Paula Rohrig lay in the perfumed waters of the sunken tub, soaking away the tenseness induced by a sleepless night. Her experience the previous afternoon in Simmons Shoe Store had been a shattering one. The clerk had not only grossly insulted her with his impudent familiarity; he had in fact sexually molested her. So enraged that she had had difficulty controlling herself, she had very nearly responded with a violence that would have surely found its printed echo on the front page of the local paper. As the twenty-eight-year-old wife of Rolfe R. Rohrig, the aged multimillionaire, she would have been the helpless target of every reporter in the country had she become involved in such a mess. Even though faultless, she could visualize Rolfe's fury at her ensnarement in such a notorious incident. He had disinherited his only child, a son by his previous marriage, for disgracing the family name, and had cut off his divorced wife with a pittance because of adulterous conduct. Like her predecessor, Paula had signed a prenuptial financial agreement. Having survived nine years of Rolfe's tyranny and jealousy, she had no intention of presenting him with the slightest hint of misconduct his lawyer might twist into evidence against her in a divorce suit.
She slid further down, making sure that her shag-cut hair remained dry. The increased buoyancy brought her body floating to the surface, exposing the bikini bands of white flesh over her breasts and lower belly, and her small tanned feet. Despite the warmth of the water, a cold shiver swept through her as she recalled with shocking clarity the appalling incident in Simmons.
She had bought a stunning pink pantsuit worn by one of the models at the luncheon fashion show at Broadmoor's in Mission Valley. Her guest, Sally Bachrach, who?, Paula was to succeed as vice president of the Women's Auxiliary of Children's Hospital at a tea this afternoon, had had to leave immediately after the luncheon. For half an hour, Paula had window-shopped in search of a pair of open-toed sandals in pink kid to match her suit, finally finding the exact color she wanted on display in the Simmons store.
The salesman who usually waited on her was not in, and the manager had turned her over to a new man. Her first impression of him had etched so sharp an image in her mind that even now she could visualize every detail...
His deep-set eyes, black as jet beads, had a disturbing directness as he scanned her face and figure. He was handsome, too handsome really, with mod-cut black hair brushed forward and down over both ears. Though there were few customers in the store, he led her to a chair in the rear. As she followed him, she noted the broad shoulders that strained against the gray plaid of his jacket, and the easy grace of his long stride.
"Have a seat, please, Mrs. Rohrig."
The tip of his tongue moved wetly over his sensuous lips. "You're very lovely. Your picture on the society page this morning certainly does you an injustice."
Paula looked away from the impudent smile on his face and nervously clasped the suit box under her arm. "I believe I'll wait till later," she said. "The man who waits on me regularly knows what I like . .. "
"I meant no offense, believe me, Mrs. Rohrig. I just started here today, but I do know the shoe business." He gestured toward the chair and bowed an apology. "Please sit down. I guarantee you satisfaction in every way."
In seating herself, she was careful to keep her knees close together and to pull her miniskirt down as far as possible. He pulled up a stool before her, sat down and said pleasantly, "Now, just what can I do for you?"
"I want to see a pair of those pink sandals in my size-I wear a five double-A."
He lifted her right foot and removed her shoe. "I don't know if we have your size in stock," he said, checking the number on the inside of her pump. "That's awfully small." Dropping her shoe, he took a rule from under the stool and reached for her foot. "Let me check this to make sure."
The suit box on her lap obstructed her view of her knees, but she knew he had moved her leg farther to the right and higher than necessary as he brought the marker down to her big toe. As his hand clasped the underside of her calf, he raised his head slightly. "Press down, please Mrs. Rohrig."
Color flared in her face.
"We have some lovely panty hose you might be-"
"Never mind," she interrupted curtly, jerking her foot from his hand. "I'm in a hurry. See if you have my size."
"Right!" He lifted his glance to her face and grinned. "I always measure the foot size myself. I'll be right back."
When he had gone, she leaned forward to look past a pillar toward the front of the store. An elderly woman was seated in a chair about thirty feet away. She could see no one else until she glanced at the stockroom door and glimpsed a teen-age boy passing from one side to the other. The salesman returned carrying three boxes under his arm.
"Now," he said with a smile that underscored the double meaning of his words, "we shall see what we can see." He lifted her right leg as he dropped the boxes on the floor beside him, then leaned back to feel blindly for a shoe from the top box.
She felt her toe touch his thigh. Unable to see over the suit box, she placed it on the chair to her left. When she turned back to face him, he was staring up the gap between her thighs while he held her ankle in a tight grip. To her horror, she saw the swell of his penis bulging under his gray slacks. To make matters worse, the stock boy was leering at them from the doorway.
"Lovely!" the salesman muttered. He raised his head and stared into her eyes. "We don't have your size in that sandal, Mrs. Rohrig, but I have some other suggestions."
She felt trapped in a grisly nightmare as his hand forced the sole of her foot against his hard-on. It thumped against her arch like a policeman's night stick. The wide-eyed stock boy chuckled knowingly, then disappeared.
"Stop it!" she whispered hoarsely. She raised her hand to slap his face, then clamped it over her mouth.
"The name's Tom Wells." He rubbed her foot up and down his thigh, then picked up her pump and slipped it on. "I'm in the phone book-twenty-five, healthy . . . and remember . . . satisfaction guaranteed!"
Her face flushed with restrained fury, she rushed from the store without her suit box. The manager caught up with her some hundred yards away and returned it.
"Mrs. Rohrig, please! Is there something wrong?" His face, pale and taut, expressed worry and confusion.
"That clerk ... he ... " Paula, turning to hide the tears spilling through her fashionable false eyelashes, mumbled, "Never mind. Forget it," and hurried toward the stairs to the subterranean parking lot.
The grandfather clock in Rolfe's study rang the first chime of the hour. Gratefully, she counted the ten subsequent strokes echoing softly through the empty house. With the servants off for the day and Rolfe's plane from San Francisco not due until seven that evening, she regretted having made a one o'clock luncheon date with several of her fellow officers which was to precede the afternoon tea at the Country Club. Had she dared, she would have called in to cancel her engagements so she could enjoy a day of solitude, the first such opportunity she'd had since Rolfe's recovery from a heart attack three months before.
But that would have made Rolfe furious. He had used his influence as a heavy contributor to the Children's Hospital to assure Paula's early advancement in the Women's Auxiliary to an official position which was considered the due of socially prominent matrons of the community.
Paula grasped the handrail and cautiously stepped out of the sunken tub. For a long moment, she studied her image in the mirrored wall-the small firm mounds of her breasts, the symmetry of her gently curving hips, the smooth flesh of her flat belly, the furry mat of black pubic hair. Her figure was as petite and as youthful as it had been on the day of her marriage. She smiled as she dabbed the glistening moisture from her body, enjoying the feel of the towel's fluffy softness against her sensitive skin. She no longer had any sense of guilt about this secret scrutiny, although she had formerly felt it might be an expression of a sinful wish for her husband's early death.
Scrupulously faithful despite the impotency which had afflicted him in the second year of their marriage. It was she who supervised the strict diet and the severe regimen the doctor had ordered for his recovery from the heart attack. She could therefore see no need to fault herself in recognizing that she was still young and physically attractive. She knew that when Rolfe eventually passed on she could confidently expect to remarry, this time with someone of her own age, a man who would love and caress her with tenderness. At the thought, a warm flush spread from her breasts to her throat and face.
She tossed the towel into the hamper and stepped into the dressing room. Her new pantsuit was suspended from a wooden hanger outside her closet, where she had placed it that morning on her return from the village drug store. She had decided to wear white sandals, without hose, and to paint her toenails pink to match the suit.
She wondered briefly what she had done with the bottle of nail polish. A quick search of the top of her make-up table proved fruitless. She must have left it in the car, she thought.
Donning a short dressing robe, she hurried to the front door. She left it slightly ajar as she went out. Her car was parked in the side driveway, in front of the garage. She found the small white paper bag containing the nail enamel on the front seat. As she slammed the car door, a Ford pulled up in the circular driveway and stopped before the walk leading to the front porch.
Paula gasped, then clutched her throat in panic. The tall young man emerging from the car had a mop of black hair in a mod cut. He turned to look at her and lifted his left hand above the top of the car to wave a greeting with a package the size of a shoe box.
"Hi!" he called. "I found a pair." He walked rapidly around the front of his car and strode up the walk.
Paula moved as quickly as she could without running, in an attempt to beat him to the front door, but they arrived there simultaneously.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded icily.
"Now, Mrs. Rohrig, is that any way to greet me after I drove all the way from our San Diego store to our Escondido branch to get these-"
"Get out of here!" Her voice was shrill with fear. She reached for the doorknob, grasped it, then jerked away from him as he held out the package. The door clicked shut. "Oh God!" she groaned. "Now look what you've done!"
"Why don't you take a look at these?" His eyes swept over her. "What do you mean? What have I done?"
"Damn you! Get out of here! I want nothing to do with you."
A smile slowly spread over his features and brought a glitter to his dark eyes. "What happened-did you lock yourself out?"
She bit her lip to keep from acknowledging her predicament.
"Nobody else home?"
She was silent for a moment as her throat tightened, causing her to gasp for breath. "Get out of here! Get out!" The words sounded like the squeak of a trapped mouse.
He tossed his head and laughed. "Honey, I'd never leave a lady standing on her doorstep half-naked. I'll get the door open for you. Here, take this." He held out the package again.
She shook her head.
"I won't be but a few minutes," he said, setting the box on the stoop. He was gone before she could utter another protest.
She had to get away! The keys to her Jag were in the house. She couldn't hope to run far enough or fast enough to elude him-Rolfe had built their home on a knoll in the center of forty acres. She ran down the walk and jerked open the door to his car, but he had removed the ignition key.
"Oh God!" she moaned, bursting into tears. Clutching the door frame, she sobbed in desperation.
"Say!" An arm was laid across her shoulders. "What are you crying about, baby?"
"Let me go!" She tried to spin away from him but felt his grip tighten.
"Please, please! Don't hurt me."
"Nobody's going to do anything like that." He swung a hand under her knees and lifted her off her feet. "Come on, baby. The door's open. I'll see that you get inside safely."
As he carried her up the walk, she tried to calculate the possible effectiveness of one of the measures she had heard or read about which a woman could use to defend herself against attack. Kick him in the groin? Jab him in the eye?
"Mm! You smell good," he remarked as they reached the door.
"Set me down," she said. "I can take care of myself now."
He crossed the threshold with her and paused to kick the door shut behind them.
"Let me go! Let me go!"
"Where's the bedroom, honey?"
Squirming frantically, she tried to claw his face, but he pressed his cheek behind her head.
"You better leave, do you hear? My husband will be home any time now!"
"Good!" He chuckled into her ear. "The old fart! How long's it been since you've been laid, baby?"
"Don't . . . don't ..." Her head dropped on his chest. Momentarily she had the sensation of swaying atop the back of a camel, then falling, falling . . .
A great warm weight pinned her legs and hips in helpless immobility while shackles seemed to grip her wrists. Eddies of delight swirled about her nipples, washing away the last vestige of unconsciousness. She opened her eyes. In the ceiling mirror she saw the reflection of her nude body sprawled in the center of the huge circular bed, the shoe salesman's right leg lying across her thighs, his head moving in slow rhythm from one of her upthrust breasts to the other. For a moment, lost in the ecstasy induced by his sucking lips and his warm wet tongue, she lay silent. Then the throb of his stiff penis against her thigh made her screech with terror.
"Shut up!" He buried his face between her breasts and chuckled.
"Stop it! Damn you! Stop it!" She struggled to free herself, but his firm grip on her wrists and the weight of his leg held her fast. "This is rape! You'll never get away with this. I'll-"
"Fine!" He raised his head from her breast to grin up at her.
Even his teeth, she noted, were perfect-too perfect.
"Baby, I can make an extra print of every pose if you like."
She turned her head to see a Polaroid camera set up on a tripod close to the bed. "Oh, my God!" She burst into sobs. "No, no! Please! You can't. . . you mustn't!"
"Shut up, goddamn it! You're interfering with my concentration."
She dreaded what Rolfe would do when this monster attempted to blackmail him with sordid pictures of his wife, being raped in his own house, in his own bed. She felt like a Chilean in the mountains sensing the first tremor of an earthquake. All her hopes, all the sacrifices of the past nine years would be buried in the ruins. She stifled her sobs long enough to whisper, "Mister Wells, please. Look at me."
The glitter in his eyes and the teasing smile on his lips offered little to encourage her, but she, had to try.
"If you promise no pictures, I'll do anything you want. Please?"
"What kind of a deal is that, baby? Shit! You're going to do exactly as I want anyway. Besides, you'll enjoy every minute of it. Relax, now!"
His lips slid wetly down the curve of her breast and onto the plane of her abdomen, the tip of his tongue brushing lightly in tingling spirals that sent spasms twitching across the tender flesh of her belly. Lower and lower his lips and tongue moved, down into the hair of her mound. Like a snake mesmerizing its victim, his tongue flicked into the top of her slit, evoking an involuntary moan and an automatic upthrust of her hips. Her crying became spasmodic, mixed with noisy sniffles.
"Close your eyes and lie still." His voice was curt. "If you know what's good for you, don't move."
She felt completely beaten, hopeless. Obediently she closed her eyes, not daring to open them even as she felt him rise. In a moment or two she felt him settle himself between her spread thighs, the warmth of his face against her cunt lips. A blinding flash of light and the concurrent click of a shutter told her that he had taken a picture with a delayed timing device.
"Enjoy this, baby. And no tricks. Understand?"
"Yes." She could reach his face, now that her hands were free. Should she scratch at his eyes? she wondered. An instant of reflection brought a negative response. There was no one to help should he react with violence, and obviously he was a man who acted on impulse regardless of possible consequences.
"Like that?" His face rose above the black brush of her mound, his nose and chin shining with her slick vaginal juices. He expected no answer. His lips, twisted in an evil smile, made pretense of answering for her. His hands went under her buttocks, the left one sliding up over her hip to clutch her belly, the other foraging in the crack of her ass. Against her will her body was responding, her vaginal juices streaming. She closed her eyes in a vain effort to control the nerves and tissues his working lips and tongue were rousing to passionate frenzy. His thumb pressed the tight ring of her anus, forcing it to expand as his tongue circled her clitoris in maddening rhythm. Every nerve in her body tingled with currents of grudging delight, flowing with mounting pressure. His thumb popped into her rectum as her body stiffened.
"OH! OH!" she moaned. Her thighs clamped his head tightly as the first paroxysm shook her. Waves of warmth flashed through her, drowning out all consciousness in a flood of delightful release.
When she came to a little later, she was surprised to feel his thumb still plumbing her rectum and his tongue laving the tender inner tissues of her labia. Her thighs no longer pressed against his cheeks but were spread wide, with the soles of her feet planted on the sheet. She hadn't noticed before that the counterpane had been taken off the bed.
"What are you doing?" she called to him. "I made it once. I can't-"
"Hey," he said with a laugh that fluttered warmly into her vaginal slit, "honey, you just got started."
Paula had a very limited knowledge of sex. She had experienced very few orgasms and had never had two in one day. But the rhythmic massage of her rectal and vaginal tissues, combined with the rolling pressure of the bridge of his nose on her clitoris, had already started uncontrollable surges of delight throughout her body. Try as she might to ignore them, she found her buttocks beginning to move, forcing her pubis up to her ravenous mouth, and her thighs beginning to close against his cheeks.
"Oh, please, please!"
Her cries served only to spur his tongue and lips into deeper and more exciting probes. Faster and faster, her hips rotated in time to his increased pace.
"OH! OH! I'm coming!" She felt herself borne up on a wave of warmth and ecstasy, swept beyond all care or control. Dimly she heard herself murmuring endearments, then moaning, then shouting before the final burst of furious delight again shattered her consciousness.
The ringing of the telephone brought her back to awareness. She had lifted the receiver before she realized her situation. Wells stood beside the bed, grinning and motioning for her to answer.
"Hello?" Her eyes widened. She tried to steady her voice. "Oh, Rolfe."
"Paula, I was afraid you might have left."
"No. I'm getting ready now." She watched Wells remove the Polaroid from the tripod, then kneel between her knees.
"You're going to the tea this afternoon, I hope. I had a time arranging that invitation for you."
"Yes, Rolfe, certainly."
Wells lifted her legs up over his shoulders.
My God! He's going to photograph my . . . She covered the mouthpiece. "Stop it, you moron!"
A flash exploded. He grinned and pointed at the telephone.
"Did you hear me?"
"Yes, Rolfe. I'll meet your plane. Yes. Seven-thirty."
"The deal is all signed, sealed and delivered, Paula. We'll have a steak to celebrate. God! I can't tell you how relieved I am. Be seeing you."
"Good-bye, dear." She reached blindly to replace the receiver.
"How about that!" Wells chuckled. "A whole afternoon to ourselves." He jerked her knees farther apart, lifting her buttocks off the bed. "Hold it!" Another flash exploded. He dropped her legs to the bed. "This'll be ready in sixty seconds. Take a look at the first one, baby."
He held the color snapshot just out of her reach, but she could plainly see the hairy-fringed split, the swollen red labia and a recognizable likeness of her face above it. He tore the second photo out of the camera, glanced at it, grinned and set both snapshots and the camera on the floor.
She rolled away from him but he caught her by one ankle. "Where do you think you're going, baby?"
Raising herself on an elbow, she glared at him. "You've got what you came for. Now get out!"
"You're mean," he said playfully. "You blow off twice and leave me with this load! Oh no! Next time we go off together, like twin rockets. Then you get your chance at the suckle stick. You'll love that, baby."
He caught her wrist and pulled her to him. She tried to push him away with her hands at his chest but found herself bound in a close embrace. His lips sought hers. She turned her head aside, but one of his hands gripped the back of her neck.
"Get with it, baby. Relax."
His mouth closed over hers. She clamped her teeth and lips against his stiff, probing tongue, inhaling the scent of the cunt juices still wet and slick on his face. His weight forced her backward. Rolling on top of her, he covered her short and slender body with his masculine bulk. The hair on his chest prickled her tender nipples.
She began to cry again, weeping like a hurt child. She could make no fight under such a disadvantage. Her whole body went limp. She made no resistance as his knees spread her thighs, and his hand moved the head of his cock up and down in her vaginal slit. She shuddered with terror as she felt the swollen crown press for entry between her tender pussy lips.
It must be the size of a man's fist, she thought. She tried to steel herself for the pain she expected, which she was sure would be worse than that she had experienced when Bill Stone had deflowered her twelve years earlier at a church picnic.
"OH!" she cried. "Stop! You're hurting me."
"Relax, honey," he whispered. "Lift your legs a little. It's almost in."
She cried out again as the swollen head popped inside her.
"There, baby. Lie still for a minute." He hung over her, motionless. His lips nibbled at her ear. "Are you all right?"
She was silent, turning her head to avoid the lips and tongue that were circling her ear. The numbness of her vagina lessened and she could feel the glans of his cock throbbing inside her. Surprised that his entry hadn't been too painful, she relaxed, then felt the crown move slowly and more deeply into her, spreading her cunt walls. Her clitoris twitched as his huge prick probed deeper, and again she felt the eddying currents begin to course through her. She thought Oh God! How can I prevent him from knowing how good this feels?
"Ah, baby, you're tight! Mm!"
His mouth covered hers. She turned her head quickly and placed her hand across her lips in defense against his probing tongue. Slowly his cock pressed into her until she felt his pubic hair mesh with hers, and his scrotal sac lie warm and prickling against her twitching anus. She felt no pain, only a pleasant sense of fullness and a vigorous thrust and throb of his glans somewhere deep within her.
She recalled a sermon she had heard years past, in which the minister had defined sin as "a choice of the will". In clarification, he had cited the case of a woman being raped. If she chose to enjoy it, he'd said, that was sin! As currents of delight began to flow through every nerve, and her nipples tingled under his greedy sucking, she thought bitterly how different reality was from textbook morality. In the ceiling mirror, she could see the working of his butt muscles as he raised and lowered his hips with each slow withdrawal and deep thrust. She could also detect the involuntary movement of her legs as she raised her ass to meet his every stroke. Her entire body was aflame with uncontrollable fires burning away any pretense of choice. She moaned.
"You coming?" he asked.
"Oh! OH!" She felt the short savage thrust of his cock as he buried it within her, then the first hot jet of his seminal discharge. Her legs clamped over his asscheeks, spurring him deeper yet, and the dam inside her burst, releasing still another pent-up flood of ecstasy.
Physically spent and semi-conscious, she rested, eyes closed, only dimly aware that he no longer lay on top of her. If he'd only go away, she thought, sleep would come and bring an end to this nightmare. Has he left? Opening her eyes, she found him climbing back in bed; the camera was back on its tripod.
"My God!" she cried. "Haven't you done enough to me?"
He swung his right leg over her and knelt, his knees resting on either side of her breasts. Lowering himself gently to rest his asscheeks on her stomach, he said, "Baby, you've got the juiciest pussy I've ever seen. You wouldn't want me to quit now. The best part is yet to come."
She dropped her gaze from his glittering eyes and smug smile to his tanned, hairy chest, then down to his genitals, which lay slick and glistening in the white cleft of her breasts.
"What...?" She couldn't complete the question. To her horror, she knew what his next demand would be. His flaccid cock-the "suckle stick" he had mentioned-was a thick mass of flesh, wet with a mixture of her cunt juices and his semen. She gagged and nearly vomited, wondering frantically how she could get out of this. Tears flowed as she looked up at him to plead, "Please let me up. I must douche or I may get pregnant."
"Hey!" he exclaimed, then whistled. "You better hope you are, baby. Think how great that would make your old man feel. You better tuck that shrunken prick of his in your sweet little snatch tonight, just in case." He slid forward, bringing his genitals closer to her face.
"Please let me up." She tried another tack. "I'm due at an afternoon tea." Glancing at the electric clock on the dresser, she added. "It's two-thirty. I can still make it-"
"Honey, I know all about it. I've fucked more than one of those old bitches. Believe me, any one of them would gladly exchange places with you." His cock, wet and slimy, lay directly under her chin.
She tried again. "How come a handsome young man like you has to force himself on a woman. I should think-"
"Quit stalling, baby." Raising himself, he fingered his cock and pressed it to her hips.
She jerked her head aside.
"Damn you!" Clutching her hair, he forced her face forward. "Open your mouth."
"Nnnooo ..." she muttered through clenched teeth.
He slapped her face. "Open up."
Like Rolfe's penis, the skin of his cock was soft, but the likeness ended there. This was a mouthful of thick muscle that was coming to life quickly. His pubic hair tickled her nostrils as he forced his prick deep into her mouth. The scent of his semen and her juices clinging to the hair at the base of his shaft combined with the strong male odor of his groin to produce a strangely erotic musk. His cock was swelling quickly and she drew her head back, gagging.
"Come on, baby! Do a good job and we'll call it quits."
With some hope at last of being free of him, she sucked energetically until, without warning, geysers of semen burst into her mouth. He grasped her head, holding it steady until the last drops had been ejected, not releasing it until he was satisfied she had swallowed the whole of his discharge.
"Now may I get up?" she asked coldly.
"In a minute, baby." With his left hand he reached out to touch the camera. "Lie still." His limp cock hung above her mouth as the flash exploded. "Okay," he said.
She lay looking up at him for a moment as he stood beside the bed. "How much do you want for those pictures?"
"They're not for sale."
"I'll give you a thousand dollars for them, right now."
"Oh, no. They're insurance, baby. All the women I fuck want an encore, can't wait. Just in case you prove the exception, these will convince you you'd better come whenever I call you."
He wasn't ready to call it quits for the day, she soon learned. Instead, he forced her to shower with him, then led her back to bed. Completely exhausted when he did leave, at quarter to six, she had to replace the semen-splotched linen on the bed, shower and dress hastily, then drive as fast as the law allowed to make it to the airport in time to meet Rolfe.
She hadn't seen him look so frail in several months, she thought as she followed his progress down the plane ramp. He was carrying his small portfolio as though it weighed more than his hundred thirty pounds.
"Are you all right, dear?" she asked, noting that his face was an ashen color that almost matched his sparse gray hair.
"I'm very tired, Paula." He pecked her on the cheek. "But the deal is closed, thank God. Did you enjoy yourself today?"
"Yes." She changed the subject quickly. "I think we'd better go right home and get you to bed. I can fix you a quick supper."
"Have you eaten?"
She hesitated, then answered brightly, "Yes, dear, I had a light snack this afternoon."
"Let's go home, then. I had planned a steak dinner for you tonight ..."
"I'm not hungry, really."
He spoke scarcely a word on the way home. Paula was careful not to start any conversation that might have led to questions about the tea he assumed she had attended that afternoon. Rolfe dozed several times. The yard lights were on when they arrived, and the maid came out to greet them and carry Rolfe's luggage into the house.
"If you don't mind, dear, I think I'll go right to bed. I had a bite to eat on the plane." He was undressed and in pajamas within a few minutes.
This was the first time she had ever known him to go to bed immediately without taking a shower and brushing his teeth. She kissed his forehead and tucked the covers around him.
He was already asleep when she slid into bed beside him. Despite her utter exhaustion she lay awake for a half-hour, dreading to awaken the following morning and face Rolfe's interrogation about her activities during his absence. She could think of no reasonable excuse for having missed the tea party, but thought perhaps she would wake up with a plausible explanation.
Some time later, she was dragged out of a deep sleep by fingers tugging her nightie up over her breasts. Only Rolfe's dry throaty whisper kept her from screaming.
"Paula, dear, I want to make love to you." His bony fingers moved across her belly like the claws of a crab. "You're not too tired, are you?" "No, of course not," she whispered wearily. His fingers foraged in her vaginal slit, which felt as dry as desert sand. She stroked the back of his neck with her left hand while cupping her left breast to his thin lips. "Rolfe, dear, do you think this is wise? The doctor ..."
"It's been more than three months, Paula. I'm hungry for your beautiful body."
She hesitated, thinking of Wells' suggestion that she have intercourse with her husband that night-just in case-but she recalled the physical contortions she had gone through the last time they had tried to stuff his puny flaccid prick into her.
"Love me, Rolfe, darling," she whispered. She slid a pillow under her buttocks as he settled between her legs. She had nothing left to offer him, not a drop of juice to wet his dry prong nor a nerve with life enough to respond. His arms went around her and she heard the rasp of rising passion in his throat just before she fell asleep.
Hours later she awakened, feeling cramped and uncomfortable, and cold. The covers were still pushed back. Rolfe lay in the same position. She felt an unearthly chill on the insides of her thighs and across her breast and belly where his inert body rested.
"Rolfe!" She extended her hand. His flesh was already chilled by death. She screamed and screamed . . .
Chapter Two
In the respectful silence of the crowd gathered at the graveside, the minister's recitation of the twenty-third Psalm rang out with mellow resonance. Shielded from the hot sun by the canvas canopy, Paula sat stiffly, her arms folded, staring over people's heads at the stretch of green grass on the gently rising hillside beyond the cemetery. A heavy widow's veil concealed her pale face and dry eyes from curious onlookers. Her mother sat on her left, occasionally dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes. Bill Bachrach was seated to her right, and his wife, Sally, was in the chair next to him as the minister droned the last words of the closing prayer.
Paula lowered her gaze, then inhaled sharply. In the last row, his mod-cut black hair clearly visible above the heads of those standing in front of him, was Tom Wells. In shame and shock, she burst into tears.
"Go ahead and cry, Paula. It's good to get it out of your system." Her mother put an arm around her shoulders.
Bill reached for her hand and patted it gently.
The minister bowed and extended his hand. Paula nodded an answer to his murmured condolences. She was looking around his shoulder, trying to keep Wells in view. She thought, My God! Is that monster ordering me to follow him by gesturing over his left shoulder?
The minister shook hands with Bill Bachrach and left.
"Come, Paula." Bill touched her elbow.
As she rose she caught a glimpse of Wells hurriedly striding toward the end of the line of cars. Whatever he had been trying to convey, she had no intention of following him. When they reached the limousine Sally kissed her on the cheek, then turned to her husband.
"Dear, I have such a frightful headache, really frightful. Would you mind ... I mean, would you ask the chauffeur to drive you to your office after taking Paula home?"
The chauffeur bowed. "I'll take him anywhere he wants to go, Madame."
"Run along, Sally," Bill said. "Hope it's not one of your migraines."
A half-hour later, the limousine pulled up in front of the Rohrig home. Bill escorted Paula and her mother to the front door. "If you think you'll be all right, Paula, I might as well run along. I have a lot of work ahead of me this afternoon and evening."
"I'll be fine, Bill. Thanks ever so much, for everything."
He turned to Paula's mother. "Of course, Mrs. Ingram, I'm delighted to know you. I only wish the occasion hadn't been such a sad one. In a week or so, perhaps ... I do hope we'll get to see more of you."
Paula watched his tall skinny frame slouch down the walk. She had never seen him appear so distraught. Rolfe had often remarked that Bill Bachrach had one of the keenest legal minds he had ever known. She waved as the car door closed after him.
"Mother, I think I'll lie down for a couple of hours."
"The best thing you can do, dear." She followed Paula into her bedroom. "Is there anything you want me to do .. . help with dinner . . . ?"
Paula slipped out of her black dress, then paused at the door to the dressing room. "Mrs. Anderson will take care of that. You rest too, Mom." She smiled wearily. "I'm so glad you could be here with me. Otherwise, I'd feel so alone."
"That's what mothers are for, dear."
After the dinner table that evening, Paula wore a skirt and loose-fitting pullover in strawberry color, while her mother was clad in a light blue shift with low neckline. In the soft yellow glow of candlelight, the older woman's skin appeared smooth and unlined. She looks only a year or two older than me, Paula mused.
"Mother, I like that blonde wig on you. It makes you look much younger than your-"
"Never mind. Don't say it." Mrs. Ingram touched the short curls with thin delicate fingers. "It goes well with fair skin and blue eyes, Paula. You should try one." She lifted a forkful of salad to her mouth. "Mrs. Anderson is a marvelous cook. Aren't you glad I insisted on candles? Nothing boosts a woman's morale like dinner by candlelight-unless it's a handsome, attentive man." She gulped slightly, as though she had blundered into a painful subject. "What I mean, dear," she went on, in a hurry to cover up, "it's so lonely living alone. I ... I ... "
Paula nodded. "Yes, I know what you mean, Mother. I've had my share of-"
"Paula, tell me, honestly." She set her fork down, placed both elbows on the table, and leaned forward. "Have you been sorry- Oh, I shouldn't be asking such a question!"
"I don't mind." Paula pushed her half-empty plate away from her and fingered the stem of her water glass. Her lovely lips were pressed tightly together, as though she was fearful of spilling the bitterness within her. "I could never live through another nine years like that. I was only nineteen ..."
Mrs. Ingram dabbed her napkin to her eyes. "Oh, Paula, forgive me. I was the one . . . Your father never forgave me for that. He said ..." She was crying softly, making no attempt to stem the flow of tears. "That was the real reason for our divorce a year later. I never told you."
Paula shrugged. "It's all right, Mother. I'm still young."
"Yes, and pretty, too." Mrs. Ingram raised her head to glance quickly at her daughter and felt a flush of pride in her delicate beauty. All the reasons she had used on herself nine years before to justify her daughter's marriage to a man of sixty-four popped up like the targets in a shooting gallery. "You might have married some slob whose idea of happiness was a forty-dollar-a-week job and a house full of kids and mortgaged furniture." She fidgeted nervously as Paula remained quiet, her eyes downcast. She realized this was no longer the girl who had once turned to her for guidance and mature counseling. "Just think, dear, you could have spent these last nine years washing dirty diapers every day."
"Yes, Mother, I've often thought of that. I've-" "Now look at the position you're in," Mrs. Ingram cut in before her daughter could have a chance to express regret for the children she'd never had. "As a wealthy widow you can take your time choosing a second husband. By the way, Paula, have you seen his will?"
"No."
"Have you any idea what's in it?" "No."
Mrs. Ingram drifted into moody silence for several moments. "You know what I think? I think you should hire a lawyer."
"Why should I have to do that?" Paula jerked her head up to regard her mother with startled eyes.
"He had a son, didn't he?"
"Yes, but Rolfe disowned him years ago."
"And a divorced wife?"
"So?"
"You mark my words. Whenever there's this much money involved, somebody's always trying to horn in."
"We'll see." Paula nodded thoughtfully. "Dessert, Mom?"
"Gracious, no. I'm trying to stay at a hundred eight pounds." She cast a side glance at Paula's trim figure. "I'd say that's about the same as your weight, isn't it?"
"A pound or two less." As they entered the living room Paula said, "Excuse me, Mother. I want to go through Rolfe's desk and files. You know how to operate the color TV. Let me know if you want anything."
"I'll be perfectly happy, thanks. A couple of my favorite programs are on tonight."
As Paula seated herself in Rolfe's swivel chair in the den, she felt like a ghoul about to probe the secrets of the dead. She had seldom entered this room, which Rolfe had used as a sanctuary in his frequent solitary moods. The lamp cast a circle of bright light over the top of the desk and only dimly illuminated the fireplace, the leather lounge and the shelves of books. Removing Rolfe's key case from her pocket, she tossed it on the clean brown blotter and reached for his loose-leaf appointment book. She found the page on which he had made the last entry, dated Thursday June 10, then worked backward. Few of the pages were blank. Cryptic one- and two-word notes in his precise, left-leaning handwriting were of little meaning to her. She worked slowly back through page after page, finally coming to an entry that startled her. On the line for the two p.m. appointment for April 9 were the words: Sign new will-Bill's office.
She had a sharp recollection of that day, which had been cold and rainy. Bill Bachrach had driven out to pick him up. Despite her heated objections, he'd insisted that he had to go to Bill's office to sign some very important papers. The doctor would be furious with him, she'd said. It had been only five weeks since his heart attack.
"Paula, darling!" She recalled his words vividly, for it was one of the very few times he had shown his affection for her in anyone else's presence. "I must do something I should have done years ago." Remembering, she could feel his cool dry lips on her forehead, the passionless kiss of a loving father. He had stood for a moment, his hands on her shoulders, his watery gray eyes close to tears. "I love you, Paula. Everything will be all right. Let's go, Bill."
She was close to tears herself, remembering.
After searching for several moments, she found the key to the desk lock and opened the double drawer. She scanned the tightly bunched file folders and located the one headed WILL. Inside was a certified copy of a document dated two months after her marriage. She quickly thumbed through all folders in the "W" section, hoping to find a copy of the new will.
She couldn't find one. The center drawer contained nothing but pencils, erasers and paper clips in a compartmented tray. A careful search through all the files would certainly uncover a copy of the new will; there had to be one, Paula thought. Meanwhile, she would have to be content to plod through the document she held in her hand.
She found the long introductory clauses tedious and was only confused by the succession of lengthy paragraphs introduced by repetitious WHEREASES. Quickly skipping through the paragraphs of specific bequests to servants and the two which cut off his former wife and his son with gifts of one dollar each, she came to the section which dealt with the bequests of several charitable organizations and to herself. After a careful reading of these, she tried to uncover the specific intent beneath the tangle of legal verbiage in which it was phrased. A tone of bitterness flavored the whole document, as though the scandalous conduct of those he had loved and trusted had disillusioned him completely.
As she understood the provisions of this will, she would immediately inherit one-half of the community property acquired after their marriage. His half plus the bulk of his estate, which he had acquired prior to marrying Paula, were to be set up in a trust fund for three years. She would inherit one-half of this trust at the end of that time, provided she couldn't be proven guilty of any scandalous conduct; the other half would go to specified charities. The entire trust fund would go to these organizations in the event Paula should be adjudged guilty of disgraceful conduct.
She replaced the will in the folder and put it back in the drawer. She decided that she did indeed need a lawyer.
"Paula?" Her mother stood in the doorway.
"Yes?"
"There's a young man here to see you. Goodness, he's handsome!"
"I'm too busy to see anyone tonight. Besides, I don't feel like-"
"Good evening, Mrs. Rohrig!" Tom Wells loomed into sight over her mother's shoulder. "I told your sister I'd only take a minute."
Paula rose, embarrassed by the simpering smile on her mother's face. "This is my mother, Mister Wells. I'm sure you can understand that I don't care to talk with anyone tonight."
"Your mother?" He stepped around Mrs. Ingram, holding her elbow lightly. "Oh, no! I can't believe that. Why she doesn't look a day over-"
"Mister Wells, what's so important?"
"These." He held up a manila envelope. "I was sure you'd want to see them as soon as possible."
"Mother, do you mind?"
"Oh, excuse me." Mrs. Ingram paused, staring at Wells like a teeny-bopper about to squeal.
"I'd swear you were twins, if it weren't for your lovely blonde hair, Mrs. ..."
"Ingram. Irma Ingram."
"Mother ..."
"Yes, dear. So nice meeting you, Mister Wells. Paula, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed. Good night. I do hope I see you again, Mister Wells."
Wells gave a final glance down the hall, then closed the door. "She's cute," he said with an evil grin.
"Have you no sense of decency?"
"What's that?" He walked to the desk opposite her. "You mean like pissing in private?"
"Damn you! I buried my husband today. I should think you'd at least leave me-"
He tossed the manila envelope on the desk. "Don't give me any of that bullshit! I know how anxious you've been to see what those snapshots look like enlarged."
Her face paled. She stared at the envelope with fear and loathing, as one might look at a poisonous snake.
"Go ahead, baby, take a look. They're fabulous."
She stretched forth a hand that seemed to become a witch's claw in some horrible dream, opened the clasp and empted the contents on the blotter.
"What do you think, baby?" He spread the photos face up, separating them, pointing to first one, and then another. "You ever seen any lovelier pictures of a real cunt? Look at this one. Look at your beautiful face framed by your spread thighs, and the pussy. Hey! You know you can actually count the cunt hairs ..."
"What do you want for them?"
"Honey, they're priceless, you know that. I even threw in one shot of my genitals. I took that one especially for you. Look at that big fat stick, baby, the one you love to suck. Come on, look!" His tone of voice changed from light banter to tough insistence.
"They're . . . very unusual," she said hoarsely, picking up one of them. "I'd like to have all of them. Is five thousand dollars enough?"
"That's chickenshit, honey. I'll shop around. Maybe there's someone in this city who'll pay more."
"Ten thousand. I can't offer any more." She gripped the edge of the desk and closed her eyes. The room started to spin. "I don't feel well. Please go." She sat down in the swivel chair, almost toppling it, and laid her head against the back. When she opened her eyes a few moments later, Wells lay stretched out on the leather lounge.
"Goddamn, you sure got a nice place here. I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life here."
"If you don't go," she said wearily, "I'll have to call the police."
"You do that, stupid. I'll wait right here. Those photos ought to be in the police files. They're downright filthy." He said nothing more for several minutes.
Paula was quiet, beyond tears.
"Tell you what, honey. You keep those pictures. I got the originals. Give you a chance to study them, make up your mind what they're really worth. I have to be going in a little while, but I have time for one good lay. Come on, undress me, baby."
Paula jumped to her feet. "Goddamn you!" she cried. "You're a ... a ... "
"Take it easy. You'll wake your mommy. Come on. No pictures tonight. Just a plain old fucking party."
She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from screaming. "I . . . I . . . can't. I haven't finished my period."
"Oh, too bad." He exhaled deeply. "That's one of the occupational hazards in my business." Then he grinned. "Tell you what. Just slip my pants down and suck it, sugar. Do a good job, and I promise I'll leave right after." "No! Get out now."
He sat up and glowered. "I got a full load for some woman who can appreciate it. Maybe that cute blonde babe would-"
"Oh, my God, no!"
He lay back and smiled. "I'm waiting."
Unsteadily, she approached the couch.
"You don't have to undress. Just take off that sweater so I can play with your titties a little."
The sweater ruffled her hairdo as she tugged it off, revealing her bare breasts. Like a plaster dress mannequin, she sat on the edge of the couch, her legs extended stiffly, while he nibbled at her breasts.
"You have gorgeous tits, baby. What the hell did that old bastard do with them, anyway?"
She was silent, staring over his head at the third shelf of books in the corner. If she could manage to read the title of any one of them, she thought, she might be able to retain her sanity.
"I'm sorry I don't have the time to suck these all night, sugar. Go ahead. Go down on me."
She had difficulty with his belt buckle. He pushed her hand away, loosened it himself and tugged his slacks and shorts below his knees. "Wait a minute." He reached back over his head to find the switch on the pole lamp. A spot of bright light encircled his bared thighs and the enormous shaft of hard flesh angling upward from his thick patch of black pubic hair. "Okay, baby. Go to it."
Her head moved into the circle of light. She stifled revulsion that nearly caused her to vomit. I'm on stage, she thought, an actress in the world's filthiest play.
After he had gone, she returned to the study to stuff the photos back into the envelope and take them to her room. She had planned to tear them up and flush them down the toilet but decided she'd better keep them in case she had the opportunity to buy the originals. Otherwise, she might not be sure she had them all. She opened a suitcase and tossed the envelope inside, then replaced the bag on the luggage rack. She had washed her teeth and was gargling when her mother appeared in the doorway, clad in a short nightie.
"Is he married, Paula?"
"No."
"He'd make a handsome husband for some deserving young woman."
Paula set the bottle of mouthwash down and turned to face her. After a slight hesitation, she said coldly, "Mother, you listen to me. He's the most evil man I've ever met. Don't you get mixed up with him."
"Hmm!" Mrs. Ingram cocked her head. "Really?" She turned, took several steps, then stopped. "Pleasant dreams, dear."
Chapter Three
The sound of angry voices coming from the living room awakened Paula. A man and a woman were in vehement argument. She sat up quickly and slid her legs over the side of the bed before she realized that her mother had probably turned on the TV. She had intended rising at eight but had slept soundly and felt refreshed by the extra hour's rest.
"Good morning, dear," her mother greeted her as she entered the living room. "I can tell by looking at you that you had a restful night."
"I feel fine. Had your breakfast?"
"Yes, but I'll join you for coffee."
The telephone rang while Paula was eating grapefruit. "I'll answer it," Mrs. Ingram said.
"There's an extension in the living room. On the end table beside ..."
"Yes, I know." She disappeared around the corner.
Paula listened to the click of the lifted receiver, then her mother's musical "Hello?" After an exclamation of surprise, Mrs. Ingram's voice dropped to an indistinguishable murmur, then finished with an audible "Thank you very much."
"These salesmen," she muttered, returning to the breakfast table.
"Who was it?"
"Oh, one of those deals . . . you know . . . 'You have been selected to receive a free gift . . . ' " She crushed a piece of note paper in her right hand. Her face was slightly flushed.
Paula chuckled. "You look like you've been talking to your best beau, Mom."
Mrs. Ingram rattled her cup in the saucer before lifting it to her lips. "Salesmen always upset me, especially these fast-talking ones. What are you planning to do today?"
"I had planned to take you shopping in Mission Valley ..."
As Mrs. Ingram opened her mouth to speak, the phone rang again. "Ill get it. Finish your toast," she told Paula. She returned in a few moments and said, "It's Sally Bachrach."
Paula carried her coffee into the living room and settled comfortably in a lounge chair. Sally was known to din one's ear with an hour's flow of chatter once she got started. "Paula? Thank God, I found you at home! I must see you. Can you meet me for an early lunch? The earlier the better."
"Mother and I were going shopping. We could meet you any time you say."
"No, no, please. I must talk to you alone. Can you meet me at that new restaurant just off Interstate Eight-oh, what's the name of that place? You know, the one with the neon sign of a rooster ..."
"The Chanticleer? Three or four miles west of here?"
"That's the one. Could you be there at eleven-thirty?"
"I'll be there, Sally."
"Oh, God! Don't fail me, Paula, please."
The note of desperation persisted in Paula's mind after she had cradled the receiver.
"Something wrong?" her mother asked when she returned to the dining room.
"I hope not. Sally wants to see me at lunch. We'll have to take our shopping trip another day . . . maybe tomorrow, Mother. I'm sorry."
Mrs. Ingram's face brightened. "Oh, that's all right." She waited until Paula sat down. "I did want to look at some dresses advertised in Sunday's paper. Would you mind if I drove one of yours cars?"
"Of course not," Paula said absently. "I'll give you the keys to the Cadillac. Maybe I could meet you some place later this afternoon."
"Oh, I shouldn't be that long, dear. I'd best see you back here. Well, I'll get dressed."
Paula paid no attention when her mother rose and left the table. She filled her coffee cup and carried it into the master bedroom suite. Some time later, she stepped out of the shower to find her mother in the bathroom doorway.
"How do I look?" Mrs. Ingram whirled around, her short skirt rising to expose most of her shapely thighs.
Paula glanced at the low neckline, the freshly combed blonde wig and the soft gray eyeliner and powder-blue shadow that accented the sparkle of her mother's blue eyes. "I doubt you'll find a dress that will make you look any more attractive than that one."
"Thanks, dear." She touched Paula's wet cheek with a finger she had put to her lips.
"Oh, the car keys. They're in the drawer there, Mother. The ones on that monogrammed ring. Have fun."
Paula arrived at The Chanticleer fifteen minutes early to find Sally seated in a booth with a martini in her hand. From the glassy look in Sally's brown eyes, this was not her first drink of the day.
"Hi! Have a drink?"
Paula watched her toss off the last of her martini. "It's a bit early for me. What are you celebrating, Sally?" "Who's celebrating?"
Paula motioned to the waiter. "Bring us two coffees, please. Black." When the waiter moved away, she touched Sally's hand. "Whatever it is, it isn't worth a drunk driving charge or smashing up a car and getting killed."
She had always admired Sally's carefully groomed appearance. Today, however, her brown hah was carelessly brushed, her white blouse was tear-stained and the collar grimy. The top button was open, giving a view of the deep cleft between Sally's large, tightly brassiered breasts. She kept her head downcast as the waiter served the coffee. Teardrops fell unheeded to splotch more wet spots on the white nylon of her blouse. Paula was at a loss to find an opening line of comfort that wouldn't sound corny. Again she touched Sally's hand. "I want to help in any way I can, believe me. You know I consider you my closest friend. The fact that you thought of me ... "
Without looking up, Sally blurted out, "Do you know a Tom Wells?"
Paula's heart fluttered. Panic threatened to overwhelm her, constricting her throat, setting her hands trembling. "Who?" The word dropped from her lips like fine china shattering into brittle pieces.
"Tom Wells," Sally repeated, unaware of the shock the name had induced. "I saw him yesterday, after the funeral. He asked me questions about you. Wanted to know-oh, so many things." She raised her head but didn't look at Paula. Instead she stared vacantly across the room. "For God's sake, Paula, whatever you do, don't be caught alone with him. He's a devil-not figuratively-a real live devil."
If it weren't for the back of this booth, Paula thought, I'd fall flat on the floor. "What. ... did he do to you?"
Sally put a handkerchief to her nose and sniffled. Her words sounded nasal and muffled. "I must talk to someone, Paula. I'm going crazy." Her hands shook as if palsied. "If only I'd called the police that first day he raped me ... "
Paula waited while Sally blew her nose. "Why didn't you call the police?"
"He raped me in my own bedroom-had a Polaroid camera with a self-timing device. He said he had a friend in this with him, and if I called the police, his buddy would swear that I'd invited both of them in and had posed willing with Tom while the other one took the pictures. My God, Paula, you should see them! Close-ups of my . . . my ... He even has one showing me . . . going down on him. Oh, God!"
"Is he blackmailing you?"
"Moneywise and otherwise. He calls me up any time he feels like it and orders me to come to his house for more sex. Then he takes more pictures. I've already paid him more than five thousand dollars for copies!"
"Can't you talk to Bill about this?"
"I might have the first time . . . but this has been going on for three months!"
Paula thought she saw a way out for Sally as well as for herself. "It takes an expert to handle a blackmailer, Sally. I think you should hire a good lawyer and have him employ a reliable private detective."
"He's bled me for every dollar I had. Bill cut my household allowance in half several months ago .. . some sort of temporary financial tie-up, he says. I have no jewelry worth pawning."
"Let me help, then. I'd be glad to pay the fee, whatever it is. You can pay me back whenever it's convenient."
"I couldn't do that, Paula. I'll work this out some way." She clutched her water glass. "Maybe I'll kill him," she muttered.
"Don't ever say that! You let me know when you've found the right man to handle this. I'll give you the cash to pay his fee. Right now, you'd better have something to eat."
The lunch evidently sobered Sally enough so she seemed able to drive safely. Paula waited until she'd driven away, then returned to the restaurant and entered the phone booth. She realized she'd better get a good lawyer herself, not only to protect her from whatever schemes Wells had in mind but also to look after her interests in Rolfe's estate. She found the number of the local Bar Association, dialed and asked for the manager. After explaining that she wanted to hire the best legal talent available to handle a sizeable estate matter, she requested the name of the best-qualified local attorney. After a wait of several minutes, he read off the names of five attorneys who specialized in this field. She repeated the names and addresses as she had written them down. In answer to her question as to the top man of these five, he reiterated that every one of them was eminently qualified.
Driving along the freeway to the downtown business district, she mulled over a disturbing point Sally had mentioned about her husband, Bill. He was in financial trouble of some kind. Rolfe had named him administrator of the trust estate which was to be set up for three years under the terms of the old will. Paula wondered if there was some connection between the fact that she could find no copy of the new will and Bill's present financial plight.
The first name on the list of lawyers was Asa Bingham; his office address was Room 1500, Second National Bank Building. With some misgiving, Paula approached the polished mahogany door on which his name appeared in large gold letters. Beneath it, in smaller letters, were the names of five other men. Asa Bingham, she thought, envisioning a tall spare old man of grim visage typical of the early New England Puritan. She could never discuss with such a man the filthy mess in which Tom Wells had involved her-and Sally.
"I beg your pardon," said someone behind her.
She stepped aside as a young man pushed the door open and courteously added, "After you, Madame."
The reception room was furnished with leather lounges and leather chairs. The receptionist slid the glass panel open. "May I help you?"
"I was given the name of Mister Bingham by the Bar Association. Is he busy?"
"Just a moment, please." She spoke into the phone, then turned back to say, "His secretary will be right out."
Paula chose one of the lounge chairs and was about to sit down when a young woman stepped through the swinging leather-padded door. "I'm Miss Michaels," she said, smiling warmly. "May I help you?"
"I'm Paula Rohrig." The name brought a nod of recognition, and a broader smile to Miss Michaels' face. "I'd like to see Mister Bingham for a few minutes, if he's not too busy."
"Of course, Mrs. Rohrig. Come in, please." She led the way down a long corridor to the corner suite, held the door open and said, "Make yourself comfortable. Mister Bingham will return in a few minutes."
Two of the walls were mostly glass, giving a sweeping view of San Diego Bay and the city. The other two were lined with framed engravings of early English court scenes and parchments from several universities. Paula glanced at one from Princeton-Bachelor of Arts in philosophy; one from Oxford-a master's degree in philosophy, if her slight knowledge of Latin was correct; and one from Harvard-a doctorate in Law. He can't be very old, she thought, judging by the dates inscribed.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Rohrig."
Paula turned, and her hand flew up to stifle a gasp. He was a Negro!
"Yes," he said, a smile of tolerant amusement lighting his face. "I'm black ... if it makes any difference to you."
"Oh, no! Please." Her face felt as though a blowtorch were flaming inside it. "Of course not. Forgive me, please. It's just. . . well, I pictured you . . . your name ... I expected to meet a gruff old New England sea captain type."
"Please be seated, Mrs. Rohrig." He held the back of a leather arm chair until she settled into it.
He was tall, Paula noted as he stepped briskly around his desk to stand facing her.
"Would you care for a cup of coffee?"
"Yes, please." He was very light-skinned, with Caucasian features. Her glance dropped to scan his physique, clad in a dark blue suit. She was shocked to find herself noting the bulge in his genitals in his tight-fitting trousers.
"Miss Michaels, would you bring us some coffee, please?"
"I like mine black," Paula remarked, then blushed again as he grinned.
"Now, Mrs. Rohrig, what can we do for you?"
While Paula briefly sketched the facts about the old will, the lack of a copy of the new one, and her fears as to Bill Bachrach's present financial condition, Bingham listened impassively.
Miss Michaels brought coffee. "Sugar, Mrs. Rohrig?"
She declined. Bingham waited until Miss Michaels had left, then said, "I've known Mister Bachrach for several years. He has an enviable reputation in the profession. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about on that score."
Paula fidgeted. She was impressed with his educational background and his poise. If anyone could handle Wells, she was certain this man could. But how could she ever tell him about the filthy sexual details?
He sat back in his chair, his long slender fingers touching at the tips, his soft brown eyes studying her. "You haven't told me everything, have you?"
"No." Inhaling deeply, she blurted out, "I'm being blackmailed."
"Oh?" He swiveled his chair so he was facing the windows looking out over the city. He waited.
"The details are ... " She couldn't bring herself to say more.
"All blackmail is filthy," he said, still facing away from her. "In my judgment, Mrs. Rohrig, you should hire an attorney. Oh, I don't mean because of the blackmail, although he might very well help out with that. But there's a lot at stake and you should protect your interests." He swung his chair back and placed his arms on the desk. "We handle nothing but estate and trust matters in this office. I suggest you contact two or three of the others whose names were given you. If you then decide you want us to help, we'll be glad-very glad-to do so." He rose.
Paula sat for a moment, undecided, then stood. "Thanks very much. May I call you any time?"
He handed her a card. "Any time. My home phone number's there as well. It's unlisted, so don't lose the card."
Paula returned home a little after four. Mrs. Anderson met her at the door to hand her a note with a phone number scribbled on it. "A Mister Wells called twice. Said he wanted you to call him as soon as you came in."
"Thank you. Has my mother returned?"
"Not yet, Mrs. Rohrig."
In her bedroom Paula kicked off her shoes and stretched out on a chaise lounge. Let Bingham handle Wells, she thought. All the way home, she had been unable to think of anything else. Actually, when it came to handling legal matters, she knew a man's race shouldn't matter. She was sure she would find the courage to tell him all the slimy details of Wells' behavior when the time came for it. She already had a warm, friendly feeling toward the man.
She got up and walked slowly into the dressing room, as though drawn by an unseen force. Without thinking, she found herself taking down the suitcase from the shelf and removing the manila envelope. She had only dimly seen the photographs the previous night. She spread them out on top of her dressing table and picked one up.
She felt a pleasant tingling of her flesh as she examined the picture of her vaginal slit, the black hair glistening wetly, the ripe red slash between her cunt lips yawning an invitation, the flat expanse of her belly rising to the small white breasts capped with coral aureoles and delicately budded nipples.
The crotch of her panties felt tight and wet. She tossed the picture on the dressing table, pulled her dress over her head and shed her panties and brassiere. The color snapshot of Wells' genitals lay before her, stirring in her mind the remembered taste and smell of his cock. Her tongue laved her dry lips while her right hand gently stroked her breasts. Her fingers feathered down her belly to comb through the crisp curly hair. The tip of her middle finger circled her clitoris, sending a shiver of exquisite delight up to her navel. The fiery need in her loins flamed up in a wild demand for physical relief.
In the bedroom, she stood with knees bent and eyes closed while her fingers massaged her hairy mound and her thumb circled her tingling clitoris in slow rhythm. Infrequently during the past seven years she had been forced to seek release of tension through self-induced orgasm. But this frantic urgency of the moment was somehow deeper, more demanding than anything she had previously experienced. The palm of her right hand fanned across her pubic mound with the desperate speed of a fire fighter beating out flames in low brush. "Mm!" she moaned as her knees trembled. Premonitory tremors shook her breasts, back and thighs, then built into successive shock waves of rapturous release that left her weak. Shaken and distraught, she glanced at herself in the mirror.
As she washed the mucous from her hands, the phone rang. She hurried into the bedroom, sat on the bed and lifted the receiver.
"Mrs. Rohrig, please."
Oh, Jesus! she thought.
"Is Mrs. Rohrig there?"
"Speaking."
"You get my message?"
She hesitated. "I just got home a few minutes ago. Is this Mister Wells? What do you want now?"
"Don't give me that bullshit! Got a pencil and paper?"
"Yes." In the background a woman's voice wailed. "What's that?"
"Some old drunken bitch getting fucked. None of your business. Write down this address."
Paula wrote. The voices of a man and a woman could be heard indistinctly above Wells' words.
"Got it? Okay. You be here in. . . thirty minutes."
"What address is this?"
"My house. Be here ... or else."
Paula fumbled the receiver back into its cradle, slowly walked over to get her purse from the chaise lounge and took out Bingham's card. That woman's voice! Suppose . . . She slipped on a pair of slacks and a pullover. "Mother!" she called into the hall.
"She hasn't come home yet, Mrs. Rohrig," the cook answered from the kitchen.
Paula returned to her room and lifted the receiver. She dialed the first three digits of Bingham's number, then stopped. Oh, God! Suppose . . . suppose that was Mother's voice I heard on the phone! If so, bringing Bingham into it now could lead him to conclude that we're both wanton sluts, not innocent victims.
Confused and frightened, she couldn't channel her thoughts into logical order, but she knew she had to make sure her mother couldn't have been that foolish. On her way out she stopped at the kitchen door to tell Mrs. Anderson not to prepare dinner.
As she stepped out the front door, a noisy old car pulled up in the driveway. Paula had never seen the pudgy man who slouched toward her with unsteady steps.
"Is Mrs. Rohrig home?" he called in a high nasal voice before he had covered half the walk.
"I'm Mrs. Rohrig." Close up, she could detect the odor of bad whiskey and uncleansed flesh. She saw that his white shirt and baggy trousers, tightly belted across his bulging belly, had obviously been worn and slept in for several consecutive days and nights. "I'm sorry, but I have an appointment. I'm already late."
"I'm Rolfe Rohrig, Junior."
"Oh, no!" she gasped. "You couldn't be!"
He put a hand to his mouth as he laughed, but not soon enough to hide badly decayed teeth. He reached into his back pocket, extracted a greasy billfold and opened it to display his social security card. "Beautiful house you have," he said. "I don't suppose Dad told you much about me."
"No. He never really spoke of you to me."
"We didn't get along . . . couldn't see eye to eye on quite a few things."
"I really have to leave, Mister Rohrig. Maybe in a day or two ..."
"How'd he die? I mean, he didn't suffer much ..."
Paula closed her eyes against the horror of that image. "No," she answered, trying to control her voice. "He died in his sleep."
"Good! I hoped that much for him anyway. I was unable to get to the funeral. I been sick the last ten days. Only heard of it yesterday . . . drove all the way from San Francisco . . . left as soon as I heard."
"That's too bad. He was buried yesterday afternoon." She turned to walk toward her car.
He waddled after her. "I hired a lawyer this afternoon."
Paula opened her car door, pushing it wide to keep him at a distance. "If I were in your place, I'd do that too. I'm really sorry, but I-"
He leaned over to put his head close to the open window, causing Paula to turn her head to avoid the stench of his breath. "I hate to ask, but I don't know anyone here well enough . . . The lawyer said he'd handle this on a contingency basis, but he couldn't advance me anything ..."
Paula opened her purse.
He wiped spittle from his fat lips. "I'll pay you back soon as ... "
"Here's twenty dollars." She shoved the bills into his outstretched hand. "I don't have much with me."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot."
"Good-bye, Mister Rohrig." As she drove away, she glanced into the rear-view mirror to see him hurrying to his car. No wonder Rolfe had disowned him! She didn't look back again. If she had, she would have noticed that his battered old car had followed her onto the highway and was keeping pace a quarter-mile behind her.
She had more important things on her mind. She had to hurry to arrive within the time Wells had specified. She kept wondering if that had been her mother's voice she'd heard in the background when Wells was on the phone. She shuddered. If her mother wasn't there, Paula was certain she would face another degrading sex session with Wells. If her mother was there . . . She recalled her mother's blush at the breakfast table after taking that telephone call, the slip of note paper she'd hidden in her hand. Drops of sweat beaded on her temples. The palms of her hands felt clammy on the wheel. "Oh God! It had to be Mother!" she moaned aloud. "What forty-seven-year-old woman could resist the flattery of a husky, handsome young con man with a throbbing prick?"
Chapter Four
Hickham Place was less than half a block in length, hidden away at the edge of a canyon in a poor neighborhood on the east side of town. Paula braked the car to a stop at the end of the intersecting street. A beige Cadillac was parked in front of a small white frame house some three hundred feet to her left.
"Mother! You fool!" she sobbed. The car, still in gear, crept forward until the front wheels bumped against the curb. Paula jerked the lever into reverse and backed the car into a parking space in front of a vacant lot. She sat hunched over the steering wheel for several minutes until her hands were still, then got out, locked the car and walked to the cottage at the end of Hickham Place.
An angry Wells opened the front door before she had a chance to knock.
"You're ten minutes late," he growled. He was not only angry, but naked as well. He slammed the door. "Come in here!"
She kept her eyes on the bare dirty floor as she followed him through the small parlor and into a vacant room.
He stood aside as he motioned her through a doorway. "Take your clothes off and join the party."
"Keep your hands off me!" she cried, slapping his hand away from her buttocks as she passed him.
The room was large. Six-inch gaps in the plaster of ceiling and walls showed that this had once been two small bedrooms.
"MOTHER!" Paula screamed.
On a king-size bed at the far end of the room, Mrs. Ingram knelt facing the headboard. A skinny blond man was on his knees behind her, his pale bony ass pounding at her as he humped like a male dog mounted on a bitch. Paula sank to her knees. A hard boot to her asscheeks sent her sprawling forward and kept her from losing consciousness.
"I told you to get your clothes off. She's getting it up the ass." Wells broke into raucous laughter. "Shit! She likes it. Ask her." He jerked Paula to her feet. "You want me to strip you?"
"No." She unzipped her dress, moving toward the bed.
Her mother turned her head. Tears flowed down her puffed and reddened cheeks. Her eyes were as glassy as a wino's.
"Paula! Oh, my God! Paula! They beat me. They-"
"Shut up, Grandma!" The thin young man riding her turned his head to look at Paula out of pale gray eyes. His face was splotched with pimples and his grin showed yellowed teeth. "She likes it," he said. "This is my second time around." He lowered his head to bite the back of her neck. "I'm coming, Grandma. Whee!"
Paula jerked her dress over her head to shut out the sight of her mother's hips thrusting back at him.
"Have a drink, baby!" Wells shoved a wine glass at her.
"No." She dropped her dress to the floor and reached back to unclasp her brassiere.
Her mother moaned. It was a weird and hollow sound, not of pain, but of drunken, animalistic lust.
"Baby, you sure got gorgeous tits," Wells said.
"Get those panty hose off. Quick!"
Paula peeled them over her hips. The two windows were covered with opaque paper pasted in the panes. She noticed a small patch of clear glass in the right hand corner of the window nearest the bed.
"Don't worry about that, baby," Wells said. "You can't see the bed from there. Besides, the house next door's been vacant for years."
"Come on, Grandma." The skinny blond lifted Mrs. Ingram off the bed. "We'll be right back, Tom, soon as I clean this corruption off both of us."
"Who's your friend?" Paula asked.
"Him? He's a junkie." Wells nodded toward the door through which they had left. "He's half nuts. Better not cross him. Get in bed, baby. Papa's got his joystick all ready for his baby." He flopped on the bed and pulled her down beside him. "Any time now. And do me a real loving job, you hear?"
This is a nightmare, she thought as he pulled her hair to tug her face down to his belly. I'll wake up any minute. But the sour scent rising from the matted hah at the base of his cock denied her this refuge from reality. She opened her mouth to engulf the enormous glans but he pushed her face away from it.
"Take it easy, baby. I don't want to come now. Nibble it. Make me tingle all over down there first."
She clamped her lips together and brushed them over his belly, moving slowly up one side and down the other. Several times she tried to take the swollen crown in her mouth but he yanked her hair to jerk her head away. He spread his thighs and forced her face between his legs.
"You can do better than that," he growled. "Use your tongue, sweetheart. Bathe the insides of my thighs." He lifted his legs and placed them over her shoulders. "Go after it. You know, the way I did you."
Her mother staggered into the room supported by the young man. Her black hair was wet and stringy. "Paula! Oh, God! What have I done?"
"Tell the old bitch to shut up, Joey, for chrissake! She's disturbing the peace and quiet."
"I'll have her singing in a minute. Don't worry. Just leave it all to your pal Joey." He flung her onto the bed and flopped beside her. "Shut up, Grandma! Joey's gonna eat puss."
Paula closed her eyes. Her mouth was filled with warm hard flesh. Soon the bed began to vibrate in a slow steady rhythm. Wells' hips were still. Her mother's voice broke the silence, sounding like a cat's meowing in the night. A low-pitched hum joined in to make a duet of pleasure.
"Wait, Ma," Wells cried. "We'll come together." His hips bucked up to ram his cock deeper into Paula's mouth. "I'm close, baby." He clutched Paula's ears.
"Oh! OH!" Mrs. Ingram wailed. "I can't help it! OOH!"
The bed bounced like a truck on a rough road. Paula felt the surge of semen pounding up in Wells' cock to burst in a geyser of nauseating mucous. When the last of his discharge had been drawn off, she rolled away from him, hung her head over the side and spat the thick fluid onto the floor. Wells failed to notice her action. He was engrossed with the sight of her mother thrashing out the last of her orgasm. Paula glanced at the two of them. Joey's head was caught in the fleshy vise of her mother's thighs.
"Your old lady's quite a fancy piece of ass, baby," Wells said.
"Can we go now?" Paula asked, sitting up.
"After we fuck, honey. It's early. What's your hurry?"
Joey disentangled himself from Mrs. Ingram's legs. "Tom! Let me have a go at the young one. I got a hard-on I could shove through the wall at Big Q."
"You gonna give it to her up the back road?" "Naw, Hell, I been up that way twice with the old lady."
"Okay, Joey boy! I'll play with her mama-if I ever get it up again."
"You heard the man! Lie down and open up."
Paula fell back as he pressed her shoulder. He scrambled on top of her and kneed her legs apart. She turned her face away from his lips. The acrid scent of her mother's female juices mingled with the foul odor of his breath. She gagged. Guiding the head of his cock between her vulva, he located her vaginal orifice and pushed. The crown slipped in easily.
"How's that, sugar?"
She bit her lip to cover a smile.
"Baby, I'll fill you so full of cum you'll float off the bed."
Paula rolled her head to avoid contact with his lips. Her mother lay still, staring at her. The glassy look had vanished from her eyes. Wells lay sprawled over her, nibbling at her breasts.
Daylight faded. In the semi-darkness Paula stared at the windows. She thought she saw the shadow of a man's head on the opaque paper on the pane. She stiffened. Through Joey's grunts and groans and Wells' heavy breathing, she thought she heard the crack of twigs and the rustle of dry grass. For a moment she was tempted to scream. She squinted and stared again. There was no shadow. There was no one to break the horrible spell of this nightmare of degradation.
"Shit!" Wells growled. "I forgot to take any pictures. Stay with her, Joey. Don't come yet. I'll get the camera and the lights. And you stay where you are, Grandma, or I'll knock your teeth in." He was back in less than a minute. "Good boy, Joey. Slow down till I can set this camera up."
Paula strained the muscles of her neck in an attempt to escape his lips, which were nibbling over her cheek. Joey twined his fingers in her hair and jerked her head.
"Kiss me, baby, while we lie and wait."
The foul odor sickened her as his mouth opened over hers.
"All set," Wells called out. "Joey, turn your face to the right and hold her head so I can get a picture of hers." A flashbulb flared. "Good! Now, Paula, be a good little girl and do as I say. You don't want to see your old lady beat up, do you?"
"No."
"Throw your legs over his back and dig your heels into his ass. Good! Now, Ma! Sit on the edge of the bed."
Mrs. Ingram broke into sobs. "I can't..."
"Damn you!"
"Mother, please! Do as he says. Let's get this over with."
"That's the girl, Ma! Now, take hold of his prick. Look up at the camera. See the birdie?" Another bulb flashed.
Mrs. Ingram broke into hysterical sobs.
"Shut up you bitch! Lie on your back and spread your legs. I'm setting the camera up on a tripod." He was quiet for several minutes.
"Hey, Tommy! You going to make prints of these and peddle 'em like we did-"
"For Chrissake, shut up, Joey. Okay, Ma! The timer's set. We'll get a shot of you enjoying a muff-diving act." He lay on the bed, his head between her legs. "Okay, Joey, shove it to her."
Joey's hips began to rotate slowly. Mrs. Ingram's legs were raised as Wells' hands caught them under her knees.
"Oh, God, Paula!" she whimpered.
"Smile, Ma," Wells sneered, "you're on candid camera." His head moved between her thighs.
The whimpers died. "Oh! No! OOH!" Mrs. Ingram shrieked.
Paula trembled. The flashbulb lighted the darkness. "Please!" she moaned. "Please end this . . . please."
The bed bounced as Joey thrust into her savagely. She felt the unwanted surges of animal lust sweep through her, and her hips swung in a wild uncontrollable frenzy.
"I'm coming with you, baby," Joey yelled. "We made the same plane. OOH! BABY! LET IT GO!"
Paula heard herself moaning ... or was that her mother? She lost consciousness.
The room was dark. For a moment she thought she had awakened from a shocking nightmare, but a deep sob sounded a note of reality. "Mother?" She stretched her hand out and touched naked flesh. "Mother? Is that you?" She moved her hand up and over breasts that shook with convulsive sobs. "Where are they?"
"I don't know."
A shaft of light burst into the room through an open door. "Let's get out of here. Quick." She rolled out of bed.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Wells stood in the doorway.
Paula couldn't see his face. His muscular body, silhouetted by the light behind him, was menacing as he took a step forward.
"We've had enough. Mother! Get dressed."
"I'm not through with you yet. Get back in bed." His hands swung at his sides as he advanced slowly.
"Paula, please!" her mother moaned. "Do what he says. He'll beat you like he did me."
"Your old lady's smart, baby." He stopped a few feet from her. "I don't want to mark you. What the hell do you care if we have a few more pictures. Joey's going to take a few more action shots."
"I couldn't care less about that," Paula muttered wearily. "I'm so goddamned sick of you and this mess, I'll vomit all over you if you so much as lay a hand on me or my mother."
Joey appeared in the doorway and called, "Tom! Lemme know when you're ready."
Wells clenched his right fist. "I ought to beat you silly ..."
Mrs. Ingram screamed.
"Go ahead," Paula said. "I'm so sick of all this filth right now-" She flinched as he put his left foot out a pace, but he stopped.
Suddenly he broke into laughter. "Yeah, you're right! I get fed up with sex myself once in a while. Tomorrow's another day. Get your clothes on, both of you, and get the hell out of here."
They watched him stride out of the room.
"I'd like to wash this filth off me, Paula."
"Don't be stupid. Get dressed. Now!"
Joey stepped between them as they left the bedroom and patted their butts as he walked them to the front door. "Tom says we'll have another session in a day or two." His voice was nervously high and giggly. He had caught another plane, obviously, and was flying off on gales of silly laughter. He blocked the door and grinned at them. "Jesus, what a ball! I never fucked a mother and daughter before-not in the same room."
"Get out of the way," Paul growled. "Mrs. Wells said we could go."
"Sure, baby." He leaned toward her.
She turned away from his puckered lips.
"Remember old Joey. I really make the broads moan."
Paula held her mother's arm as they walked to the Cadillac. "I'll drive, Mother." "I'm all right now I can drive." "Not tonight, you don't."
While Paula drove for blocks searching for a gas station, her mother sat silent, staring at her hands. "Damn! There's one, but it's closed," Paula said bitterly. She braked the car.
The outer area was dark but there was a light in the office. She pulled into the driveway and stopped beside a pump. A man appeared in the doorway.
"We're closed, lady."
"I don't need gas." The man stepped out of the office to peer suspiciously into the car. "I need someone to drive my other car home. My mother was using it, but she was taken ill."
He approached the car and leaned toward her.
His coveralls smelled of oil and grease. "Where's the car, lady?"
"A few blocks from here. I'll gladly pay-"
"Where do you live?"
"Thirty minutes from here. I'll drive you back."
He lifted his peaked cap above his graying hair. "Why don't you leave it and come back for it in the morning?"
"What's up, Dad?" A young man in clean Levi's and sweat shirt came out of the office.
"Please!" Paula pleaded. "I'll pay you twenty dollars."
"Wanna make ten bucks, Billy?"
"Jeez! Do I?" The young man hurried over. "What do I have to do?"
"Okay, lady." He turned to his son. "She wants you to drive her other car home. Ma'am, take him along. He's a good driver. Stop back here and I'll follow you in my car. You won't have to drive him back."
"Thanks so much." Paula opened her purse and handed him two tens.
The young man got in the back seat. When they pulled up in back of her Jaguar, she and her mother got out. "You've driven Cadillacs before?"
"Sure. I can handle that Jag, too, if you'd rather." His tone was persuasive.
"No, thanks. Follow me closely. Our place is a bit hard to find, especially at night."
"I'll be right on your tail, ma'am." His father was seated in a Ford with the motor running when they returned to the station. He waved them on. The three-car caravan moved at a slow pace for several blocks until it reached a freeway. Paula kept the car at a steady fifty miles per hour and watched the following Cadillac in the rear-view mirror.
"I ... I was a fool," Mrs. Ingram mumbled. "Oh, God! What a mess I got us into!"
"We'll live through it."
Mrs. Ingram sobbed. "I'm so ashamed!"
"It wasn't your fault, Mother." Paula reached out to pat her arm. "That man's a devil-a real live devil!" In the dim light of the dashboard, Mrs. Ingram's stringy black hair gave her the appearance of a witch. Paula chuckled. "You lost your blonde wig back there, Mom."
"I lost more than a wig-much, much more."
The three cars turned into the driveway of the Rohrig estate. The pine trees appeared a ghastly green in the glare of the head lights. Paula drove the Jaguar into the garage and got out to direct the young driver of the Cadillac into the adjoining space. "I can't tell you how grateful I am to both of you," she said, taking the car keys from his hand.
"You sure everything's all right in the house?" the older man called out from the open window of his Ford.
"Yes. Thanks again." Paula waved and went into the garage where, her mother was waiting for her at the door to the kitchen. "Well, we're home ... at last!" Paula breathed with relief as she inserted the key, opened the door and pressed the switch to close the overhead garage door. She followed Mrs. Ingram into the guest bedroom. "It's all over, Mother!"
"It was horrible . . . horrible." Mrs. Ingram flung herself on the bed and sobbed into the pillow.
"Mom!" Paula stood for a moment looking at the slender figure shaking with convulsive sobs. She sat on the bed and stroked her back. "Mom! Listen to me. Turn over."
"Paula, I'll never forgive myself." She placed her face against Paula's breasts. "Imagine, mother and daughter forced to do all those disgusting things!"
"Everything's going to be all right, Mother." She kissed her mother's cheek and rose. "Get undressed, Mom. I'll run your bath." When Paula returned, she found Mrs. Ingram still dressed and still in bed. "Stop it! Get hold of yourself," she said sharply.
"It's all my fault." Mrs. Ingram sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
"Nonsense! It could have happened to any woman."
Mrs. Ingram stood up and cast an inquiring side glance at Paula. "I suppose so. I . . . " She lifted her dress over her head.
"Like all women, you wanted romance. Instead you got filth, dirt, degradation." She paused thoughtfully, then laughed softly. "But you did get fucked!"
Mrs. Ingram gasped. Her mouth gaped. "Just between us girls, Mom. You must admit it."
"Of course. I-"
"And some of it was fun, wasn't it?"
Mrs. Ingram closed her mouth and cocked her head to stare in bewilderment at Paula. "Are you saying ....?*'
"Let's face it, Mother. If those two weren't such filthy bastards, I could have enjoyed every minute I spent with them. I'll call Mister Bingham tonight and see what he can do about them."
Mrs. Ingram stooped to free her toes of her panty hose. She straightened up and looked at Paula. A smile spread slowly over her face. "That Wells . . . doesn't he have the biggest one you ever saw?"
"In the last seven years, Mother, I haven't seen much of anything in that line."
Chapter Five
Mrs. Ingram entered the dining room at nine and said, "Good morning, Paula."
"Hello, Mom. Feeling better?"
"I feel fine." The pleasant tone of her voice was tinged with a false note, but her blue eyes were bright. She wore a pale yellow sweater that fit tightly over her full, firm breasts and a pair of dark blue slacks that fit even more snugly about her slim hips. "I slept on your advice, Paula." She seated herself at the table. "What's past is done," she said brightly. "I learned my lesson, though. I'll never repeat that horrible mistake again."
"What would you like for breakfast?"
"Juice and coffee, and maybe a piece of toast, dear."
Paula rang the small bell and gave the order to Mrs. Anderson, whose bulky figure had pushed the swinging door open before the last tingle had died away.
"Be careful. Keep your voice low, Mother," Paula said, nodding her head toward the kitchen door.
"What are we going to do about those pictures he took?" Mrs. Ingram asked in a low whisper.
"I called Mister Bingham last night. He'll handle it."
"What's he going to do?"
Mrs. Anderson entered the room with a tray, set a glass of orange juice, a cup of coffee and a plate of toast before Mrs. Ingram, then withdrew.
"He has a friend in the police department. He said-"
"Good Lord!" Mrs. Ingram exclaimed, her face going pale. "Not the police!"
"Keep your voice down, Mother. He says he can learn from his friend whether those two have criminal records. Then he'll decide how to handle them."
"How in the world can he do that by telephone?"
"I gave him their names and complete descriptions. Of course, I told him none of the details ..."
Mrs. Ingram gasped. "I should hope not."
"He'll have to know sometime, Mother."
"Oh, my God!"
They finished breakfast in silence.
At eleven o'clock Bill Bachrach phoned to ask Paula to have dinner with him and Sally at The Steak House at seven-thirty. Paula wondered if he had forgotten her mother was visiting. "I'd love to, Bill, but let me check with my mother and see whether-"
"I'm sorry, Paula. I'd say bring her along, but this is more of a business meeting than a social affair."
"I'm sure I can make it, Bill. I'll see you and Sally at seven-thirty. Good-bye." She cradled the receiver. If it was a business matter, she wondered, why didn't Bill have her come to his office? And why have Sally present? She lay down for a nap but fell into a deep restful sleep that lasted most of the afternoon.
Her mother came into her dressing room as Paula slipped on a new dinner dress in a pale blue color several shades lighter than the blue of her eyes.
"Paula, that's lovely, dear. That low neckline should make the men-" She blushed.
Paula laughed. "I hope one of my boobs doesn't fall out on my dinner plate. I'm not wearing a bra. Will you be all right? We should be home early. Maybe Bill and Sally will come back with me."
"I'll be sound asleep by then, I hope. Have fun." She kissed Paula's cheek.
When Paula arrived at The Steak House she found the parking lot almost filled. She pulled into a space at the end of a long line of cars. Several eucalyptus trees draped their leafy branches above her Cadillac, shielding it from the bright lights illuminating the lot. "A perfect spot to neck," she murmured with a reminiscent sigh as she got out of the car.
Bill Bachrach awaited her in the lobby.
"Hello, my dear." He took both her hands and leaned down to kiss her cheek. His dark eyes, close-set on either side of a nose too large and broad for his thin face, slid away from her direct gaze.
"Where's Sally?" she asked.
He feathered a slender hand over his curly gray hair. "She couldn't make it, at the last minute. Paula, I want you to meet a young friend of mine." He motioned to a tall young man in a blue jacket and lighter blue slacks. "This is Bob Dolan."
"Hello, Mister Dolan." Paula extended her hand.
"Bob, this is Paula Rohrig, widow of my good friend. You two are about the same age."
"I'm delighted." He continued to hold her hand while his soft gray eyes scanned her face and figure. "Why didn't you tell me about her, Uncle Bill?" He released her hand.
"This is your nephew?" Paula asked.
The two men laughed. "Not exactly, Paula," Bill replied. "It's a long story. Bob is one of several young men our firm helps through law school. Shall we take our table?"
Paula found herself seated between the two men in a small booth. They agreed on martinis and Bill gave the order to the waiter.
"Where do you go to school, Mister Dolan?" Paula asked.
"Please, would you mind calling me Bob?"
"Right on. That's the saying they use on campus now-isn't it, Bob? Call me Paula." She liked his warmth and his boyish smile and the mod-cut blond hair that covered his ears and much of his forehead.
"I'm a senior at UCLA, Paula."
"Excuse me." Bill pointed to his wristwatch. "I promised to call a friend who's having some problems. He should be home by now. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Bob rose and pulled the table away to ease Bill's exit. "Take your time, Uncle Bill. I'm in very good company."
"Do you live here in San Diego, Bob?"
"No." He leaned back while the waiter set drinks on the table. "I come down from L.A. whenever Uncle Bill has some little chore he wants me to do. He raised his glass. "To a lovely evening with a very lovely girl."
Paula chuckled. "I'll drink to that, thank you."
They chatted for several minutes before Bill returned to the table.
"I'll have a sip of this." Bill's hand shook as he picked up his glass and he spilled some of his drink. "I'm sorry, Paula, but I received some disturbing news. Bob, would you mind? I must leave. This friend of mine- Forgive me, Paula, but I'm sure you're in good hands." He rose, bumping the table and sloshing the martinis onto the tablecloth. "Just sign the bill with your room number-it's one-thirty-two, isn't it?" "Yes, Uncle Bill."
"I'll take care of it tomorrow. I'm dreadfully sorry, Paula."
"You're forgiven, Bill." She smiled up at him.
He averted his gaze like a man turning from the sight of his beloved pet being destroyed.
"I'm sure your friend will be grateful," Paula added. "If I'm ever in real trouble ..."
"Good-bye." He turned quickly and was gone.
The band struck up a dance tune. Bob laid his big hand over hers. Merriment gave a lilt to his voice. "Man! How about that! An evening of pure pleasure ahead of us. Would you like to dance?"
"I'd love to, Bob, but. . . "
He rose and pulled the table into the aisle. "No buts." He held a hand out to her. "I'm not too good, Paula ..."
Suppose someone sees me, she thought. A widow of less than a week dancing in public! Bill couldn't have told him! She felt as though all eyes were on them, drawn by Bob's tall figure.
"Try me," he pleaded laughingly, taking her hand. "If you're disappointed, I promise to lead you back here."
She felt the blood flush through the skin of her breasts and neck to suffuse her face. Braving it, she rose and made her way through the maze of tables with Bob's hands on her hips, steering her. On the dance floor she placed her cheek on his chest in the hope no one would see her clearly, but one turn around the small dance floor sent her thoughts flying back through the years. She tried to recall how long had it been since she had lost herself to a rhythmic melody in the arms of a handsome man near her own age. She thrilled to the touch of his hand on the small of her back, to the suggestive thrust of his leg between her thighs as he moved her into a slow turn.
"I love your dress, Paula."
She leaned back to look up into his face. His eyes were riveted on the cleft of her breasts. The music stopped. Bob applauded with vigor.
"Do you mind? I'd like to order. I'm hungry," Paula said.
"Right!" He led her back to the table. "Have another martini?"
"You have one, Bob. None for me."
The waiter took their order. Bob had another drink. "I wish I could be this lucky every time Uncle Bill has me come down here," he said.
She frowned. "Why did he ask you to come this time?" There was challenge and worry in her narrowed eyes.
He shrugged. "I don't know yet. I just arrived ten minutes before you did. Here's the shrimp."
Throughout dinner he kept up a voluble and interesting chatter about his college life, his two years in Vietnam, and his study of law. His light humor and apparent sincerity gradually allayed the suspicion that had clouded her mind from the moment Bill had introduced Bob as a substitute for Sally as a dinner companion.
Over brandy and coffee she relaxed completely but refused to dance again.
"I'm sorry, Bob, but I must be getting home. My mother is staying with me."
"Her daughter's a big girl now." His gray eyes scanned her face. He pressed her hand as his gaze dropped to her breasts. "Yes," he added with a chuckle, "a big girl, I'd say."
She leaned back and smiled briefly. "I really must go, Bob."
"Right on!" He waved to the waiter, signed the check and rose. "The fresh air will feel good."
Outside, he slid his hand under her arm. "I tell you what, Paula. We could stop by my room-oh, just for a few minutes. I'm terrific at double solitaire."
She stepped out on the asphalt pavement of the parking lot.
"My car's down at the end," she responded with finality.
"I'm also good at checkers." He put his arm around her waist.
She let herself be pulled off-course for a few steps.
"I'm really a reputable gentleman, Paula." He kissed her right ear and sniffed the perfume in her hair. "My room's down at that end too."
She enjoyed the pressure of his arm about her waist and the suppressed excitement in his voice. Temptation brought a momentary thrill that riffled the hair on the back of her neck.
"I'm sorry, Bob. I must go."
In the dark area beside her car, he took her in his arms. His lips were warm and wet. She relaxed. His hand pressed the small of her back to pull her pubis close to his. His tongue jabbed into her mouth. She wriggled free of him.
"Thanks very much for a nice evening, Bob."
He took the car keys from her hand and opened the door for her. She slid behind the wheel. Retaining the keys, he slammed the door and walked rapidly around the front of the car. She touched the switch to lower the window.
"I need the keys to start the car," she said.
"Certainly." He grinned happily. Reaching inside to release the lock, he swung the door open and settled into the front seat. "I'm a hell of a salesman, Paula."
"I'm not so sure." She held her hand out, palm up, fingers wiggling.
He handed her the keys. "Am I going to see you again?"
She sorted through the key ring for her car key, slyly studying him with a sideward glance. He was a handsome young man, probably several years younger than she was, she thought. "I'm sure Bill will see that we get together again."
"No, no! We don't need a chaperon." His hand moved along the top of the seat to finger her scalp behind her ears.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes momentarily to yield to the gentle stimulus of his fingers.
"I'm not so sure of that, either," she murmured, insensitive to the obvious implication until hi explosive laughter startled her.
"When can you come up to L.A. and spend a weekend with me?" His arm dropped to her shoulder and his left hand gripped her upper arm.
"I beg your pardon?" She sat up stiffly and moved away from him, instantly regretting her tone of outraged innocence. Her salvage attempt made it worse. "I scarcely know you."
"Oh, my beloved Aunt Victoria! Today you just lo your thing, love! Let it all hang out. I know you. You know me. It's as simple as that. If you don't mind a little good-night kiss ..."
"I'm sorry, Bob. Really." She watched his eyes grow larger as his face drew near, felt the warm breath from his nostrils puff against her upper lip. She closed her eyes. "I'm ..."
His tongue tip poised at her opened lips, laved the inner edges, then darted into her mouth.
"Nnnn!" She shook her head, jabbed at his tongue with the tip of hers in a quick duel that ended with her surrender. Relaxed and receptive, she welcomed the enveloping surge of his passionate emotion until she felt his hand slipping inside her dress to fondle her left breast.
"No, Bob!" She clutched his wrist but was unable to wrest his hand from her tit.
Freed of the confines of the low neckline, her left breast lay in the palm of his hand.
"Jesus!" His warm breath mingled with the cool night air as his lips closed over the hardened nipple.
"Don't, Bob! Please!" She shivered as his mouth engorged half her tit and suckled greedily. She glanced around furtively, noting that the car was engulfed in deep shadows. She thought of how long it had been since she had willingly necked with a passionate young man. "Don't. No. Please!" She looked about nervously again. No one was in sight. "Bob!" Her hand glided up to the back of his neck. She pressed against the seat and closed her eyes.
The years fell away. The forgotten delights of forbidden pleasures of her teen years swept over her. "You mustn't. Please! No!" The negative words were the same, the affirmative acts identical, and the swirling currents of tingling joy eddying through her to fire her nerves and tissues were both new and old-fingers active beneath her dress, clamped thighs relaxing, then spreading with a pretense of submission to force, murmured objections in hoarse whispers as vain and empty, and so intended, as their warm breath.
"OOH! NO! Bob! BOB!", she cried as his fingertips foraged in the sopping nylon covering her cunt slit. "Bob! You're tearing my pants! OOH!"
Then his fingers played freely with the sensitive pussy shorn of its flimsy nylon cover, circling her clitoris with maddening excitement. His lips and tongue brushed wild frenzy into her nipple while his fingers titillated her trembling vulva.
"Bob! What are you doing?" she whispered tremulously as she felt her buttocks being dragged forward on the seat and she bucked her ass to help-not too obviously. "What ARE you doing?"
He was on his knees. Her right leg lay on the seat. Her hands pressed the back of his head as his tongue brushed the inside of her thigh. She raised her ass to thrust her pubis within reach of his lips.
"Bob! What are you trying to do?"
His nose touched the top of her slit as he replied, "I want to eat it."
She felt the vibrations of his words in her cunt.
"You mustn't, Bob." She planted the sole of her right foot on the seat and raised her knee. With that added leverage she lifted her ass and felt his tongue forage in her slit. Her fingers twined in his hair. Fires blazed out of control within her as his tongue brushed her sensitive tissues.
"I can't get at it, baby. Let's go to my room."
"Later! Bob!" She tugged his face farther into her oozing slit, raised her ass and widened the spread of her thighs. "I'm coming! Don't stop now."
The sound of his suckling merged with the moans rising in her throat as her tension peaked to unbearable heights. "OOH! BOB-BOB!
Her ass bucked up wildly as torrents of delight flooded through her and channeled down into his sucking mouth. As the last drops of joy trickled out of her, she collapsed and her arm touched the horn, causing a loud blast.
"Jesus! What's that?" Bob bounded up on the seat. His eyes wide with alarm, he jerked his head from side to side.
"I'm sorry. My elbow touched the horn."
"It scared the shit out of me." Laughter bubbled up in his throat. "Kiss me, honey." He pulled her toward him. His lips touched hers lightly. "You taste good. Real good!"
His tongue probed into her mouth, laving it with the flavor of her cunt juices. The scent wafted into her nostrils. His hand lifted her other tit out of her dress and his mouth moved down to suck it. He moved her leg off the seat and pulled her next to him. Fumbling with his zipper, he freed his cock.
"Did you like it, Paula?"
"Yes." Her hand strayed onto his thigh and she felt his cock throb at her touch. Excitement rose to constrict her throat.
He sat up. "Let's go to my room and get these damned clothes off."
"Wait!" She clutched his thick stiff cock in her right hand. Her thumb rubbed over the satin-slick glans. She thought, / can wait until we get to his room-only a few minutes at the most-but I want it now! Later too!
She leaned over and kissed the smooth crown and lapped the slick dew. He slid back to give her room.
"We can get at each other better in my room, baby."
"Later. I want this now." Her mouth opened to engulf the swollen head.
"Take it, Paula! I'm close. I can't wait." He thrust his hips up as her mouth sucked in most of his long shaft. "Want me to blow off now?" he asked.
She shook her head no. She liked the taste of it-hard, fresh, clean, live cock flesh. "Hmmm!" she hummed happily as she laved the coronal ridge and sucked it with deep vacuuming motions. Her eager efforts proved too much for him.
"Take it! I'm coming, baby."
His cock spouted geysers of semen into her sucking mouth as she swallowed greedily. The flow ended with dribbles and his cock shrank until she held the whole deflated shaft in her mouth.
"Baby, baby, baby," he moaned, stroking her head. "I flew high on that one!"
She raised her head and straightened up behind the wheel.
"I must look like a mess," she said, looking at her reflection in the rear-view mirror.
"You look lovely, Paula. Let's get to bed. My room's the one on the end, in front of us. Don't bother with your hair."
"What ire they doing here?" she gasped.
"Who?"
"Them." She pointed to a black and white car parked in front of the motel entrance.
Two uniformed men got out and waited. A third man came out of the motel and pointed to the end of the building. The three policemen marched briskly down the portico-covered walk.
"Oh, my God!" Paula cried. She turned the ignition key and the motor purred.
The three men stopped before the last room and pounded on the door.
"For chrissake! That's my room!" Bob yelped.
Paula swung the car out of the parking space and turned on the lights. As the car passed through the gates, she muttered, "You sonofabitch!"
"Paula! Where the hell are you going?"
"I'm getting away from here." She swung the car into the lane leading to the eastbound ramp of the freeway. Merging into heavy traffic, she kept the car at a steady speed, glancing frequently at Bob and then at the rear-view mirror.
"What in hell was that commotion about back there?"
She exhaled exasperatedly. "Don't you know?"
He jaw dropped open like the loading gate of a big plane. "Why should I know? Look, is there something I should know, Paula?"
"No. Forget it, Bob. Oh, damn!"
"Now what?"
"The left rear tire's going flat." She slowed the car and pulled off to the right side, braking slowly. "Would you mind getting out and taking a look?"
"You're imagining things, Paula. A flat tire always-"
"I'd feel better if you'd check."
"Sure, honey." He patted her thigh. "Be glad to." He left the car door open.
She waited until she saw his reflection in the rear-view mirror, then put the car in gear and gunned the motor. The car leaped forward. The door slammed shut. Headlights of following cars silhouetted his figure in the mirror for a few moments.
At home, she drove the car into the garage and stalked into her bedroom. After switching on the bed lamp, she lifted the receiver and dialed the Bachrach home number.
"Hello?"
"Is that you, Sally?"
"Yes, Paula? I'm so glad you called. I've been worried."
Paula inhaled deeply, realizing she had been stupid to call. She had no proof Bill had hired Bob Dolan to seduce and besmirch her, or that he'd notified the police. "What's worrying you at this time of night?" she asked Sally.
"Oh, Paula." Her voice was teary. "I wanted to call you, but I'm always bothering you with my problems."
"Sally, please. You can always count on me. You must know that. What's wrong?"
"It's Bill. He came home about eight-thirty, half drunk. He's been at it ever since. I've never seen him drunk in all the years we've been married."
"I wouldn't worry." She tried to lighten her voice. "These men-sometimes they're like dogs-they all have their day. He'll sober up in the morning. He's called a meeting at his office at eleven to read Rolfe's will. Go to bed, dear, and get some sleep."
"Thanks, Paula. You're always so level-headed. Good night."
"Wait, Sally. Do you know a young man named Bob Dolan?"
"Yes, I've met him. He's a very fine boy. Comes from one of the finest families in Pasadena. Why? Have you met him?"
"No. I heard Bill mention his name."
"Sure. He's a senior in the law school at UCLA. Bill's firm has used him to research things." She tried a small laugh. "You'll like him if you ever meet him, Paula. Maybe Bill plans to use him for something in connection with Rolfe's estate. I haven't heard Bill mention his name for six months or more. You know, his father is the-"
"Sally, you must excuse me. I'm awfully tired. Don't tell Bill about this. I'll see him in his office in the morning. And do rest, dear. Good night."
She cradled the receiver gently. "Poor Bob!" she said. The salty taste of his semen lingered on her tongue.
Chapter Six
By her watch it was two minutes to ten when Paula entered the reception room of Asa Bingham's law firm. Miss Michaels greeted her with a warm professional smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rohrig. Come in, please."
They walked down the long corridor to the corner office suite, and Miss Michaels said, "Make yourself comfortable. The boss phoned to say he'll be a few minutes late."
Paula strode over to the large windows overlooking the bay.
"Would you like a cup of coffee, Mrs. Rohrig?" Miss Michaels inquired.
"Yes, please."
In the bright morning sunlight the waters of the bay looked bluish-gray. The white sails of small boats bellied out in a strong breeze. Beyond the low green hill of the peninsula the smooth gray surface of the Pacific stretched out to infinity.
"Your coffee, Mrs. Rohrig."
"Thank you."
"As I remember, you prefer it black." Miss Michaels set the cup and saucer on the desk. "I'm sure Mister Bingham will be along any minute."
Paula fidgeted as she sipped her coffee. The cool quiet of the office served not to calm her but to accent her agitation. She had told her mother nothing of the near-tragic events of the night before. The perfidy of Bill Bachrach, added to the lust and blackmail of Tom Wells pressure-cooking in her mind, threatened her sanity. She sipped the last of her coffee and looked up to see Bingham entering the room. He was modishly dressed in a blue suit with narrow lapels that accentuated the width of his broad shoulders.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rohrig. Sorry to keep you waiting. More coffee?"
"No, thanks." She waited for him to seat himself behind his desk. "Something terrible happened last night," she began.
While recounting the story and her suspicions, she watched his facial expressions but noted nothing beyond raised brows and widened eyes.
"Yes. I see," he commented when she finished. He leaned back, placed his elbows on the arms of his chair and made a steeple of his fingertips. "Yes, it could be. I made some inquiries, Mrs. Rohrig. It seems Mister Bachrach is in serious financial trouble."
"I don't know how much longer I can go on," Paula said. She dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes.
"Stay with it," he said in a soothing voice. "You're not alone in this, Mrs. Rohrig. I want you to have complete confidence in me."
"I ought to get away somewhere until this is all over."
"That might be a good idea. I have a beach house ten miles north of here you could use. We'll think about it. By the way, I heard from my friend in the police department yesterday."
Paula leaned forward eagerly. "What did he say?"
"Joey Simpson is a convicted dope peddler and user. He was released a couple of months ago after serving two years. Your Tom Wells, however, is another problem. They haven't been able to locate anything so far in their files. They're still checking."
Paula sat back in her chair. "He must have a criminal record. The man is pure evil."
"Now, about this, matter of the will this morning. Regardless of what happens or what is said, please remain silent unless I ask that you speak." He lifted the receiver of his phone, raised his eyebrows at Paula and asked, "More coffee now?"
"Yes." She studied him carefully as he spoke into the phone. His calmness and quiet strength had somehow stilled the storm within her. As he cradled the receiver she remarked, "You must drink an awful lot of coffee, Mister Bingham."
"I do. I find that nothing soothes my jangled nerves like black coffee." His soft brown eyes sought hers and held them for a long moment. "I must qualify that statement. Of course there is one other thing more soothing ..."
Paula felt the warm flush in her cheeks and dropped her gaze.
Miss Michaels brought the coffee.
Seated around the large conference table in Bill Bachrach's office when Paula and Bingham arrived at eleven were Rolfe Rohrig, Jr., and two other men. All three rose.
"Good morning, Mister Bingham," said a tall man in his late fifties, who leaned across the table to extend his hand. "I don't know whether you remember me-C. Clinton Gaines," he added quickly and defensively, his left hand drifting over his perfectly combed gray hair.
"Of course," Bingham replied. "Professional fund raiser-the Peabody Estate." He dropped Gaines' hand and turned to the squat, balding man across the table. "Counselor, we meet again."
"How are you. Mister Bingham?" He held out a pudgy hand. "You know my client, of course." Bingham shook his head. "Rolfe Rohrig, Junior."
"Oh?" Bingham's eyes narrowed as he shook hands. "Have you met these gentlemen, Mrs. Rohrig?"
"I've seen Mister Gaines once or twice. And Rolfe, Junior ..."
"This is Sam Levine." He held a chair for Paula. "We might as well be comfortable. Mister Bachrach should be here shortly."
They sat in strained silence. Gaines leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the table, his well-manicured nails reflecting the light from the fluorescent fixtures overhead. His lips curved up in the fixed smile of a used-car salesman-a Cadillac used-car salesman. Levine hunched over the table doodling on a pad of yellow paper, while Rohrig fidgeted in the chair beside him.
Bill Bachrach entered and closed the door softly. The attache case in his right hand seemed to drag his narrow shoulders down in a dejected slope.
"Good morning, Paula. Gentlemen." He stood at the end of the long table, avoiding Paula's direct gaze while he fumbled with the catch on the attache case. "Rolfe, I haven't seen you in a long time."
"No, not since- Mister Bachrach, this is my lawyer, Mister Levine." Rolfe had bellied up to the table like a spinnaker catching a gust of wind but collapsed as his puff of courage died.
"I know Mister Levine," Bachrach muttered sourly. "And you, Mister Bingham, whom do you represent?"
"Mrs. Rohrig has retained me to represent her interests." Bingham crossed his legs and folded his arms.
"Oh?" Bachrach's flushed face paled. "Paula, did you think this-"
"Yes." Her eyes momentarily caught and held his shifty glance. "I do think it is necessary." She watched him sink into his chair like an animal sorely wounded. His eyes were as bloodshot as Rolfe's, she noted.
"Do you have certified copies of the will, Mister Bachrach?" Levine asked.
"No, not yet, but I shall see that copies are furnished to all parties concerned." He removed a legal document from his case and put on a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. "Would you care for some note paper, Mister Bingham?"
"That won't be necessary at this time, thank you."
Bachrach cleared his throat. "Last Will and Testament of Rolfe R. Rohrig ..." he read, his voice quavering as the pages crackled dryly in his trembling hands.
Paula kept an eye on the others at the table as Bachrach read the document slowly and deliberately. Rolfe's face flamed and his eyes closed at the readying of the paragraph which cut him off with one dollar. Levine's face paled to a pasty white as he scribbled rapidly. Through the reading of the paragraphs covering bequests to charities Gaines leaned forward, his hands on the table, ticking off each one. A wide grin spread across his features. As Bachrach plodded through the section covering the disposition of the bulk of the estate and the establishment of the three-year trust fund to be administered by himself, Paula squirmed in her seat. Bingham touched her arm in a quieting gesture.
"But that's the same will my husband signed a few months after our marriage," she said in puzzlement.
"Yes, Paula." Bachrach kept his eyes on the document as he read the last paragraph.
"But I thought-" Paula felt a tug on her arm.
"I believe this is enough for one day," Bingham cut in. He rose and assisted Paula to her feet. "What appraisal firm is handling the inventory of the estate, Mister Bachrach?"
"My office is at work on the listing now." He placed the will in his case and slammed the lid on the fingers of his right hand.
Levine had been leaning toward Rolfe, cupping his ear close to her the disinherited son's hoarse whisper. He pushed his chair back. The legs caught on the carpet and the chair toppled backward. Levine ignored the mishap and stuffed his yellow pad into his briefcase, his puffy lips pressed together in a grim line.
"I'll want a certified copy of this document as soon as possible." He tossed a business card on the table in front of Bachrach. "See that one is sent to my office this afternoon." He glared defiantly at everyone else in the room. "I have never heard or seen any other will expressed in such venomous language. No one but a true paranoiac could have conceived such an instrument." He stalked out of the room.
Rolfe followed him.
"I'm disappointed at the three years' delay." Gaines said, nodding to Paula and Bingham. He shook hands with Bachrach. "Thank you very much, sir."
"We'll run along too. I'll expect my copy this afternoon as well." Bingham said as he escorted Paula to the door.
"Paula!"
She turned. Bachrach's face looked ghastly, the livid skin like crinkled parchment drawn over a skull.
"I'm sorry." His words rattled dryly.
"Please get me out of here," she told Bingham.
In the elevator she burst into sobs. Bingham handed her a clean handkerchief and put his arm about her waist. A cab stood at the curb as they left the building.
"I think we'd better go out to my place until you can get hold of yourself, Paula." He helped her inside, seated himself beside her, and gave the driver an address on Ocean Drive. "Cry, my dear. You'll feel better."
Bingham's suite was on the twentieth floor of a glass and limestone condominium located close to the shoreline. The living room was spacious and elegantly furnished. Floor-to-ceiling windows in the west wall gave a sweeping view of the Pacific.
Paula sank onto a large sofa and sniffled into the handkerchief. "My God! This is terrible! Rolfe trusted Bill completely. I always thought he and his wife, Sally, were my closest friends."
"Paula, please! Try to put all this out of your mind." Bingham spoke soothingly. "This is Thursday, my cook's day off. But I like to fool around in the kitchen. Suppose I fix a light lunch."
"I couldn't eat a thing." Fresh tears flowed and she covered her eyes.
Bingham sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. "All right, Paula, have a good cry and get it out of your system." His hand patted her left shoulder.
"I can't stand all this pressure," she moaned. "That devil, Wells, and Rolfe, Junior . . . and now Bill Bachrach." She leaned into the curve of his shoulder like a child seeking the strength and protection of its father. She felt the warmth of his breath on her scalp.
"Baby," he whispered, "everything's going to be all right. Trust me." Taking the kerchief from her hand, he dried her cheeks. "You look lovely when you cry."
She lifted her face.
"Lovely," he repeated. His dark brown eyes were large and luminous. They became larger as his face came closer. "Lovely!" His voice was warm and gentle.
Her mouth opened under the pressure of his lips, and the salt of her tears mingled with the moisture of his probing tongue. The fingers of his right hand cupped one of her breasts and massaged the nipple gently. She turned into his embrace. His tongue brushed across her cheek and circled her ear, lapped down her neck and into the hollow of her throat. A slight shiver raced through her body as she felt his hand trail over her hip and down her thigh. His tongue foraged in the cleft of her breasts while his fingers moved under her dress.
"Paula, honey!" he murmured, "I want to love you."
Her thighs parted as his fingers moved up to touch her nylon-covered crotch. She moaned and raised her buttocks to offer more of her tingling flesh to his delicately probing fingers. He stood up and reached over to lift her from the sofa, saying, "To bed you go, baby!"
He set her on her feet in the bedroom and removed the covers from the king-size bed. Two of the walls were covered with mirrors and a large one was mounted in the ceiling over the bed. He undressed her, lavishing kisses on part of her flesh as it was bared. She lay in the center of the immense bed and watched his reflections in the wall and ceiling mirrors while he stripped. His tall lithe body, his light brown skin, the muscles that rippled, with his every movement-all excited her further. He dropped his white shorts. Paula gasped at the size of his huge swollen cock.
"Hurry!" she murmured. "I want you to love me. Oh, how I need you!"
"Take it easy, Paula," he said softly. His tongue brushed over his lips as he eyed the curves and planes of her white nakedness. "We can't make up in one session all that you missed in seven years of marriage to the old man." He dropped into bed. "But we can sure as hell try."
"Put it in." She slid one arm under his neck and tried to pull him on top of her with the other.
"Wait! Let's warm up the engine first, baby."
His lips moved wetly over her nipples and breasts and down her belly. His tongue burrowed into the hair of her mound, found the top of her slit and darted under the fleshy hood guarding her clitoris. The tingling touch sent spasms rippling through her thighs and belly. His face nuzzled into her moist pubic hair, forcing her legs apart, and his tongue lapped at her vulva, setting her aflame with a wild wanting.
But no tongue could satisfy her need. She ached for the complete fulfillment of a large hard cock thrusting into her to spread her vaginal walls, for the feel of a man's hairy chest crushing her breasts, for the squishy sounds of pubes mashing together, for the tingly pain of fingernails digging into her asscheeks.
He seemed to sense her need. His face brushed up over her belly and breasts and his lips sought her mouth as he stretched his long frame over her. "Take it and put it in, Paula. Let's fuck."
"Ooh!" she whispered as her hand closed around his thick shaft. "It's bigger . . . thicker than ... my wrist." She lifted her ass off the bed and swabbed his swollen crown in the oozing lips of her cunt. Holding the slick glans to her vaginal opening, she pressed upward against it and felt it force its way into her. She held her breath for a moment to adjust to this oversized but most welcome intruder, then exhaled deeply as she clamped her cunt muscles about its ridge.
"Mm! He feels good! Now, fuck me, lover-man."
Their lips met and tongues dueled as he plunged into her. She threw her legs over the small of his back as his prick bottomed out in her. Inner muscles clutched his shaft to hold it deep within her. The fingers of his right hand worked the cheeks of her ass while her nails dug into the flesh of his back.
"You're something else, honey, really something else. Stay with me now. Let's make this one for the books." He nibbled and tongued her ear, slowly, maddeningly, as he began deliberate stroking motions.
She caught his pace and moved with him like a well-trained saddle horse under the guidance of an expert rider. From a slow cantering rhythm they stepped up the pace. As she reached orgasm she felt like a high-spirited animal galloping joyously to the crest of a hill and bolting down happily in the face of a fresh wind.
"I'm sorry, darling," she said. "I couldn't help it." She felt his cock still buried hard and deep within her. "You didn't come, did you?"
"No." He laughed softly. "Watch it next time, though, Paula."
"That was only a little one." She kissed the tip of his nose. "You owed me that. You got me too hot. I'll be careful now."
They started again. Paula studied their entwined reflection in the ceiling mirror. The contrast of her pale white arms and legs to the deep tan of his body was fascinating. By moving her head a little to one side she could see-in the wall mirror opposite the foot of the bed-his huge dark cock pumping into her dripping vagina. Several times they approached dangerously close to orgasmic blast-off, but Paula caught his signal and stopped in time. At last they reached the point of no return and with wild cries and fiercely bucking buttocks they plunged off the peak in simultaneous rapture.
"Paula, honey, that was . . . really . . . something!" He lay beside her, laving and kissing her nipples to bring her back to reality. "I have to go back to the office for a few hours. I'd love to return and find you waiting in bed for me. We could have dinner-"
"Not today, Asa." She held his face between her palms and looked into his soft brown eyes. "I'd love to, but Mother's home alone today."
"Okay, dear. Let's shower."
He carried her into the large bathroom, set her on the toilet seat and turned on the shower. They soaped and washed each other playfully.
"Next time," he said, "I won't let you get away so easily."
"There will be a next time. Better count on that. We hardly got a workout today."
They took a cab back to the parking lot next to Bingham's office building. While they waited for the attendant to bring Paula's car, she asked, "Do you think you'll get any further word on Wells?"
"Maybe. He's probably using an alias he never used before, but criminal files are very complete as to physical descriptions and the way the individual operates. I should know more by tomorrow."
"What are you planning to do about him?"
"I want to know what I'm up against before I do anything, Paula. Meanwhile, let me know if he bothers you."
"Thanks, Asa. I feel better with you on my side."
The attendant drove her car up, slid out of the seat and held the door open for her.
"Thanks again ... for everything," she said to Bingham, smiling contentedly.
Chapter Seven
In the late afternoon sunlight the pine trees lining the driveway up to the house had a glossy sheen that clothed their needled branches in glowing green. Paula garaged the car and stepped into the kitchen. The house was quiet.
"Mother!" she called softly.
"I'm in here, Paula." The voice came from the master bedroom.
"What have you been doing all day?" Paula called out as she walked down the long hallway. She stopped abruptly in the doorway.
Mrs. Ingram sat propped up by pillows in the center of the large circular bed. The covers were pulled back, the bed rumpled. Mrs. Ingram was naked.
"MOTHER! What-"
"I've been fucking!" She raised her eyes and nodded toward the door of the dressing room.
Paula collapsed in the nearest chair. "He . . . he's here?"
Mrs. Ingram nodded.
Paula glanced at the bed. The sheet was splotched with several gooey spots. "How long has he been here?" she asked in a low, tremulous voice.
"Since noon," her mother replied in a whisper.
"And his friend Joey?"
"To hell with Joey!" Wells entered the bedroom, nude, with a towel in his hand. "Joey's getting too big for his jeans, the sonofabitch! Where the hell you been all day, baby?"
"Downtown ... on business. Hurry up and get dressed. Get out of here before I call the police."
"My, aren't we tough today?" His eyes glittered and his perfect teeth flashed in an evil grin. He stepped toward Paula, stopped close to the chair and tossed the towel over his shoulder. "Sorry you weren't here for the fun. Your old lady and I had a ball-didn't we, Ma?"
Paula turned away from him.
"Stay where you are till I tell you to move, understand?" He called over his shoulder, "Tell her what I said, Ma."
"I ... I can't," she sobbed.
Wells' palm slashed across Paula's cheek, knocking her to the floor. "Tell her, Ma!"
"He said ... I ... I fuck like a mink."
"What else, Ma?"
"Paula! Oh God! I-"
"It's all right, Mother. What else did he say?"
"I'll have to learn from you how to suck ... his . . . suckle stick."
Wells laughed noisily. He toed Paula's ribs. "Get up. Get your clothes off. I want the old bag to watch an expert perform." He moved over to the bed and sank onto the edge. "Hurry up. I have another old bitch waiting to get my attention under the lights tonight."
Paula rose and stripped off her clothes. Mrs. Ingram scooted to the opposite side of the bed. "I'll take a shower. I'm all sweaty."
"Come here, you bitch!" Wells growled. "You have a box seat at your daughter's performance."
Naked, Paula approached the bed. "Lie down and let's get this over with," she said flatly.
"Give me the works, baby, slow and thorough." He lay on his back and clasped his hands in back of his head. "Watch how she goes after it, Ma. I'll expect you to do the same for me next time."
Paula knelt on the bed and leaned over to mouth the glans of his soft cock.
"Knock it off, damn you! Work up to it!" "What do you mean?"
"Shit!" he muttered. "Do me a good job or I'll really belt you one. Give me a tongue bath ... all over. And give your old lady a running commentary of what you're doing, and why. Understand?"
Paula straightened and took a deep breath. "Mother, a woman's nipples are very sensitive, as you know. The little nubbins on a man's chest are also erogenous, though not nearly as much so, of course. So I start with these. I suck and nibble at first one, then the other. Like this."
Paula felt like a circus freak on a platform, impersonating a college professor delivering a lecture. "From your own experience you know how sensitive the flesh of one's belly is to the light brushing of a tongue. Like this . . . Down one side ... Up the other ..."
"Christ, baby! You're terrific! Too bad I don't have my tape recorder and movie camera here."
Paula ignored him. "You sniff around the pubic hair at the base of his cock and you feel it begin to swell. But you don' take it in your mouth . . . not yet." She nosed into the soft flesh of his thighs and forced his legs apart. "Remember the thrill of a tongue on his inside section of your thighs? You kiss and tongue it gently, and ..." She swung her torso around and settled between his legs. "... you raise his knees. Like this."
His cock angled up like a palm tree, its sturdy trunk stiff and its crown swollen. Her lips touched the crinkly skin of his scrotum. Her mouth opened to suck in one of his testicles, gently, then the other. She tongued the base of his cock, nibbled up the underside of it and laved away the crystal liquid thread dangling from the meatus.
"Mm!" she murmured as her mouth closed over the satiny bulbous head.
In her rising excitement, juices oozed out of her pussy in a warm flow. The cock she held in her mouth seemed somehow to have a pulsing life of its own, separate and distinct from the evil that was Tom Wells. It was smooth and delicious. She sucked it greedily.
His fingers twined in her hair. She could feel the rhythmic working of his asscheeks as his hips began to rotate slowly; she could hear the far-off sound of his murmured whimpering.
The hoarse whisper of a woman joined in. "I'm hot! OOH!"
Paula knew it couldn't be her own voice-not with a bulging cock stuffed halfway down her gullet.
"Kneel over me, Ma! Let me eat it!"
Paula, her eyes glazed, looked up to see her mother straddling his face.
Suddenly Wells yelled, "Eat it! Take it! I'm coming!"
Paula felt the first surge of his ejaculation pound up his penile shaft and burst in her mouth. She dug her nails into his soft flesh and sucked at the spouting stick of hard male muscle. Not until she had drained the last drop of semen from the shrunken mass of cock flesh did she release it.
Wells rolled to the edge of the bed and stood up. He dressed quickly, then turned to look at the two naked women lying on their backs.
"You two broads could kill a guy with lovemaking." His eyes glittered. "Too bad I got a date. I've been thinking . . . Why don't we set up a household for the three of us?" He blew a kiss to Paula. "Think about it, baby. You and I could get married-after you get your hands on the money. The old lady could sleep with us every night." He rubbed his cupped palms together like a pitcher taking the shine off a new baseball. "Yeah, think about it! Mrs. Thomas Wells! How about that? And you won't have to pay two hundred thousand bucks for those dirty pictures, baby. We'll keep them in the family. We'll talk about it later. Be seeing you girls.'
After he left, Paula asked, "Where did he leave his car, Mother?"
"In the service area in back." She broke into sobs. "This is disgraceful! My God! A mother and her daughter naked in the same bed with a man!"
"We had no choice." Paula's brows contracted in a thoughtful expression. She cradled her mother's head in the crook of her elbow. "Forget it, Mom. We're two grown women. We both enjoy sex. Besides, if someone doesn't take care of him and his filthy pictures of us, we may lose everything."
"Paula!" Mrs. Ingram sat up and got out of bed. "I almost forgot. I bought those pictures from him." She took a manila envelope from the top of the dresser. "Here, look!" She opened the clasp and emptied the contents onto the bed. Paula glanced at the six Polaroid color snapshots.
"How much did you give him for these?"
"He wanted a thousand dollars. I only had a hundred sixty-five. He took that." She sat on the bed and picked up one of the snapshots. "He can't do anything without these, can he?"
"Oh, Mother!" Paula snorted. "He's made enlargements of every one of them."
"Men! They always could make a fool of me," she said sadly. She studied the photo in her hand, then her face brightened. "He does have a big penis, doesn't he?"
Paula laughed and held out the snapshot she was looking at. "This is one of you with Joey buggering you. Ooh! It hurts me to look at it."
Mrs. Ingram examined it. "Yes," she replied, a reminiscent smile curling her lips, "the first time it does. But the second time ..."
Chapter Eight
At nine-thirty the next morning Paula and her mother were at breakfast when Mrs. Anderson announced that Rolfe, Junior, was at the front door. Paula went out on the patio to talk to him. His face was puffy and his eyes bleary.
"What's going on?" he demanded. His belligerence died under Paula's scrutiny of his rumpled gray suit and his dirty white shirt.
"You're drunk. Talk to your attorney and stop bothering me."
"I can't." He scuffed the toe of his shoe on the patio pavement. "Levine's not going to handle the case ..." His voice faded into a sorry whine.
"Why not?" Paula's face softened with sympathy. He reminded her of a homeless puppy caught in the middle of traffic at a busy intersection.
"He said he couldn't afford to risk the time . . . unless I had some money for a retainer."
"I'm sorry. If there was anything I could o . . . "
"Maybe there is." His rheumy eyes looked at her through half-closed puffy lids. "I didn't tell him about Tuesday night."
Paula's hand clutched her throat. "Tuesday night?" she repeated huskily.
"You were nice to me, Mrs. Rohrig. It's been years since anyone treated me with kindness. I followed you that afternoon ..."
Paula trembled like a young tree in a sudden gust of chilly wind. "Yes?"
"You parked your car a block away and walked to that little white cottage." A note of boldness strengthened his voice. "What went on in there?"
"I . . . nothing . . .nothing at all." The constriction in her throat threatened to strangle her.
"I waited around for hours. I saw flash bulbs going off. What were you doing?" His bold gaze challenged her, forcing her to lower her head. "I saw you and another woman come out after it got dark. Half an hour later, two young men ..." He waited to let the pressure build. "That clause in the will . . . you know, about any scandal . . . Maybe I should talk to those two guys, huh?"
"My God, Rolfe! Don't do that!"
"Why not?" His wide grin emphasized the weak chin and bad teeth. "Hanky-panky, maybe?"
"No, believe me. Those two men are dangerous. They're criminals. I'm thinking of your safety."
"I could talk to my attorney. Maybe he'll reconsider."
"Don't do that yet, please. Do you need money now?"
He turned out the lining of both pants pockets. "I'm busted."
"Wait a minute." She hurried into the house and returned quickly. "Here." She counted out eight bills, placing them in his upturned hand. "Eighty dollars should tide you over for a few days. "Let me discuss this with my attorney over the weekend. I warn you, those two men are criminals. Come see me again before you do anything. Promise?"
He folded the bills and stuffed them into his pocket. "Thanks. Thanks again, Mrs. Rohrig."
Paula watched his old gray car speed off down the narrow lane until it careened onto the public road.
At the breakfast table her mother watched Paula's approach with wide-eyed anxiety. "What did he want?"
Paula sank into her chair and toyed with her cup. "He followed me to Wells' house last Tuesday."
"Oh, my God!" Mrs. Ingram whispered hoarsely. "Did he see anything?"
Paula's chest heaved like that of an athlete at the end of a mile run. "He saw flash bulbs going off . . . and the two of us leaving the place."
Mrs. Ingram's coffee cup rattled in her saucer. "Paula! Some one's going to have to kill that bastard Wells!"
"Maybe I will, Mother," she replied grimly. "Let's get dressed."
The doorbell chimed as they left the dining room.
"Who's that?" Paula exclaimed.
"Don't answer it. For God's sake, let's get out of this place-go somewhere for a week till all this blows over."
"You get dressed. I have to see who it is." Paula opened the front door.
Gaines greeted her with an elaborate bow and a professional smile.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rohrig. I hope I'm not out of line in coming by so early."
"No. Won't you come in?"
"Thank you. This won't take long." He followed her into the living room, waited until she had seated herself, then settled into a lounge chair. "I've been thinking about this matter Mrs. Rohrig. I wonder if there isn't some way we could settle this business without waiting for a three-year trust to terminate."
"What is your interest in this, Mister Gaines?"
He crossed his legs and settled back. His manicured fingernails floated over his gray hair without disturbing a tendril. "As you know, I've spent a good deal of time with your late husband over the past seven years or more ..."
"And you get a commission on all bequests you drum up?"
His nostrils flared, then quivered, as if in response to a sudden noisome smell. "My dear Mrs. Rohrig, I am a legitimate businessman, I assure you."
"Get to the point. What is it you want of me?"
"Everything is tied up for three years under that silly clause about possible scandal. I'm sure I could talk my people into a reasonable settlement in order to wind up the estate at this time."
"I suggest you talk to my attorney, Mister Gaines. I have no knowledge of these legal matters."
"I did talk to Mister Bingham-on the phone, that is."
"What did he say?" "Well..."
Paula rose. "Mister Gaines, I have nothing further to say until my attorney advises me on this proposal."
Gaines got to his feet. His face flushed as he paused in an obvious search for a convincing argument.
The phone rang. Paula lifted the receiver. "Hello?"
"Paula, sweetheart!" Wells' voice boomed over the line.
Startled, Paula jerked her head to glance at Gaines, then placed the earphone close to her head.
"Hey! It's a nice day. Come down to my place and bring your old lady. I got this suckle stick as hard as rock candy, baby. You and your mom can suck it all day. I'll see you in half an hour. We can make plans for our marriage. Be here."
The slam of his receiver into its cradle jarred her eardrum. She held the phone away from her face for a moment. "You go to hell!" she said softly.
"Mrs. Rohrig!" Gaines' eyes gleamed with tolerant amusement. "Think about my proposition. An attractive young widow like you ..." He shook his head like a father giving advice to a child. "Scandal can arise so easily, you know. It would be a shame if-"
"Mister Gaines, I promise you I shall see my lawyer today. If he has any idea that such an arrangement is possible, and desirable, he will call you."
"Thank you, Mrs. Rohrig. I hope to hear from him. Have a nice day."
Mrs. Ingram stepped into the hallway as the front door closed. "Who was he, Paula?"
"Some damned charity scalper. I'm going to call Mister Bingham. He had a beach house he said I could use. We're going to get far away from here for a while."
She dialed Bingham's office from the phone at her bedside. When he answered, she said, "Asa, this is Paula. I can't stand it around here. Does your offer still hold? About your beach house, I mean."
"Yes. One minute, Paula." After a moment, he added, "I wanted to check my appointments for the day. This is Friday, thank God! Why don't you drive your car up to my apartment? You can leave it in my garage, and I'll go with you. We'll have a marvelous weekend."
"I'd love nothing better, but I can't leave Mother here alone."
"Well," he said with a chuckle, "if she's half as pretty as her daughter, I could get a friend of mine to join us. He's a widower in his early fifties. Lots of fun." He paused for a moment. "Mother and daughter might make us a loose and happy foursome. What do you think?"
"Asa, Mother's not only attractive but full of fun. Sounds wonderful."
"Okay. You won't need anything but a toothbrush and a bathing suit, and maybe a pair of slacks to knock around in. See you at my place in . . . make it an hour."
Her mother appeared in the doorway as Paula hung up. She wore a pair of hip-hugging white slacks and a pale blue sweater that fit snugly over her firm, bra-less breasts. The crotch of her slacks was so snug Paula could see the shape of her mound and the outline of her cunt slit.
"I have a date for you, Mom. We're going to spend the weekend with Mister Bingham and a friend of his at his beach house. Do you have a swim suit?"
"I have a new bikini. I haven't worn it yet. It's a bit-"
"That's fine. Pack a toothbrush and a cosmetic kit. You won't need anything else."
"I'll have to put on a dress."
Paula laughed. "Oh, not for this outing. Go as you are. I'll wear slacks and a sweater too."
"Sounds like fun. What's his friend like?"
Paula frowned. She studied her mother's face as she asked, "Did I mention that Mister Bingham's a black man?"
"What?" Mrs. Ingram's mouth fell open. "A Negro?"
"He's a gentleman, Mother. His skin happens to be-" .
"Oh, I don't object... I don't think." Her mouth worked while her eyes widened. "I always heard ... It could be very interesting, Paula. When do we leave?"
"Soon as I get into a pair of slacks as sexy as yours."
Mrs. Ingram followed Paula into the dressing room and watched her slip into gray slacks and a white sweater.
"Do you have something on your mind, Mother?"
"Yes, dear. Since we're sort of double-dating, would you mind calling me Irma?"
Asa Bingham awaited them at the entrance of the parking lot in front of his apartment building. He directed Paula into a reserved space, then opened the car door to assist Mrs. Ingram.
Paula leaned across the front seat and said, "Irma, this is Asa Bingham."
"How do you do?" Irma extended her hand.
"Paula's told me how very nice you've been to her."
He raised his eyebrows. A slow smile lighted his face. "You have a lovely daughter, Irma." His eyes swept over her trim figure.
Paula came around the front of her car.
"She's as lovely as you, Paula. I'm sure George Cole will be delighted with both of you. Do you have any luggage?"
"Just these two small bags. You told me to travel light," Paula said.
"My car's over here." He led them to a Mercedes sports car parked in the shade of a pepper tree and opened the front door. The car was dark tan with cream-colored leather upholstery.
"What a beautiful color. I love tan," Irma said.
Bingham laughed. "I had to wait four months to get this special shade. It matches my complexion.-" He set their bags behind the seat and took Paula's elbow. "We can all sit in front."
"How far is your beach place?" Irma asked as he started the engine.
"About ten miles up the coast." He was silent until they reached the on-ramp of Interstate Five. Patting Paula's knee, he said, "I'd planned to call you this afternoon to invite you out for the weekend. I'm glad you called when you did."
"We had to get away. Rolfe, Junior, came by this morning."
"What did he want?"
"He found out about Wells and his friend."
"How much does he know?"
Paula blushed. "He followed me to Wells' cottage last Tuesday and saw-"
"I have some good news for you on that. My friend in the police department called me this morning. They finally got a make on him. He's wanted in Seattle on a blackmail charge, in Denver on charges of blackmail and kidnapping, in Los Angeles on several charges. My friend wants his home address."
"My God!" Irma cried. "If they arrest him, they'll find all those dirty pictures he took."
"That's why people hire lawyers, Irma," Bingham replied with a chuckle of amusement. "I told my friend I wasn't sure Wells was here. He's bringing in a private detective for me from L.A.-one of the best in southern California. He should be here by noon tomorrow. We'll get those films back. Then the police can have him."
"What about the other one-Joey Simpson?" Paula asked.
"He's a real kook. He went to a juvenile detention home at the age of twelve for arson-burned down his parents' home because his father bawled him out for skipping school. He's had two other arson raps, besides his numerous dope convictions."
"How did he and Wells ever get together?" Irma asked.
"They were cellmates for two years in Washington state."
Paula laid a hand on Asa's thigh. "Remind me to thank you for the first peace of mind I've had in a week."
He glanced at her and twitched the muscle in his thigh. "We'll have a whole weekend for that, honey."
"The way I feel," she replied, giving his leg a responsive squeeze, "that's hardly long enough."
Chapter Nine
Bingham's place was not directly on the beach. The rambling structure of glass and redwood siding stood on a bluff two hundred feet above the surf and sand.
They got out of the car and Bingham led the women around to the front of the house. Irma skipped ahead, yelling like an excited child. Asa put his arm around Paula's waist.
"Damn! Your mother's a lovely woman. Look at that marvelous ass, will you? It makes a man feel like clutching a handful to see if it's real."
"Honey, for the next few hours you better not let me catch you with your hands full of that."
"Don't worry, Paula." He slid his hand down to her buttocks. "I've got all the ass I can handle for the rest of this week."
She stopped abruptly. "You haven't kissed me yet."
He took her in his arms and looked down into her upturned face. "Forgive me, Paula. I was sort of feeling my way with your mother present."
"Kiss me!"
His eyes glowed softly. "You're my kind of woman. You know that?" He cupped her asscheeks in both hands and lifted her until her blue eyes were level with his. She opened her mouth to suck in his tongue tip.
"Isn't this a magnificent view?" Irma called back to them. "Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's wonderful! Wonderful!" Paula burst into laughter as Asa set her down. She grasped his hand and placed it around her waist. "Show us the house, Asa."
The living room was large and furnished with deep-cushioned chairs and sofas in a harmonious color scheme of gold, cocoa, and tan fabrics. Oriental rugs were scattered over the parquet floor in front of conversational groupings of furniture. The west wall consisted of floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows, heavily tinted.
"Oh, Paula!" Irma exclaimed. "Isn't this heavenly?"
"I'll fix a pitcher of martinis," Asa offered.
"I'd love a martini, Asa. Can I help?" Paula asked.
"Come along, honey. Irma, make yourself at home. George Cole should be along shortly. You'll like him, I'm sure."
The kitchen was all electric, with tile counter tops and tile walls.
"You must have spent a fortune on this place, Asa. How often do you use it?" Paula inquired.
"Every hour of every day I can get away. And especially on special occasions like this."
Paula sat on the bench in the breakfast nook and watched his skillful movements, the play of sinews in his back and the working of his butt muscles through his clothing as he mixed the ingredients in the large silver shaker. She bit her lower lip to keep from phrasing the question which would betray her twinge of jealousy.
"There we are. Now for a serving tray and four glasses," Asa said as he finished.
They returned to the living room, where Irma was sprawled in a lounge chair facing the ocean.
"I've never seen anything like this. Never!" she said with a note of awe in her voice.
"We'll be one up on George," Asa remarked with a chuckle. "But he'll catch up in a hurry." He poured three drinks. "To fun!"
They were ready for refills when a car pulled up in the driveway.
"Here he is now," Asa told the ladies.
"May I come in?" a man's voice called from the kitchen.
"George, we just got started. Come on in," Asa replied, rising to greet his friend.
The two women turned. A man of medium height, dressed in gray slacks and light yellow turtleneck, entered the room.
"Hey, A.B. Glad you caught me." His dark eyes twinkled as he looked at the women with obvious approval.
"Ladies, this is my buddy, George Cole. George, these are very dear friends of mine, Paula Rohrig and Irma Ingram."
"Hello, Paula, Irma. May I say you're both charming and very lovely?" White teeth flashed in his swarthy face as he smiled and nodded.
Paula guessed from the touch of gray in his black curly hair that he was in his early fifties.
"Where did you get that beautiful bronzed tan?" Irma asked.
"He sails," Asa answered. "I was lucky to catch him before he took off on his usual weekend cruise. Let's have a martini."
While Asa poured, Paula completed her appraisal of George and decided she liked him. His trim figure and muscular shoulders gave him a male magnetism as potent and irresistible as Bingham's.
"What a shame we took you away from your favorite sport, George," Paula remarked.
His lips curved in an amused smile. "If Asa hasn't told you already, let me say that sailing ranks second on my list." He accepted a glass from Bingham. "To women! God bless 'em, every one!"
"I'll drink to that," Irma said, "but I'd like to add another toast, as well. Here's to the men-the good, husky, ever-loving men. What would we women do without them?"
The men raised their glasses and exchanged knowing smiles.
"Who'd like a dip in the ocean?" Asa asked.
"That would be fun," Paula replied. "Irma?"
"I'm dying to try on my new bikini."
"I'll get your bags from the car. Back in a minute," Asa said.
"How do you get down to the beach?" Paula asked.
George grinned. "It's a long way down-two hundred steps. And a hell of a lot longer coming back up."
Irma stood up and stroked her hips. "That should be good for these."
George's eyes widened as his gaze swept over her, then settled on the tight crotch of her white slacks. "Honey, I'd say they need no exercise. I like what I see."
"Here, girls." Asa carried two small bags into the room. "Follow me. I'll show you where to change." He led them into a master suite off the living room.
"Paula, will you look at that!" Irma stood at the threshold, gaping at the huge room. Three of the walls were lined with mirrors. The fourth wall consisted of glass overlooking the ocean. A mirror was mounted in the ceiling over a king-size bed.
Asa placed the bags on a luggage rack at the foot of the bed. "Anything else you girls need?"
Paula glanced into one of the wall mirrors and caught his eye. "At this moment..." She grinned.
"It can wait."
"We'll be in the living room, honey." He patted her rump. "Take your time."
Irma stripped quickly, then stood staring at her reflection, palming her breasts and buttocks and belly. "Ooh, this is going to be fun, isn't it?"
"Take it easy, Mom. Don't rape him."
Irma leaned over to catch her breasts in the tiny bandeau of floral-patterned material. "What do you think, Paula?"
"Irma!" Paula chuckled. "That barely covers your nipples. The first wave will-"
"I hope so, honey! I hope so."
Paula's bra was not quite so skimpy, but the bottom of her swim suit, like her mother's, clearly outlined her pubic mound and cunt slit.
"We might as well go bare-assed," Paula said with a light laugh. She tucked stray tendrils of hair under the crotch band of the bikini and stared at her multi-mirrored reflections, front and back.
"I doubt the men will let us out of the house." Irma twirled around and grinned into the mirrors. She patted the exposed undercurves of her asscheeks. "Whee! Don't they look inviting?" She took Paula's- arm. "I thought George would be black too."
"So did I. It adds variety to the menu, though. I'm ready."
The men stood in the living room, wearing swim trunks and drinking. "Christ!" George exclaimed.
Asa laughed. "I told you, didn't I?" He held out his hand to Paula. "Have one sip, darling, and we'll go."
The redwood steps were hot to their bare feet. Off in the distance several sailboats were running south before a strong breeze. On the beach below, seagulls strutted on the wet sand.
"Looks like we have the ocean all to ourselves," Paula said.
"This is all private beach-front property along here for several miles." Asa chuckled. "We could have left our suits at home."
"Do you ever swim in the nude?" Irma asked.
"Everybody does along this section," George replied. "Not promiscuously, you understand."
"I'd like to try it. I never swam nude in the ocean," Irma admitted.
"We'll see what it looks like, Irma, when we get down there," Asa answered.
"I don't think we better. Remember the clause in the will about scandal, Asa. That could finish me," Paula reminded him.
"Don't worry about a thing, honey. You're in good hands with me," Asa countered.
At the foot of the stairs, he lifted Paula in his arms. "The sand's probably too hot for your delicate feet, baby."
George lifted Irma up on his back, and the two men raced across the open beach and plunged into the water. Irma's breasts escaped the confines of her bra. George nibbled at each one before tucking it back in place.
"Do you like to swim, Paula?" Asa asked.
"Love to. Let's go out a way."
She was an excellent swimmer. Asa matched her rhythmic crawl stroke. They reached a point some two hundred yards from shore, then turned to see George and Irma standing waist-deep, locked in a close embrace.
"Looks like your mom's off to a good start," Asa remarked.
"It is all right, isn't it? I mean, no one can see."
"Sure it is. Don't worry, Paula. None of the neighbors are nosy. As a matter of fact, the nearest house north of here is almost half a mile away. And to the south, that promontory pretty well shuts off the view."
Paula turned over on her back and paddled her hands at her hips. "Guess I'm on edge."
"Let me furnish the propulsion, Paula."
Suddenly she felt his fingers tugging loose the knot at her side.
"I'm losing my panties," she cried.
"I've got them." He held up the wisp of cloth, then dived below the surface. His head came up between her legs.
Above the floating tendrils of her mound she could see his forehead and his eyes. His nose was pressed against her clitoris. She giggled as she felt herself propelled shoreward.
He raised his face and grinned at her. "The meat's a little salty, baby."
"You idiot!" She splashed water in his face.
They passed George and Irma, still standing in waist-deep water. Her legs were crossed over his hips. Paula turned her head. Irma's arms were around George's neck. Her bikini dangled from the fingers of her right hand. George's trunks hung from her left hand.
"Don't get up when we get to shore, Paula."
"What are you going to do, darling?"
"Fuck you in the water."
"You'll never make it. The water's too cold."
He stood up, holding her legs apart. "Wait till I get these damned things off. Here, hold your bikini." He loosened the string of his trunks, drew them down over his feet and snuggled his genitals up to her cunt crack.
"It's not hard," she said. "I don't think you'll ever get it up while you're in the water."
"What do you think George is doing?"
"Honey, I'll bet you're a better man than he is any day of the week. I'll put my money on you. Let me take hold of it."
He steadied her hips while she fingered his cock into usable stiffness. Lying on her back and floating freely, she regarded him with eyes brightened by a warm tenderness. "Push, darling. It's hot and ready."
"Look, Ma!" he said with a grin. "No grease, no hands."
His bulbous cockhead pressed into her. His hands tugged her hips toward him, and she felt his hard shaft slide deep to fill her with its throbbing fullness.
"How is it?" he asked.
"Mm! Asa, darling! It's wonderful!"
She felt as if she were afloat in a sea of rapturous delight. The buoyancy of her body, the plunging strokes of his thick cock timed to the natural rhythm of the ocean's swells, the brilliant sunlight and the fresh salt air gave her a sense of sharing in the timeless joy of universal life. She clasped his wrists to tug herself against him with each inward thrust of his cock. "Darling! I love it, I love it, I love it! OOH! HOW I LOVE IT! FUCK ME, LOVER! FUCK ME FOREVER, FOREVER, FOREVER!"
She came in great frothing waves of delight that washed from her mind everything but the ecstasy of the moment, then blissful peace.
They lay in the warm golden sand at the foot of the stairway, Paula's head resting on the soft mass of his genitals. She turned her face to kiss his navel, then looked up into his deep brown eyes. "Darling! If I never make love again in my whole life, I'll be satisfied. That was something to remember!"
His fingertip traced her jaw line and feathered over her lips. "Paula, we have the whole weekend ahead of us." He lowered his head and kissed her, then laughed. "I hope my baby isn't fully satisfied-not yet. Had enough sun?"
She nodded in assent.
Halfway up the steep stairway they stopped to rest. "I like your friend George."
"And I like your mom. What a woman! The two of them certainly went for each other."
"Mother's a lot of fun. I don't think I ever really knew her until she came out a week ago to stay with me."
"That's the only way to complete understanding-sharing a crisis together, or a deeply moving emotion." He studied her gravely as if about to speak further, then smiled. "Can you make it the rest of the way?"
"If I don't, you can always prod me with a slap on the butt."
They found George and Irma in the living room, naked, sipping a martini from the same glass. "What took you so long?" George asked. "We've showered and started drinking again."
"Those martinis are potent, Irma," Paula said with a chuckle. "Take it easy so you'll be around for the party." She glanced at George briefly, noting that his body was as bronzed as his face and arms-even his muscular buttocks and belly-and that his genitals were excitingly large and promising.
"Paula and I need a shower. George, how about preparing one of your famous omelets?" Asa suggested. "Right."
"Have as much fun as we did," Irma called after them. "And be sure to soap all the right places."
The bathroom was unusually large, with a marble sunken tub large enough for two, a shower stall, two marble wash bowls, and a toilet tiled off from the rest of the room.
"Asa, I have a douche kit in the small bag I brought. I better use it."
"I'll get it."
While he was gone, Paula looked about. The walls and ceiling were covered with plate glass mirrors. She straightened her shoulders, thrust out her small firm breasts and studied the pleasing curves of her hips and buttocks. Aware of Asa's presence in the doorway, she grinned sheepishly.
"I'd hate to have to live here if I were ugly. Stand here beside me, honey, and let me see how handsome you really are." She took the bag from him, set it on the clothes hamper and put her arm around his waist. "I love these little titties of yours." She kissed each one. "And all this muscle." She tongued his chest. "And this flat belly." Her tongue dipped into the hollow of his navel.
"Don't stop there, baby."
She could feel his belly musculature ripple as he laughed. "And this marvelous apparatus." She kissed the smooth skin of his glans. It throbbed and she patted it gently, saying, "You behave, little man. After lunch I want you for dessert."
"Damn! You really are something!"
She turned into his arms and pressed her naked flesh against his warm, exciting body. Lifting her face, she whispered, "Darling, I've never known such happiness in my life!"
Asa showered while she douched, then she opened the shower door and stepped in. "I hope you saved the best part for me," she giggled.
He handed her the bar of soap.
They ate lunch in the breakfast nook, all of them naked. At first Paula was slightly embarrassed. She was seated across from her mother, whose large firm breasts touched the edge of the table every time she leaned forward to put a forkful of food in her mouth. Paula thought, / suckled those tits when I was a baby, and I came from where George's hand is now . . .
"The omelet's delicious, George," Asa remarked.
"I never saw a man as good with a pan," Irma said. "He could give me breakfast in bed every day of the year."
Paula roared. "Irma, honey, don't get your metaphors mixed."
Irma's gaiety, as reflected in her gleaming blue eyes, and the light party mood of four naked people enjoying a weekend of sex, emphasized the change in the mother-daughter relationship that had occurred in less than a week.
"Having fun?" Paula asked.
"Hmmm! Yes!" Irma put her arm around George's shoulders. "Oh, Paula! He's simply marvelous."
"We taking pictures this afternoon, Asa?" George nibbled at Irma's ear.
"Pictures?" Paula's eyes widened with shock.
Asa reached over to pat her hand. "We do it for fun, honey. I have a closed-circuit TV camera. We shoot the action while it happens, then run the roll later over on our TV set. We always erase everything on every roll before we leave."
"Baby," George exclaimed, "it's a ball! Imagine what a thrill it is to watch yourself performing, close-ups and all."
"It's even better," Asa added, "when you actively keep pace with the same action you filmed, while watching it. Sort of like coming twice at the same time."
"That sounds wild! I'd love to see myself." Irma leaned forward and lowered her voice. "I've never admitted this to anyone before, but I've always gotten a big kick out of looking at dirty pictures-you know, the ones that show a woman's pussy in close-up, and a man's cock. What do you think, Paula?"
After a long moment in which she studied the two men, Paula smiled. "Why not? We're all close friends."
"Let's go!" George stood up and reached for Irma's hand. "Which bedroom, Asa?"
"Mine. You two go ahead. Get warmed up. I'll finish my coffee and we'll be with you in a few minutes." He turned to Paula. "Don't worry, honey. You'll see me erase them."
"Me worry?" She smiled and dropped her hand on his genitals. "I want to see this monster tunneling into me. I'll believe it when I see it."
The bed was stripped of its covers and George and Irma were bouncing on it when Asa and Paula entered the room. "What sequence do you want first, A.B.? Man-eat-puss? Sixty-nine?"
"A threesome, what else? I'd like to make it a foursome but I have to run the camera." Asa opened a door concealed in the mirrored wall and brought out a hand camera and a tripod. A heavy rubber cable and an electric cord were attached to the camera.
"You want me in this with them, Asa?" Paula asked. Doubt was in her voice and facial expression.
"Sure! Why not?"
"What do you want me to do? I thought you and I ... "
"We will, baby, later." He slapped her asscheeks lightly. "You better believe it. Paula, you stay beside me for now, out of camera range, and move in when I give you the word. Okay, you two. George, on your back, your head toward the left side of the bed. Irma, lie beside him. You're the lover in this reel. Eat him up! Start with a kiss and bathe him with your tongue ... all over." He laughed happily. "Ready? Action."
Standing near the foot of the bed, Asa held the camera close to his face. Paula turned her eyes from him to watch her mother's lips move away from George's mouth and across his cheek to nibble at his ear.
Her left hand trailed up and down his belly, fingertips casually touching his soft mass of cock flesh. As Irma's tongue brushed wet strokes around the small nipples showing pinkly through his curly black chest hair, Paula noted a throb of life in his soft shaft. Irma's lips moved onto his belly. His cock swelled and lengthened and rose off its hairy nest.
Paula's tongue tip laved a wet streak around her lips. Her left hand cupped one of her breasts while the fingers of her right hand slithered into the tendrils of her pubic hair. Irma's long black hair concealed George's cock from view for several moments as she nosed around his genitals, then moved down his left thigh.
"Good girl, Irma," Asa cried. "All the way down, now, to his left ankle, then over to his right leg. Up on your knees between his legs. I want to get a close-up of your asscrack."
Paula was only vaguely aware of Asa's slow movement to the other side of the bed, filming all the while and placing the lens within a foot or two of Irma's widespread buttocks.
"Oh George," Asa cried, "wait till you see this shot-BEAUTIFUL! The dark pink slash of moist flesh between the two lines of wet black hair ..."
"Mm! Damn it, Asa! You're making me hungry," George complained.
Paula moved to the side of the bed opposite Asa and his camera. She appeared to be in a trance, her eyes staring at George's massive prick, which was angled up against Irma's cheek as she nosed into his groin.
"Paula, want to feed him?" George called softly, holding his chin up and rolling his eyes to catch her reflection in the ceiling mirror.
"Yes," she murmured. Her hands massaged her tits and her clit as she bent to kiss George's upturned lips. "You really hungry?" she asked.
"Kneel over me, honey. I'm dying for the taste of it." His hands slipped around her hips to clutch her buttocks as she straddled his face.
"I got hot just watching," she said, lowering herself like a dancer doing a muscle-control exercise.
She felt his nose and tongue tip touch her cunt tissues. At the same time, Irma lapped the bulbous crown of his cock and tongued the coronal ridge. She glanced up at Paula, a happy grin on her face.
"Did you ever see a bigger, thicker, lovelier cock in your life? MMM! He tastes good!" She opened her mouth and sucked in the swollen pink meat.
"Bend forward, Paula," Asa said. He had moved behind her. "I want to film what George is eating." As she leaned toward her mother, George's tongue slid up to titillate her anal ring. She could hear her mother's loud sucking and nasal breathing, the squish of her own oozing cunt lips on George's face and mouth, and everyone's deep inhalations as passions rose. She watched his hips begin to swing and rise as her ass shivered and worked to force her cunt slit down. His nails dug into her soft flesh. Her butt and thigh muscles worked faster. Her mother's face moved up and down, the cheeks hollowed as she sucked his thick prick with vacuuming motions. Waves of warmth swept through Paula like a fast-spreading brush fire rising from her pussy, which seemed to be pouring streams of molten delight into George's sucking mouth as she came.
"Man! That was wild!" Asa exclaimed as the three of them collapsed on the bed. "Take it easy, girls. I don't want to hurry anybody, but I have a hard-on here that's weeping to be buried somewhere."
"Okay, A.B." George rose and took the camera from Asa. "I don't know if I can stand up long enough to get through this session. Irma, honey, you sure do a first-class job."
"Thanks. How do we go through this one now?"
Asa lay on his back in the same position in which George had been. "Come on, Paula, honey, you fuck me. Irma, wait until she gets it plugged in, then let me have yours to kiss."
Irma knelt to one side, staring at the huge brown prick, the head of which Paula was swabbing between her cunt lips. "Beautiful," Irma whispered huskily, "just beautiful!"
"Lean forward, Paula, so we can get a shot of this going in." George put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her gently. "That's the girl. Hey! Wait till you see this one!"
Paula placed her hand on the sheet and lowered her head. Looking back between her swaying breasts she could see the stretch of Asa's brown belly and his thick cock rammed in her pussy.
"Let me have a mouthful of these tits, Paula." His hands clutched her dangling breasts as he lowered his chin to his chest.
Paula moved her hips upward and felt his cock slide in slow withdrawal. She dropped first one shoulder, then the other, to place her tits close to his sucking mouth.
"Baby! I could fuck you for a week without let-up. Stay with me, honey, while I ram this cock of mine into you and bury it."
She thrust her buttocks back to meet his plunging stroke, then straightened to sit on her haunches.
"Asa! I hope you're ready for me," Irma cried. She swung her right leg over his head and knelt astride his face.
His hands encircled her hips to pull her crotch down. "Make it last, now!" Asa's voice was muffled by Irma's cunt flesh. "Everybody fly off together."
"I want a close-up from the front," George said. He placed the camera above Asa's belly, the lens pointed at his cock. "This always makes a good shot."
Paula kept her gaze fastened on her pubis as she raised her hips. The thick shaft emerged from her hairy lips, glistening with mucous and drawing open the pink, petal-like vulva. Her ass rotated downward in a slow rhythm that matched the smooth upward thrust of Asa's hips.
"Oh, Paula! What a beautiful big cock he's got!" Irma cried.
"MMM!" Paula raised her eyes.
Irma rose up straight on her knees, her breasts outthrust, her nipples budded. Her hands pressed over Asa's, which were clutching her hips to guide them in a slow rotation. "I'm getting close. Oooh!" Irma squealed.
"So am I," Paula gasped.
Their eyes met and sparkled with a wild glitter. As their hips broke into a faster rhythmic motion, they leaned slowly toward each other.
"This is wild, isn't it?" Irma's voice was raspy.
Their arms went around each other's shoulders.
Irma moaned wildly, dropped her face into the cleft of Paula's breasts, then sucked each of her nipples greedily. As they all reached orgasm, the air was filled with the cries of the two women, the muffled moans of Asa, the squish-squash of hard cock flesh plunging into and withdrawing from cunt tissues, and the sharp acrid scent of female juices.
"THE END," George cried in triumph. "Man! We got a beauty this time." He set the camera on a chair and held out his hand to Paula. "I'll take care of your bath, my dear. Come along."
She turned at the door to the dressing room and shrugged her shoulders at Asa, who was still sprawled on the bed. He grinned and threw her a kiss.
In the bathroom, George embraced her, clutching both asscheeks in his powerful hands. He lifted her to her toes as he tugged her ass while their pubic mounds mashed together. "Jesus, baby! You two women are quite a pair!"
"You and Asa aren't exactly lousy lovers, yourselves," she said wryly. She was aware of tremendous strength in his muscular body and arms. His pubic hair felt crinkly and ticklish to her belly, and his cock was hardening between her thighs. She pressed her lips against his hairy chest and murmured, "I thought you were going to give me a bath."
"I am." He jabbed his tongue tip into her ear. "Now?"
"Uh-huh!" She nodded her head.
His hard cock was pressing into her thighs. She spread her feet and his thick shaft slid up into her asscrack. His fingers released their clutching hold on her buttocks and she dropped down from her toes. The shaft of his prick lay in the center slash of her cunt, with its swollen crown projecting beyond the crease of her buttocks.
"Better let me take a douche, George."
"Why?" He lifted her off her feet, his cock sliding up to bring the bulbous head to her vagina. He turned a full circle slowly, examining her mirrored reflections with grunts of approval. "I've been wanting to get into this, baby, ever since I first saw you. Let's sit down in here." He carried her to the tiled-off section housing the toilet, sat on the seat and pulled her onto his lap. "You have the kind of tits I could suck all day. Put it in, Paula."
"I have to pee."
"Put it in first, honey."
His cock stood up like a stump rising from marshy grass. The satiny glans throbbed against her navel, reawakening sensitive nerves, while his tongue brushed new fires into her nipples. She held his stiff cock with the delicate touch of thumb and forefinger for a moment, but her craving to feel his hard shaft inside, her wiped out her inhibitions. Planting her feet on the floor, she raised up, guided the bulbous crown to her vaginal opening and lowered herself onto it. She put her hand to the back of his head and pressed his face into her breasts as she sank down. His cock was as large and as filling as Asa's huge prick.
"Piss now if you have to, Paula."
"I don't know if I can. I'll wait."
"I want you to. Go ahead." He lifted his face and sought her lips. "Come on, baby. I love it when a woman does that to me."
"Mm!" she murmured.
She felt the warm urine flood out of her and onto his groin to run down between his thighs and splash into the bowl. It was an odd thrill for her and evidently a wild stimulant for him, for he embraced her with passion while he lavished kisses on her lips, neck and breasts. He began stroking into her with deep lunges, and she knew the hot flow of urine had excited him to the point of a quick ejaculation. Wriggling and riding his working cock to catch up to his impending peak, she found herself closing the gap.
"Wait! George, please. I'm right there. OH!" She felt the warm geyser of his first spurt of semen burst deep within her, then the tensing of her own inner muscles that presaged the onset of her orgasm. "GEORGE! OOOH! FUCK ME!"
They writhed and wriggled in the narrow confines of the tiled cubicle until they had thrashed out the final drop of orgasmic joy.
Chapter Ten
Asa was on the telephone when George and Paula entered the living room. Irma stood at the window looking at the sunset in the western sky.
"That Irma's got a beautiful ass," George said, "especially in those tight white slacks. Hi, baby! Have a good time?" He opened his arms as he approached her.
"A marvelous time," she replied. "Wait till you see what I do to that big steak dinner Asa promised."
"George," Asa said, covering the mouthpiece, "take the girls out to the car. I'll be with you in a few minutes."
Outside, George opened the rear door of a white Continental. "In the back with you, Paula. And you," he said, slapping Irma's rump, "stow this treasure in the front with me."
Asa was delaying more than a few minutes. George chatted about his boat and his love of sailing.
"I'm not sure if Asa can make it next weekend, but if he can, how would you two like to join us for a weekend cruise?"
"Oh, we would!" Irma squealed happily. She turned her head. "Paula! Wouldn't we?"
"I'd love it."
"Where do you go, George?"
"Down the Baja Coast. Asa and I frequently spend weekends sailing together. Oh, here he comes now."
Asa leaned over. "George, would you mind driving Irma down to Giulio's? Paula and I will follow. We'll see you in the parking lot."
"Right!"
"Come on, Paula. I have a little news I want to pass along." He put his arm around her waist as they walked to his car. "How do you like George?"
"He's very easy to like. I'm sure Irma has taken to him too."
He chuckled as he opened the car door. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised, at least from what I've seen so far."
Paula snuggled up to him as he settled behind the wheel. "This is heavenly, Asa." Her eyes scanned the salmon-tinted clouds on the horizon. "I haven't had a moment's worry about-" She turned her head and stared into his gravely thoughtful face. "Is something wrong? That phone call ..."
"That was Wallace Parks, my partner." He placed his arm around her shoulders and leaned against the door. "I was afraid of something like this, Paula."
"What's happened? For God's sake, tell me!"
"We're certain now that Bill Bachrach is in serious financial trouble. Suit was filed this morning by the beneficiary of another trust Bachrach has been handling ..."
"Oh, my God! Poor Sally!"
"Charges of malfeasance, conversion of assets ..."
"Do you suppose he's done that with Rolfe's estate?"
"Not yet. He hasn't had time." He leaned forward to turn the ignition switch. Over the soft purring of the engine, he continued, "I'd expected something of this nature. Wally and I had prepared the necessary papers to file with the Probate Court if our suspicions were confirmed. Wally went into court this morning. We have an order enjoining Bachrach from doing anything with Rolfe's estate until we can have a complete audit made."
"What about the new will?"
"The court has authorized a search of Bachrach's files. Incidentally, his secretary left the other day for a three months' tour of Europe. We have a subpoena out for her."
"That's horrible. What will happen to poor Sally?"
Asa shook his head. "Jesus! It's a terrible thing when a man of such good repute gets into this kind of mess." He put the car in gear and backed up. "Let's have a good dinner, honey. Things will work out all right for you, I'm sure."
Paula sat up straight and stared out the windshield as he turned the car around and headed for the public road. "Maybe the new will is worse than the old one," she muttered.
He squeezed her knee. "No, I'm sure it's not. He must have had a change of heart-your husband, I mean. The fact that Bachrach tried to conceal it would indicate that. We'll find, I'm sure, that in the new will he has bequeathed the bulk of his estate to you, with no waiting period."
"How will we ever know that?"
"From Bachrach's secretary's notebooks or her direct testimony." He turned right onto the public road. "Giulio's Restaurant is up this way a mile or so. The steaks are-"
"What about Wells and his pictures?"
"The detective will be here at noon tomorrow. I assure you, Paula, I'll handle Wells. Now, sit close to me, baby, and let's get back to the real business of this weekend."
She moved over and dropped her hand onto his crotch. "It's all out of my mind," she said. "That business, I mean. This is the only thing I'm going to think about as long as I'm with you." She gave his cock a gentle squeeze.
He chuckled. "Take your hand off it, Paula. I don't want to come in these light slacks."
The restaurant was crowded but they were shown to a small private dining room which Asa had reserved. Giulio was a jovial balding man whose fat frame and bulging belly gave testimony to the excellence of the food he served. He took their orders for drinks and steaks, gave both men an affectionate pat on the shoulder and bowed to the women. When the waitress brought martinis, George raised his glass.
"To the most fun I've ever had, and the companions who've shared it with me."
"And to a repeat next weekend, George, when we take the girls on a cruise."
"You asked him, Paula?"
"No." She raised her glass. Her eyes gleamed merrily. "Bless his heart, he thought of it all by himself."
"I don't have a thing to wear on a cruise," Irma said.
"Irma, honey, don't you dare wear anything else but what you have on now. Bring your bikini and a toothbrush. Oh, yes, and a pair of sneakers."
A soft glow lighted Irma's blue eyes. "I'm never going back to the Midwest! I never dreamed there was so much fun in California living."
George put his arm around her shoulder. "Honey, you ain't seen nothing yet."
The steaks and salad and garlic bread were delicious.
"Everybody had enough to eat?" Asa asked a short time later.
"Oh, I'm stuffed." Irma touched her stomach. "If I have another meal like that within the next week, I'll feel like I'm pregnant."
George grinned. "In California under the new abortion law, that's easily taken care of."
On the way home, Paula laid her head on Asa's shoulder. "Darling, I want you to make love to me tonight. All night."
He clasped her hand and brushed his lips across her cheek. "You didn't find George . . . inadequate?"
"No. Not at all. It's just that I want to be alone with you.
"Thanks, honey."
He pulled into the driveway beside the house. The headlights of George's car flooded the area with light as Asa opened the front door for Paula. He cradled her in his arms and carried her into the house.
"You make me feel like a bride," she said.
"Yes." He set her on her feet and put both hands on her shoulders. A warm glow lighted his eyes as he scanned her upturned face, an inner glow fired in the depths of his being. His arms enfolded her. His lips opened, but no words came. Paula closed her eyes, "Darling!" he whispered.
She felt the pressure of his embrace, the working of his lips like a voiceless demand for her complete surrender. For a rapturous moment she was alive, not as a separate person, but as a woman whose individuality was one with that of her lover.
"Break it up, you two," George said kiddingly.
"Yes," Irma added. "We have home movies, don't we?"
"Later." Asa released Paula without looking at the others. "Excuse us for a while. We have some loving to take care of."
In the bedroom he switched on lamps that lighted the area of the bed with a soft glow. Paula waited until he turned to her with outstretched arms, then she moved as if entranced. He undressed her with the slow reverence of a man unveiling a beloved treasure, removing her sweater and stepping back a pace to stare with wide-eyed wonder at the creamy mounds of her breasts and the pink circles of her aureoles. He inhaled deeply. "Lovely! Lovely!" he murmured. His lips fluttered at each nipple like a hummingbird tasting the nectar of blossoming rose buds, then he pressed his face into the cleft of her breasts to sniff the erotic perfume of his woman's flesh.
She touched his head lightly as if fearful of breaking the magic spell. His fingers fumbled with the catch of the closure at the side of her slacks. Although she trembled with impatience to be wholly revealed to him, she offered him no help. He solved the puzzle of the catch at last, opened the zipper and drew the slacks down over her hips. He knelt to lift each foot in turn to free her legs, then pulled her panties off. Settling back on his haunches, he scanned the flat plane of her belly, the black patch of her pubis and the curving lines of her hips and thighs.
"You're beautiful, darling!" His hands touched her hips, feathered over the smooth surface and palmed her small, graceful buttocks. Under the gentle pressure of his hands and the fierce wanting within her, the muscles of her butt contracted to thrust her crotch against his nose and lips.
"Kiss it, Asa. Love me," she murmured. "Easy, easy!"
He rose, lifted her and set her on the bed. Undressing slowly, he kept his eyes on the white stretch of her nakedness. "This," he said softly, dropping his shorts to free his hardened cock, "will be a night we shall both remember."
For a long while she lay in his arms, alive to his masculine strength, the warmth of his belly and the throb of his hard maleness, the tickling of his chest hair on her tender breasts, the caress of his lips and tongue on her eyes, ears and mouth. Every inch of her body was warm and tingly. She stifled the wild urges to roll him over and impale herself on his hard shaft, and to kiss and fondle and suck his cock. Instead she gave herself up to his impassioned but controlled loving.
His tongue tip probed into her ear, circled the outer shell, then brushed wetly down to the hollow of her neck. The tender flesh of her breasts flamed at the touch of his lips as they traced the outer curves and the soft undersides. Her nipples twitched with delight as his mouth sucked them gently. She alternated hands to cup each tit and caress his head, as if to accent the gift of her flesh to him for their mutual enjoyment. Up and down the surface of her belly his lips and tongue moved with the touch of love, ceasing on occasion while he laid his cheek against her smooth skin. She felt the warmth of his breath as his nose skimmed across the matted tendrils of her pubic mound.
At the urging of his hand on her hip, she rolled over to lie on her belly. He knelt to straddle her thighs. As he leaned forward his hard cock slithered between her buttocks to glide along her spine as he kissed and nibbled at her shoulders. His tongue stroked up and down her back, creating little tingles of joy, licking into the crack of her ass and down the inside of her right thigh, calf and ankle, then across to her other leg and up into the sopping tissues of her cunt, lapping with love, not lust. He kissed the tightly puckered ring of her anus with as much adoration as the wet swollen lips of her pussy.
"OOH! ASA!" she cried, flipping herself over on her back, spreading her legs and opening the moist precious part of her physical being to his jabbing, probing, laving, loving tongue. "LOVE IT, MY DARLING! LOVE IT, LOVE ME! OOH! MY LOVER!"
In the blinding flash of orgasm her mind spun out of control. Slowly, like a bird winging out of the mists into sunlight, her mind returned to the clarity of awareness. She saw his face appear between her thighs-his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his chin glistening with the slick sheen of her juices. He slid up over her spent body, kissing each breast. The heavy scent of her cunt juice rose from his lips. She tasted the exotic flavor of it when his tongue entwined with hers.
"Baby, you were really out there that time!" he exclaimed.
"Way out!" She looked into the deep brown pools of his eyes. "I didn't think I'd make it back."
They lay for a long time, coasting and recuperating. Through an open window a cool night breeze flowed in from the ocean, fresh with the salty scent of the sea. In the distance waves broke with a steady muffled beat.
"Listen!" Asa raised his head from the pillow.
From the other bedroom came Irma's high-pitched, boisterous giggle.
"Sounds like they're having fun," Asa remarked.
"Yes." Paula caught his glance in the ceiling mirror. "If you can take it, darling, I want to love the hell out of you."
"Fire away. But be careful. That gun is loaded."
"If it isn't now, wait till I prime it."
Her lips hovered over his while her tongue traced the outline of his mouth, darting into it with teasing sallies, then brushing lightly over his cheeks and his eyelids, sensing the delicate change in texture of his skin. "You're a handsome, lovable brute!"
"Hmm!"
"I love every inch of you." "Hmm!"
"This . . . and this . . . and this ..." Her tongue pressed the artery in his neck to feel the throbbing of his steady pulse, then slid down to his muscular chest. "And I love these tiny titties buried in this hair, Mm! I love both of them. Feed them to me, lover!"
His hand cupped the muscular flesh. "Suck them-suck them dry!" he murmured.
She drew on them with deep vacuuming sucks and bit them gently. He flinched.
"I'm sorry, darling," she whispered tenderly.
She tongued into the curly matted hair to reach the skin of his chest, inhaling the scent of him, relishing the taste of him. Despite her eagerness, she forced her lips and tongue to dally over his navel, sniffing and tasting it, moving off at last to lave the plane of his belly. His musculature responded with ripples that spread in joyful spasms up into his chest and down to his groin.
"Mm! Darling, I'm getting close," she murmured as she nosed into his pubic bush.
He moaned. His hands touched her hair lightly. His cock swelled to brush her cheek.
"Not yet. Behave," she chided it. She tongued the liquid thread that dripped from its tiny hole, then kissed the soft skin of its glans. "On your belly, lover."
He turned. She straddled his buttocks and lowered her delicate cunt tissues onto his asscheeks.
"Muscles!" she whispered. "Oh, what muscles!" She nibbled at his shoulders. His asscheeks wriggled his response into her sensitive slit. Her tongue brushed in slow tantalizing progress down his spine and into his asscrack.
"I like that." His words sounded dull and muffled by the pillow.
"So do I." Her words were muted by the flesh of his buttocks. The skin in the center was soft and smooth to her tongue, while the puckered ring of his anus was tough and muscular. She sensed the quivering of his surrounding flesh as she tongued around it. The insides of his thighs and calves rippled as she kissed down one and up the other.
"Turn over, darling." Her voice quavered with rising excitement. Settling down between his legs, she stared with awe at his hard massive prick and the crinkled sac of testicles drawn up tight at its base. She raised his knees, laved the insides of his thighs down into the hairless skin near his groin, nosed and sniffed and tongued all over his genital area.
"Love it, baby! Love it!"
"Yes, I do. Yes, I am-every bit of it." She opened her mouth and gently drew in one of his balls, released it and sucked the other. The erotic scent of the male rose in her nostrils like an aphrodisiac. She kissed the base of his cock, then tongued slowly up the underside of it to titillate the bunched flesh beneath the coronal ridge.
"Whew! Baby! Baby!" His fingers twined in her hair.
"It's lovely, darling. Lovely!"
She opened her mouth wide to take in the bulbous satiny crown. It was warm, alive, tasty. She sucked it. She swirled her tongue around its ridge, reversed the circle, sucked it, opened her mouth to its widest, took in more of its awesome length and bulk until the throbbing head reached her throat and gagged her.
If only I could take all of it, she thought.
She changed the angle of her chin and tried again, taking more this time before her throat rebelled. The thick shaft throbbed with a life of its own. She drew her head back a few inches to concentrate the movement of her tongue on the sensitive ridge. The thumb of her left hand caressed the smooth skin of his perineum, felt the twitching of his anal ring. She toyed with it, pressed into it, then felt it relax as her thumb popped inside. His hips were moving in a slow circular motion. She timed her strong sucking to his rhythm and stroked her thumb into him. His fingers tugged at her hair as his ass began to buck. She could feel the tensing of his inner muscles as his anal ring clamped her thumb.
"I'm close, baby! So close!"
She nodded her head and sucked his pulsing crown. The first surge of his semen pounded past her thumb and up his penile canal to explode from the tip of his throbbing cock.
"Take it! Take it!" he cried, bucking his ass off the bed.
Her mouth drew on his spouting cock with deep sucks that vacuumed up every available drop of his semen. Loath to release it, she sucked the softening flesh until she had taken all of its shrunken bulk in her mouth. Her nose rested in his pubic hair as she continued to savor the delightful taste of his juices. Satisfied at last, she released his cock and allowed it to rest on the crinkly skin of his scrotum.
His eyes glowed as he kissed her and cradled her head in his arm.
"I loved that, Asa," she whispered. Her lips touched his biceps. "I feel as if I could lick the world now."
He grinned up at her in the mirror. "I don't want you licking anybody else, baby."
"Silly!"
For ten or fifteen minutes they lay like spent swimmers, breathing deeply. Then the telephone rang. Asa lifted the receiver.
"Yes?" He waited a moment. "Wally? What's up?" He listened quietly for several minutes, nodding occasionally. "Good! What did she have to say?" Again he was quiet. "Excellent! When will you have it?" He glanced at Paula, giving her the okay sign with his fingers. "Thanks for calling, Wally. I'll sleep like a baby tonight. Give me a ring in the morning as soon as you have the full text."
He cradled the phone and threw his arms around Paula. "They found her!"
"A.B.," George called from the doorway. "That call wasn't about business that's going to take you out all night, was it? We have those TV films to look at-remember?"
"It was business, but I don't have to leave. Paula and I have to shower, though. Mix up some bourbon and soda, and we'll join you and Irma in a few minutes."
"Who found who?" Paula asked anxiously.
"Wally had a detective track down Bachrach's secretary. She was boarding a night polar flight to Paris at the L.A. airport."
"Did she have anything to do with the new will?"
"She certainly did. She said there was a new one, which Rolfe signed a few months ago. Bachrach gave her a three months' vacation and an all-expense-paid trip to Europe."
"Then she was-"
"Not at all. She was astonished to learn that the new will hadn't been disclosed by her boss. Her notebook contains the whole text. Incidentally, it's completely in your favor."
Paula clenched her hands. "I still have that damned Wells to worry about."
"We'll take care of him when the detective arrives tomorrow noon. Up with you, baby, and into the shower. The night's just getting started."
George and Irma sat naked in the breakfast nook, drinking bourbon on the rocks when Asa and Paula entered the kitchen, wearing terry cloth robes.
"Hey, what gives?" George cried. "You closing the store for the night?"
"Paula felt a little chilly. So did I," Asa replied.
Irma blushed and stammered, "I . . . I thought there were ... TV films."
Asa laughed. "The natives haven't gone Christian. There are several more beach robes in the closet. I'll get a couple."
"Hell, no!" George rubbed his hand over Irma's breasts. "I flushed these beauties out in the open once . ..
"What are you drinking?" Paula seated herself on the other bench.
"Bourbon on ice. Let me pour you one."
"No thanks, George. I could go for a Coke."
"I'll get it. Sit down, Asa. You want bourbon?"
"Yes, indeed." Asa poured, then lifted his glass. "Irma! Having fun?"
"Oh, my!" Over the top of her raised glass her eyes sparkled a bit too merrily.
"Irma," Paula said quietly, "aren't you over your quota?"
"Don't worry about me, dear. I'll just finish this ... no more."
"Here's your Coke, Paula." George seated himself beside Irma and slipped his arm around her waist. His fingers fondled her right breast. "Don't worry about this gal. I'm taking care of her."
"I'll drink to that." Irma raised her glass and grinned. "Paula, why didn't you-why didn't somebody tell me sex was so much fun?"
"You listened to the wrong preacher," Asa said. "You're sitting in the right pew tonight, honey." George stood up. "A.B., you got the TV all set up?"
"Any time you're ready."
George glanced down at his soft cock and grinned. "All she has to do is kiss this little devil, and I will be."
A large TV console stood against the south wall. Asa pulled two Oriental rugs to the center of the floor. "Let's see ... I filmed the first sequence. That was Irma doing a tongue job on you, George."
"Right! And Paula joined in later."
Asa put his arm around Paula's waist. "The idea, honey, is to try to duplicate the same positions and actions that are on film. It's crazy-really crazy. You see yourself coming and you are coming, all at the same time." He nodded to George. "Get with it, anchor man."
George stretched out on one of the rugs, facing the TV set. Irma knelt beside him.
"No, no. On his left side, Irma," Asa said, "so you'll be able to keep an eye on your past performance." He stepped over to the set and turned two switches. "We're rolling. Go after him, baby."
Paula sat on the other rug and Asa joined her. The screen lighted up.
"My God," Irma squealed, "look at me, naked as a jaybird!"
Paula gasped. Asa burst into laughter.
"Get with it, honey," George growled. "Do what you're doing up there."
"It's in color!" Paula exclaimed. She watched the screen, swiveled her gaze to her mother, then back to the screen.
Irma at first had trouble synchronizing her live actions with her filmed actions, but once she got into it she had no difficulty repeating her performance. Paula smiled. She was sure her mother's repetitive act was due to a well-learned and thoroughly enjoyed routine. As Irma's mouth moved down to George's belly, excitement stirred in Paula, and when she screen showed a close-up of Irma's cunt crack, Paula shed her robe and began to massage her breasts.
"I've never seen anything like this," she muttered.
"That's some shot of a woman's pussy, isn't it?"
Asa said, engrossed in the filmed sequence.
"Do I look like that down there?"
"You'll know in less than a minute, Paula. Better stand up. You're on camera-now!"
Fascinated, she rose slowly, keeping her eyes on the screen. The camera had panned over Irma's buttocks to catch a stunning shot of her naked body. Paula inhaled sharply as she scanned the exciting slope of her breasts ringed with small coral aureoles in which the little pink nipples stood up like tiny rosebuds. Caught up in the bizarre sensation of being inside and outside herself, she watched and felt her fingers in passionate excitation of her tits and hairy bush, her face twisted with lustful yearning and her eyes staring glassily at her mother's mouthing of the enormous cockhead.
"I'm hot, hot, hot!" she cried. Hands reached up to clutch her naked hips on film and in reality, and pull her down to her knees. Tongue and lips worked in her cunt slit and she saw and felt her ass buck in wild response. Her body leaned forward. On screen the pink slash in the dewy hairline of her crack loomed up like large petals of a full-blown rose. Fingers dug into the flesh of her hips to steady her as her buttocks rotated and bounced.
"OOH!" Her cry was weird and piercing, echoing off in the distance somewhere, merged with the passionate moans muffled in her suckled tissues. A woman's long black hair mingled with the black tendrils of a man's lower belly, writhing and grinding and thrusting a thick-shafted prick into the woman's mouth. "I'm coming! Take it!" Her own voice-a hysterical octave higher than usual-rang as she wriggled into the ecstasy of sexual fulfillment.
She was fuzzily aware of gentle hands holding her, of arms supporting her, of lips caressing her cheeks. "Paula, darling!"
"Yes." She looked up into Asa's soft brown eyes and laid her head against his chest.
"Whee! That was something!" Irma cried. "What a thrill! Paula! How'd you like that?"
George chortled. "Hell, it knocked her out. Look at her!"
"I'm okay, God! That was weird. I wasn't sure which me was really me."
"Wait till you see yourself in the sequence I filmed," George said.
"Not tonight, please, George. I couldn't take another one like that."
"She's had enough, and so have I." Asa got to his feet and reached down to help Paula up. "How about a light snack-say, cheese and crackers-before bed?"
"I could eat a horse," George said, scrambling to his feet. He helped Irma get up. "How about you, honey?"
"I think I just did."
"A little milk will help wash that down." George patted her buttocks. "The more I see of you, the fonder I grow. I never met another woman who loves it every which way, like you do."
"Thank you, dear. I never met another man who could give me the thrill you do-but then, I've met very few men, really."
"Okay, you two. Break it up. Out to the kitchen."
Asa led the way. For a half-hour they munched cheese and crackers and engaged in light chit-chat.
"Do you two do this every weekend?" Irma asked.
"Pretty much. Asa and I get together as often as possible. How do you like our life-style, Paula?"
"Marvelous." Paula grinned. "I've heard of bare-ass beach parties before, but never anything about bare-ass midnight snacks." She turned to Asa. "Darling, do you know what you can do for me now?"
"Name it."
"Fill that big tub with hot water, put me in it for a good soaking, then put me to bed."
"Right! We'll see you two in the morning sometime. Come on, honey."
The sunken tub was large enough for the two of them to lie side by side. "Oh, this is the end of a perfect day."
"I've never known a better one-or even one to equal it," Asa replied. "I'm pooped."
The muted ring of the phone startled them.
"Who could that be?" Paula sat up. "It must be one or one-thirty."
"Damn!" Asa grumbled. "I better answer it. No one has this number but my secretary and my partner." He climbed wearily out of the tub and blew her a kiss. "I shall return." He dried his legs and wrapped the towel around his waist.
Paula waited nervously through the several minutes of his absence. He was toweling his chest when he came back. His face was grave.
"You better get dressed, dear," he said levelly.
"What is it?" Paula scrambled out of the tub.
"That was Miss Michaels. She just talked to Sally Bachrach."
"Something terrible's happened, hasn't it?"
"I'm not sure. Sally tried to call you earlier. Your housekeeper gave her my office number. The answering service takes all night calls and relays the important ones to Miss Michaels."
Paula swiped the last drops of moisture from her back. "Sally called me just a short while ago?"
"She phoned at eight and left a message for you to call her, then phoned again later. Said it was important. Get dressed. I'll tell you the rest in the car."
They stopped in the doorway of the other bedroom and Asa said, "Paula and I have to go out. Make yourselves at home. I'm not sure when we'll be back."
Irma sat up and asked anxiously, "Something wrong, Paula?"
"I don't know, Mother. Sally's in some kind of trouble ... I think."
Chapter Eleven
Paula sat as close as she could to Asa as he started the car. She felt a desperate need to draw on his calm strength to carry her through whatever crisis was threatening her. "I'm frightened, Asa. Where are we going?"
"I don't know. Miss Michaels was sure you'd know. She just returned home from a date. The answering service had been calling her. Sally called again about ten minutes ago and said it was urgent that she get hold of you. Miss Michaels called Sally to find out why-"
"I'm afraid it's got something to do with Wells.
I didn't tell you he was blackmailing her, too."
Asa entered the on-ramp of the freeway and headed back toward town. "The sonofabitch!" he muttered. "Miss Michaels said Sally was hysterical when she talked to her . . . she muttered something about it being 'too late now' and that she had to handle it by herself. Miss Michaels tried to get her to explain, but she said, 'Paula will know.' So, what do you know?"
"It's Wells! It has to be!"
"Would he be at her house?"
Paula was silent for a moment. "No. I'm sure she went to his hellhole."
"That's where we go, then. Where is it?"
Paula kept her eye on the speedometer while she gave him directions. He touched her knee. "I don't dare go over seventy, dear. It's not getting a ticket that worries me; it's the delay."
"Maybe we better notify the police."
"Not yet. Not till we see what we're getting into. I'm hoping we beat Sally there."
Minutes dragged like a procession of balky mules. They reached the interchange with Interstate Eight.
"It not too far from here," Paula said in a hushed voice. "The next off-ramp. Down three or four blocks. Turn right."
They passed the gas station where she and Irma had engaged the young man to drive her car home. Darkness shrouded the entire neighborhood.
"Slow down. Hickham Place is at the end of this street."
Asa rounded the corner slowly. "Oh, God," Paula moaned, "that's Sally's Cadillac parked across the street from his place!" In the bright lights of Asa's car they saw a slender figure leap off the porch of Wells' house, dash across the street and jump into the Cadillac. In an instant the lights of the Cadillac flashed on and the car roared past them. "Sally!" Paula screamed.
Asa swung the car around and chased after her. "We better get the hell out of here," he said grimly.
They caught up with her about eight blocks away. Asa flashed his bright lights off and on, and the Cadillac pulled over to the curb. When they reached her, Sally was slumped over the wheel, sobbing hysterically.
"Sally! It's Paula."
"I didn't do it! I swear to God I didn't do it!"
Paula reached in to shake her shoulder. "Sally! Everything's going to be all right. This is my lawyer. What happened?"
"It was horrible. Oh, God! Horrible!" She turned her head. Her eyes were glazed. Tears wet her cheeks and dribbled into the corners of her mouth.
Sirens sounded in the distance, their shrill whines rising like a menacing gale.
"I want to get both cars out of this neighborhood," Asa said. "Paula, she knows you. Ask her to move over. You drive. I'll follow. Take it easy. If she gets hysterical, pull over and stop. I'll be right behind you."
"Where to?"
"My apartment." He glanced into the car. "Wait!" He walked around the back of the car, opened the door and wrapped a handkerchief around the gun lying on the seat. "Mrs. Bachrach, move over, please. Paula will drive your car."
"Where are you taking me? I don't want to go home." Deeps sobs racked Sally's body. "I can't ever go home."
"Now, Sally, we'll take care of you tonight," Paula said soothingly. "Move over, dear."
The sirens came closer, with a sickening wail.
"Get out of here, Paula." Asa slammed the door and went back to his car. Paula put the Cadillac in gear.
"Paula! I saw them. They were dead! Both of them-lying on the floor-flames-"
"Shh! Sally, shut it out of your mind if you can." She turned onto the freeway ramp going west. "Mister Bingham's a fine lawyer. He'll know what to do." She glanced into the rear-view mirror to note the headlights of Asa's Mercedes following her closely. She kept the car at a steady fifty miles per hour.
"He ... he forced me to come to ... "
"Sally, please don't try to talk. See if you can close your eyes and relax."
"My daughter's coming down from Whittier tomorrow. What am I going to tell her? Oh, God! I wish I were dead!"
"Now, now! You can't mean that. Nothing's ever as bad as all that." Paula's own fear was lost in her compassion for Sally.
As she drew close to the exit nearest Asa's apartment, she flashed her turn signal. In six minutes she pulled into the parking area of the condominium. Asa drove up beside her.
"We're here, Sally." Asa opened the door and helped her to her feet.
Paul hurried around to put her arm about Sally's waist. "It's all over now, you'll see. Nightmares always end, dear."
"This is one that will never end . . . never!"
In the apartment, Paula led Sally to a large sofa and urged her to lie down. Asa brought a small glass of brandy. "Mrs. Bachrach, take a sip of this." He raised her head and held the glass to her lips. "Good! Would you like me to call your husband?"
She sat up. "Do you know where he is?"
"No. Isn't he at home?"
She shook her head. "I haven't seen him since breakfast. He's been . . . drinking ..." She began to cry softly, as a lonely child weeps for love and comfort. "I was going to tell him, but he didn't come home ... I had no one to . . . Oh, God!" She covered her eyes. "I didn't do it! I meant to, but they were dead . . . already dead ..."
Asa exchanged wide-eyed glances with Paula. "You couldn't have done it, Sally," Asa said softly. "Your gun hasn't been fired. Who were these men you saw dead?"
"Wells and Rolfe Rohrig, Junior. I saw them on the floor of the front room." She sobbed into the palms of her hands.
Paula sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"Is it wise to let her talk, Asa?"
"Yes, I think so. What could Rohrig have been doing there?"
"I don't know. He was there this afternoon but he didn't see me. Wells let me out the back door . . . after he was through with me."
"Sally, I'm so sorry."
"I told you about the blackmail." She wiped the tears from her cheeks with her hands.
Asa handed her a clean handkerchief and she went on, "He called me at noon. Told me to be at his place in a half-hour, or else. What could I do? They were awful!"
"Who were awful, Mrs. Bachrach?"
"Wells and that sick dope fiend, Joey. They . . . they ..." She covered her eyes. Words poured from her lips in a dull monotone like that of a patient in a stupor, recalling a bad dream. "F-f-fucked me . . . both of them ... at the same time . . . one in front. . . one ..."
"Mrs. Bachrach!" Asa cut in sharply. "Are you sure Rolfe, Junior, was there tonight?"
She clenched her hands and stared up at him. "I saw him, I tell you. They were both sprawled on the floor. I knew they were dead. Their eyes were open . . . just the whites showing. The flames were all around them ... a circle of flames."
Asa nodded to Paula. "What's her home number? Keep her quiet. I'll see if her husband is home."
In a few minutes he stepped back into the living room and motioned Paula to join him. "Her daughter answered the phone. She just arrived from Whittier . . . decided to drive down tonight because her mother sounded frantic when she talked to her earlier."
"Is Bill home?"
"No. The girl doesn't know where he is. I told her we'd bring her mother home."
Sporadic patches of fog hung like curtains of dirty gray cheesecloth over the streets and freeways. Asa drove carefully, his full attention on the road and scattered traffic. Sally sat between him and Paula, silent and withdrawn.
"The next exit, Asa. Be careful. You make a sharp turn at the top of the hill," Paula directed.
The exterior of the Bachrach home was brightly lighted as Asa pulled up in the driveway. A police cruiser was parked in front of the garage. A young woman in dark slacks and sweater stood next to a man in uniform, shielding her eyes from the glare of the headlights.
Paula stepped out of the car as soon as it stopped. "Martha! Your mother's with us. What's wrong here?"
"Mom! Where have you been? Dad's in the hospital!" She brushed past Paula to help Sally out of the front seat.
"What happened, Officer?" Asa asked.
"Mister Bachrach suffered a heart attack. We found him slumped over the wheel of his car. I have orders to drive his family to University Hospital. Excuse me, sir." He opened the rear door of the cruiser. "We'd better leave, Mrs. Bachrach."
"Her car is parked in front of my apartment," Asa said as Martha got into the police cruiser. "I'll drive it back in the morning."
"Thanks. I have my car. We can pick it up later."
"Here's the key."
As the police car drove away, Paula began to tremble. Asa put his arms around her. "It's all right, dear. It's all right."
She cried quietly, her head on his shoulder, all the way back to the beach house. In the gray darkness of early morning, birds twittered noisily in the oleander bushes near the porch. In the bedroom Asa undressed her, put her to bed and pulled the covers over her shivering body.
"I'll be back in a minute," he whispered into her ear.
She lay quietly in the dusky darkness, listening to George's loud snores echoing down the hallway, the swash of Asa's torrent of urine into the bowl, the chirping of birds and the rhythmic splashing of waves-normal sounds, sounds of life and of living.
Asa settled into bed beside her, sliding his arm beneath her head. "Sleep, baby, sleep!" he murmured.
She turned to face him and drew closer letting his warmth and strength ooze into her. She kissed his chest lightly. His cock stirred with life. Her lips pressed against his nipple.
"Can't you sleep?" he asked. His cock had hardened into a throbbing staff.
"I want you, darling," she replied.
He rolled over to spread his muscular body on her yielding flesh. His murmured moan in her ear sent a wave of passionate desire coursing through her. She reached down between their warm bellies to finger his stiff shaft. Spreading her thighs, she guided its huge head into her hot, moist slit.
"I need you! Love me! God! How I need you!" She felt her pussy lips open hungering for the velvety flesh of his glans. Her inner muscles clasped the throbbing crown in a tight embrace of welcome, then relaxed to allow his bulging shaft to penetrate her depths. "Put a pillow under me," she whispered hoarsely. "I want every bit of you in me. Throw the covers back." Her legs enclosed his buttocks in a muscular vise. "Ooh! My darling! There! Hold it there! Deep, deep, deep! She felt her juices welling out of her, overflowing to film his hairy pubis and hers with mucous that squished and squashed with their grinding contact.
His fingers clutched her ass, moving it up and down and around to match the movements of his cock, working its bulb of probing, throbbing magic in her depths.
"Here, lover! Suck my tit!" She cupped its tender flesh to his mouth. "I'm on fire. Suck it, love it!"
His moans of delight were drowned in her cries of wild passion. The world stood still. Nothing moved but their loins, locked together in timeless rapture.
"Come, lover! Fill me, fill me, fill me. Empty yourself!"
His prick splashed a shower of warm fluid into the depths of her vagina. She bit his earlobe.
"I'm coming!" She heard her own voice crying like the screech of an eagle wheeling in the sky. As she plunged into ecstasy she felt within her the torrential flood of perfect fulfillment.
The room was bright with the late-morning sun. She stretched, moving her legs and arching her back. She was alone. Somewhere in the house the rattle of dishes sounded like the distant crackle of ten-for-a-penny firecrackers. The odor of frying bacon filled the air.
"Asa!" she called.
"Paula, honey!" He came to the doorway, dressed in tan slacks and a beige turtleneck sweater. "I let you sleep, girl." Kneeling beside the bed, he leaned over to kiss her breasts. "I'm fixing breakfast. Up with you, now, and take a quick shower." He threw the covers back, swung her legs over the side of the bed, pulled her to her feet and patted her butt.
"I'm hungry. Be with you in a few minutes," she said.
George and Irma were seated at the breakfast table, dressed in slacks and sweaters, when Paula joined them. Asa was garnishing a large platter of scrambled eggs with strips of crisp bacon. "Sit down, honey. You're right on time. George, pour her a cup of coffee."
Paula grinned. "Good morning. I feel indecent in these slacks and this sweater."
"Personally," George said, "I agree. Eating breakfast bare-assed is a lot more fun."
"You look good, Paula." Irma reached over to pat her hand. "A good night's sleep shows every time."
"We can all go native again this afternoon," Asa said, seating himself beside Paula. "The minute our visitors leave."
"Who's coming?" Paula asked.
"For one, that detective from Los Angeles."
"Will it be necessary for him to get into things now?"
"No. I called his office this morning but he'd already left."
"You said 'others' ..."
"I think my partner will be out. Anyway, I thought we'd better pretend to be decent members of the establishment. What time is it?"
"Ten to twelve," George replied.
"I don't want to miss the noon news on TV." Asa rose. "Let's have our second cup of coffee in the living room."
George and Irma sat together on a sofa. Paula settled into a large lounge chair. After turning on the TV set, Asa crossed the room to sit on the arm of Paula's chair.
George guffawed as the screen lighted up. "I'll be damned. The sex scene I took yesterday." As Asa strode toward the set, George said. "Why not leave it on? What news could be as interesting as that?"
"Later." He turned several knobs, then returned to seat himself on the floor and rest his head against Paula's knees.
After several commercials, the noon news program began. Paula closed her eyes. Her hands lay on the arms of the chair in tense balled fists.
"Good afternoon. This is Tom Ryan, with the latest in news of San Diego and California's Southland. On the local scene there is tragic news. William Bachrach, a prominent attorney active in community affairs, died early this morning in University Hospital of a massive coronary attack. With him at the time of his death were his wife, Sally, and their only child, Miss Martha Bachrach of Whittier. Mister Bachrach was found slumped over the wheel of his car by police called to the scene ..."
"My God! That's Sally's-Paula!" Irma rushed over to sit on the arm of her chair. Paula cried softly.
"Shh!" Asa cautioned.
"Another tragedy on the local scene-firemen were called to Hickham Place early this morning by neighbors who detected a fire in a white cottage at the end of the short street. The house was engulfed in flames when fire trucks arrived. A house next door that had long been vacant was also destroyed. The bodies of two unidentified men were found in the ruins. John Carson, chief of the city's arson squad, stated the fire was definitely the work of an arsonist."
"Paula!" Irma's face was a ghastly white. "Hickham Place! Wasn't that. . . Tom Wells' house?"
"Be quiet!" Asa muttered gruffly. "... though no details are available at this time, homicide detectives are investigating." "Who's Tom wells?" George asked.
"Shit, man! Shut up, will you?" "Pardon me!"
"One last tragic item in the news today-around one o'clock this morning a car traveling at high speed failed to hold the road on a sharp curve north of the Del Mar exit on Interstate Five. Dead at the scene was the driver of the car, Joseph Simson, twenty-three, a convicted narcotics peddler and user. The car was registered in the name of Rolfe Rohrig, Junior, son of the late millionaire and philanthropist. There were no other occupants of the car, which was a total wreck. Turning now to news of a more pleasant nature Asa strode rapidly to the set and shut it off. "Irma, why don't you warm up the coffee?" he suggested.
"Yeah, honey," George added. "Put a shot of brandy in mine, will you?"
"I'll have one with you," she said. She touched Paula's shoulder. "How about you, dear? You should, you know."
"No thanks, Mom." She smiled up at Irma. "But you have one. Someone should celebrate."
A half-hour later, Asa and Paula were strolling over the ground when a black Ford turned off the public road. "That must be Goucher." Asa waved him down.
The driver stepped out of the car. He was short and slender, dressed in slacks and a white sports shirt. "You Asa Bingham?"
"I am. And you're Ira Goucher, right?"
He nodded. The sun accented a bare spot in the center of his short brown hair. Except for large brown eyes that swept over Paula's figure and the house and ground with one encompassing glance, his features were those of a very inconspicuous person. "I couldn't get here any sooner, Mister Bingham."
"It's all right. Mrs. Rohrig, may I present Mister Goucher?"
"How do you do?" Paula said politely.
"I tried to reach you this morning to suggest you wait a day or two," Asa told Goucher.
The man's brows lifted. "Do you want me to return Monday or Tuesday?"
"I believe the matter has been concluded."
"You're sure you have all the . . . " He glanced at Paula for a moment. "... merchandise?"
"It was destroyed-I hope."
"Then you won't be needing me. It was a pleasure, ma'am."
Asa removed a business car from his billfold. "Sorry to have wasted your day, Mister Goucher. Send me a bill for whatever you think is right." He extended his hand. "I wish you'd join us for a drink before you start back. That's a long drive."
"Thanks, but I better get going," he said. His smile was one to remember. "Let me know if I can ever be of help."
"You can bet I will. Captain Wilson spoke very highly of you."
They watched him drive off.
"He doesn't look like a detective," Paula commented.
Asa laughed. "Wilson told me he's the best in the business."
"Thank God we won't need him now."
"Come on, honey, let's get on the phone and talk to my partner. I'd like to swim in the ocean this afternoon."
In the bedroom Asa propped a pillow against the headboard, leaned back against it and dialed his office. Paula lay crosswise, her head in his lap and her eyes watching the movement of his lips as he spoke into the phone.
"Wally? Did you get it?" He listened, nodding his head, his mouth working silently in a repetitive yes, yes, yes. "You got a copy of it?" He paused. "No, you needn't come out. Would you read it? How many pages, did you say? No! A single page?" He listened in silence, a smile spreading over his lips. His eyes lighted with a warm glow as he stared down into Paula's upturned face. "CHRIST! HOW ABOUT THAT?" He covered the mouthpiece, leaned over to kiss her and said, "You're in, Paula." He spoke into the phone again. "Wonderful, Wally! Wonderful! We'll go to work on it the first thing Monday. Thanks."
He cradled the receiver. His eyes twinkled as he looked at her in silence. "Well, aren't you going to ask what he said?"
She studied his face, scanning every line as if she had never seen him before. "You're handsome, do you know that?"
"Ask me."
"I'm thinking about it."
He tweaked her nose. "All right, I'll tell you. With the exception of a bequest to Mrs. Anderson and one to his favorite local charity, he left the bulk of his estate to, quote, 'My faithful and beloved wife, Paula, who has made the last years of my life the happiest I have ever known, in the hope that she may find the complete happiness of a fulfilled woman,' unquote."
A tear brimmed in each of Paula's eyes. She sniffed. "He was a fine, thoughtful man."
Neither moved. From the beach below the sounds of Irma's squeals and George's laughter drifted up to them. Asa ran the tip of his finger over her jaw line.
"Want to take a dip, sweet?"
"No," She pressed her neck against his lap. "You'd never make it back up those steps." Turning her head, she rubbed her cheek on his left thigh. "We have the rest of this day, all night tonight, and all day tomorrow-that's hardly long enough." Her thumb and forefinger tugged the zipper of his fly. She rolled over on her stomach and freed his cock of its confines. "Poor little fellow, he's crying." She touched the dewdrop with the tip of her tongue, then drew her face back an inch and blew softly on the shiny head. She laughed softly. "Look at him grow, Asa." She blew lightly again. "Look! In a minute he'll be big enough to eat!"
Chapter Twelve
At noon the following Friday, Paula sat in the dining room of her home, drinking coffee. She glanced nervously at her watch every few minutes. "Where is she?" she muttered irritably.
"Paula! I bet you were ready to give up on me." Irma strode into the room, starry-eyed as a teen-ager in love.
"My God! Did it take you all day to buy a pair of sneakers? They'll be here any minute. Better get out of that mini and into your white slacks and sweater."
"I've got time for a cup of coffee, haven't I? Pour me one, please." She took the cup when Paula offered it, and gulped a mouthful.
"Why all the excitement?"
"You'll never believe it, Paula! I met the handsomest young man. He asked me for a date." She leaned her elbows on the table. "I told him I had a ... a friend. He does too, Paula. He wrote his home number on a card. I've got it here in my purse."
"I'm not interested."
"But you haven't seen him yet." She leaned forward and whispered. "I swear, Paula, he's got the biggest cock ... "
"How do you know that?"
"I saw it. . . well, not exactly saw it. Just inside his slacks."
"You're not making sense, Mother."
"I was trying these sneakers on, and I looked down and-whee! He had a hard lump in his slacks that must have been eight or nine inches long! Of course, I did give him a little encouragement."
"I'll bet." Paula laughed. "You're a devil, you know that, Mom? You gave him a clear view of the promised land. By the way, did you say this happened in a shoe store?"
"Yes. In Simmons in Mission Valley."
"That's where I first ran into Tom Wells!"
"Paula, this young man's really nice. Why don't we meet him and his friend some afternoon next week, just for a cup of coffee. If you like them ..."
"No. I'm going to marry Asa."
"WHAT?" Irma nearly dropped her cup as she fell back in her chair and stared at Paula with bulging eyes. "You're not serious!"
"Yes, I am."
"When did he ask you?"
"He hasn't. He doesn't know anything about it yet."
"But . . . Why? You have all the money in the world. You could take your pick of-"
"I've already made my choice, Mother. Now I have to figure out how I'm going to get him to propose."
Irma shrugged. "It's your life, Paula. If that's what you want, I hope you get it." She paused, half-closing her eyes. "He is sweet. . . very sweet."
"He is that. And so much more ..."
"I'll be his mother-in-law! Won't that be something?" A dreamy smile of mischief flitted across her face. "Most men are down on their wives' mothers, but Asa wouldn't be. Paula, do you realize I'll probably be the only mother-in-law in California whose daughter's husband has gone down on her?"
