claire standing in the bathroom doorway, nude, he panicked.
"Cut it out!" he gasped, trying to sit up and pull Dave's head away from his crotch. "Lemme go-Jesus Christ-she's watching us, for Chrissake-don't you care-?"
Dave stopped sucking long enough to catch his breath. "Fuck her!" he spat out viciously, glaring at Claire for a moment; then, ignoring her, he straightened up-only to straddle Bud's prone body, facing him.
The repairman struggled. "What the fuck are you doing-?"
"Let me sit on your dick," Dave demanded shameless, lowering himself upon Bud's steely piston that pointed straight up at his parted ass cheeks. "I'll be the best goddam fuck you ever had, man. Better than that cunt-better than any lousy fucking broad! Jesus-put it in me! Oh, my God! Shove it up my ass, man-ahhhhh!" With a wild cry, Dave impaled himself on the other man's stiff prick. His own cock seemed to swell to twice its size as he grabbed it and began to jack off frantically, leaning forwards to grope for Bud's left tit with his free hand and pinch it, hard. "Fuck me! God damn! Fuck my ass-!"
Dave grunted like a stuck pig as he humped his sweating body up and down on Bud's cock and the big repairman writhed beneath him, fucking him for all he was worth. "Fuck my ass!" Dave repeated in a frenzy of perverted passion. "Screw me! Screw the shit outta me!"
"Oh, Jesus-I never knew-I never knew it could feel this good-this wild-this great!" Bud babbled as he fucked the black-haired hustler. "Dave, baby-your ass feels so good! I could fuck you like this all night! Jack that big prick of yours off, man-shoot all over me-!"
Claire retreated into the bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind her. Trembling, she hovered over the sink for a moment, retching violently-then her knees gave out. She fell to the cold tile floor, her head bowed over the toilet bowl, and puked her guts out, her hands clasped over her ears in a useless attempt to block out the boisterous sounds of the two men's lovemaking.
Chapter Five
Madame Defarge's "antique shop" turned out to be an elegant brownstone on one of Manhattan's most respectable and exclusive residential streets. Claire paid the taxi driver and somewhat nervously mounted the well-scrubbed marble steps to the double front doors. There was another of the little business cards in a glass enclosure over the doorbell: MADAME DEFARGE, CURIOS, OB-JETS D'ART & ANTIQUES. Claire pushed the button resolutely, and heard chimes tinkle melodiously within. She waited, clasping her gloves and handbag, and trying to look impassive and confident.
The door was opened almost immediately by a stunning black girl, and, taking one look at her, Claire lost her studied cool. The black girl couldn't be more than twenty or twenty-one. She wore a multi-colored robe, somewhat like a kaftan, of rough cotton, that reached to the floor. Her soft hair was drawn back tightly from her lovely face, which had the good bones and exotic perfection of a model. Her earrings and bracelets were massive creations of gold and enamel. She wore no makeup, nor did she need any. The kaftan had a low-plunging neckline, and her ripe breasts thrust against the coarse material-she was managing quite well without a bra, too, Claire couldn't help noticing. The girl's eyes gave Claire the once-over without seeming to, and her full lips parted in a welcoming smile.
"Yes-?" Her voice was molten honey.
"Madame Defarge?" Claire asked faintly, rapidly losing her nerve. She wanted to turn and run ...
Claire gave her maiden name, knowing that it could mean nothing to the madam, and said simply, "Tell her I'm here on business."
The girl ushered her into a large, beautifully furnished and decorated vestibule, and closed and secured the door. "Please come this way-" Claire let herself be guided through another pair of doors into a huge drawing room. "Won't you be seated? I shall tell Madame that you're here-" Claire sat down on the Louis XVI armchair indicated, and the girl vanished.
Claire gazed around her, her natural curiosity yielding to unqualified admiration. Everything was expensive and in excellent taste. There was a marble fireplace, and the curios and objets d'art were much in evidence, Ming vases and Chinese ink drawings on rice paper being especially favored, it seemed. Claire caught sight of her own reflection in a wall mirror and automatically checked her makeup and hair. She had dressed carefully for this interview, in a simple cocktail dress of light, lemon-yellow wool, with a triple string of pearls; her coat, gloves, purse and shoes were all canary yellow. Her blonde hair looked like spun gold in the soft lighting, and she was young and vulnerable in the mirror ...
"I am Madame Defarge. You wished to see me?" Claire stood up quickly. The woman who had slipped noiselessly into the room was young and elegant, her throaty voice lightly accented ... she wore a dark grey dress from the same shop as Claire's, and her red hair was drawn up in a simple but effective style. She looked like anything but a madam; only the long ivory cigarette holder, intricately carved, that she touched to her rouged lips from time to time corresponded to the stereotype. There was a huge emerald ring on one of the slim white fingers that held the cigarette holder, and that was her only jewelry.
Claire realized that she was blushing a bit as the woman's large, warm brown eyes appraised her-and seemed to show approval.
"It's very kind of you to see me. I'm sorry to have interrupted-anything," Claire stammered. "You see, I-I'd like to do some business with you-that is-"
La Defarge looked surprised. "Are you buying-or selling?"
Claire took a deep breath. "Selling."
"I thought so." The Frenchwoman's expression didn't change. "Exactly what is the article you think I might be interested in?"
For an awful moment, Claire wondered if Marjorie could have been putting her on: suppose the woman really did deal in curios, objets d'art and antiques! "Myself," she blurted out, reddening noticeably now. "I-I want to be a prostitute and work for you here!" Without asking for permission, she sank back onto the chair, feeling weak.
Madame Defarge smiled. "May I see your handbag, dear, for a moment?"
"Of course." Mystified, Claire handed her purse over automatically. With an apologetic gesture, the madam looked through it. "What are you looking for?"
"Your badge-not that I really believe that you're a policewoman; but we must be careful, you realize."
"Oh. Well, I don't have any-I'm not-you can search my pockets, if you want," Claire said, with some dignity.
"That won't be necessary. Thank you, my dear-may I call you Claire? Would you mind telling me how you found out about my-little business operation?" She sat down on a sofa near Claire's armchair.
Claire, flustered, explained quite frankly how Marjorie had shown her the card and told her about Richard's extramarital amusements. She went on, with more hesitation, to describe her own frustrating married life, her first experiments with adultery, and how she'd thrown both Bud and Dave out of the house after discovering that they were more interested in each other than in her. Madame Defarge listened attentively, with such a look of sympathy on her lovely, aristocratic face that Claire soon forgot her uneasiness and felt almost as though she were confiding in an old and trusted friend.
"And it's all I've been thinking about lately," she concluded, with tears in her eyes. "Becoming a-a whore, that is. I need men-lots of them-and I really enjoy sex now, especially when I was with Bud and Dave (before that awful thing happened!) and pretending that they were paying me for my services-it was a big fantasy trip for me. That's all I have to say, I guess," she ended lamely, pulling a hankie out of her bag to dab at her eyes.
Madame Defarge, a thoughtful look on her face, rose and pulled a bell-cord. "Laura," she said when the black girl appeared, "bring us some tea and sherry and cakes, please. Claire," she resumed, as Laura disappeared, "I'll be frank with you, since you've been so honest with me. This may be just a fantasy for you, but it's my livelihood and important to me. I have half a dozen girls who live here in the house with me, and another twenty or thirty who rely on me to get them dates by phone. It's a big business and there's lots of competition, although I pride myself on running the classiest operation in New York. To find my girls, I screen and turn down hundreds of applicants. There isn't a whore in Manhattan who wouldn't jump at the chance to work for me. You're lovely and obviously intelligent, and, better yet, you seem to be well-bred: that's especially important to me. I like my girls to be ladies in the parlor and whores only in bed. But I wonder, dear, if you're tough enough to be a hooker. I run a nice place here; you'd never have to put up with cheap or crude men, although the police are always a threat-I pay protection money, but I've been busted twice this year already. But sometimes a girl has to do strange things, if she expects to succeed as a professional. If you got all upset just at the sight of one young man seducing another, I don't know how you'd handle the kind of real freak scene some of my best-paying customers demand."
Laura brought in a tray with a china tea service, a decanter of wine, goblets, and some tiny French pastries on silver plates. Claire accepted a linen napkin and a cup of tea. "But I could try, couldn't I?" she pleaded between sips, when Laura had retired again. "I've read all the books about being a prostitute I could find, and I'm not afraid to do any of the things I read about-as long as it's for money and I have a good madam to look after me."
"We could use another girl here at the house," Madame Defarge mused. "Would you like to try it for a week or so, with no obligation to go on after that if you don't like it? I suppose, being married, you can only come in during the day? Would from ten to four suit you?"
"Oh, yes." That would give her plenty of time to get home before Donald did in the evening. "How-how much would I earn?"
"Fifty dollars for an ordinary half-hour of sex-fucking or sucking, whichever the man wants. I get ten dollars off the top, but of course you keep any tips the men care to give you. If they want anal sex or a freak scene or a threesome, anything extra like that, we negotiate beforehand and you usually clear at least one hundred dollars. Parties-orgies, if you prefer-can be even more profitable, and we often get groups of businessmen who want them in the early afternoon or during lunch hour. Often a man will want to watch a lesbian act. Have you ever made it with another woman?"
"No," Claire admitted.
"Never mind, you'll learn. Well, does that satisfy you so far, Claire?"
"Oh, yes-completely, Madame Defarge. The money isn't all that important to me, you see."
"Call me Janine. We'll try it for a week, then? When would you be able to start?"
"How about right now?" Claire suggested boldly, her cheeks flaming.
Janine Defarge laughed musically as she nibbled on a cake. "My, you are eager, aren't you, darling? Well, that's good. It's been a busy morning, actually-I'm sure we'll be able to find something nice and simple for you to cut your teeth on before four rolls around. You can stay today, can't you? Good. Let's go upstairs and I'll show you the house. Bring your cup of tea along, dear."
The madam continued to chat amiably as Claire followed her up the wide staircase. There were four floors to the house, and the upper ones seemed to be nothing but bedrooms, each luxuriously furnished and with a huge double bed. Some had water beds, and one large room was fitted up as an orgy room, with mirrors covering the walls and ceiling and mattresses wall-to-wall on the floor. Some of the doors were closed, with DO NOT DISTURB signs dangling from the knobs, exactly as in a hotel ... from behind one of these closed doors Claire heard the moans and gasps and creaking bed-springs that all too clearly explained why she hadn't yet met any of the other girls.
"Here, you can use this room today," Janine said, leading Claire into a luxurious, dimly-lit bedroom at the end of the hall. "Why don't you take off your dress, dear, and hang it up in the closet, and put on this robe?" It was a fabulous full-length kimono of richly brocaded dark-blue silk, with a dragon embroidered on it in green and gold. "You'll be more comfortable ... wait here, Claire; I'll be back."
Alone, Claire hung up her dress and coat, deposited her purse and gloves on a mahogany table nearby, and pulled on the robe. The thick silk rustled sensuously against her slip and undergarments and skin-she examined herself in the mirror and decided that she was beautiful and desirable. Men would gladly pay to possess her glowing blonde perfection. They would use her body repeatedly while she lay back and thought only of the money ... of the delicious sinfulness and degradation of commercialized sex ...
"Claire, darling-no, don't get up-I have a visitor who's very anxious to meet you-" Flustered, Claire sat up, drawing the front of the oriental robe tightly across her breasts. Then she relaxed and, with a seductive smile, lay back on the bed, letting the robe fall open once more. Her first John! He was a pleasant surprise, as Janine had promised-"nice and simple." He was a tall, muscular man in his late thirties, with grey hair worn fashionably long, and a little mustache; his tanned face was slightly lined, and he had merry blue eyes that were twinkling at her now in a way that would do honor to a professional Santa Claus. He was neatly dressed in a Brooks Brothers suit, complete with vest, and had a drink in his hand.
"Hello," he said brightly, addressing Claire with an easy familiarity, as though she were his long-lost daughter. But there was nothing paternal about the bulge in the crotch of his neatly pressed pinstriped pants, and it got larger as those cheerful blue eyes ran over her silk-sheathed body and liked what they saw.
"How do you do," Claire purred graciously, eager to make a good first impression.
"Claire, this is Philip, one of my very best customers ... I'm sure you and he will hit it off splendidly and have a simply lovely time together. Well, I must go and answer the telephone- business, you know. Au revoir, cher Philip-and Claire-well, you just do what comes naturally, dear. Good luck." She closed the door, and it locked with a click.
Outside in the hallway, Janine leaned against the door and listened for a moment-then, smiling, she marched briskly down the hall and went down the stairs to the second floor. She pressed the button of an intercom on the wall-"Laura, watch the phones for me for a while, will you? I'll be in the television room"-and went into a room nearby, carefully locking the door behind her. She had the only key to the adjoining room. Entering, she secured this door behind her as well.
The wall was covered with small television screens-one for each room in the brothel. The closed-circuit surveillance system had cost a fortune, but it was worth it-at the flick of a switch, Janine could record the action in any bedroom on videotape, and she'd already sold enough such tapes to "special" customers to pay for a beach house, a new Cadillac, a full-length mink cape, and a trip to Istanbul. All of the screens were on, but the sound was turned off. Most of the rooms were empty, the hidden cameras monitoring only empty, neatly made beds. Other beds were very much occupied. Two beautiful Japanese girls were on one with a huge black man, one girl sucking his cock while the other sat on his face, fondling her fellow hooker while the John ate her cunt. In another room, an elderly man lay exhausted beneath the voluptuous blonde who'd been blowing him. Two other bedrooms featured a black girl and a young and unfortunately quite ugly white man engaging in anal intercourse, and another couple sixty-nining passionately. In yet another room, a striking brunette clad in leather brassiere, panties, and boots flourished a whip and silently commanded an overweight businessman to kiss her feet. And on the third screen from the left, second row, Claire half-sat, half-reclined on the bed while Philip stood near it, undressing, laying his expensive clothes neatly on a chair. Janine turned up the volume on that particular set, and sat down in front of the elaborate console.
" ... So Janine tells me, the minute I come in the door, 'I've got this absolutely lovely, refined young blonde girl who's never hooked before, she's absolutely new to the game, but willing, so will you please help me out, Philip, since all the girls say you're the sweetest man they've ever had and they hate to take the money from you'." Philip laughed pleasantly as, naked now, he stretched out on the bed and held out his arms to Claire.
"Come here, doll-so I said, sure, Janine, I'll break the kid in-only, baby, you're not a kid-you're a woman-come here and kiss me-oh, yeah-that's nice-nice body, babe-lemme see it-show me the merchandise, beautiful-" His expert hands stripped the heavy blue silk from her shoulders; Claire, laughing a little under her breath, threw him a look of invitation as, reclining in his arms, she tossed her head to make her long golden hair tumble over his bare shoulder and chest.
Janine gasped, astonished and delighted, at the expression on the beautiful young housewife's face. Claire wasn't faking it, she realized-she was genuinely aroused! And she'd scarcely been in the room with Philip for five minutes, he was hardly touching her-but now he was, intimately, possessively but with the gentleness that had made him a favorite among the hookers in Janine's stable. He pulled Claire's pale yellow slip down to her waist, and unfastened her bra ... Janine moaned at the sight of the blonde's magnificent breasts as Philip, baring them, bent over to kiss and suck the large, rosy nipples.
Claire, stripped to the waist, her silky hair flowing down over her shoulders, her lower limbs half-revealed, half-concealed by the thrust-aside kimono and her loosened undergarments, pressed Philips's head to her breasts, a long moan escaping from her parted, pink-glossed lips as she closed her eyes in sheer ecstasy. She sank down on the soft bed and pulled Philip on top of her sensuous body.
"Lemme see it-all of it-all of you-your sweet pussy, doll!" Philip tugged at kimono, slip, panties, stockings-Claire parted her thighs to let Philip bare her lower body, kicking off her yellow, Italian-made shoes and wrapping her legs around his waist. The motion lifted her lush, rounded ass cheeks off the bed-he cupped them in his hands and squeezed the enticing mounds of warm, firm flesh. "Christ-what a beautiful goddam ass-you gorgeous cunt-I want to eat you out, baby-!" Philip groaned, his hard-on throbbing between his trembling legs.
"Eat me while I suck your cock, darling," Claire cried enthusiastically. "Let's do it to each other- but pull out before you come-I want you to shoot in my snatch-fuck me-" Janine gasped in sheer disbelief. Either Claire had been lying to her and had actually been hooking half her life; or she was a natural-a whore's whore-a true courtesan, born to screw for money, who took to the trade by irresistible, unerring instinct. The luscious blonde was throwing herself at Philip as though they were lovers who'd been separated from each other and deprived of sex for years-and Philip was eating it up-literally, as he buried his face in Claire's craving crotch and she guided the head of his erect phallus between her moaning lips. Her tongue darted out to kiss and caress his penis-and then she took it in her mouth, went down on it all the way, and began to suck like a human vacuum cleaner. Growling, reduced to an animal by the blonde whore's expert oral embrace, Philip drove his tongue between her parted labia and lapped up her gushing fluids as though they were mother's milk. Lewd sounds of sucking and slurping and drooling issued from the television monitor. The two nude bodies undulated against each other in a steady, unbroken rhythm of oral-genital excitement.
With a trembling hand, Janine reached out to adjust the color and volume, then switched on the videotape recorder to capture Claire's first trick for posterity. Janine wasn't careless-if any of her girls ever tried to cheat or betray her in any way, she had only to threaten the offender with exposure. Even if the girl didn't have a lover or husband or family, a copy of the tape, mailed anonymously to the police, would end the girl's hooking career in New York City. So far, Janine had only had to resort to this expedient twice-and no one knew about her little spy system. She had a feeling that Claire wasn't going to be any trouble at all-in fact, the blonde might be a genuine asset.
Watching the television screen was beginning to excite her. Moaning, Janine sank back in her seat and spread her legs. She hiked up the skirt of her expensive grey dress and pulled down her panties. Her vibrator-twelve inches of thick, motorized rubber-was lying on a shelf within reach, ready. Janine seized it. The harsh buzz of the phallic-shaped instrument was not loud enough to drown out the sound track of the blue movie that Claire and Philip were unknowingly improvising.
"Fuck me!" Claire whimpered, pulling her semen-smeared lips off Philip's dick just before his excitement reached the point of ejaculation. "Put it in me-take me and use me like the whore I am-I'll do anything-for you, darling-for you." She rolled over onto her stomach, her legs spread, her superb ass raised, her hair flowing over the pillows. "Fuck me from behind and play with my pussy!" she begged.
"Oh, you sweet little bitch-you nympho, you- you beautiful piece of ass!" Philip marveled. He pulled Claire up into a kneeling position, so that she was supporting herself on her hands and knees, her ass jutting up and out, her large, unwieldy breasts swinging freely, her face buried in the pillow ... he took her from behind like a humping dog, sliding his cock between her parted legs and angling it upwards to fit it into her snatch. His right hand flew to her erect clit and began to massage it; his left gripped her breasts, fondling and squeezing them. She cried out and slammed her ass back into his crotch to force his cock all the way up into her gaping quim.
"Yes-fuck me-play with my titties; bruise them, pinch them-do whatever you want-use me! I'm yours! You've paid for me, paid to use my body-so take it! Fuck me! Play with my pussy! Yes, touch my clit-pinch it-ohhh! That feels so good! Darling! Darling Philip! My first customer, my first John! My first paid fuck. I'm a whore now, a real whore! I'm a slut, a harlot, the Whore of Babylon! Oh, God, how divine! Fuck your whore, Philip! Fuck her! Get your money's worth of my hot, juicy cunt! My cunt! Yes, my cunt, my cunt, my cunt-!"
Janine didn't know about Claire; but her own cunt was on fire with raw sexual need! She ran the blunt tip of the vibrator over the quivering blade of her clit. Electric tingles rushed through her groin, as though she'd walked across a carpet, touched metal, and received a shock. Her dark-red pubic curls were bedewed with her pussy juice as the moist pink slit in their midst opened in a pout of impatience. Janine pressed the vibrating dildo to her clit with one hand and ran the index finger of the other down her cuntal groove, her flesh twitching in eager response.
One oval, silver-painted nail dug into the delicate meat of her wet, pulsing labia ... groaning, Janine slid the vibrator down into her gaping gash and buried the head of the artificial phallus between the folds of her panting pussy-mouth. Fantastic sensations of burning, buzzing, tingling inflammation tore through her cunt. Keeping her eyes fixed on the televised fuck in front of her, the Frenchwoman thrust half of the vibrator into her hole. Her cervix clamped down around the shuddering cylinder of solid rubber and she spread her legs as far as she could, humping and writhing in her chair, red hair tumbling down from its elegant arrangement to fall around her lovely face ... she gritted her teeth and, with a strangulated cry of "Merde!", forced the rest of the phony cock up into her unresisting body and held it there, half-swooning from the violent vibrations that hammered at the quaking walls of her cuntal tunnel. It felt like a subway with an express train rushing through it and rocking on the rails as it rounded sharp corner after sharp corner-God! what a magnificent come she was about to have!
"Oh, darling!" Claire squealed as her vagina began to spasm with those deep, violent, fast contractions and releases that she craved.'"Yes-come in my cunt! Fill me-" And Philip, grunting, did just that. His pubic bone banged against her flattened, upthrust buttocks as he crushed his body down on hers for the last time-paused, suspended, for a breathless instant-and then shivered all over, his powerful ass working as semen burst from his cock and spat into the warm, cozy depths of Claire's cunt. The cream filled her to overflowing as she wriggled beneath her John, her labia gaping open to let the surplus burst out and spatter over the bed.
Then she had her own orgasm, fierce and exhausting, as that big, blasting prick pummeled her pussy into willing submission and more and more hot come seeped from her teeming loins. "Ahhh-yesss-fuck meeeeeeeeeee!" she shrieked.
In her private television room, Janine La Defarge screwed herself with the massive dildo, eyes glued to the glowing screen on which Claire and Philip were cavorting like a pair of frisky puppies imitating the mating behavior of their elders. With a scream of intense erotic pleasure that wiped out the sound track, the madam slammed the thick vibrator in and out of her cunt as she came on it again and again. On the screen, Philip had pulled his come-smeared cock out of Claire's delicious snatch, and the sensual, golden-haired socialite was twisting her superb body around so that she could take the slimy organ into her mouth before it went soft ...
* * *
Claire stood in the shower stall of one of the brothel's luxurious bathrooms, soaping her breasts and belly and thighs beneath the warm, steamy water that streamed down over her body. Her skin glowed from the heat of the shower and her general feeling of contentment and sexual satiation ... her breasts swung free, their nipples hard and pointed as she scrubbed them with a sudsy sponge. Her golden pubic patch was dark with water, her cunt squeaky clean. Janine had advised her to douche with a mild herbal formula that, the madam assured her, was safe to use every day after a hard afternoon's work.
Five men, Claire thought, smiling, as she finished lathering her ripe body and began to rinse herself off, running her hands over herself in slow, languid stroking motions. Five! And she'd come every time-more than once, with two or three of the Johns. There had been Philip, who'd tipped generously and promised to ask for her in advance the next time he patronized the brothel. Then there was the nervous young executive who'd wanted his lovely big cock sucked ... after him, the slightly overweight but cheerful and clean gentleman who'd eaten her so greedily before putting his short, fat, rather disappointing dick into her; but he'd tipped her, too. After him, the well-dressed, soft-spoken black man had chosen Claire out of a group of four girls Janine had shown him downstairs in the drawing room ...
Claire shivered all over at the delicious memory of how her initial embarrassment at the prospect of taking her first black lover had evaporated into hot fuck fever once she'd seen his immense dong. She'd turned into a frantic nympho who wanted it every way-in her mouth, in her snatch, up her ass-she'd come like a miniature Niagara each time the huge instrument of polished, warm ebony violated one of her bodily orifices. She'd exhausted the poor guy-and finally, the mild freak scene, in which the pleasant middle-aged man had made her blindfold and handcuff him-Janine had all the necessary equipment ready-and pinch his nipples and slap his face all the while she was straddling his body, riding his cock. He'd gone wild and begged for more-she'd smeared K-Y over the vibrator he gave her and inserted it into his rectum, fucking him with the artificial dick while he ate her until he came again.
It had been exhausting, if exciting, work and she was enjoying her hot shower. Figures flickered through her head. She'd made fifty dollars with each man, double that for the black who wanted anal sex; that came to three hundred dollars ... plus another seventy-five in tips. Janine had taken her fifth from the three hundred- leaving Claire with a clear profit of three hundred and fifteen for a mere three hours' work! God, what would she clear during a full day? She'd find out tomorrow, of course, and she was already looking forward to it. Janine had praised her performance unreservedly. She was already a pro!
Claire stepped out of the shower and onto the furry rug, pulled off the shower cap she'd used, and took a huge, fluffy flowered towel to dry herself. She helped herself to a bottle of Chanel No. 5 on a nearby shelf, touching the bottle to her breasts and throat and pulse points to scent herself with the expensive perfume. She was just slipping into the blue kimono when there was a discreet knock on the bathroom door, and Janine came in. The madam had changed into a fabulous Pucci hostess gown-her usual attire for receiving the early-evening customers-and her silky red hair was brushed loose over her shoulders. Diamonds flashed in her ears, on her fingers, and around her wrist.
"Claire, darling," she said without preamble, fitting a fresh cigarette into the ivory holder, "I know it's your first day and you must be tired, and I did say you could leave at four-it's almost that now. But I'm stuck and you could help me out, dear, if you would. I've got a man downstairs, an old customer, who absolutely must have a blonde; nothing else will do, and Paula and Jill are busy right now. I hate to keep him waiting-will you do it? It'll mean an easy hundred for you, and the girls who've had him before say he always tips. He's loaded."
"What does he want?" Claire asked, knowing that the extra fifty dollars meant something extra.
"He wants to watch a lesbian scene-two girls together," Janine said, eyeing the way Claire's breasts bulged inside the silk robe. "He never touches the girls-just plays with himself while he watches. And every time he wants a different combination. Today he wants a black girl and a blonde, so Laura will do it."
Claire blushed at the thought of the elegant black girl. "But-but I wouldn't know what to do," she protested. "I've never made it with another woman."
Janine laughed. "Darling, there's nothing to it. Laura will do all the work. All you have to do is lie there and pretend you're coming. Put on an act, with a lot of groaning and wriggling, and he'll be happy. And besides-I wanted to give you some practice in it eventually, because a lot of Johns like lesbian scenes. Will you do it? I'd appreciate it."
Claire thought of the extra hundred bucks. "Sure," she said.
She let Janine escort her to the orgy room she'd seen earlier. Claire barely glanced at the small, elderly man seated in the Louis XVI armchair as Janine introduced her to him. Laura was standing on the wall-to-wall mattresses in her brilliant kaftan and jewelry, looking as cool and self-possessed as usual. She smiled at Claire like an empress receiving ambassadors in her throne room.
"Well, I must run along and man the phones," Janine said. She was dying to get to the television room to monitor the scene, and she checked to make sure that all the lights in the orgy room were turned on. She nodded at Claire, gave her a good-luck peck on the cheek, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"Let's get it on, honey," Laura said in her well-modulated voice. She began to unfasten the wooden buttons-and-frogs that held the front of her long robe together. Her full, dark brown breasts, with their rigid, thimble-sized, nipples of dusky rose, burst free and jutted out proudly, taut, ripe, tantalizing, as she shrugged the kaftan off her shoulders-paused dramatically for the John's benefit-and then let the robe rustle to the floor.
Nude except for golden earrings and bracelets-and a heavy gold anklet that had been concealed by the robe-the black girl stepped out of the fallen garment and approached Claire like an African goddess, her breasts swinging, her hips moving sensuously as her lithe dark body swayed gracefully with each step. With a gasp, Claire saw that Laura had shaved her pubic hair completely off! Her purple labia stood out shockingly, erotically, against the smooth, bare mound of her hairless mons veneris ...
Claire stared at the pruned pussy, fascinated by its clean, prominent look. Her heart beat faster as Laura's musky perfume enveloped her and the black girl put her slim hands on the shoulder of the blue brocaded gown. It was gently drawn down over her shoulders, baring them, her upper arms, her breasts. Moaning, Claire felt Laura's warm, moist lips on her right nipple, and the girl's flickering tongue caressing the hard teat.
Claire didn't look at the seated John, although she heard his heavy breathing and the sound of his fly being unzipped. Laura was on her knees, pulling Claire down to the cushioned floor with her ... they rolled onto a pile of animal skins and furs that were thrown over the center of the mattresses. The robe was tugged away from Claire altogether and she was nude in Laura's soft, caressing embrace. The two girls writhed together on the furs that tickled their skin, Claire's creamy pale nudity and golden mane contrasting strikingly with the dusky sleekness of the panther-like Laura.
They kissed, Laura's tongue slithering between the blonde's parted lips. It was a different kind of kiss than that of an aroused, impatient, demanding man-and yet equally ardent, just as stimulating. Claire found herself responding with a fierce hunger, her hands flying to the other woman's firm breasts and thighs and smooth buttocks ... they kissed again and again ...
"Eat her cunt, baby," the old man wheezed.
"Yeah, man," Laura purred like a voluptuous, sunned cat. She began to work her way down the entire length of Claire's ivory body, planting kisses on the blonde's throat, breasts, stomach, hips, thighs-Claire was getting extremely turned on. She thrashed about, crushing herself against Laura's black body, moaning, panting, begging for more of the exquisite treatment. She stifled a shriek of excitement when, finally, Laura buried her head in her crotch. The moment she put her warm, wet lips on Claire's delicate vaginal lips, a shudder shot through the blonde's twisting body. She spread her long, sleek legs farther apart and thrust one hand between them in abandonment, pulling the scarlet outer lips of her cunt open and exposing the dark pink blade of her stiff clitoris. Claire squealed with sapphic passion as Laura buried her nose in her twat, her tongue laving out the juicy pit and stroking the sensitive clit, her lips making lewd slurping noises as she sucked up the cunt nectar that was pouring out of Claire's pussy and dribbling down her chin as she ate.
"Turn around so I can see your tongue going in and out of her cunt!" the John gasped as he masturbated frantically. Without missing a stroke, Laura complied, guiding Claire's trembling legs over her shoulders as she lavished all of her oral skill on the blonde woman's frothing femininity. Claire shrieked as her burning clit was kissed and sucked and licked, even bitten, until her cunt cried out for relief from the wild surges of sexual desire that were sweeping through it in torrents.
"Eat each other, you bitches! Sixty-nine! Eat her cunt and make her come!" the John moaned, all but foaming at the mouth as he leaned forwards in his chair, eyes glued to the spectacle of the two lush bodies, glistening with sweat as they writhed together like two mating eels.
Claire, dizzy with lust, almost fainting, found herself on her back on the fur throws, her legs spread, Laura lying on top of her, her mouth pressed to Claire's cunt, her tongue working more rapidly than ever ... Claire glanced up and saw Laura's firm black thighs on either side of her head, caressed by her disheveled blonde hair-saw Laura's flat belly rippling over her face-saw Laura's gaping labia staring her in the face! She wanted it-but what would it taste like-? With a cry of passion, Claire boldly lunged up and buried her mouth in that wet, warm slit. Her lips pressed against the dark, petal-like folds of the black hooker's cunt-and her tongue stabbed out and disappeared between those moist, twitching pussy-flaps, wetting itself in the thick juices that Laura was secreting!
"Ohhhhh-yum!" It was bitter honey, dark and cloying and intoxicating, a true drink of the gods! Claire lost her breath as, greedily, she ate and ate, trying her best to do to Laura what her black lover was doing to her, matching her kiss for kiss, tongue thrust for tongue thrust, nibble for nibble ... Laura's clit scraped against her busy tongue as she slurped up the other woman's heady syrups and felt her own clitoral orgasm approaching, gradually but inevitably, like a thundercloud looming up on the horizon, bloated with precipitation. The dark, hovering cloud swelled larger-larger-larger-and burst, showering Claire and Laura with a flood of female fuck oils ... both women vaguely sensed that the old man was standing over their meshed, sweaty bodies-his hot come splattered over their intermingled black and white flesh, but neither took any notice that they had satisfied their customer and earned their money ... for this was play, not work ...
Chapter Six
Claire had been happily (and profitably) playing for pay for a couple of weeks when the weather suddenly turned unseasonably warm. To take advantage of this unexpected preview of spring, Claire got into the habit of walking between the station and Janine's place, instead of splurging on taxi rides. One lovely, breezy morning she was on her way to work when she passed a construction site, a sea of mud and gravel enclosed by a cheap temporary board fence (already provided with peep holes so that passers-by could follow the workers' progress). The building itself was no more than a steel framework at this point, resembling nothing so much as a child's erector set blown out of proportion.
Absorbed in her thoughts, Claire had no idea of how many people turned to look at her admiringly as, blonde hair caressed by the warm wind, she made her slow way along the sidewalk, radiant in soft tones of beige and apple-green with a white silk scarf tied loosely around her throat. She was thinking how fortunate she had been to find someone like Janine-a contact that had enabled Claire to break into the hooker business on a high, almost respectable level, without first having had to begin on the streets and work her way upwards.
Claire was making more money than Donald did now, and she scarcely thought about her husband any more, except as a well-intentioned but rather bumbling friend who made no sexual demands upon her. Which was a good thing, she reflected with amusement, considering how much hot sex she had been getting during her daily "shopping trips" to Manhattan!
In the brothel she'd learned refinements of physical passion that most women never suspected existed ... she'd had it every way imaginable, and had loved it all. And it was safe-the customers were all respectable men with careers and families to protect; Janine paid off the cops, and retained a lawyer to bail her or any of the girls out should real trouble come along. The madam had also introduced Claire to a wonderfully sympathetic and worldly woman gynecologist who took care of Claire's physical needs ... just keeping the equipment in good working order, Claire thought, suppressing a giggle as she approached the corner of the fenced-in construction site.
A low wolf whistle jarred her out of her reverie and two rough male voices followed up the whistle with a chorus of lewd comments:
"Hey, beautiful, where you going so fast?"
"Great legs!"
"Yeah, I wouldn't mind being between 'em for a minute."
"Minute is right-I'd pop my nuts in less'n sixty fucking seconds, flat, if I ever got on top of something that good!"
"Fucking A, man! Look at that ass, willya, man?"
"You ever had anything that good?"
"Shit-whaddyamean? I've had better!"
"Bullshit, you couldn't handle it, buddy-a class act like that?"
"Yeah, well, she's outta your league too, big mouth! So eat your heart out!"
"That ain't what I had in mind to eat out."
"Hey, gorgeous! Turn around and show us the front! Come on, give some hard-working, horny guys a break!"
Claire blushed, realizing that she was the object of the ribald dialogue; but then she felt foolish for responding to the construction workers' shouts in so self-conscious and prudish a manner. After all, she could hardly afford to be offended because two men found her sexually desirable! It was a compliment, really-she slowed her pace to a virtual standstill and gave the men a furtive glance through a gap in the fence.
"Oh, yeah! Hiya, doll!" one of the men cried in rapture as she smiled at them shyly, raising one hand to brush her windblown hair from her eyes.
"You're grade A, baby!" the other assured her. "Hey, what's your phone number?"
"Shut up-that's no way to talk to a lady," his companion retorted facetiously. "Never mind him, beautiful-he ain't got no class at all! Give your number to me, doll, and I'll show you whether or not I know how to treat a foxy bitch like you! I'll give you the kind of good time you ain't never had before and won't ever want to do without again!"
"Oh-promises, promises!" Claire sighed, laughing openly at the two men's pretensions and showing that she didn't take anything about them seriously. They almost went wild with excitement, abandoning their work-they'd been digging a pit-and rushing to the fence to get a better look at the beautiful young woman who'd stopped to talk to them.
Obviously they were used to being either ignored or rebuffed by the women to whom they made their jeering advances. Claire noticed that a number of the people who were passing her on the sidewalk paused to give her and the two men curious, faintly shocked or disapproving looks, but she didn't care. It was amusing, even exciting, to fly in the face of convention and do rather outrageous things like this.
She admitted to herself, though, that she would never have stopped to go along with the two workers' joke if they hadn't been so young and good-looking. They were both in their early twenties, she guessed; both were tall and well-built, although the blond one stood a full head taller than his companion. The shorter guy was small and stocky, his dark complexion and curly black hair suggesting a Greek or Italian origin; he had a long, straight nose and a dimpled chin that was somewhat incongruously swathed with black stubble. His black eyes danced as they returned Claire's gaze with bold directness and humor.
The tall blond was as deeply tanned as his partner, though his brown skin lacked the shorter man's clear olive glow. He had a thick blond mustache, his eyes were bright blue, his features just coarse enough to make him look sexy in a crude, tough way. Both young studs were dressed in tight, torn, faded jeans that looked as though they'd been scraped threadbare before being forced over muscular legs and butts and bulging crotches ... both men wore muddy work boots; the blond had on an ancient denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, and the dark guy's husky torso was displayed by a too-tight white T-shirt with the sleeves torn off to give his massive tanned biceps more room. Both men's throats and faces were damp with sweat, and the shorter one's T-shirt was stuck fast to his body under the armpits and across his pecs. The blond had a red handkerchief rolled into a strip and tied around his forehead to keep his thick hair out of his face.
"Come on, baby, what do you say-how about a date?" the blonde asked eagerly, his red lips parting to show white teeth.
"Fuck that jerk! You'd be wasting your time with him. I'm better, baby," the short one said boldly. "In the sack or out!"
"Don't listen to that sawed-off little faggot," the blond insisted, pushing his rival away. "You want a real man, you come to the right place, good-looking!" He hooked his thumbs in his leather belt and thrust his pelvis forwards. His cock, already semi-hard, strained against the worn fabric of his earth-caked jeans.
"Bullshit! Listen, lady-you want a real lover, tell that slob to go fuck himself! I can show you things that'll blow your mind! Listen, I got a wife and four kids already-she can't get enough of my cock! Because it ain't what you got, it's how you use it! Finesse, you know? Technique?"
"Oh, I do value finesse," Claire breathed. The two guys nearly came in their pants as she smiled seductively at them both, her eyes lowering to compare their baskets.
"Oh, you're both very handsome men, and I'd hate to have to choose between you-but it's getting late," she added cheerfully, consulting her slim gold wrist watch, "and I really must go, or I'll be late for-work. I'm a prostitute, you know," she confided, handing them a business card over the fence, "and we're always terribly busy around this time of day. That's Madame Defarge's address, there on the card, and if you'd care to stop by her place during your lunch hour or after work for a drink and to look over the merchandise-no obligation-I'm sure she'd be delighted to have your business. Well, good day, gentlemen; I must run along. Don't work too hard-it looks like it's going to be a real scorcher today."
The two men gaped at her, open-mouthed, as she turned to go.
"I'll come back this way this afternoon, between four and four-thirty," Claire replied gaily, with a toss of her head. "Perhaps I'll see you then ... well, so long, boys; it was nice talking to you-"
"Hey! Come back!"
"God damn! What a hot piece of ass-!"
"Stop fucking around and get back to work, you goddamned goldbrickers!" a third man, obviously the foreman, bellowed. "I want to see that hole dug and I want to see it dug fast-!" Laughing, Claire went on her way.
* * *
It turned out to be a typical day at the brothel-if there is such a thing as a typical prostitute's day. A steady stream of customers, none of them sufficiently kinky or erotically talented to stick in the memory. Claire half-hoped that either or both of the two construction workers she'd teased would show up, but they didn't. Probably they had thought she was only joking, or they were shocked by her claim that she was a hooker, or-most probable of all-they simply didn't patronize brothels: after all, they were both handsome enough to get it for free. By early afternoon, Claire had forgotten about the pair.
But she remembered them when, bathed and dressed in her street clothes again, she had a cup of tea with Janine and then left at four to go home. It had gotten hot, but not uncomfortably so. Claire decided, more or less out of simple curiosity, to walk past the building site to see if the two young studs were still there. It would be fun to trade banter with them again.
She smiled as she caught sight of them, both sitting in a scrap of shade cast by the rickety fence, looking hot and exhausted after their long day's work. It seemed to be quitting time, for the other workers were gathering up their metal lunch boxes and exchanging goodbyes; her two friends were apparently taking a few minutes to rest before they headed for home. Or-had they actually taken seriously her light-hearted promise to return? Could they be waiting for her?
Claire tried to stay composed and detached as she approached the site, her golden hair fired by the brilliant late-afternoon sun. The two young men didn't see her at first. They were both stripped to the waist, and she caught her breath at the sight of their magnificently muscled, deep-tanned bodies. The blond had pulled his red handkerchief from his head, and his long, shaggy hair, dark, with sweat, fell about his face as he wiped his throat and chest with the cloth square. He had a sprinkling of chest hair, bright gold against his tanned skin, between his pecs that got thicker as it ran down his taut belly to his navel and disappeared in his jeans.
The Italian was hairier, his naked chest slick and wet-looking with sweat; he had a tiny religious medal on a chain around his neck. Both men's jeans were splattered with mud and coated with dust from cuff to waistband, and their forearms were grimy.
Looking at them, Claire suddenly felt warm in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. Her cheeks burned as her ever-ready imagination dwelt upon the prospect of feeling one of those hard, half-naked male bodies crushed against her-of tasting that trickled sweat on her thirsty, lapping tongue-of having her hair mussed by those soiled, calloused hands-of reaching into those tight, filthy jeans to free a hard cock from its hot, sweaty confinement and guide it quickly, wantonly between her trembling thighs. The sidewalk seemed to reel beneath her expensive imported shoes as she staggered over to the fence like a drunken woman, scarcely aware of what she was doing or saying.
"Hello, there-remember me?"
"Jesus Christ! It's you!" Both men sprang to their feet. The blond was so startled by her reappearance that he dropped the cigarette he'd just lit into the muck.
"My, you look so tired and hot, both of you," she said with genuine sympathy. "Have you had a rough day?"
The stocky one was the first to recover from the shock. "Yeah," he said, grinning suggestively as he surveyed her body. "How about you? Been working your ass off, too?"
"I can't complain," she replied airily.
"Come on, baby-are you really a hooker?"
"What's the matter-don't I look like a hooker?"
"You don't look like no bitch I ever seen standing on no street corner turning tricks!"
Smiling, Claire turned to the blond. "What do you think?"
"Umm!" he sputtered, obviously tongue-tied.
Holding her breath, she gently put her hand on his smooth pectoral muscle, almost fainting when the strong beat of his heart pulsed through her fingertips. She could smell his sweat and the pungent male odor was more intoxicating to her than all of the expensive perfumes she had on her dressing table combined.
"You look so hot," she gasped. "Why don't I treat you men-both of you-to a drink? Is there a bar near here?"
"There's one right across the street where we go all the time," the husky blond blurted out in a rush of breath, gaping at her with worshipful blue eyes.
"But it's a crummy dive-it's no place for a classy babe like you," the Italian protested feebly.
"I don't care, let's go." And without waiting for their response, Claire turned briskly and marched across the street, almost getting run down by a truck driver who cursed at her as he sounded his horn. The two construction workers stared after her for a moment, then grabbed their shirts and followed her.
Claire hesitated in front of the bar, called Harry's Place, then pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was so dark that she could scarcely make her way to the bar, but not so dark that she didn't notice the dirt and general air of dilapidation. She was the only woman in the place, and the clientele-a few construction workers from across the street, two old men, a filthy bum who was guzzling red wine in one corner, and several young hoods shooting pool in the back of the room-could not have been more startled by her entrance if she'd been an accredited angel newly descended from heaven to announce the Second Coming. Coolly, Claire dusted off the cracked leather seat of a stool, sat down at the bar, and asked for "A grasshopper, please."
"Yes, ma'am!" the chubby, red-faced bartender said in awe, taking his cigar out of his mouth and depositing it in an ashtray in deference to her. The two men she'd more-or-less picked up joined her at the bar, one sitting on either side of her. Both ordered beer.
"Come off it," the blond said, after a long pause in which he and his buddy examined her curiously. "Are you really a hooker, baby?"
"Yes," Claire murmured, aware that everyone in the sleazy bar was watching her and trying to listen in on their conversation. "Keep your voices down, please. By the way, my name is Claire."
"I'm Jerry and this is Dominick," the blond said. There was a rather comical moment as Claire shook hands with each man in turn.
"If you don't mind us asking, Claire-how much do you charge a guy for a lay?" Dominick asked.
"Fifty, usually."
"Fifty! Fuck!" The Italian whistled. "Boy, you are a class act!"
"I'm afraid you're a little too rich for my blood, beautiful," Jerry lamented, sipping his beer lustily.
Claire panicked, thinking that she'd scared them off. After all, she argued with herself, the money was only a sort of symbol-it was just her way of making the sex more satisfying, psychologically. And, God, was she getting horny! It was all she could do to keep herself from tearing off her panties then and there and begging either or both of the humpy young studs to take her right on the polished surface of the bar!
"If I like a guy, sometimes I let him have it for half price," she said quickly, pressing her knee against Dominick's muscular thigh. "Twenty-five."
The two men exchanged a long, pregnant glance.
"Would you take us on-ball both of us-for twenty-five apiece?" Jerry asked her bluntly.
"Sure, I'd be glad to."
"When?"
Claire picked up her grasshopper. "As soon as we've finished these."
Never were drinks downed in such haste: burping noisily, his hands trembling, Dominick threw money down on the bar to pay, and the three of them rushed to the door, Claire taking Jerry's brawny arm. A taxi was coming along the street.
"Grab it!" Claire cried. The vehicle stopped, and she found herself in the back seat, sandwiched between the two studs who were already beginning to paw her body with their powerful hands.
"Where to, ma'am? Oh, it's you! Hi!" the driver said brightly. Claire stopped kissing Dominick long enough to glance at him, and she recognized him, with a start, as the man who'd driven her to the dirty book store where she'd met Dave, some weeks before.
"Take us to the nearest cheap hotel," Dominick gasped, sliding his tongue back into Claire's open mouth the moment the words were out.
"Hunh?" the driver asked, ogling the wild three-way necking and petting bout that was underway in the rear of the cab.
"Take us to a trick hotel-you know, where the hookers take their Johns," Jerry snapped. "Anywhere we can get a cheap room to fuck this broad in! And hurry up-I'm about ready to come just thinking about what I'd like to do once we get there! So step on it, man!"
"Yes, sir." Mumbling, the driver took off, his eyes glued to his rear view mirror in the manner Claire remembered so well. Not that she took any notice of his voyeuristic interest in what they were doing; she was too busy fondling a well-packed basket with each hand while two pairs of grimy mitts invaded her body, slipping underneath her skirt and digging their way inside her blouse and brassiere.
"Jesus!" the cab driver muttered under his breath. "You sure get around, lady!"
"Mind your own business-and drive," Claire retorted indignantly.
They stopped in front of a perfect horror of a rundown hotel, the driver pulling over to the curb and turning off the motor.
"Pay that idiot," Claire said, climbing out of the cab and tugging at her skirt to pull it back down to her knees.
"Hey-lemme come along and watch!" the cabbie begged.
Claire was shocked. "Certainly not! Just who do you think you are? Why, I never-! Of all the nerve!"
"Come on, baby, I won't lay a finger on ya, I promise! I just want to watch you ball these two guys! I'll take ya back to wherever you want to go for free if you'll let me!"
Claire glanced at Jerry, who shrugged. "All right," she said smoothly, "but it'll cost you twenty-five dollars, and you're going to take us all home afterwards; I'm going to the train station, but I don't know about these two-"
"I'll fucking drive 'em to California! Come on!" the driver cried.
Inside the filthy lobby, lit only by a single naked light bulb dangling from the ceiling, a young man was sitting behind a desk, with his booted feet propped up on it. He had long brown hair and a mustache, was reading a magazine filled with pornographic photographs, and was obviously spaced out of his head. Claire thought that he was rather attractive, though not very well groomed or dressed, and the possibility of turning the four-way into a quintet entered her venial little head-but there were limits to what a girl could handle after a full day's work, after all!
"Yeah?" the young guy asked boredly.
"We'd like a room," Dominick declared.
The kid's eyes widened around their dilated pupils. "One fucking room-for all of you?"
"That's right, it's our honeymoon," Jerry quipped, and they all cracked up except the cab driver, who was all but seething with pent-up lust.
"Ten bucks for the first hour, five for every half-hour after that."
Jerry paid quickly and started up the creaking staircase.
"Hey, wait! You all gotta sign the register, for Chrissake!"
Exasperated, Jerry seized the pen and scribbled Mr. and Mrs. Smith on the torn and blotted page. "Let's go," he grunted, dragging Claire up the stairs without even waiting to find out which room they'd been assigned.
"What about you two?" the desk clerk leered, handing Dominick a room key. "I guess your name is John Doe?"
"Nope," Dominick said cheerfully, scribbling Mr. and Mr. Smith in the register. "We're the Smith brothers, and that's our Mom and Dad going upstairs. You've probably seen our picture on the cough drop box, but we don't look the same since we shaved our beards off. Hey, Jerry, you fuck-head!" he yelled up the stairwell. "Wait up, willya? And save some of that pussy for me!"
* * *
An orgy of sorts took place in the tiny shabbily furnished, hotel room. Claire writhed naked on the narrow bed as four hands and two pairs of lips roamed freely over her lush white body, whipping her passions into a tempestuous frenzy. The cabbie-Claire never did find out his name-satin a chair he'd pulled up beside the bed, masturbating furiously, his pants lowered to his ankles as he gaped at the erotic spectacle the two young men and the brazen blonde courtesan were putting on for their own benefit, and only incidentally for his. Not that the driver was complaining: he had a front-row seat, and the show was well worth the price of admission.
Claire was on the bed, supporting herself on her hands and knees, as the two horny studs cavorted naked around her. Dominick slithered underneath her until he was flat on his back on the mattress in a tight sixty-nine position vis-a-vis Claire, his head buried between her warm, milky thighs, his erect prick throbbing only inches below her lust-contorted face. She kissed the glistening knob of his penis, her tongue darting out over that sleek, velvety cockhead to lap up his dribbled emissions. Dominick pressed his mouth against the flared, dripping portals of her pulsing vulva. His tongue slid into the deep groove of Claire's cunt and he began to eat her appreciatively, grunting and groaning with a gourmet's pleasure as he slurped up her pussy syrups.
His hands seized her dangling breasts, the fingers sinking into the soft, pliant mounds. Claire moaned and took half of his thick uncircumsized penis into her mouth, sucking passionately as her tongue pushed back the foreskin to tease the tender skin that lay beneath that retractable sheath of skin.
"Oh, fuck-goddam-what a body that bitch has! Suck his cock, baby! Eat her cunt, guy! Go to it! Oh, shit-!" the cabbie panted hysterically, eyes all but popping out of his head as he whacked off.
Jerry was, quite understandably, feeling a bit left out; so he knelt at the foot of the bed between Claire's parted, tucked-under legs. From this position he could admire the way her provocative buttocks were thrust up towards him, the fine line of her ass cheeks opening to a widening, inviting crack where the meaty globes curved down to join the backs of her sleek, firm thighs. He grasped her buttocks and pulled her ass still higher, up against his crotch as he leaned over her back.
"Spread 'em, beautiful-spread your legs good and wide so I can stick my cock between 'em!" The pink hair-lined rims of her pussy opening parted further as she angled her legs apart in a desperate attempt to please him without interrupting the wild sixty-nine she and Dominick were now locked into. Jerry took his cock in his fist and jabbed the bloated, curved shank into the warm valley between Claire's thighs. He thrust upward-only to feel a silky, rustling friction as the head of his dick struck Dominick's head and got entangled in the Italian stud's black hair.
"Fuck!" Jerry spat. Realizing that Claire's cunt was occupied at the moment by a stabbing, slurping tongue, the husky blond yanked his dick out from between Claire's trembling thighs and worked on it heatedly with his own calloused fist. Damn! Jerry thought as sweat ran down his face and chest. Claire's lovely cocksucking mouth was unavailable too, and he was hot enough to blast his wad any minute now. It was a choice between beating his own meat, like that crazy cabbie who was groaning and squealing away in the chair, or taking his twenty-five bucks' worth out between Claire's superb, tempting buttocks. One look at that gorgeous ass was enough to dispel any scruples Jerry might have entertained about the act. He spat on his hands and wrapped them around his dick, smearing his saliva all over that blunt instrument that had begun to throb almost agonizingly with frustrated need. He thrust the massive head of his cock between the warm, twitching melons of Claire's ass cheeks.
"Aaaaahhhhh-fuck!" It was Jerry who, throwing back his head, his long blond hair whipping about his neck in a sweaty cloud, let out the piercing cry of sexual triumph as, with a searing lunge, his cock penetrated the depths of Claire's ass up to the hilt. "Tight ass-what a fuck! God damn! God damn, tight-assed, crazy fucking broad-!" Jerry exulted as he screwed Claire via her back door with a lustful abandon he had never known before.
Claire wanted to reply, to shout encouragement and cries of wild, fevered gratitude to her sexual partners but her mouth was plugged with cock. She was deep-throating Dominick's bloated bologna now, letting that huge, ruthless cock ravage her open throat as the humpy little construction worker fucked her face, his tongue thrust deep into her creaming twat and scraping over the pointed blade of her clit like a carpenter's plane shaving a coarse-grained piece of wood smooth amid fierce-friction and miniature dust storms of flying sawdust.
Claire lost control of herself, her body taking over completely and carrying her to the dizzying heights of multi-orgasmic ecstasy. She thrust her butt backwards until her buttocks collided with Jerry's pelvis so that she could have the glorious sensation of his cock sunk in her anus to its fullest extent, filling her, stretching her, rending her, even, as she wriggled on his curved, plummeting, stabbing dick like a trout impaled on a fisherman's pronged hook.
Meanwhile, Dominick's insatiable mouth and tongue flooded her cunt with fire as he worked lovingly on her clit and massaged her nipples with expert hands. He raised his ass from the bed to drive his dick even deeper down her sucking throat as she ate him greedily. At last she felt his thick Italian prick quaking between her tight-pressed lips as it exploded in a throat-soothing shower of warm liquid. She drank his come as her own loins boiled over in orgasm, her gushing love torrent slaking Dominick's own thirst as he crushed his open mouth to her genitals in a long, unbroken kiss. Jerry's cock slammed brutally in and out of the tight fleshy sheath of her anus like a flaming phallic sword as he pumped his livid sperm into her body from behind, completing the triple come ... something hot and sticky smacked against Claire's back as she squirmed between the two sweating, unloading studs, and she realized that the taxi driver had stood up and was leaning over the bed as he aimed his spurting hard-on at her and drenched her in his spunk.
But Claire didn't even give her two Johns a chance to catch their breath before she attacked them again, urging them to defile her body anew and in fresh combinations, reawakening their hardy young lustiness and manhood. Claire straddled Dominick and stuffed his limp cock up into her wet snatch. She tightened her vulva to trap his dick inside her, and it began to swell, rapidly hardening to its full, proud size and solidity again as she humped him frantically. She drew Jerry to her and kissed him wildly, her spun-gold hair showering over his own blond mop as she drove her tongue deep into his moaning mouth. Her hand sought his limp cock and coaxed it back into erection. Clinging to Jerry's warm, sweaty body, fondling his cock as he gripped her breasts and kissed her on the throat, Claire rested her head on his tanned shoulder. Her dazed eyes saw the taxi driver standing only a few feet away from her, his pants lowered, his hard-on in his fist as he tried to bring himself to a second climax. Claire decided that he deserved a bit more for his money than a mere masturbation scene.
"Come here," she whispered, as she and Jerry played with each other and her cunt tensed to the violent thrusts and withdrawals of Dominick's cock. "Take your clothes off and join us ... I want all three of you ... all three of you, again and again and again ... oh, yes-!"
* * *
Claire looked weary but radiant, a blissful smile on her face, as she slowly descended the hotel staircase. She scarcely noticed her sordid surroundings ... she'd showered in the bathroom at the end of the hall, making the best of the hotel's primitive and unpredictable plumbing, and dressed, putting herself back together as best as she could and adding fresh make-up. The other three men were still upstairs, taking turns using the shower. Claire had seventy-five dollars in her handbag, and both Dominick and Jerry had copied down her phone number. They'd want her again. She decided not to wait for the cab driver to come down; she could get another easily enough.
New possibilities had suddenly opened up before her. She would still base her operations around Janine's establishment, of course; working there was safe and steady. But now Claire realized, for the first time, how simple it would be to supplement her earnings by finding tricks on her own, either after four or at night ... she could bring them right to this hotel, awful as it was. She wouldn't have to give Janine her cut, and the John would pay for the room ...
"Hey, you! You want another trick?"
Confused, reddening, Claire turned to look at the young desk clerk who'd addressed her. "What-?" she asked, faintly, tightening her grip on her purse.
"Another John, baby! You dig? I got a guy upstairs who asked me to find him a broad once I get off duty."
Claire had thought that the rather good-looking, though crude, young man had meant himself; slightly disappointed, she asked, coldly, "How much is he good for?"
"He told me to get him a lay no matter how much it cost," the boy grinned lewdly. "Let's you and me make a deal, baby. You ask him for forty and give me ten off the top. Okay?"
Claire glanced at her watch as she quickly thought it over. It was late and she ought to be getting home; Donald would be waiting for her, and there'd be a scene if he didn't accept her excuses for keeping him waiting. But thirty dollars more would make it her most profitable day yet ... and she hadn't even had to look for this trick: it had virtually fallen into her lap, so to speak. Besides, if she planned to use this hotel in the future, it might be a good idea to get the desk clerk on her side to avoid possible trouble.
"What's the room number?" she asked eagerly, already turning back towards the staircase.
Chapter Seven
Claire was upstairs in her bedroom, putting the finishing touches to her costume-a pretty pale-blue shirtwaist dress from Ohrbach's, with a signed Yves St. Laurent scarf tied around the neckline, and Gucci shoes of-to hell with the conservationists!-genuine alligator. Her handbag was alligator, too, from that darling little import boutique that Janine had told her about. Claire slipped on her dark-blue trench coat, lifting her golden bell of hair to free it from the collar of the coat. She checked herself in the mirror, and fetched her gloves and umbrella. She was going into Manhattan-to spend some of her ill-gotten gains on a shopping spree; she'd made so much money earlier in the week that she'd asked Janine to let her have the day off, although she planned to drop by the brothel to chat and to see if Janine needed any extra help with the afternoon clientele.
She was half-way down the stairs when the doorbell rang. "Damn," Claire muttered as she went to answer it. She hoped it wasn't that obnoxious Mrs. Trelaney, trying to talk her into collecting for muscular dystrophy again-a worthy cause, to be sure; but Claire simply didn't have the time for that sort of thing now; and the woman was a bore, like most of the wives in the circles in which Claire and Donald moved. Any one of the hookers in Janine's establishment had more class, Claire thought contemptuously-and her fellow call girls were true, loyal friends. I'll tell her I'm on my way to an orgy, and shock the hell out of the stuck-up bitch, she thought-only half-joking, since she'd become uninhibited enough to be quite capable of doing just that.
But when she opened the door impatiently, she was surprised to see a handsome, if shabbily dressed, young man standing on the WELCOME mat. It was a moment before Claire recognized him. Then she blurted out, "My God-it's you!" It was him all right-the night clerk from the hotel where she'd been taking her tricks! "Hiya-Mrs. Ericson," he said in his usual arrogant manner, leaning against the doorpost and taking his cigarette out of his mouth. He blew smoke in her face and she took a step backward, coughing. "Can I come in?"
"Certainly not-" Claire began indignantly. Then the realization struck her ... "How do you know my real name?" she demanded. "And how did you find out where I live? In fact-what the fuck are you doing here, visiting me like this- what do you want-why, the nerve-!"
"You'd be surprised at what I know about you, lady," he jeered. "And I make it my business to find out certain things about the people who, ah, patronize our hotel. You'd be amazed at how profitable it can be-I mean, encouraging better employee-customer relations and all that shit." He smiled as she stared at him, dumbfounded. "I think you'd better invite me in, baby. Or do you want your fancy neighbors staring at us and wondering what a guy like me is doing on your front porch?"
"Get your ass in here, then," Claire hissed. He sauntered into the living room, and she slammed the front door shut.
"Nice pad," he announced, surveying everything. His muddy shoes were making prints on the clean carpet, and he flicked cigarette ashes on it, too.
"What do you want?" Claire demanded.
"Ain't you gonna offer me a drink or nothing? Where's your fucking hospitality, lady? I thought you were a high-class cunt."
Claire wasn't in the mood to make even a pretense of politeness. "I'm going to offer you a swift kick in the balls, buster, unless you tell me what the fuck you want, and fast. Spit it out and then get out! How dare you come to my home and talk to me like I was a-" She was about to say, "a whore," but she remembered that she was a whore. He was smirking at her, waiting for her to complete the sentence; so she merely repeated, "What do you want?"
"We never been formally introduced," he drawled, with the same infuriating self-possession. "My name's Mark." He actually held out his hand for her to shake; his eyes were mocking, and she wanted to grab him by the wrist and bite two or three of his fingers off. But the hand was dirty, as usual, so she ignored it.
"I don't give a damn what your name is! What do you want?"
He was wearing jeans and work boots, and a denim jacket over a work shirt-all very much the worse for wear and in need of laundering, although she had to admit that he was rather good-looking in his grubby way. Now, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a grimy manila envelope and, shrugging, handed it to her. "I think you left this at the hotel the last time you was there."
She couldn't remember having ever lost anything there. "I most certainly did not," she spat, automatically tearing open the sealed envelope. It was full of glossy eight-by-ten photographs ... Claire gasped at the sight of the one on top, and immediately knew why Mark was there. The photo was of poor, grainy quality, but it clearly showed a man and a woman lying naked on a bed, fucking. The woman was Claire and she vaguely remembered the man as one of her customers of about a month ago. Her cheeks reddening, she quickly rifled through the rest of the pictures. They had all been taken in poor light-the camera must have been hidden in the cracked, patched ceiling right above the bed-but her face was recognizable in most. And that damned, spying camera had caught her doing just about everything she had in her active repertory of sexual tricks!
"You mother fucking son of a bitch!" Furious, Claire hurled half of the photos at him and began tearing the rest up into little pieces. Oh, the insolent look on his face! He thought he had her, did he? "Prick! Faggot!" She threw the improvised confetti in his face, but he didn't flinch. "So it's blackmail, is it? You punk! You jerk! Well, the joke's on you, baby! You can go to hell! Show your smutty pictures to whoever you want to-sell them, for all I care! I don't give a fuck and I'm not going to give you a cent! Now get out of here!"
"I'd think twice about it if I were you, baby," he threatened. "I got more prints of them pictures, plus the negatives. I've got you by the balls, bitch-if you'll pardon the expression-and you'd better play ball with me, or else."
"I'm not ashamed of what I do," Claire said, rather superbly. "So I'm a hooker! Big deal! You can't prove that it's me in those photos. Show them to anybody, and I'll hit you with a lawsuit for defamation of character-you snotty bastard! And I can afford lawyers to make it stick, too! I'll see you behind bars!"
"I didn't plan to send them pictures to just anybody, lady," Mark jeered. "Your old man gets a set, for one thing-right on his office desk tomorrow morning, unless you and me make a deal."
Claire stared at him, frightened now. "My husband doesn't care what I do," she gasped. "He doesn't love me, anyway. It's just a-a marriage of convenience."
"Yeah, well, I doubt that he'll be too thrilled to find out that his wife is turning tricks!" Mark snickered.
Claire thought fast and desperately. "He already knows."
"Bullshit."
"I'll tell him myself-tonight. I'm not going to pay you!" The worst Donald could do was divorce her, she reasoned-and she didn't care. She could support herself on her earnings-she could move to the city and start a new life there. Fuck Donald and his stupid friends and business connections!
"I got three of them envelopes ready to put in the mail," Mark said coolly. "The second goes to the president of the company your fucking big-shit husband works for!"
Claire shuddered. "So make a scandal-see if I care!" she bluffed. "I don't care if my husband does lose his job. I hate him!" Sudden inspiration came to her. "I'll go to the police! Hire a detective! You can get arrested for trying to blackmail me, you know!"
"What do you think they do to you if they catch you hooking, you stupid cunt?" he asked witheringly. "And who do you think I'm gonna mail that third envelope to? The pigs, baby-that's who! They'll bust you, and to make it stick they'll tap your fucking phone, spy on you-everything! They'll put the heat on that Defarge bitch, and to save her own neck she'll squeal on you, baby! That's the way it goes in the business you're in, dumbass! I've got you, honey-and you'd better start believing it. I'm the one guy you can't afford to get pissed off at you-Mrs. Ericson, ma'am." He chuckled sadistically.
She shrank from him, her eyes wide and frightened, and he knew that he had her. And with a sudden, sickening sensation of utter helplessness, Claire knew it, too!
"That's better," Mark said softly, satisfied. "Now-how about that drink you was going to offer me? We got business to discuss, and I'm getting dry."
Wordlessly Claire went to the bar and poured out a shot of bourbon, because it was the nearest to hand. Her hand trembled as she added ice cubes and a stirrer, and took the glass to Mark.
"How much do you want?" she asked dully, slumping into a chair, not looking at him. Her handbag and gloves were on the floor nearby, where she'd dropped them: they looked lost and pathetic. She almost smiled.
Mark gulped down half of his drink; she wished it were poisoned. "I want a piece of the action, doll."
Anger flared up in her anew. "You what? You mean-you actually have the nerve to-to expect me to take you on as-my pimp?" God! what a disgusting thought! She'd rather die!
"Naw, that's too much like work," he grinned. "Anyway, what do you need a pimp for, babe? You've been doing just fine on your own. All I want is a cut of the take."
"How much?"
He examined her, evidently estimating how much she'd put up with without making a real fuss. "A third."
"You're out of your mind, you son of a bitch!"
He glared at her. "You'd better watch your mouth, cunt! Talk nice, or I'll fucking make it half!" He grinned again, enjoying her discomfiture and impotent rage. "I think I got all the winning cards in this game, babe. Ante up."
Claire thought fast again before replying. She'd better play along for now, she thought miserably, before he did something desperate. He was capable of it, she was sure. She'd ask Janine for advice ... perhaps she could find a private detective who'd take care of this mess for her; there must be some crooked enough to do it behind the police's back. And there were such things as hit men ... she shuddered at her own thoughts. Whatever was to become of her!
"When do I get the photos?" she demanded.
"You don't."
So he intended to keep her on the hook forever! Oh, she understood his dirty little mind, all right! Smug, cocky, mother fucking bastard! But it wouldn't do to antagonize him ... "All right," she said, more calmly than she had expected to, although her heart was pounding in her breast. "Is that all?"
He flashed her a particularly creepy smile. "Almost. I want to be able to fuck you any time I want-for free." He emptied his glass, his throat working as he greedily swallowed the bourbon; then wiped his lips with his wrist, his eyes hot and hungry as they bored into her.
She wanted to throw up all over the carpet, but she was amazed at how clearly her mind was working. He'd probably tire of her body after a while, and he might go easy on her and let her have the photos and negatives after all. Or, if she got to know his habits, she might be able to find out where he had the evidence hidden ... she could hire somebody to ransack his apartment and steal the photos while she was screwing him elsewhere. If none of those schemes worked, she'd think of something else. But she needed time-to think, to plan, to organize. The mere thought of going to bed with him repelled her-but, after all, he was just another man ... and a young and good-looking one. It was the fact that he had her in his power that made the prospect of fucking him seem worse than rape-more degrading than prostitution-perverse and degenerate beyond imagining. Claire struggled to stay in control of herself.
"Very well," she said blandly. "Shall we go upstairs and get it over with? I don't have all fucking day to waste on you, you know," she added cuttingly, not caring if she angered him or not. She decided that she'd be the lousiest lay he'd ever had! Maybe then he would let her alone and at least make no further sexual demands on her.
She noticed-with an infinite feeling of cold contempt-that he was getting excited although he tried to conceal it.
"I want some more of your old man's expensive hooch," he said thickly, never taking his eyes off her body.
Claire got up and took the bottle to him. Let him pour his own crummy drink! She realized that she still had her coat on; feeling foolish, she took it off and threw it over the back of the sofa.
"And I want to see some of that big money you've been making, too, before we hit the sack," Mark added crudely.
"I don't have very much here in the house," she lied.
"Bullshit! Hand it over!" She made no effort to stop him when he snatched her purse from the floor and rifled through it greedily. Claire was almost amused, in a perverse way, to notice how carefully Mark counted the cash, taking exactly a third and stuffing the bills into the rear pocket of his soiled jeans. "Now-where's the rest?"
"In my bank account-in our joint bank account," Claire said. "I can't take it out without my husband knowing. He'd get suspicious." She had secretly opened another savings account of her own, and there was at least six thousand dollars in it; but Mark had no way of knowing that.
He looked disappointed. "Well-you must have some dough lying around here."
"No-"
"Hand it over, cunt!"
"Go to hell!"
She screamed as his hand shot out, slapped her face, and gripped a handful of her hair, mussing it as he twisted it hard, dragging her head down. Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to escape. "Ow-you cocksucker!" she spat, trying to kick him.
"You're the one who's gonna be doing the sucking, bitch! Now, where's that fucking money you made by spreading your legs?"
"Upstairs-you're hurting me-!"
"Tough shit!" He literally dragged her by the hair all the way upstairs and into the bedroom, where he threw her onto the bed in a heap.
"Hand it over!" he repeated.
Claire dug into a dresser drawer and gave him two thousand dollars in large bills that she kept concealed in a pair of folded panties. Mark shoved it all into his pants.
"Is that all?"
"Yes-isn't that fucking enough?" She had another couple of thousand hidden in a coat pocket in the closet, but he'd have to kill her to get it!
"You'd better not try to cheat me, bitch. Now get my cock out and suck it-good! I want that five-buck special you hand out to your Johns!" he jeered, his eyes narrowing, his mouth a thin, hard line.
Claire was too used to dealing with obnoxious customers who liked to treat a woman like dirt to be shocked or want to hesitate. Determined to get this disgusting business over with, she knelt on the bed ... he was standing at the foot of it, his muscular legs spread, his crotch bulging as he thrust his pelvis forwards in a punky, arrogant gesture, grinning down at her, enjoying her submission and revulsion. Her hands shook as she seized his zipper and yanked it down.
Mark groaned, his hands in her tangled hair as she opened his belt buckle and undid the button at the waistband of his grimy jeans. He kept on stroking her hair as she thrust his pants down, baring his hairy thighs ... he had on white jockey briefs that were stained at the crotch where his cock had leaked after he'd pissed.
Disgusted, Claire quickly shoved the underpants down and examined the long, hard cock that swung out at her as she did so. It was curved and thick, uncircumcised, the head and frenulum sheathed in a firm layer of foreskin. Mark's balls were big and furry, drawn up tight against his perineum because of his aroused state. She leaned forwards until her face was only an inch away from his cockhead. But he wasn't clean or fresh down there, and the pungent odor of his unwashed masculinity nauseated her.
He thrust her head into his crotch and commanded her to "suck it!"
Claire opened her mouth and, keeping her eyes closed to shut out the horror of it, let her lips touch the moist cockhead. Her tongue stabbed out at his piss-slit, catching and tasting the drop of semen in it. She opened her mouth wider and bravely sucked the entirety of his cockhead inside her mouth. It filled her, and with a gasp Mark humped his body against her, driving more of his dick into her mouth. His cockhead swelled as he got more excited, pushing its way out of his foreskin.
Claire ran her tongue reluctantly around the bared corona, gagging at the taste of overripe cheese that seared her taste buds. She washed the cock as best she could with her saliva, and got accustomed to the bitter taste in her mouth, the strong, sweaty odor that filled her nostrils, the pressure at the back of her mouth as Mark tried to push his dick down into her throat and she resisted.
"Eat the meat, rich bitch," he sneered, tightening his grip on her hair until her scalp hurt her. "Take it all the way, baby, like you would for a rich John ... deep-throat my dick ... swallow it up and make it feel good for me. Eat it-!" He shoved himself brutally into her mouth, and she obeyed in simple self-defense, clearing her throat and, bending his cock down at a slight angle, twisting her head back on her neck to make it easier to take him as he wished. The thick throbbing tool slid down into her throat, almost choking her-but she fought the sensation and began to suck on the entire length of his prick, her lips caressing the very base of the shaft, her nose buried in his curly cock hair, her throat working to massage the palpitating head of the ruthless organ, her tongue flickering around the shaft inside her mouth.
Mark rapidly lost his studied air of composure and superiority, grunting and sweating and struggling for breath like a schoolboy receiving his first blowjob. She put her hands on his hard, grinding ass cheeks to hold his body in place while she serviced his cock. She hoped that he'd come quickly and be done with it ... but despite his intense excitement he seemed to have considerable staying power; and for all her efforts to speed up the act she was forced to suck him for what seemed like half an. hour. Her throat burned from the friction as his cock pumped up and down, in and out, monotonously fucking her face and throat.
"Jesus-p-I'm coming!" he moaned, panting like a dog on a hot summer's day. At last! Claire gobbled up his prick, sucking wildly, with renewed energy, and to guarantee that her efforts would bring her tormentor off she grabbed his balls in one hand and squeezed them and-despite her loathing of him and the uncleanliness of his body-forcibly inserted the tip of one long-nailed finger through his sphincter, up his ass, and tickled his prostate.
Mark screamed and she hoped she was hurting him-but he came! His cock slammed brutally down into her sore throat and burst in a shower of fiery sperm. Claire swallowed, but there was too much thick, sticky scum to swallow all at once- she panicked, but then made a desperate gargling motion deep in her come-drenched throat. The pungent cream welled up into her mouth where it at least obliterated the stale taste of his cock; she swallowed at her leisure this time, and to her relief was able to drink down each successive spurt of hot jazz as it shot into her.
Mark's dick twitched between her lips, and she let half of it slip out of her mouth ... his sperm smacked against the roof of her mouth, plastering her dry tongue against the underside of his jerking, throbbing shaft. She sucked frantically to drain him of the fluid proof of his potency.
"Suck it! Suck it! Oh, God-suck it!" he cried monotonously as he emptied his cock. "Eat me-Jesus! God damn! Suck! Oh, my-yeah, yeah, suck it-don't stop-keep on sucking my dick-take it all-suck it right down, you slut! Suck it-!"
His exertions finally became so violent that she had to throw her head back to keep his cock from choking her in earnest. The last wad of his jism struck her on the cheek. As she recoiled in disgust, Mark thrust her face against his swaying, dribbling penis. Laughing cruelly, he wiped his slimy cock all over her face and hair while Claire shrieked and struggled and spat out curses at him. When he had soiled and humiliated her to his satisfaction he flung her from him and she tumbled onto the bed, sobbing and shouting, "You dirty pig-you bastard-you filthy motherfucker!"
"Yeah, well, now you're every fucking bit as dirty as lam," Mark panted triumphantly. "Got my come all over you, you stuck-up rich bitch! You're no better than any other whore, baby, and you may as well get off that high horse of yours. You think your fancy fucking designer goddam clothes and hairdo and make-up make you any better than me? Well, they don't! You're a whore just like the ones that roll wino's in dark alleys and fuck in that crummy hotel for five, ten bucks-blowjob included!"
"Get out!" she screamed. "You've had what you wanted!"
"Not yet-I want to fuck, too."
Claire saw that his cock was still fully erect. "My period just began this morning," she lied, thinking that would surely turn him off; why hadn't she thought of that before?
"I don't care-the bloodier the better."
"Oh-! You disgusting pig! You really hate women, don't you? I bet you're a faggot at heart-"
"I hate women, but I love pussy," he retorted, climbing onto the bed. "Now shut up and fuck! Pull down your pants and spread your legs."
She put up a genuine struggle, but he was far too strong for her. He threw her down on the bed and straddled her, slapping her face roughly with one hand and tearing her clothes open with the other. A shudder of unspeakable horror went through her whole body when she felt his dirty fingers digging underneath her panties, yanking them down her thighs.
"Lying cunt," he scoffed. "You ain't on the rag. Now you'd better lay there quiet and spread 'em, baby, if you know what's good for you." He mounted her, bunching her dress and slip up around her waist. His hands parted her legs and put them around his waist. He hadn't even bothered to kick off his shoes or remove his denim jacket, now, hobbled by his pulled-down jeans and jockey shorts, he lay on top of her writhing, half-naked body and pressed his hard-on into the damp, secret valley between her cringing thighs.
Claire's flesh seemed to writhe in torment wherever his filthy hands touched her, probing, exploring, possessing-marking her as his property, to do with as he would! His mouth met hers ... his breath stank of tobacco and liquor as he forced his tongue into her mouth and kissed her, slobbering. He entered her, her resisting body beaten into submission by repeated thrusts of his prick between her thighs ... her cunt was being forced and stretched by the solid flesh and blood that was being fed into it.
Claire gasped, went limp beneath his humping body, and felt the size and mass of him filling her. His tongue darted in and out of her panting mouth as his hands ripped open the buttons of her dress and fumbled for the catch of her bra. It was the style that fastened in the front; he got the snap undone and the cups fell away to either side ... he moved his head lower on her body, his greedy mouth now lapping at her tits. Claire buried one hand in his shaggy hair and pressed his face to her breast. His tongue licked at her nipple, teasing it until it was as stiff as a pencil eraser in the center of its pink halo of aureole.
Claire stopped struggling, wrapped her legs around Mark's hips, and began to respond to each of his brutal thrusts with movements and muscular contractions of her own. Her traitorous body had begun to come to life, answering the summons to pleasure, even unwelcome, humiliating pleasure. She forgot that he was blackmailing her, forgot that he was only interested in abusing her ... forgot who and where she was. Only her awakened cunt remembered that its function was to give pleasure to any man who had purchased or won the right to use it. Her vagina tensed, gripping the hard member that was being violently worked in and out of it; she felt the first, exquisite fluttery sensations rippling through her cervix and knew that her first orgasm could not be far off ... she shoved her firm, tremulous breast into Mark's eagerly sucking mouth, groaning as he seized the nipple between his teeth and gnawed at it. Even the pain he was inflicting upon her contributed to her state of erotic frenzy. Her climax approached, towering over her and threatening to crush her when it descended ...
Claire and Janine discussed several schemes for ridding her of the blackmailing Mark, but rejected them all as in-feasible or dangerous.
"I'm going out of my mind," Claire lamented, as they had tea together in the drawing room during a slack period of business. "He wants to ball me every night, so I have to think up convincing excuses to get out of the house, and Donald is beginning to get irritated and suspicious-even though he still sleeps in the guest room, so I don't know why he should care about what I do! And Mark is always asking for money! I lie, of course, about how much I make-but then he gets crude and brutal-oh, it's horrible, Janine! The other night he took off his belt and beat me-actually whipped my ass like some S & M freak. He would've hit me across the face, I'm sure, but I told him that if he marked me I would lose business, so then he calmed down. The man is an absolute beast! And I know he's strung out on drugs most of the time. I'm afraid."
"That's why I still think my idea of having him busted on a set-up drug possession rap is the best one," Janine said. "I could have him roughed up for you. You can't go on like this, dear; he'll only make more and worse demands on you! If you won't do something drastic in the next couple of days, I will-it's for your own good, Claire."
"Buzz is supposed to come today, and he asked for me, as usual," Claire mused sadly. "I'm going to ask him for advice. Maybe he'll be able to think up something."
"Yes, I think that's a good idea. But be careful how you tell him, Claire. I think he's fallen for you, and he might really go after Mark if you tell him just how badly the little punk's been treating you. Not that Mark doesn't deserve anything he gets, but a crime of passion would be messy for all of us. Yes, Laura?" Janine asked, as the black girl slipped gracefully into the room.
"The gentlemen who calls himself Buzz is here, and he says he has an appointment with you, Claire," Laura said. "I've put him in Number Twenty."
"I'll be right up," Claire said, rising. "I'm quite fond of Buzz, you know, Janine, and I'm sure he'll be willing to help me out."
"Good luck then, dear."
Claire hurried upstairs to join her trick. "Buzz" was a short, stocky motorcycle cop, with an equally short temper, who spent his days writing traffic tickets, his nights watching cop shows on television, and his odd hours in between fantasizing that he was a superstud supercop. He really was a sweet John, but most of the girls didn't like to take him because he had one regrettable quirk. In bed, he always wore his heavy motorcycle boots and shoulder holster-nothing else-and at the moment of ejaculation, he invariably drew his service revolver out of the holster, pressed it to the girl's temple, and pulled the trigger, screaming, "BANG!" as he came.
Janine always checked beforehand to make sure that the gun was loaded with blanks, but it could be rather nerve wracking nonetheless. Claire didn't mind at all-she'd had Johns whose sadistic fantasies were far more repellent-so Buzz generally asked for her when he patronized the brothel. She and Buzz had become "buddies"; he often took her out, to the movies or to dinner at the picturesque hash joints he favored. Claire liked this bit of slumming, and often, when they ended up in Buzz' apartment afterwards, she only charged him half price, because a cop didn't make much money and it was always good to have friends on the force, however low on the totem pole they might seem to be. At the very least, she never had to worry about parking tickets, because Buzz had spread the word to all his friends that the owner of license number 538-TUF was his "girl" and therefore off limits.
Another, rather important, reason why she liked Buzz was that he didn't waste a hooker's time or put her to any great trouble. He was wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am all the way, and his idea of a good time for his fifty bucks (or twenty-five, when Claire was feeling generous) was to greet her gruffly, make a few crude sexual comments to get them both in the mood, and then throw her down on the bed and mount her like a horny jack rabbit, usually coming within a few breathtaking minutes-gunshot included. Buzz didn't even care much to have his cock sucked; like a lot of men, he found fellatio too perverse to expect even from a whore who'd be only too happy to open wider, as the dentist used to say.
Today was no exception: when Claire entered the bedroom, he was already naked except for his boots, holster, and gun, sitting on the bed and, in fact, bouncing up and down on it like a small boy in his impatience to do something with the erection he had between his muscular legs. And for such a little guy, the cop was indeed hung-a fat eight inches of solid meat. Otherwise, Buzz was a pink-cheeked, curly-haired type, more child than man, the kind of John whom the more soft-hearted and sentimental hookers liked to mother. There was nothing maternal, however, about the way Claire-smiling at him-took off her robe and, leaning over the edge of the bed, gave Buzz a mouthful of ripe, round tit to suck.
"Yeah, lemme at it, baby!" he moaned, closing his lips around the swollen nub of her nipple and sucking greedily. "Mmphf-mmphf-ummm!" Without relinquishing her breast, he pulled her down on the bed. This time, he wanted Claire on top ... she straddled his tight little body, her pussy pressing against his stiff dick. He entered her quickly as she lowered herself onto his hips. She groaned and rotated her hips as that immense cock stabbed up into her cunt and was eagerly worked in and out of her vibrant receptacle. Beneath her, Buzz went wild.
"Aw, fuck-hot, tight pussy!-Jesus-fuck!" Today, he was even faster at popping his pistol than usual. They had been humping furiously for only a little over sixty seconds when, gasping, Buzz ripped his hand away from the full, warm boob he'd been squeezing and fumbled at his shoulder holster, trying to tear his revolver free. Claire closed her eyes and tried to relax so the shot wouldn't send her through the ceiling, the way it had the first time she'd made it with Buzz. Cold metal touched her throat ... KER-PLOW! Click! KER-PLOW! Click! KER-PLOW-! Buzz, carried away, fired all six blanks at her in rapid succession as he ejaculated, each blast echoed by a spurt of high-calibre sperm deposited deep within Claire's cuntal firing range. He hit the bull's eye: she came spasmodically, despite the brevity of the screw. Her gushing vaginal fluids combined with the warm jism he'd fired into her, and still working the trigger of the empty revolver to make clicking sounds, Buzz went limp-in more ways than one-and Claire quickly got off him and relaxed, lying beside him at full length. She waited until he had had a chance to recover from the intensity of his premature explosion. Then she explained her predicament to him in as off-hand and circuitous manner as possible. He listened intently, his lips pursed in a boyish pout.
"You still got the phone number of that gay kid?" Buzz demanded.
"Who-Dave? Yes-I think so." Buzz never tired of listening to her tell about her various sexual adventures; Claire had mentioned Dave to him, among other Great Disappointments.
"Lemme have it-I'll call the kid up and see if he'll lend us a hand."
"Doing what?"
"Teaching this punk who's been giving you the hard time a lesson or two, that's what."
"Well-as long as you promise not to do anything that might land me in more trouble. And what makes you think that Dave'll be interested in helping us out? You don't know him, and he doesn't exactly owe me anything-there's no love lost there, believe me."
Buzz scoffed. "He's a faggot, ain't he? You don't need no introduction with them-just pull out your dick and tell 'em to swing on it. You just wait and see-I let the guy blow me, if he wants to-and he will-and he'll do anything for me. It'll be love at first sight. And you'll lay some bread on him, won't you? If sex won't do it, money will."
Claire wasn't exactly thrilled at the possibility of losing Buzz as a customer to the hustling competition represented so enticingly by Dave; but since the motorcycle cop was eager to help her out, there was no point in worrying about whether the gift horse had a full set of teeth. She found Dave's number in the little black address book in which she kept track of her tricks, and the cop left. Claire decided to have a good stiff drink before she attended to her next customer.
* * *
"Get down on your knees, take my cock out, and suck it," Mark demanded, before Claire even had a chance to catch her breath after climbing the five flights of creaking stairs that led to her tormentor's dirty room.
"Suck it yourself," she retorted, masking her anxiety about what she, Buzz, and Dave had planned with a show of bravado and indifference.
He slapped her across the face and, screaming, she collapsed in a corner of the grimy, ill-lit room. "You'd better watch your mouth, Mrs. Rich Bitch Whore!" Mark raged. He'd been drinking or snorting coke, she noticed, frightened: his eyes were red-rimmed and unfocused, and he was biting his unshaven lips as he wandered restlessly around the room.
"Okay, where's the fucking money you made today? Never mind, I'll get it myself-cheating bitch!" He grabbed the purse she'd dropped when he struck her, and rifled it, stuffing all the cash in it into his pants pocket. He glared at her with an expression of malevolent satisfaction.
"Get on the bed!"
Wordlessly, Claire rose. She took her time slipping out of her expensive dress and hanging it up while he helped himself to a snort of angel dust as he watched her, using a rolled up piece of paper to hold the white powder as he sniffed it up into one nostril. There was a pause while, with a blank look on his face, Mark waited for the cocaine to hit him; then he let his breath out in a long, shuddery, near-orgasmic sigh of pleasure. Although she'd been through this degrading scene several times, Claire still loathed everything about it-the cheap, sordid surroundings, the humiliation of having to turn over her money and her body to this evil young man, the sense of being soiled in a way that made prostitution look respectable by comparison.
She removed her bra and panties and lay down on the bed, trying to keep from shivering with dread as Mark approached her, his eyes bleary but hot with lust. His hands struggled with his belt buckle, yanked down his fly ... he was already rock-hard as he jabbed his prick at her.
"Suck it!"
Claire sat up on the filthy bedding and twisted her head so that she could lap at the head of the thick penis with her tongue. She teased it for a long time, hoping to overcome her own revulsion and arouse Mark at the same time. Her tongue flicked over the velvety head and drilled into the oozing piss-slit for a moment, making Mark gasp. He thrust his hands into her hair and forced her head down, pressing his sticky dickhead against her dry lips.
"Suck it, bitch!" he repeated cruelly. "Take it all-eat it!"
She longed to sink her teeth into the erection he was flaunting at her so insolently, to bite it off at the base, even ... but her mouth opened and allowed the blunt tip of the hard penis to enter. Her lips closed around the throbbing, blue-veined shaft. She took a deep breath and began to suck, exerting strong, rhythmic suction along the entire length of the cock that Mark was now pushing in and out of her mouth. He groaned, rocking back and forth on his heels to drive himself into her massaging lips. Claire put one hand up between his thighs and grasped his nuts. His testicles were swollen with pent-up come and their sac was drawn up close against the thick, solid curve of Mark's perineum.
"Yeah-play with my balls! Pull on 'em! Squeeze 'em-only not too fucking hard, baby- make me come! Make me come in your cocksucking mouth!" Mark urged her in lubricous glee, thrilled by the sight of the elegant young woman kneeling before him, her blonde hair mussed as she strained to hold his cock in her mouth, her fine-chiseled features set in a mask of revulsion and lust as the thick prick filled her lips and distorted them into a gaping oval of oral exertion. She was panting desperately for breath as he slammed his dick vigorously in and out of the soft aperture, forcing her to take it all. Mark knew that he hated her only half as much as she despised him-but he also realized that they were using one another: Claire was just masochistic enough to take a perverse delight in her degradation.
Mark watched, excited, as she shamelessly caressed her own body with her other hand, fondling her bare breasts, pinching one erect nipple, then the other-and then sliding her hand down her sleek torso and burying it between her lush, trembling thighs, working on herself while she toyed with his nuts. Claire pushed the tips of two fingers between her moist labia, pulling the lips open and tickling the delicate pink flesh that peeped out from between the folds of her cunt. She stroked her aching vulva with the ball of her thumb and let the polished, oval-shaped nail of her index finger poke at her clit, stimulating that little love bud almost beyond endurance. Her cunt quaked as she fingered herself more rapidly, more skillfully, completely engrossed in pleasure even while she seemed to be devoting her attention to the task of sucking Mark off. After a moment, Mark apparently realized that she was not putting her heart in it; angrily, he wound some of her long blonde hair around his wrists and used the leverage to drive his pitiless prick even further down her throat, half gagging her as, swallowing desperately, she labored to satisfy him.
"Stop playing with your stinking cunt and suck my cock the way you do for your rich goddam Johns!" he barked. His hips ground monotonously as he pounded himself into her mouth, bruising her lips as they gripped and massaged his rock-hard rod. He was getting increasingly excited and short of breath, his obscene taunts punctuated by deep gasps: "Suck-uhhh!-it, you fucking bitch-uhhh! Suck my-uhhh!-dick until I fucking come-uhhh!-down your goddam throat-uhhh!"
Whimpering, Claire felt his cock twitch violently in her throat; and, with a sinking awareness of relief, she numbly let herself be inundated by his sperm. She swallowed several times to contain the flood of hot jism that suddenly scalded her mouth when Mark yanked on her hair, hurting her scalp and pulling her head away from his so that he could complete the act in his usual humiliating way by pulling his dick out of her mouth and aiming the last of his squirting semen at her face. The hot, viscous stuff got in her eyes, blinding her; plastered her hair to her forehead; dripped down her nose and chin, dropped to her breasts in gooey globs-revolted, she pushed him away from her; but he still retained his grip on her hair and, to punish her for her show of disgust, he wiped his wet cock all over her cheek and throat, coating her skin with his slimy emissions.
"That'll teach you to give me such a lousy goddam blow job!" Mark bellowed like an angry bull, striking her with his free hand until her face and breasts tingled from the repeated blows and, shrieking, she begged him for mercy in vain. "Cunt! Bitch! Whore! I'll show you who's the boss around here, you two-bit slut! Now get down on that bed and spread your legs-I want to fuck-!"
But she was spared any further abuse by the sudden sound of two large, solid bodies being hurled against the door from outside ... with a crack, the flimsy lock yielded and the door burst open-Buzz and Dave stumbled into the room. Claire let out a well-rehearsed shriek of horror and despair as she threw herself towards the head of the bed, pulling the sheet over her body to cover herself.
"Who the fuck-!" Mark sputtered.
"My husband!" Claire screamed.
This was a calculated risk: Claire and Buzz had assumed that Mark and Donald had never met, so Dave could convincingly impersonate him.
"Your fucking old man!" Mark repeated, terrified.
Buzz pointed to the bed where Claire was pretending to cower. "Is that your wife in the bed, Mr. Ericson-naked?" he boomed.
"It sure is!" Dave replied.
"Then that's all the evidence we need."
"Evidence!" Mark exploded. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Dave threw himself at Mark in a splendid imitation of towering rage. "Punk! That's my wife you've been fucking, and this is the private detective I hired to prove it! As for you, Claire-you slut!-I've had it up to here with your damned infidelities! See you in divorce court-you bitch!"
"Oh-! I'm ruined!" Claire cried, collapsing on the bed and beating it with her fists.
As they'd hoped, Mark immediately realized that his hold over Claire was in jeopardy: if her husband divorced her, she'd hardly care whether he knew about her career as a hooker or not. "Listen, jerk," the young blackmailer jeered, not even bothering to pull up his pants. "If you got together all the guys your wife here has been fucking around with, you couldn't find a courtroom big enough to hold the crowd! She's a hooker! A whore! A play-for-pay piece of ass! And I can prove it, too. I don't think you'd want those stuck-up people you work for to know just how your wife has been bringing in some extra dough, buddy-!"
"You dare to call my wife names, you crummy punk?" Dave stormed. He kicked Mark in the groin and, as the blackmailer doubled up in pain, gave him a rabbit-punch on the back of the neck for good measure. Mark hit the floor, and Buzz rushed over and began kicking him viciously in the ribs with his steel-toed motorcycle boots. Claire jumped out of the bed and threw on her clothes hastily as her two accomplices worked Mark over with sadistic relish.
"Where're the dirty pictures you got of her, punk?" Buzz snarled, drawing his revolver and using the butt end of it to bruise Mark's face.
"Owww! Stop it! Motherfuckers! Cocksuckers! How'd you know about-"
"Never mind how we know about the crap!" Dave spat. "Just fork it over!"
"No! God damn, I-eeyowwwwwww-!" Mark's defiant cries changed to a high-pitched wail of physical agony as Dave grasped his scrotum and squeezed it in his fist, half-crushing the delicate nuts in their hairy sac. "Owww! Oh, my God! You're fucking killing me! My balls! Oh-!"
"Gimme them pictures or I'll pull your nuts off!" Dave gritted. "I mean it!"
Buzz cocked his revolver and pressed the muzzle to Mark's temple. "And I'll paint the wall with your fucking brains!" he promised grimly.
"Ohhhhhh-! They're-they're in the bottom drawer-of the dresser-you bastards, owww, no, oh my God, stop it, leggo, it hurts-!"
Claire rushed to the dresser and discovered three well-packed manila envelopes. "Just like he said!" she exclaimed bitterly. "One addressed to Donald-one to the president of his company-one to the police! Oh, the filthy rat!" She tore open the envelopes and let the contents spill out on the floor. They all contained explicit photos of her fucking various men in the hotel room. "Bastard!" She seized a cheap metal waste basket, emptied it, threw the photos inside-tearing most of them up-and struck a match. "I'll fix you, you punk blackmailer!" she fumed. "And I'll have you know that you're a lousy lay, besides! I'd like to throw you in here, too!" The waste basket burst into flames; she opened the window to let the smoke escape from the room.
"The negatives!" Buzz demanded, pressing the revolver to Mark's head.
"In the box under the bed."
Claire added them to the fire, and then smashed the camera that was in the box.
"Now make him hand over the money he took from me-all of it!"
Mark groaned as Dave's fist tightened around his balls. "I spent some of it!" he said quickly. "It's stuffed in the pillow-" Claire ransacked the pillow, stuffing bills into her brassiere and purse.
"You ever give this lady any fucking trouble again, or show your ugly face around her, and I'll goddam kill you!" Buzz swore.
"Owww! Lemme alone! I won't-just lemme go! Get out! You got what you wanted!"
"Not everything," Buzz laughed. "My buddy here's going to teach you a lesson-just to drive the point home, punk!" Buzz seized one of Mark's wrists and snapped one link of a pair of handcuffs around it. Then, despite the young blackmailer's struggles, he handcuffed both Mark's wrists together around a leg of the bed. Mark lay face down on the floor, his pants lowered to his knees, as Dave straddled him, using his husky weight to keep their prisoner down on the floor.
"What're you gonna do?" Mark gasped, his eyes wide with fright. "Arrest me?"
"Nope," Dave said. Methodically, taking his time, he unzipped his jeans and fished out his cock. He was already hard. He spat in his hand and massaged the saliva over his dick. "We're gonna fuck you, baby! Or at least I am. I don't think Buzz here indulges."
"Oh-noooooooooo!" Mark howled.
"Hold his legs down until I can get it in him," Dave told Buzz.
Claire paced about the room impatiently biting her lip, as the rape was accomplished. Mark screamed hysterically as Buzz gripped his ankles and held his legs apart and Dave mounted him eagerly, thrusting his spit-lubricated cock between Mark's virgin buttocks. That ruthless hard-on sank into the depths of Mark's tight, resisting anus, thrusting the delicate tissues aside. Mark screamed and cursed, his body writhing frantically beneath Dave's, as the handsome bisexual stud fucked him. Dave thrust his hand down between Mark's thighs to grasp and squeeze his balls again, enforcing his victim's obedience; Mark whimpered as he had no choice but to lie still and let his molester use his body. Dave's cock plunged repeatedly into his bleeding, battered asshole ... Buzz stood up, tore two strips of cloth from the edge of the sheet on the bed, stuffed one wadded strip into Mark's shrieking mouth and tied the other around his head to hold the gag in place.
"Don't want any of your neighbors to interrupt your fun, Mark, baby," Buzz sneered. "You okay, buddy? Can you take it from here?" he asked Dave, giving the black-haired gay rapist a chaste smack on the muscular bare buttocks he was clenching to drive his dick into the steamy tunnel of Mark's anal canal.
"I'm fine," Dave grunted. "Christ, what a tight ass-but by the time I'm done with it, he'll be begging me for it-begging me to loosen it up for him-begging me to fuck him! And you'll beg, baby," he hissed, addressing the helpless Mark, "even if it takes us all fucking night to turn you into the screaming queen you really are! Take that cock, punk! I'm fucking you, baby-you like it? Oh, yeah! You like it! You like being fucked by a good, hard cock up your ass-!"
Claire took Buzz by the arm and pulled him towards the door. "Let's get out of here!"
They left the building in silence and got into Buzz' car.
"You want to go to a movie?" the motorcycle cop asked cheerfully, as though nothing unusual had just happened. He slipped his arm around her shoulders, which were shaking a little.
"I want to go somewhere, I'm too shook up to go home right away," Claire admitted. "Let's go to your place and fuck-that ought to calm me down. Oh, and Buzz, darling-" she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek-"tonight, it's on the house."
Chapter Nine
It was a slow early afternoon in the brownstone: outside, it was raining, and cold. Claire and three of the other girls who weren't busy at the moment-Joy, Maggie, and Linda-had begun a game of poker; Claire was winning, even though she wasn't very good at the game yet. But it was certainly more fun than bridge. Janine, as exquisitely dressed as usual, was kibitzing when Laura slipped into the drawing room and whispered in her ear. Both women left the room, unnoticed. Janine returned alone a few minutes later, smiling.
"I'm sorry to interrupt the game, dears, but I need one of you to do a little playing for pay. It's Lights Out." Most of the regular customers acquired such nicknames, either unofficially or because they chose them themselves to preserve their anonymity. Claire couldn't remember having heard this particular code name before.
"Oh, no!" Joy groaned. "Not me, please, Janine. I'm still sore from the last time, and that was two weeks ago."
"Who's this Lights Out? Is he a freak?" Claire asked. "Raise you and call," she added, engrossed in the game. She had a promising hand.
"Not really," Janine laughed. "That's right-you've never had him. He's really rather sweet. Very shy. We call him Lights Out because he can't get it up if the girl is looking at him. He always goes upstairs first and gets in bed in the pitch dark-"
"And then you have to grope your way into the bedroom without bruising a shin," Linda continued wryly. "But believe me, Claire, once you find the bed in the dark, you've had it! He's a tiger-never gets enough. He all but fucked me out the last time I had him-I couldn't get it on the rest of the day, my cunt was so sore! And sucking his cock and him eating you-God, it's exhausting. You earn every penny with him!"
"Does he pay well, then?" Claire asked, her curiosity-and veniality-aroused.
"Oh, double, since he expects so much; and he gave me a fifty-buck tip last time even though I mostly just lay there gritting my teeth. It's a pain in the ass, but worth it, I guess," Maggie said.
"Well, let's not keep the gentleman waiting," Janine urged. "Who's the lucky girl today?" Laughter.
"Claire hasn't had him; it's her turn to suffer," Joy quipped.
"Yes, I'd rather like to find out if he lives up to his reputation," Claire admitted. "And it's been a lousy day for tips."
"Well, you're welcome to him," Linda assured her.
Claire won the hand-a good omen, she decided, as she rose and followed Janine out of the room. "Good luck-and use plenty of Koromex jelly," one of the girls called after her gaily.
"Yes, and don't forget your Girl Scout flashlight-it'll come in handy," another laughed.
"Don't mind them, Claire," Janine said as she led Claire up the staircase. "I've screwed Lights Out myself, and he's really very sweet, except for this thing he has about getting laid in the dark. He's got nothing to be so shy about that I can see-he's quite good-looking, and hung?-well, you'll feel it for yourself! In fact, he probably insists that the girl come to him in the dark so she won't see it and get scared away! He's rich, too-I believe he's some kind of executive; at any rate, he always comes in during his lunch hour. At least twice a week. You were bound to meet up with him sooner or later." Janine opened the door just far enough to enable Claire to slip through. The bedroom beyond was indeed pitch dark, the heavy curtains drawn. "Oh, he doesn't like to talk, either, until it's over," the madam whispered into Claire's ear. "Good luck, dear." She gave Claire a rather warmer-than-maternal kiss, and closed the door after the blonde slipped through it.
Claire flipped the switch on the doorknob to turn the lock, and paused a moment to enable her eyes to get accustomed to the darkness. She took a silent step towards the center of the room, wondering if she'd be able to find the bed in the inky blackness. She unfastened the string that held her filmy lace negligee together, and let the enticing garment rustle to the floor with a sensual whisper. Naked except for her garter belt, stockings, and slippers, she made her cautious way across the room, groping for the bed with one outstretched arm. God! how dark and eerie it was ... it was a rather freaky scene.
A warm, strong hand suddenly grasped her forearm, and she started violently, suppressing a shriek. Then, relaxing, she let the disembodied hand draw her gently towards the bed, until her leg struck the edge ... she sat down, as two brawny bare arms encircled her waist. Then a warm mouth touched her breast, sliding over the firm mound until it found the nipple. He began to suck, murmuring something under his breath that she couldn't catch. Without any coyness, she returned his caresses, quickly discovering that he (a.) was naked on the bed; (b.) was obviously fairly young, and in good physical shape; (c.) had a bristly mustache that tickled her sensitive tit as he sucked on it; and, (d.) was clean and smelled nice-Aramis? Monsieur Jovan? Canoe? Whatever the cologne was, it smelled familiar. Her exploring fingers found his groin, closed around an immense, solid, jutting cock. He was (e.) uncut, which she preferred, and he got even more aroused as she played with that lovely big penis. Nothing shy about that!
As he pulled her down onto the mattress beside him, kissing and stroking every part of her body, Claire decided that the novel situation was really rather delightful. Most of her Johns liked to keep the lights on so they could see what they were getting for their money. This time, it was so dark that she literally couldn't see her hand in front of her face. They had to communicate entirely by touch and smell. It was exciting to caress warm flesh without being quite able to imagine what the occupant of the naked body beside yours looked like. The parts were there, but it was difficult to visualize them as a whole. Love with a perfect stranger ...
He was kissing her breasts, her belly, her thighs, driving her wild with awakening desire, until her eagerness matched his own. His muscular body darted about on the bed with surprising agility, so that she never knew where his mouth and hands would strike next. Passive, but highly responsive, she abandoned herself to his touch, enjoying each new, unexpected sensation. They were both beginning to perspire a bit and their breathing had become labored. She wanted it as much as he obviously did-but he kept on teasing her, fondling her intimately and drawing out this tantalizing foreplay until her desires built up to a fever pitch of overpowering fuck-lust. She was hot, swooning-faint with frustrated passion and urgent need. Her cunt burned beneath the tips of his stroking, massaging fingers. The warmth and buzzing sensation spread rapidly through her loins-suffused her body with lambent fire-electric shock penetrated her very core of existence; but she needed something more substantial-more solid-she had to have it! She had to feel it-anything!-in her!
"Your cock!" she gasped. "Fuck me-I can't wait any longer!"
He merely chuckled and pressed his fingers into the mushy folds of her dripping, twitchy labia. A long moan burst from her lips as she spread her legs wide to give him free access to her quim. She seized his wrist and thrust his hand into her gaping hole, wriggling her ass in erotic glee as his big fingers stroked the interior of her cunt more vigorously. It felt glorious and she never wanted him to stop. She urged him on with cries and moans and jerking motions of her broad, strong hips. His hand penetrated her completely, like a cock ... and Claire screamed as she teetered on the brink of a cataclysmic orgasm for a moment, only to feel the wonderful, building sensation die away before it hit her. Sobbing, she threw herself upon the man's hard body. She grasped his erect penis in her fist and guided it to her lips. Groaning wantonly at the satisfaction of having the thick bulb of the cockhead in her mouth, she began to suck, sliding her masturbating hand down the shaft to fondle his balls as she took more and more of the big instrument into her mouth. Her lips touched the base of the cock-she began to deep-throat the mysterious John.
He wriggled against her body, his hands brushing over her boobs, fondling her hips ... he suddenly buried his face in her moist crotch, his hands grasping her warm, smooth ass cheeks. His tongue grazed her clit, then slipped right into her panting, open-mouth snatch. He ate her with real gusto, licking up her fluids, filling her with his tongue, too aroused now himself to tease her with any further delays. Claire paid him back in kind, sucking furiously on his throbbing tool as that superb, talented tongue coaxed her to the edge of the precipice once more and she reeled, dizzy, suspended breathlessly between continuing excitement and approaching climax. She could not recall ever having felt so utterly sensual and giving with a customer before. It was even more of an erotic revelation, in its way, than losing her virginity had been, because now she knew what she was doing and could control her hotly aroused body. But she was almost losing her grip on herself as that incredibly intense pre-orgasmic feeling mounted up deep inside her cunt again. It was like an earthquake that began as harmless-sounding, distant, muffled rumbles like soft thunder, and developed in a deafening, shattering crescendo of subterranean reverberation that threatened to split the earth right open, reducing everything to powder and debris. Her vagina contracted-but, incredibly, instead of convulsing, it stayed tense, poised-the wild, tight, aching sensation bit at her loins-she came like a detonation of a hydrogen bomb!
"Aaaaahhh-! Fuck! I'm-I'm coming- ohhhhh-!" Her whole body jerked and twitched like a fish caught on the hook and flopping about madly as it was yanked out of the water into the cold, suffocating air. "Christ-! I'm coming-and coming-and comingggg-!" She had thrown her head back and was straightening up, sitting on the man's face as he fucked her with his stiff tongue-so that his cock had slipped out of her screaming mouth. And a good thing, too; for now she was grinding her teeth together in involuntary agony in a way that would have reduced his dick to raw, bloody hamburger had she still been sucking on it. She caught her lip between her teeth and bit down on it viciously until the bitter taste of her own seeping blood filled her mouth. She came at least four times in rapid, blurred succession, her cunt erupting like a miniature Vesuvius, her hot, foaming lava pouring out of her labia and searing her John's face as, oblivious to everything except what he was doing, he thrust his phallic tongue deep into her body again and again, tormenting her clit beyond endurance and bringing to a fifth explosive climax ... then, a sixth ... she screamed wildly as he ate her so greedily, so lustily, that she was convinced he must be literally devouring her cunt-tearing it to shreds with his powerful teeth and chewing it up and swallowing it down!
She may actually have blacked out for a moment; her vision blurred, the room becoming darker as the bed seemed to spin beneath her. Dizzy, sickened, she next realized that she was flat on her back on the rumpled sheets, that he was kneeling between her parted thighs, that her legs were thrown over his powerful bare shoulders, that he had his cock in his fist and was jabbing it brutally between her labia. The blunt cockhead banged against her cunt, bruising her. But she had come so much, and his cock was so slick with his own dribbled emissions, that he slid into her easily. Her pussy-lips parted, straining, as the bulky member was forced between them, stretching the narrow channel that lay beyond the wide-open locks of her cuntal canal.
"Ohhhhh-fill me!" Claire begged, her voice low and tense with voluptuous impatience as her giddiness and nausea and sense of dazed displacement yielded to the reassuring awareness that cock was being fed into her hungry snatch at last. "Fuck me, darling-oh, yes, yes! Put it in me-God! Fuck me!"
He suddenly shoved his pelvis against hers, and, grunting, buried his prick inside her body. Claire lost her breath for a moment as her cervix struggled to adjust to the feeling of bulky solidity and fullness. She'd had bigger cocks in her day, but his was marvelous-it stuffed her just to the point of slight discomfort, so that there was constant, intense friction in the way her warm, moist tunnel molded itself around the thick, hard cylinder of blood-engorged cock.
Claire didn't wait for him to start fucking her: she grasped his buttocks and pushed on them hard, making his cock go deeper into her as she humped herself against it. He was content to let her set the rhythm, his mouth and hands busy at her breasts, stimulating them until her taut, swollen nipples felt chafed and prickly. A delightful warm flush ran all over her body-she was perspiring, yet she felt chilled-shivering, she wrapped her long, lithe thighs around his waist and responded to his fucking thrusts with eager bumps and grinds and pumping movements of her sleek butt.
They were moving together now, in perfect harmony, her cunt being scoured out by his rough, pounding cock, her whole body vibrating like a taut wire to his every touch, her heart thumping madly against his as he crushed her breasts against his hairy chest and buried his tongue in her mouth. She stroked his soft hair-she didn't even know what color it was!-and kissed back passionately, her own tongue exploring the interior of his panting mouth. He had nice teeth, she could feel. He was still tongue-kissing her when, with a muffled cry that died in his throat, he began to come inside her, his hips swinging freely to push his unloading prick in and out of the tunnel it was lubricating with generous amounts of spurting seed. It was thrilling for her, like riding a roller coaster and being lifted up in your seat, in defiance of gravity, when the car rounded a high curve and plunged downwards in giddy acceleration-but she didn't quite make it, and she groaned in mild disappointment as her vaginal tension ebbed slowly away even as, grunting, he stopped ejaculating in her and lay still for a second, regaining his breath.
"Oh-I wanted to come so badly," she lamented gently. "Your lovely cock in me-!"
"You will," he panted in a hoarse whisper. Adroitly, he pulled his wet organ out of her and turned her over onto her stomach. Excited already, she let him do whatever he wanted ... she gasped in delight as her tiny asshole yielded readily to the grim onslaught of his come-lubricated prick. He entered her quickly, her rectum jolted by the unexpected impact. He filled her anus with incredible searing, itching sensations.
Claire squealed happily when his fingers found her sticky cunt and began to massage her labia and clitoris, rubbing the still-warm come around and into her skin. His other hand slid beneath her writhing body and sought her breast ... she was in ecstasy and she could already feel the violent convulsive shivers deep in her cunt that assured her that she'd come very soon and that it would be a good one. He fucked her in the ass, masterfully, yet with a strange sort of gentleness. Suddenly, she felt very fond of her unknown customer. Tenderness overwhelmed her and she worked her anal muscles to massage and grip his dick, determined to give him a good ride even at the cost of some pain for herself. Claire suppressed a giggle at the sudden thought that she must be turning sentimental, which would never do if she hoped to retain her professional poise. She was developing into the stereotype of the hooker with the heart of gold-and the molten-lava ass!
"Fuck my ass," she whispered heatedly, loving every minute of their bestial coupling. "Hump me, lover! Ass fuck me! Fuck the shit out of my ass! Do it-ohhhhh!" She nearly passed out as, without warning, the first of what was quite obviously going to be a string of firecracker-like orgasms was ignited in her cunt, searing her bowels. It was though he'd stuck a burning blowtorch up her ass. She came repeatedly, her body melting into shivery mush around that red-hot iron rod that had been thrust up into her. Her loins smoked as he stoked her smoldering fires and made them blaze up fiercely, baking her flesh. Her entire being seemed to be dissolving-evaporating-into sweat and come and the natural vaginal lubrications that oozed from her quaking cunt as the furnace, overheated, exploded-again and again! He was with her all the way, his body pounding heavily against hers in a monotonous rhythm as he sodomized her, sweat bursting out of his big frame from every pore and streaming down his limbs. She loved the smell of his sweat, the heat of his body, the masculine odor of crotch and come that filled her nostrils as she struggled to draw more oxygen down into her lungs to relieve the feeling of faintness that was overpowering her as he approached-incredibly fast-his second climax.
"Yes! Come in me! Fill my ass with your hot-COME!" Claire cried, her breathy, sultry tone of languid encouragement changing to a piercing shriek of penetrated pleasure as the first wet burst of semen smashed into her ass, scalding its delicate walls. "Oh-! Come in my ass! Fill me with your goddam spunk! Let me have it-all!"
He tore his fingers out of her creaming cunt and wrapped both his strong arms around her waist, seizing her sore breasts and digging his nails into them as he banged his body against her buttocks and pumped out his sperm, flooding her colon with the watery stuff. It felt like an enema, and Claire whimpered at the sudden feeling of bloated discomfort in her well-fucked anus. She collapsed into a sweaty heap of shivering flesh beneath the John, who moaned and squirmed helpless as his orgasm gradually spent its force. He began to relax, caressing her limp body intimately, reassuring ... She grunted as he pulled his cock out of her aching sphincter and, turning her over onto her side, kissed her on the mouth again, his tongue playing with hers inside the dark cavern of her open, panting mouth. She buried her face in his sweaty, furred pectoral muscle, her tongue darting out of her mouth to stab at his erected nipples. She took his limp, soggy penis in her fist and toyed with it as he stroked her disheveled hair in the darkness.
After they had both rested for a moment, he released her gently and stretched out on the soiled bed, searching for his cigarettes and lighter on the night stand. She forgot to look up in time to see his face as he put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it; but just before he snapped the lighter shut, she glanced at him and noticed, in the dim red glare of the tiny flare, his broad bare back, glistening with sweat, and his neatly-styled head of long brown hair, mussed by their lovemaking. But something about the easy, relaxed way he was sprawling on the bed beside her, fondling her nude body with one hand while he smoked, made her certain that he was handsome, as Janine had said he was. Her curiosity was aroused.
"May I turn on the light now?" she asked primly, suppressing a smile.
He laughed pleasantly and groped for the light switch himself. The shaded lamp on the nightstand went on, momentarily blinding them both ...
Later, when she had had a chance to calm down and get over from the initial shock, she imagined-almost humorously-that Oedipus could not have looked more stunned and horrified when he'd discovered that it was his own mother he'd been fucking.
"Claire! Jesus Christ!"
"Donald! Oh, my God!"
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she retorted, snatching the come-soaked sheet to cover herself as she stared at her husband in numb disbelief. Then she recognized the absurdity of making such a gesture of gratuitous modesty after what the two of them had just been doing in the dark. And what was there to be ashamed about, anyway? Claire began to giggle hysterically. After all-they were husband and wife!
* * *
"What's taking you so goddam long, anyway?" Donald shouted, pounding on the bathroom door for the third time. "Jesus Christ!"
"Will you calm down?" Claire called from within. She opened the door and emerged, elegantly dressed in her street clothes, looking calm and collected. What had taken her so long was getting her story ready to try out on him.
Donald, chain-smoking-the ashtray near the rumpled bed was filled with crushed-out cigarette butts-was dressed, too, in the tailored suit he'd worn to work that morning. He seized her arm without looking at her and dragged her toward the door. "Let's get the fuck out of here-I haven't got all day! If someone should see us-my God!-my wife in a whorehouse-!"
"Just a minute," Claire said haughtily, tearing her arm free from his grip. She exploded, in what she hoped was a convincing simulation of conjugal indignation. "You prick! You philandering son of a bitch! You have the nerve to talk to me about being in a whorehouse, when you're the one who's just been caught red-handed and made a fool of? Ha! What a laugh! You thought it was some cheap slut you were screwing in the dark-and it turns out to be me! It's amazing, a revelation! For somebody who can't get it up at home, who hasn't wanted to sleep with me for God knows how long, you sure seemed pretty enthusiastic a minute ago! As though those filthy hookers you've been balling-and throwing away good money on-all this time, are any different than me that way, let alone better! So I'm frigid, am I? Well, you've got a worse problem, if you have to fantasize that you're paying for it to get it on with your own wife! God! Making me suck your cock and then screwing me in the cunt and in the ass, like an animal-oh, it's simply too humiliating for words, I could scream, I could kill you, I could just-"
"Now you just hold on a minute, you bitch!" her husband fumed. "Let's not forget that I found you here, in Madame Defarge's brothel, ready to spread your legs for anybody who came along with his money in one hand and his dick in the other! Talk about humiliating! My wife, a hooker! If word of this ever got out-"
"How dare you call me a hooker? I only came here, today, just this once-to trap you!" Claire shouted triumphantly. As he gaped at her, dumbfounded, she went on hurriedly, "Oh, Donald-you pompous fool! It was all a set-up! And you fell for it, ha ha! I found out that you've been getting your jollies here at this awful place-never mind how I found out-and I decided to teach you a lesson. And I have! One you'd better not forget, buster. I came here and talked to that disgusting woman downstairs and threatened to turn her in to the police unless she cooperated. I was going to wait while you and one of these cheap sluts got started, and then burst in on you with a detective-but then that horrible madam told me about your perverted way of having sex-Mr. Lights Out, good God! So I forced her to arrange it so you'd be fucking me without even knowing it. And you never suspected a thing, did you, darling? Frigid, am I? Well, you weren't complaining about the service you got for your fifty bucks! Frankly, I think I was worth more, but I can't blame you for wanting to get a bargain. And all along the feminists have been saying that marriage is nothing but a form of legalized prostitution-oh, ha ha ha ha ha!" Laughing wildly, she pretended to collapse, helpless, in a chair.
"I'm taking you out of here!" he snapped, his face scarlet. This time, she let him drag her out of the chair, out of the room, and down the hall. She clung to him in sudden, mock terror.
"Oh, Donald, yes-let's get away from this terrible, immoral place! I'm frightened! That woman said that if I did go to the police, she could have me 'taken care of'! I only threatened her like that because I was so angry and jealous-I only did all this because I do love you so, and you've been so cruel-running off to prostitutes-oh, how could you-you don't love me any more-!" She broke down, emitting hysterical sobs and pressing her face against his shoulder so he couldn't see that she was having trouble keeping it straight.
"You can't trust these goddam whores," Donald grumbled, more to himself than to her. "I pay good money for a lay twice a week, a regular customer, cash on the line, never ask for anything freaky in the way of sex-and Janine stabs me in the back like this!" Claire almost forgot herself enough to reply indignantly to this undeserved professional slur, but then she remembered and shut up.
They were half-way down the staircase when they met a surprised Janine on the landing. "Why, what's this?" she gasped. "Is something wrong? Claire-?"
"Mrs. Ericson to you, you vile, shameless, immoral, wanton woman!" Claire stormed, before Janine could inadvertently blow it all for her. She hoped she wasn't laying it on too thickly. Poor Janine was staring at her as though she'd gone mad; but Claire consoled herself with the thought that she'd telephone Janine as soon as she could and explain it all to her. How they'd laugh when Janine found out just who the mysterious Lights Out was! For the moment, Claire contented herself with a sly wink. "I'm going to take my sweet, dear husband away from your clutches, you mercenary thing! You'll be sorry you tried to break up my marriage-you and your stable of loose women! Don't try to stop us or I'll scream! Come, Donald, she can't hurt you-I won't let her-I'll protect you from that horrible creature and her low, disgusting, sensual wiles-!" She seized her husband by the hand and dragged him down the stairs, across the foyer and past a startled Laura, and through the front door into the street. "And he's not paying you, either, you bitch!" Claire called back over her shoulder by way of a parting shot, while shocked passers-by stopped on the sidewalk to stare at her. "You can take your second-hand curios, your dirty old antiques, and your lousy objets d'art-and you know where you can shove them!"
* * *
"Are you coming to bed-or are you still going to sleep in the guest room?" Claire asked cheerfully, later that night. She'd phoned Janine and explained everything, and the madam had nearly died laughing. She had told Claire to take a few days off to keep Donald from getting suspicious.
Her husband was looking at her with that amusing hangdog expression of his, like a soulful-eyed puppy who'd just been smacked with a rolled up newspaper for wetting the carpet.
"I guess I'll come up in a minute-if you'll have me, after what happened today," he mumbled.
Claire laughed, smoothing her long, sheer nightie over her breasts. "Why, darling, there's nothing to be so ashamed about. I forgive you-as long as it never happens again. I realize that a man has sexual appetites that a woman doesn't."
"If we've been having certain, um, misunderstandings about her sex life these past few months, well, it was as much my fault as yours. Let's forget about it and be friends again. It really is rather nice being married to you-sometimes."
He pressed his face to her breasts, and she stroked his hair, smiling. Silently, arm in arm, they went upstairs.
"Light on or off?" Claire teased, as she dropped her nightie to the floor and slithered nude between the cool sheets.
"On," Donald said firmly, undressing with ill-disguised haste, throwing his clothes about in a manner quite unlike his customary neatness. When he was naked he joined her in the bed. He pressed against her, kissing her eagerly, and she felt his hard-on thrusting between her thighs. Her tongue in his mouth, Claire reached down the big erection that had wreaked such havoc in Janine's stable. She rolled over onto her back, spreading her legs and pulling her husband on top of her ...
"Claire," he gasped, "would you mind-if you don't think it's too disgusting or freaky-I'd like to-"
"Yes, darling?" she purred, placing his hand on her breast. "Don't be shy, Donald, dear. What do you want to do? I'll do anything you like."
"Don't take this the wrong way," he panted hoarsely, already beginning to sweat with pent-up excitement, "but I think it'll be more exciting for me-for us both-if I pretend that-" He broke up abruptly, left her for a moment, and snatched up his wallet from the bedside table. "Here, take it!" he urged her, his trembling hands drawing five ten-dollar bills from the wallet and shoving them at her.
Claire wasn't particularly surprised. Grasping the idea at once, she smiled suggestively, took the money, and make a great show of counting it, folding it, touching it to her lips for a moment, and then tucking it safely away beneath the pillow. "Now, then," she said softly, writhing on the bed and opening her thighs as Donald threw himself upon her in a violent fit of satyriasis, "since we've settled that, let's see about giving you your money's worth, handsome-oh, yes! Put it in me, baby! Shove your cock in me!" To her mingled astonishment and amusement, she discovered that she was getting just as aroused fantasizing that he was a John as he obviously was by pretending that she wasn't his wife, but one of Janine's girls-which she was, she reminded herself-oh, it was all rather confusing; but what did it matter, anyway, as long as they were enjoying themselves?
"Fuck it, honey," Claire breathed in the tough, sexy tone of voice that some customers expected a hooker to use. "You paid for it, baby-so screw it!" His cock slid into her self-lubricated loins, filling her, fucking her, stimulating her-she knew at once that it was going to be even better than the exhausting, utterly satisfied fuck they'd shared earlier that day. "Oh, yes," she groaned, as his thrusts and withdrawals brought her rapidly to the verge of her first explosive climax. "Oh, yes yes yes-fuck me, fuck your whore, make me your whore, oh yes yes yes-!"
As she abandoned herself completely to her fierce physical needs, Claire realized happily that her double life, with its constant anxiety and hypocrisy and fear of exposure, was now at an end. She had been playing the roles of two different women-a hooker by day and a housewife by night. But from now on, she could relax and enjoy the role she preferred-the hooker-because her husband loved being married to that kind of a woman as much as she enjoyed being her!
