Arabella Cassidy, nee Ekberg, stretched out on her back and aimed her large and pointed breasts toward the ceiling. Her husband stood beside the bed and smiled down at her jutting coral nipples while his rigid rod of rapture dripped with desire. He was hotter than a Mexican pepper, and who could really blame him? After three nights of sleeping alone on the sofa, he was more than ready to drown his passion in the juices of his young wife's love well, and by the looks of things, so was the statuesque and silver blond Arab. She was squirming all over the rumpled bed, and her black bedroom eyes had a mattress strapped to each pupil. It was a serious moment, but Casey Cassidy was not always a serious person, and as he watched Arab grinding her riderless hips against the promise of lust, he grinned at her and asked, "How's your pretty fanny, Arab?"
Arab stopped bouncing her ass all over the bed and glared at Casey. "Shut up."
Casey deliberately misunderstood her.
"Mine, too. It must be from the peanut butter sandwiches we ate for lunch." "Casey," Arab said warningly. Sorry.
Arab stared at his massive erection and forgave him immediately. Her long legs drifted apart and a pulse-beat later she reached out and gripped his bone in her soft, warm hand. She drew Casey down beside her on the rumpled bed and nuzzled the head of his penis against her pouting navel. She laughed breathlessly and said, "I missed your big sausage these past three nights, my big saturn."
Casey stretched out beside Arab and propped himself on one elbow. He dipped his head to kiss her stabbing nipples before he said, "The word is satyr, not saturn, and blame yourself for the sex diet we've been on.
Arab tightened her grip on his cock. "What did you say, darling?"
Casey winced like a nearsighted rabbit who had just tried to throw a quick fuck into a rock. "I said blame yourself for making me sleep on the couch these past three nights."
Why should I take the blame for every-, thing?" Arab said as she continued to deny Casey access to her juicy cunt. "That Irish stubbornness of yours is enough to -"
Arab stopped talking in mid-sentence as Casey trapped her nearest nipple between his lips and gave it a violent suck that made her shiver all over, but a moment later he released it and said, "I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid enough to fall for a con job." It was the wrong thing to say.
Arab released her grip on his penis and squirmed out from beneath his weight. Her nipple slipped out of Casey's reach as she pushed his head away from her naked breasts and got out of bed.
"Stupid, am I?" Arab said angrily. "I'll show you!"
Casey sat up and watched her move to--, ward the moon-drenched window, and he could tell by the sway of her hips that she was teed off . . . again.
"Arab ..."
Arab reached the window and kept her back to Casey.
"Shut up, you apostolic."
"The word is alcoholic, and I don't drink that much."
"No? If you don't drink very much, then tell me why you're still wearing that bandage on your left hand?"
Casey sighed. "I've been trying to tell you how I got my hand hurt for days now, Arab, and it wasn't my fault."
"Ha!" Arab said. "You were drunk, so how would you know?"
"I wasn't drunk. Sure, I did have a few drinks at the Pony Club, but I didn't hurt my hand there."
"I'll bet!"
"Honest, Arab. I got it hurt on the way home from the Pony Club."
"Then you must have fallen down on it."
"I did not. I was doing okay until I reached our house and turned in at the gate, and then that bastard had to come along and step on my fingers."
Arab giggled, but she continued to keep her back to Casey.
"Arab?"
"What?"
"Are you still mad at me?" "Yes."
"Why?"
"You know why."
Casey did know. He sighed and swung his long legs to the rug. He watched Arab's shapely derriere for a few seconds before he said, "Damn it, Arab, listen to me for a minute. I hate to mix business with lust, but you give me no choice. I'm not against raising money to build the hospital we need in Legend, but I am against somebody like Doctor Scroggs bringing in a professional fund raiser, especially when the fund raiser's name happens to be Pierre St. Pierre."
Arab continued to hold her back to Casey, but it didn't keep her from putting the whip to him with her tongue. "A lot you know about people, Casey Cassidy! For your information, Pierre is interested in helping us. Sincerely interested."
"Nuts. The only thing Pierre is interested in is promoting a big bundle and then skipping with it."
Arab sighed. "The Town Council seems to respect Doctor Scroggs' judgment and approved of Pierre St. Pierre, so why can't you?"
"Because I think Pierre is a crook."
Arab sighed again and Casey could almost visualize her magnificent breasts doing their brief dance as she did so. She stopped sighing and said, "It isn't like you to condemn someone you hardly know, and I'm ashamed of you, Casey. Why do you hate Pierre so? Is it because Fanny Hertz told you his mother was a whore and Pierre was born in a cat house?"
Casey shook his head. "The fact that Pierre is a brothel's sprout has nothing to do with this, Arab. I just don't like the way he got Doctor Scroggs and the Town Council to back his play, and I especially don't like the way Pierre raped you with his eyes when Scroggs introduced us at the Mountaineer this morning."
"That's what I mean, Casey. We only met Pierre this morning, but we've been fighting over him for three days." Arab took another deep breath that stirred her breasts. "Ever since you found out he was coming to Legend, all you've been doing is bucking Pierre without giving him the opportunity to prove his sincerity, and that makes you a pheasant in my book."
"The word is peasant, not pheasant."
"Well, whatever, but I still feel that you should let Pierre St. Pierre help us get the hospital we need so badly."
Casey shook his head. He really wanted to shake his wife for siding with Pierre.
"I'm sorry, Arab, I can't."
"Sorry?" Arab said in a tone she usually kept reserved for Casey's drunken pet chimp when she wanted it to feel like a dirty dog. "If you think you're sorry now, try imagining how you'll feel when I don't take care of your insurrection for a few more weeks."
Casey glanced down at his stiff and neglected cock and winced inwardly. "You mean erection, hon. An insurrection is a riot."
"I know, and a riot is precisely what your big balls will have when I keep your palace out of my Virginia."
"It's phallus and vagina, Arab."
"Who cares?" I care.
"Then why are you forcing me to keep you on short rations where hanky panky is concerned?"
"Aw, Arab..."
"I mean it, Casey.
Casey told himself that Arab was only kidding, and he decided to prove it. He crossed the room and nuzzled the head of his drooling dong against her sphincter, but Arab wasn't interested; she whirled and glared at him with those beautiful black eyes of hers and hissed, "Damn you, darling, I'm not kidding. I mean what I say; no compromise with Pierre, no hanky panky from me. Do you understand?"
Casey sighed loudly. He felt like a woman's cunt; he was licked and he knew it, so he tossed in the douche bag and said, "All right, you win."
Arab's dark eyes softened. "Does that mean you'll go to Fanny Hertz's party tonight and tell Pierre that the Mountaineer will back him to the limit?"
Casey gritted his teeth against the passion pangs that filled his scrotum. "Yes, but I can't go there with this hard on, hon."
Arab pouted prettily. "Then I guess we'll just have to soften it for you."
Casey licked his lips and watched her. "I'm ready, hon."
Arab trapped his cock in her warm and experienced hand and stroked it tenderly.
Her voice turned as soft as her touch. "Since this is a special occasion, tell me how you want me to unload your sex gun, darling."
Casey made no immediate reply. He placed the palms of his big hands against Arab's firm hips and strained her closer. The knob of his noble noodle moistened her navel for a moment, and then he shifted his position and prowled her pubic underbrush with it until he found her jutting clitoris. He contemplated giving her pussy a good screwing for the space of a few heartbeats and changed his mind; after sleeping alone for a few nights he was in the mood for a bit of the unusual.
"Know what I'd really like, Arab?"
"Tell me."
"I would like to feel your lips on my member in good standing."
Arab's tongue raced around her sensuous lips in a moistening gesture. "I was hoping you'd ask for a blow job, darling."
"You were?"
"Sure. I really go off my stick when you let me suck your thing, especially after you've gone without sex for awhile." She made a loud smacking sound with her lips.
"I enjoy the taste of the milk of human passion. I only hope you shoot a quart of serum when you come in my mouth."
"You mean semen, not serum, which I'll be shooting all over the room if you don't stop talking and start sucking, hon."
Arab laughed softly and slowly sank to her knees before her husband. Now she was ready to worship the phallic deity. Her hand on Casey's cock changed position and a whisper later she hooked one finger around the base of it and guided the velvety and moist head of it toward her slightly parted lips. Casey shivered as her tongue flicked out and licked the underside of his knob, and the tickling sensation caused his anus to pucker with happiness.
"Ah, that feels good," he said on the heel of a luxurious sigh. "I missed the touch of your lips on my penis, darling. I missed you, period. Another dry night and I'd have been tempted to make a girl out of Mr. Ma honey."
Arab stopped licking the underside of Casey's dong and giggled at the thought of him venting his passion on Mr. Mahoney, the drunken chimpanzee she had given him
as a pet to replace the child they as yet didn't have, but a moment later she stopped giggling and started doing her thing, which in this instance was called sucking a dick.
Casey watched Arab's ripe red lips stretch into a circle, and an instant later three of the nine proud inches that made up his manhood vanished inside her warm, moist mouth . . .
"Take it all," Casey panted as he gripped the planes of Arab's face with his hands and hunched forward. "Take it all and blow, baby, blow."
Arab needed no encouragement. She palmed his scrotum and slipped her left arm around his right hip, then stuck one of her fingers up his anus, because she knew that he enjoyed this type of digital stimulation while she sucked him off.
"Oh, darling," Casey said as the finger caused him to do a brief stand on the tips of his toes, "I see you've sharpened your fingernails again."
Arab took his cock out of her mouth and said, "Save the cornball jokes for Mr. Mahoney, because if you get me to laughing I'll never be able to play your flute."
Casey sobered, and Arab attacked his penis once more with her lips and tongue. He stood trembling and watched the entire length of his cock slide down into her throat, and when his balls came to rest against her chin he waited for her lips to tighten and go to work. Arab hesitated. He became desperate.
"Now, hon," he urged. "Massage me with those hot lips of yours. Hurry, darling, hurry."
Arab obeyed. Her lips locked around his noble shaft and her finger wriggled inside his anus like an impatient and oversexed worm. Casey held his breath and ignored the sweat that ran down into his eyes as her head began to move back and forth over the dick that filled her. His cock slid in and out of her mouth, and now he noticed that it was slightly smeared with her lipstick, the sight of which excited the hell out of him.
"Go, baby," Casey shouted as his fingernails dug into her pretty ears. "Go, go, go!"
Arab kept sucking his cock and screwing him in the rear with her long, slender finger, while her free hand toyed with his balls and added to his pleasure, until he felt
as if he were walking barefoot through paradise.
"Eat, baby, eat."
Baby ate. Slowly, expertly, until Casey's penis went berserk and started frothing. Jism tore out of his loins and flooded Arab's mouth, and for the next few seconds she was happily swallowing, swallowing, swallowing . . .
"Ummmm," Arab said as she permitted his phallic flesh to slip out from between her lips, "that was worth waiting for." She removed her digit from his anus and licked his scrotum for a minute or two, until it was dry, and then she stood up and rubbed her gigantic breasts against his hairy chest, while her hand continued to grip and stroke his cock. "That takes care of you for awhile, but what about me?"
Casey grinned. "Don't tell me you're in the nude for love."
"I am."
"Then we'll just have to do something about it."
"I wish you would shut up and put up." Casey looked at his beautiful wife and
chuckled like a demented woodpecker. "Spoken like a true wanton."
"Damn right I'm wantin'."
Casey didn't bother to ask her how she wanted to be serviced. He simply picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the rumpled bed. He lowered her to the wrinkled sheet and smiled at the way her silver blond hair fanned out against the pillow, and then he parted her long legs and moved in between them. His cock was hardening again and now he rubbed the head of it against the pouting entrance of her pussy and dropped his lips over the nearest nipple of her tumultuous breasts. He started sucking her tit, greedily, and in a few seconds Arab was bouncing her rump all over the bed.
"Now, Casey, now! Hurry, I'm burning up!"
"Here comes the fireman with his hose."
Arab coiled her arms around his neck and then she wrapped her legs around his hips and took his dick deep inside her cunt, with one thrust, and a heartbeat later they were fucking up a storm.
An electrical storm.
"Ah, I missed the feel of your big thing inside of me, darling. I like it, I like it!"
Casey avoided the lightning bolt of passion that would have tripped his orgasm switch and poured it to Arab. His dick sawed in and out of her moist cavern of delight, and his balls tingled with every thrust as he rode tall in the saddle. Arab's breasts were mashed against his chest and their sweaty bellies sounded like suction pumps each time they met in lust's sweet embrace, but both were too deaf with passion to notice the sounds, for at this point they were racing at breakneck speed toward the oblivion of release.
"That's it, Casey," Arab shrilled as her hips increased their speed and damn near threw him all the way out of bed, "fuck me, fuck me! Faster, faster! Harder, harder! Ah, sweet mother of Venus, I think I'm coming . . . !"
And she did. So did Casey. Simultaneously. Come squirted out of his cock and mingled with Arab's. He didn't stop. He kept pouring the prod to her, using his dick as a mixing stick of flesh to stir their juices
and blend them into one, silently hopeful that this time he would make her pregnant.
Casey wasn't the only one thinking along these lines, for Arab relaxed suddenly and said dreamily, "Maybe it's just a fragment of my imagination, Casey, but I honestly think that this time you've made me stagnant."
Casey didn't bother to translate her mala-propisms this time, but he did add to them by saying, "Now you'll be able to wear your infirmity dresses."
Arab laughed and rolled out from beneath Casey. She climbed out of the sack and stood there with his jism running out of her love box, down the inner paths of her thighs and he noted that a few droplets of semen clung to her pubic beard like translucent tears of happiness, for it stood to reason that her kitten was more than satisfied with the fucking he had just given it, and the knowledge of this made him feel proud of his libido.
"Happy, honey?" Casey asked as he swung his legs to the floor and reached for the Picayune cigarettes he always smoked.
Arab nodded.
"I'm happy, but I'll be happier when
you get together with Pierre St. Pierre and make Legend's dream of a hospital come true. We do need one, and wouldn't it be nice if our baby was born there?" "What baby?"
"The one you just gave me." "Oh, that one."
Arab smiled dreamily. Then she glanced toward the dresser clock. "The party doesn't start until nine o'clock. That gives you a whole hour to get dressed and still arrive on time."
Casey remained silent. He mouthed a Picayune and flamed it to life with his inexpensive Japanese lighter. He inhaled and immediately proceeded to cough his ass off, which prompted Arab to say, "I still think you should give up smoking."
Casey grinned at her. "Don't worry about my coughing, Arab. Hell, I'm used to it. Besides, it's an established fact that man cannot live by breath alone." He winced at his own bad joke and ditched the butt, then stood up and took her in his arms again. He gave her a resounding kiss on the lips and then he spun her around and rubbed his again stiff penis between the dimpled
cheeks of her derriere. "One for the road, hon?"
Arab made no attempt to get away from his erection. She gave him an over the shoulder smile and asked, "Do I have a choice?"
"You do. You can take my cock with or without a struggle."
Arab laughed softly. "In that case, go ahead and diddle me in the fanny."
"Standing up?"
"No. I don't like to do it that way. I always get cramps in my legs before you have an exclamation."
"Ejaculation, Arab, not exclamation." "Well, whatever." Arab dropped to her all fours. "The thing is, I enjoy taking your hickey up my fanny from this position." "It's called dog fashion, Arab." "I wonder why?" "Search me."
"I don't want to search you; I just want to feel your thing inside my fanny."
Casey dropped to his knees behind Arab and took himself in hand. "Ready, hon?" "Yes, darling."
Casey admired Arab's shapely haunches for another moment or two, and then he zeroed in on her sphincter. Arab sucked wind as the knob of his penis forced its way beyond her tight brown ring.
"Easy, darling," she cautioned. "Moisten me a little before you stuff that big sausage of yours all the way inside my fanny."
Casey massaged her into moistness with the head of his cock.
"That's the way darling. Now I'm getting juicy. Ahhhh ..."
Casey gripped Arab's hips and worked his cock in slowly, until his balls came to rest against her flesh, and then he released her hips and groped for her swinging breasts. He trapped her tingling nipples between thumbs and forefingers and tweaked them while he proceeded to analyze her. Arab tightened her sphincter around his passion pole, and a few whispers later the Greek orgy was in high gear.
"Bite me on the back of my neck," Arab begged as his prick started getting good to her. "Bite, darling, bite!"
Casey obeyed. He nibbled on the back of Arab's neck and continued to hunch into
her anus, and a few seconds later he rammed his cock all the way home, locked it and fired a hot and generous load of come into her . . .
"Whew!" Arab said as he backed his dick out of her anus and helped her up from the floor. "You're the only man I know who can diddle a girl in her fanny and make her come like crazy."
Casey blushed, pleased. "Thank you."
Arab glanced at the dresser clock again. "But enough of this sex business for now, darling; it's time to get you cleaned up and on your way to the Hertz party."
"I'd rather stay home and make mad love to you, hon."
"Casey," Arab said warningly, "you promised."
"All right, all right, but I still think Pierre will end up shafting us."
"We'll see."
Casey nodded grimly. "That we will. I'll be ready as soon as you are, hon." "I'm not going." "Oh?"
"Mr. Mahoney will go in my place, but for Pete's sake keep him away from the
punch bowl; you know how horny he gets after a few drinks."
"I'll do my best, but what about you? Why aren't you going to the party?"
"Because Cynthia Rothrock is coming in on the eleven o'clock train, and I promised Pierre that I'd meet her for him.
"Cynthia Rothrock? Who the hell is she?"
"A Hollywood starlet Pierre is going to use as the lead in his theater production." "You just lost me."
"It's very simple, really. Pierre is going to put on a play at the Legend Theater to raise funds for our hospital, and Cynthia Rothrock is going to help him make it a success."
"If Cynthia Rothrock is a Hollywood
starlet, why is it that I haven't heard of her?"
"There you go, doubting Pierre again." "I _ "
"For your information, Pierre imported Cynthia Rothrock from Hollywood at great personal expense."
"The madam of the house drove a hard bargain, did she?"
"Casey!"
"All right, all right, I won't say another mean word against anybody. I do, however, have a question."
"Ask away."
"Is Pierre thinking of putting on a one character play?"
"No. There will be others in the cast. Local talent."
Casey nodded. "And who's going to line up the local talent?"
"You."
"And whose idea was that?" "Pierre's. He told me he wouldn't have the time to handle that end of the deal." "Why not?"
"He'll be too busy handling the money."
The thought of Pierre St. Pierre handling all collected monies turned Casey's blood to ice. He didn't like it anymore than he liked St. Pierre. Instinct told him the man was a crook, and the same warning system insisted that he do something about it, like digging into Pierre's past to find out if his suspicions concerning the tall, dark and handsome satyr were justified.
"Pierre seems to have briefed you pretty thoroughly during the few minutes you two
spent alone together," Casey said, not without sarcasm "Did he also tell you the name of the play he intends to produce?"
"No, but he hinted that it would be an original, that he was going to ask you to write it."
"Me?"
"Why not? You always talk about how you would like to do a comedy about Indians."
"I know, but - "
Arab smiled sweetly. "I do hope you'll take Pierre up on his offer and write the play, darling. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to see people acting out your words, even if writing the play will swallow up a lot of your spare time."
It will take up a lot of my time, all right, Casey thought as he padded toward the bathroom. It will also keep me from looking over Pierre's' shoulder while he closes in for the money kill, which is exactly what I think he wants . . .
Chapter 2
The mansion windows gleamed like the eyes of a sex fiend in the late afternoon sunlight, and this prompted Fanny Hertz to comment, "Doctor Scroggs was right about, Albert. You really and truly are the best window washer in the world."
The tall, thin and horse-faced Albert Crawley chuckled as he admired his own handiwork.
"Man has to take pride in his work or the finished product won't amount to a hill of beans, ma'am," Crawley said, neglecting to mention that he thrived on clean windows because he received his kicks from making like a Peeping Tom, that tonight he expected to look in on Fanny's party and get a real eyeful from her intended guests. "And I do take pride in mine."
"It shows," the beefy, bottled redhead who had once toiled as a whorehouse madam said as she paid Crawley for his labors and added a five dollar tip to his wages. "I simply can't imagine anything worse than a dirty window."
"Neither can I," said the Peeping Tom. "Will there be anything else, ma'am?" "No."
"Then I'll be on my way. I hope your party is a success, ma'am."
"Thank you, Albert."
Crawley waited until the Juno-esque woman vanished inside her mansion before he returned his borrowed implements to her tool shed. His eyeballs watered at the thought of Fanny Hertz's guest list, and how they would let their hair down after a few drinks. He knew most of the guests, and he knew what to expect of them. His mind conjured up the picture of Dr. Scroggs' receptionist and his dick hardened inside his shorts, for Hyacinth Harkness was a mini brunette with pussywillow gray eyes and acute nympholepsy who never failed to shed her clothing after a few sips from the flowing bowl, and this he liked.
And there was Jake Crazy Rabbit's wife Ursula, the lissome and sexy teeny-bopperish Sioux Indian tidbit who couldn't keep her panties on whenever Casey Cassidy came within hailing distance of her. Crawley had seen Ursula and Casey Cassidy make it to-
gether several times, and now the memories of these sessions nearly caused him to pop in his pants. Crawley chuckled and thought: That damn Irishman and his long dick has made my night more than once, and that's no lie.
And then there was the hostess. Crawley had seen her in action only this morning. He had been washing a window in the east wing of the mansion when Pierre St. Pierre arrived from town. Curious, he had climbed down from his ladder and did his best to locate Fanny and Pierre . . .
He found them on the ground floor, in one of the guest bedrooms, and as he watched them through a nice clean window he saw Pierre take Fanny Hertz in his arms and kiss her. A moment later, through the slightly open window, Crawley heard Fanny say breathlessly, "You make me feel like a school girl when you do that, Pierre."
"When I do what?"
"When you French kiss me with that long tongue of yours." Pierre laughed.
Albert Crawley stared at them and played with his dingus. He had reason to
play with himself, for Fanny Hertz was a very stimulating woman. She was attired in walking boots, salmon pink Western pants and a mannish cut white blouse that betrayed the outline of the half-bra that contained her football-sized breasts. Just the sight of Fanny alone would have given a dead man a hard on, and Crawley was far from being deceased. Diseased, yes; deceased, no.
"You like Pierre's tongue, eh?" the Frenchman asked teasingly.
Fanny nodded. "Very much so."
''Then perhaps you would like Pierre to use it on your pussy."
"You would do that for me?"
"Of course, my dear. Now, if you will permit me to undress you ..."
"Yes, oh, yes!"
Crawley watched Pierre's hands move toward Fanny's massive breasts, and a few heartbeats later her blouse gaped to reveal her loaded half-bra. Pierre slid the blouse from Fanny's shoulders, then helped her all the way out of it and tossed it to the floor. The Frenchman admired her knockers for a second or two, and then he dipped his head
and kissed them through her bra until the nipples were hard . . . and obvious.
Crawley kept beating his meat.
Watching.
"You have lovely breasts," Pierre told Fanny as he unsnapped her bra and tumbled her tits into nakedness. "No sag and long, dark nipples; just the way I like them."
"Do you really?"
Pierre showed her his even white teeth in a smile. "Sucking a plump breast is my second favorite pleasure, my dear."
"What's your first pleasure?"
"Probing the depths of a woman's pussy with my tongue, especially when the woman happens to be someone like you."
Man, Crawley thought as he finished or-gasming for the first time, that damn Frenchman really believes in dishing out the shit with both hands.
Fanny smiled. "You say the sweetest things, darling."
"And I do the sweetest things," Pierre replied as he loosened her Western pants and drew them down around her ankles to where Fanny could step out of them. "Real sweet things."
Crawley took one look at Fanny's tight bikini panties and felt his penis harden again, for they were so sheer he could see the outline of the triangular patch of hair that covered Fanny's cunt.
"You're shivering, my dear," Pierre said as he hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of Fanny's panties and exposed hep hairy pussy. "Are you cold?"
Fanny laughed. "I'm shivering because I'm hot . . . for that sweet tongue of yours."
Pierre was down on his knees before her. He tossed her panties after the blouse, and then he looked up at her and grinned. "My tongue is at your service, Fanny."
Fanny sank to a sitting position on the edge of the bed and spread her legs, and now she was ready to receive Pierre's awesome tongue. Crawley watched an enigmatic smile tug at the corners of Fanny's expressive mouth as she gripped the back of the Frenchman's handsome head and drew his face tight against her pussy.
I was right about her, Crawley thought as he began to masturbate again. The Frenchman ain't fooling her. She knows he's a louse, that he lies like hell, but at the
same time she intends to make use of his tongue and I, by god, don't blame her one bit.
"Ah," Crawley heard Fanny say when Pierre slipped his tongue inside her cunt, "I love the feel of your stiff tongue, but it would feel much better if you had a wart or two on the end of it."
Pierre made no reply. He was too busy eating the food of the gods.
Crawley had a second orgasm as he watched Pierre scarf Fanny's box. A lesser man would have collapsed from exhaustion, but in this instance Crawley's libido was bigger than his eyes, and a few strokes later he was hard again . . .
"That's it, Pierre," Fanny Hertz yelled as she tightened her marble thighs around the Frenchman's head and raked the back of his neck with her long, red fingernails. "Eat me, baby, eat me. Yes, yes, like that!"
Pierre ate her pussy, and he kept eating it, until Fanny erupted . . .
Albert Crawley's train of thoughts chugged back into the time called now, but not before he had a violent orgasm to tide
him over . . . until tonight . . . when he would take in the party. He finished putting away his tools and walked away from the mansion. It was all of seven miles into Legend, but Crawley was used to walking. Besides, he had some thinking to do, and you couldn't beat fresh air for doing that. His mind was on the phone conversation he had overheard Pierre St. Pierre make shortly after Fanny Hertz left him alone in the bedroom for a few minutes. The call had been a local one, made to someone named Kirby, and the gist of it left Crawley with the impression that Pierre and the gink called Kirby were up to something dishonest. Wish I knew what that something dishonest was, Crawley thought as he made his way toward town. Then I could pass a tip to Casey Cassidy and give him a story. It would be a nice way of thanking him for the many times he's let me watch him sex it up with his lovely wife. Not many men would do anything as nice as that. Good man, that Casey . . .
Crawley was three miles away from town when the Happy Hunting Ground Mortuary hearse came to a stop beside him and Jake
Crazy Rabbit called, "If you're looking for a ride into town, you just found it."
Crawley hopped in beside the short, squat Sioux who earned his living from the dead, waited until the hearse was in motion again, then nodded toward the back. "I see you've got a customer, Jake."
Jake Crazy Rabbit nodded solemnly. "A friend of yours, Albert."
"Oh?"
"Sam Cobb."
"How come he's riding back there?"
"Because he's dead."
"Dead?"
"Dead."
Crawley shook his head in disbelief. "I don't understand. I just saw Sam yesterday and he looked healthy as a horse."
"He was healthy, but that isn't what killed him."
"What did?"
"Housemaid's knee."
"How the hell could he die from housemaid's knee, Jake?"
"Quite easily. His wife returned home unexpectedly and caught him with his hand on one."
Crawley groaned. "There's only one person I know who tells jokes that bad, so I guess you've been hanging around Casey Cassidy too much. Who is in the back of your hearse?"
"Nobody. I'm bringing in a load of theatrical trunks that belong to Pierre St. Pierre."
Crawley betrayed sudden interest. "Trunks? Where did you bring them from, Jake?"
"From the railroad depot over in Temperance, why?"
Crawley smiled. "Just asking. Where were they shipped from, do you recall?"
"Sure. Rock Springs, Wyoming."
"That isn't more than two hundred miles from here, Jake."
"So?"
"So Pierre must have put on some sort of show there, right?"
Jake nodded. "Happens to be his business, but not yours, Albert."
Crawley grinned. "Touche, Jake! And since it is his business, I'll let him tend to it."
"Good idea. Stick to your peeping and let Pierre do his thing, Albert."
Crawley's face registered shock. "Peeping? What on earth are you talking about, Jake? Are you accusing me of being a voyeur?"
Jake grinned. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Albert; I'm stating a fact. Hell, you've been at my window so often these past few months I've been thinking of having them washed so you wouldn't come down with eyestrain."
Crawley sighed loudly. "All right, I admit it, but why didn't you call the police on me?"
Emotion crawled across Jake Crazy Rabbit's face, and some of the same emotion edged his voice. "Because you're my friend, Albert, that's why I didn't blow the whistle on you."
"I'll be damned!" Crawley sniffed loudly and a suspicion of moisture appeared in his lustful eyes. "That's the nicest thing anybody ever said to me." He sniffed again and now slyness edged his voice as he asked, "Do you want me to stop looking in on you and Ursula?"
Jake grinned sheepishly. "No. It sort of perks up my libido to know I've got an audience whenever I tackle my wife in the sack, but I do wish you'd be a little more careful; Ursula would be embarrassed to death if she ever caught you while she had a mouthful of my cock. Women are funny that way, you know."
Crawley nodded solemly. "I know. I've shamed a few of them without meaning to since I landed in this town." His homely face crumpled in a smile. "You know Miss Colby, don't you?"
"The skinny old bat who works the ticket window at the Legend Theater. I know her. First time I saw her up close I told myself that if she's taking ugly pills, they're working. You mean you looked in on her, too?"
"Just once, and that once was enough," Crawley said. "I never peeked on a woman like her before, and I was curious. She looks better with her clothes on, and that isn't saying a hell of a lot in her favor. Miss Colby is so skinny and flat-chested I was tempted to ask her to drink a bottle of cherry soda so that I could rent her out as a thermo-
meter and make some side money for the both of us."
Jake laughed politely. "Come on now, she isn't that flat-chested, Albert."
"No? Wolfgang O'Keefe can tell you about that, Jake. Wolf shacked up with her one night, and he told me that when Miss Colby put her bra on backwards the next morning ... he discovered that it didn't make any difference." Crawley glanced out the side window and said, "You can drop me off at the usual place."
Jake nodded and pulled up in front of the Skid Row bar Crawley always frequented. Crawley climbed out to the crooked and uneven sidewalk and smiled at his Sioux friend.
"Buy you a drink, Jake?"
Jake shook his head. "Some other time, Albert. Just remember what I told you about being careful when you look through my windows."
"I'll be careful. Sure you won't have that drink?"
Jake shook his head again. "I've got to deliver Pierre's stinking trunks to the theater before five o'clock, or Wolfgang O'Keefe
will have a litter of kittens. See you late:, Albert. Like maybe tonight?"
"I don't think so, Jake. Tonight I'm going to a party at Fanny Hertz's house."
Jake showed surprise. "Fanny invited you?"
Crawley smirked. "Who needs an invitation? I'm just going there to look around."
Crawley waited until Jake Crazy Rabbit drove off, and then he entered the bar. He swapped the fat, big-titted barmaid a five-dollar bill for the same amount of change, then locked himself inside the bar's phone booth and placed a long distance call to a voyeuse friend of his in Rock Springs, Wyoming. He got her on the fourth ring.
"Polly? Albert Crawley here." He told her where he was, then came to the point. "I want you to do some checking for me on a professional fund raiser named Pierre St. Pierre who specializes in putting on stage plays. Think you can handle it without getting in a jam?"
"Consider it done, Albert. Better give me a number so I can call you back."
"Don't want you to call back, Polly. If
you find out anything, I want you to deliver it in person."
"Are you in some sort of trouble, Albert?"
"No, but some friends I look in on once in awhile might be if Pierre St. Pierre is what I think he is, and I'd like to help them."
Polly sounded surprised. "You mean you've got friends in Legend who know you're a Peeping Tom?"
"Damn right! Some of the best friends I've ever seen. I'll show them to you through their windows when you get here."
Polly Arden laughed and broke the connection. Crawley left the phone booth and straddled a stool at the bar. The fat, big-titted waitress placed a short beer and a double of muscatel before him, then leaned forward and gave him a generous glimpse of her massive breasts before she asked, "Are you mad at me, Albert?"
Crawley smiled at the woman's tits and felt his penis come alive inside his pants. "You know I'm not mad at anybody, Effie."
"Then why haven't I seen you outside my bedroom window lately?"
Crawley drank his double of wine and chased it down with the short beer before
he answered. "I was there last night, Effie, but you were too busy using your whip on that freaky usher from the theater to notice me.
Effie made a small animal sound in her throat. "It's the first time I ever did that to anybody, Albert, and did I ever enjoy it!"
"I know what you mean," Albert said solemnly. "I popped my nuts three times before you finished whipping Kirby Stone, and then I came again when you sat down on his face and forced him to eat your pussy."
Effie's homely face clouded. "He wasn't very good at eating a cunt. I guess that's because he's a cocksucker at heart. Another drink, Albert?"
Crawley shook his head. "Don't need another drink, but I could use a favor."
"Name it."
Crawley reached across the bar and fondled Effie's gigantic breasts. He felt her nipples stiffen against his palms and creamed in his pants. He waited until he stopped shuddering before he said, "A friend of mine will be hitting town in a day or two, my big-titted friend. She won't have anyplace to
stay, and I was wondering if you'd be able to put her up for a spell?" "She?"
Crawley nodded. "A beautiful, teenaged voyeuse named Polly Arden."
Effie stopped staring at her jutting nipples and blinked. "What the hell is a voyeuse?"
Crawley glanced around the room to make sure nobody was looking in his direction, and then he slipped a hand behind Effie's scoop-necked sweater and grabbed a handful of warm tit.
"A voyeuse is a female peeper," he explained. "That's Polly. A good girl. We shared a lot of windows together before I came to Legend."
Effie made no attempt to escape the gentle hand that massaged her plump breast. "She sounds fascinating."
"She is. Will you put her up?"
Effie frowned thoughtfully. Her face was flushed and her breath was ragged in the brief silence that fell between them. A few seconds later she stopped frowning and smiled sweetly.
"I'll put her up . . . on one condition."
"Name it."
"You stared at my titties and fooled with them until you had a come, and now you've got me hanging by my thumbs."
"Sorry about that."
"I don't want you to be sorry; I want you to do something about it." "Like what?" "Like eating my pussy." "Here?"
"Why not? All you have to do is come behind the bar and get down on your knees. Nobody will be able to see you."
"Eat pussy?" Albert Crawley scratched his head. "I don't know, Effie. I'm a looker, not a doer."
Effie's eyes hardened. "You want me to help you and your friend, don't you?" j Crawley made up his mind quickly. He nodded and climbed over the bar, and a pulse-beat later he was staring at all of Effie. There was a lot to stare at. Effie was a mountainous woman, fat but not sloppy, and sight of her plump tights showing below the hemline of her micro-mini skirt actually made his mouth water to get at her hairy pussy. The feeling surprised him. It had been
ages since he'd had the urge to make like a crotch cannibal and eat somebody. The thought amused him.
Be a hell of a note if I ever got hooked on the taste of cunt and lost interest in peeping, he told himself as he dropped to his knees before Effie and lifted the hem of her skirt to see the color of her bikini panties. My tongue just couldn't put up with the daily grind . . .
"You'll have to take my panties off," Effie said in a hus^y whisper as she brought her legs closer together. "Go ahead. Remove them."
Crawley's hands groped under the mini skirt until his fingers found and hooked into the elastic waistband of Effie's panties, and a few seconds later he had them all the way off.
Effie's fingers dug into the back of Crawley's neck as she strained to bring him closer to his work.
"Now, Albert, now."
Crawley admired her pubic beard for a moment or two. He had seen Effie's hairy pussy before, but never at this close;range, and once again he found himself fascinated
with it. She had a beautiful cunt. Her clitoris, hard and pink, stuck up out of the brush like an injured baby's finger looking for someone to kiss the hurt away, and the pouting, moist lips of her pussy were demanding the same attention.
"Now, Albert, now," Effie repeated as she pulled his face closer to her body. "Unroll a few inches of your glorious tongue and clean my kitty with it. Take me, darling, take me!"
Albert Crawley took a deep breath and closed in for the kill. He trapped Effie's clitoris between his lips and raked it with his teeth; Effie moaned like a sick wind and buried her long fingernails into the back of his neck, then forced his mouth away from her clit and brought it against the lips of her melting pussy.
Crawley got with it. He stiffened his awesome tongue and rammed it all the way home. Effie grunted like a piles patient taking her first crap following a hemorrhoidectomy, and then she began her special love chant:
"Eat, Albert, eat. Yes, yes, that's the way! Yodel in my juicy canyon of love and
give me a good come! Make me happy, you long-tongued darling. Eat me off, eat off."'
Effie's orison of passion reached Crawley in the form of a blurred mumble, for the pressure of her kneecaps against his ears made hearing practically impossible. In addition, the wild taste of her flowing pussy was getting better and better, and now he increased the speed of his tongue to bring her to a fast and violent climax.
"Whee!" Effie shrilled as she mashed her kitten against his face and held it there. "Your tongue feels like a sadistic snake, but I love it, love it, love it . . ."
Crawley kept his tongue alive inside Effie's love tunnel.
"Faster, Albert, faster!" "[
He ate faster. Effie's cunt fizzled like Alka-Seltzer in a glass of water, and as he continued to put the tongue to it he told himself that relief was just a swallow away . . . and it was.
Crawley gave Effie's hairy pussy a final lick and a promise and came to a standing
position. He grinned at the somnambulistic quality in the fat woman's eyes and asked, "Still hanging by your thumbs, Effie?"
"No, but I'll bet you can't say the same." She reached for his crotch and found his turgid flesh. Her eyes widened. "Man, you're hung!"
"Thank you."
"Like a damn mule." Effie licked her lips. "I wouldn't mind softening it for you. Would you like that, Albert?"
He nodded. "But only if you do it my way."
"Tell me how?"
"Jerk me off."
"Jerk you off?" Effie looked disappointed. "I wanted to eat it, not beat it."
"You can do both," Crawley said as he watched a bearded wino stagger over to the jukebox and try to get a pack of cigarettes out of it. "Hold my bone in front of your face while you pump me, and when I get ready to squirt you can open your mouth and catch my load. How does that grab you?"
"Like wild, man," Effie said as she sank to her knees and opened his fly. She removed his enormous erection and skinned it back
to expose the velvety knob. She tickled the underside of it with the tip of a finger for the space of a few pulse-beats, then dipped her head and kissed it.
Crawley shivered but said nothing.
Effie stopped kissing the head of his cock and proceeded to masturbate him. She kept her mouth wide open and close to the delivery end of his tool. She beat his meat slowly, expertly, and soon her squeezing fingers caused Crawley to tremble and then explode.
Effie began making small animal sounds in her throat as Crawley's stream of jism shot into her waiting mouth, and for the next few seconds she was kept busy swallowing, swallowing, swallowing . . .
"Not bad," Crawley admitted as he helped Effie up from her knees and sheathed his cock again. "For an amateur, you give a pretty good hand job."
"Thank you."
The bearded wino stopped trying to get a pack of cigarettes out of the jukebox and started toward them. Crawley climbed across the bar to the customer side and brushed the sawdust from his knees before
he said, "I might not be around when Polly Arden hits town, so take care of her for me, eh?"
Effie nodded. "Anything else you'd like me to do?"
"Just one more thing, Effie. Keep your ears open for the name of Pierre St. Pierre, and if you hear anything, let me know."
"Will do, but who in the name of hell is Pierre St. Pierre?"
"God knows," Crawley said as he made ready to go home and prepare himself for tonight's party at the Hertz mansion, "but since we're not on speaking terms with Him, I guess we'll have to find out the hard way."
And they did.
Chapter 3
The party was in full swing when Casey Cassidy arrived at the Hertz estate. The dachshund-faced butler pronounced him a social leper with one glance and was about to direct him to the servants entrance when Fanny Hertz popped into view and rolled out the Welcome mat by saying, "Casey! How good of you to come!"
Casey stepped inside and sneered at the butler. "I haven't missed a party of yours yet, have I?"
Fanny slipped her arm through Casey's and rubbed a plump breast against his rib cage. "I expected you to miss this one, darling. Arab told me about your hostile attitude toward Pierre, but I think you'll change your mind after you get to know him a little better. He's really quite a man."
"A gigolo usually is."
Fanny released her grip on Casey's arm and wheeled to face him. Sharp anger glinted in her eyes. "Are you insinuating that I paid Pierre to fuck me?"
Casey smiled boyishly and shook his
head at the Junoesque but sexy bottled redhead who was one of the Mountaineer s biggest advertisers. He didn't want to offend Fanny. He couldn't afford it.
"The day you pay for a lay is the day I slip a black rubber over my dick and go into mourning," Casey said smoothly, for he was Irish and lying came easily to him. "I'm not one to hand out compliments the way you, being a generous soul, hand out free passes to underprivileged children during Saturday matinees, but I think you're one of the most sensual women I ever had the pleasure of knowing on an intimate basis."
Fanny stopped being angry, and now her green eyes were dancing with amusement. "You know damn well we've never been intimate, chum."
"Only because I'm a married man, one who chooses to remain chaste outside the marriage bed."
"You mean chased, not chaste," Fanny laughed. "Oh, don't bother to deny it, Casey. Women talk about the men in their lives, too, and your name crops up as often as your Uncle Barney's. I'm probably the only woman in Legend who hasn't felt the
weight of your naked body pressing her into the mattress, but I'm going to change that, as of tonight." She showed him her milk-white teeth in a deadly smile. "Right after you meet Pierre and agree to cooperate with him on getting us a hospital."
Casey sighed loudly. He felt like the born loser who carried his bride over the threshold and then came down with a hernia.
"That sounds like a threat, Fanny."
Fanny shook her head. "That is an ultimatum, darling. I don't care what your personal feelings are toward Pierre, but until he gets us the money we need for our hospital, you're going to bend over backwards to be nice to him. Louse up this deal and your advertising will drop thirty percent so fast it will make your head swim."
Casey exhaled loudly. "All right, you made your point."
"Only one of them," Fanny said sweetly as she reached down and gave his limp penis a quick squeeze. "I'll make the other one when you work me over with that big dong of yours later on this evening."
Fanny Hertz had never appealed to Casey before, but the moment her hand
came into contact with his manhood he took a closer look at her. She wasn't a bad looking woman, despite her age and size, and the juicy knowledge that she had once toiled as a whorehouse madam added fuel to his interest, for there was not doubt in Casey's mind that Fanny knew every trick in the book when it came to pleasing a man. Tonight she was attired in her usual costume: a mannish-cut ice blue blouse, Western-cut stretch pants that outlined the generous curve of her hips, thighs and gently rounded stomach, the imprint of her pussy lips and the shapeliness of her legs. Sight of her was enough to give a dead man a hard on, and he was far from becoming a 30 in the orbituary column, so it was only natural for his penis to harden in Fanny's hand.
"I'll look forward to meeting you later in the evening," Casey said.
"How do you spell that?"
Casey's eyes twinkled. "M-e-a-t-i-n-g."
Fanny threw back her head and laughed, but she forgot to release her grip on his cock when she did this, and a moment later Casey winced.
"You're a nut," Fanny laughed.
"I'll be a eunuch if you don't turn me loose the next time you rear back like that."
Fanny moved her hand away from his dick just as the butler appeared and filled their respective hands with drinks. She raised her glass and touched its rim to his.
"To the new hospital."
Casey's cock died a sudden death. He nodded. "To the new hospital."
They drank their toast, and then Fanny kissed him on the lips.
"My goodness, your breath smells sweet!" she exclaimed.
"It should. I used the mouthwash for lovers just before I came here."
"Does it work?"
"Damn right. I got raped ten times on the way over here. Twice by women."
Fanny laughed and kissed him again, and this time her kiss was sweet and full or promise. She slipped her tongue inside his mouth and licked his tonsils for a few seconds, and then she backed away from him and said breathlessly, "Let go into the party room and meet the rest of the guests before I lose control of myself and really rape you."
Casey nodded and followed her twitching buttocks into the party room. Fanny steered him toward the mini brunette who worked for Dr. Scroggs and introduced them. The girl's name was Hyacinth Harkness. Casey already knew her, but he pretended not to. His hot eyes caressed the Southern girl's lush curves for a few seconds, and then he said, "Now I know why they call Georgia the Peach State, Hyacinth."
Her smile turned torrid. She lifted her eyes from Casey's crotch and said, "You do say the sweetest things . . . for a Yankee."
Casey stopped feasting his eyes on her breasts and chuckled. "Don't tell me you're prejudice, Hyacinth?"
"Not really. Some of my best friends are Yankees. Heck, I've even had a few of them over to my apartment for dinner a few times, and it's no problem to sterilize the dishes after they leave."
"Isn't Hyacinth quaint?" Fanny remarked as she led Casey away to meet and mingle with the other guests. "And did you ever see such big titties on such a little girl?"
"Not lately."
"They're almost as big as mine." "So I noticed."
"You would." Fanny brought Casey to a stop before the tall, dark and handsome Frenchman he didn't like and introduced them again.
"A pleasure," Pierre said as he tried to break Casey's fingers with his grip. "I always enjoy working with the Fourth Estate."
You probably enjoy working with any estate, Casey thought. Especially the money end of it.
"I know you two have oodles and oodles of plans to discuss, so I'll leave you alone," Fanny said, then turned on her heel and walked away.
Casey didn't voice any objections to Pierre's plans, for on the way to the party he had decided to make like a pussycat and check up on the Frenchman in his spare time. He agreed to line up the local talent, he agreed to write the play, and then he committed the Mountaineer to the same sentence of folly. By the time he finished, Pierre was happier than a car-
chasing dog on a California freeway, an Casey left him like that while he went off to mingle with the other guests. He wandered throughout the mansion with a highball in his hand, looking for the first sign of sexual activity. He found it when he entered the den and caught Wolfgang O'Keefe getting a first class blow job from Kirby Stone, an usher from the theater Wolfgang managed for Fanny Hertz.
Casey paused inside the doorway and watched Kirby suck Wolfgang off. Neither man noticed his presence, for Kirby was too busy chewing on a cock and Wolfgang was too busy enjoying it. Wolfgang had Kirby by the ears and he was really feeding him the prick, which didn't surprise Casey, for in his book Wolfgang, small, sparrow thin, bespectacled and white-haired, was the original dirty old man fictioneers used as a prototype for other dirty old men characters, but the bastard was well hung.
Casey waited until Wolfgang filled Kirby Stone's greedy mouth with a hot load of come, and then he went off in search of more action. He reached the first downstairs bedroom in time to hear the now naked Hya-
cinth Harkness tell the equally naked Jake Crazy Rabbit, "I'm from Georgia."
Jake placed his hand over his heart and said, "God bless Robert E. Lee."
A pulse-beat later Casey's cock stiffened as he watched Hyacinth stretch out on the bed and aim her exciting breasts toward the ceiling. Her legs drifted apart and Jake Crazy Rabbit moved in between them. Hyacinth clutched his erection in her hot little hand and rubbed the head of it against the swollen lips of her pussy, but for the moment she continued to deny Jake entrance to it.
"What's wrong?" Jake asked. "Don't tell me you're a tease?"
Casey unzipped his fly and removed his throbbing cock.
Hyacinth shook her head. "I'm not a tease, Jake. I'm going to give you what you want. It's just that I never made it with an Indian before. Especially a Flatfoot."
"You've been spending too much time with Arab Cassidy," Jake said as he tried again to stuff his cock inside Hyacinth's cunt. "The name you want is Flathead, not Flat-foot, but it so happens that I'm a Sioux."
"Sioux? How delightful. Do you have a reservation?"
"Only when I plan an out of town trip; then I call the hotel I want to stay in and make one."
"You're very funny." "I don't feel very funny, and if you don't let me stash my cock in your pussy, I'll stop humoring you and take it elsewhere."
Hyacinth laughed musically. Then she gave a tiny cry of surrender and relaxed beneath Jake. She coiled her shapely legs around Jake's buttocks and lifted her ass to take his cock with one fluid thrust.
"Ouch," Hyacinth said a moment later, "that hurts! Take it out, take it out!"
Casey stopped playing with his peter and frowned. He wondered why Hyacinth was yelling. A moment later he learned the answer, for when Jake stood up on his knees, Casey saw that his dick was buried in the little sex kitten's anus.
"Don't blame me," Jake panted as he gripped Hyacinth's hips and proceeded to screw her fanny. You're the one who miscalculated, not me."
"Damn yankee," Hyacinth hissed as she
stopped struggling against the dick that filled her anal canal and started grinding her hips, "damnyankee, damnyankee!"
Casey tightened his grip on his penis and grinned as he watched Jake Crazy Rabbit cornhole the little cornpone eater, and after a few strokes Hyacinth began to enjoy the reaming she was getting. Her trembling knockers, innocent of blouse and bra, stopped heaving as she locked her arms around Jake's neck and mashed them against his naked chest, and now her own passion went berserk. Her ass bounced all over the bed and her fingernails branded Jake's back with red streaks as she raced at breakneck speed toward a come of her own . . .
"That's it, darling, Sioux me, Sioux me," Hyacinth panted as she stopped scratching Jake's back and jammed a long finger up his ass. "Fuck me, fuck me!"
Jake Crazy Rabbit fucked her.
Furiously.
Until she came.
The moment Hyacinth Harkness went into convulsions of ecstasy, Casey gave his cock a final stroke that broke his string, but the load went astray, for just as he orgasmed
Dr. Noah Scroggs blundered into the path of it and Casey's semen splashed all over the proctologist's pants leg.
Casey took one look at the gorilla-sized man and wished he were somewhere else, for he expected Dr. Scroggs to lose his temper and beat the daylights out of him.
"Sorry about that," Casey apologized as he crammed his tallywhacker back inside his pants, then came up with a handkerchief and attempted to clean his come from the doctor's trouser leg. "I didn't see you coming."
The bald, ugly-faced doctor chuckled. "Forget it, Casey. This won't be the first time I've gone home from one of Fanny's parties with pecker tracks all over my clothing." Scroggs shot a glance toward the couple on the bed; they were still oblivious to everything except each other. "If you're all through watching, I'd like a word or two with you, Casey."
Casey nodded and followed Dr. Scroggs out into the star-filled night. He sensed that something was bugging Scroggs, but he remained silent until they reached the occupied swimming pool before he said, "If you
brought me out here to convince me that Pierre is the man we need to help us get our hospital, you can save your breath; Fanny did the job for you."
"I know. I had another reason for bringing you out here, Casey. A personal one. I understand you're going to write an original play for Pierre?" "Correct. So?"
Doctor Scroggs looked embarrassed. "It's also my understanding that you'll be responsible for lining up the local talent."
"Are you offering an assist?"
"No. I've always had this yen to be in a play, and I was wondering if you couldn't see your way clear to write in a small part for me."
"What sort of part did you have in mind, Doc?"
Scroggs blushed furiously. "The part of an Indian maiden. I simply love to wear buckskin dresses."
Casey groaned inwardly at the thought of this ugly giant mincing his way through the role of an Indian maiden, but a pulse-beat later he stopped groaning and chuckled. Hell, why not? The play was going to be a
comedy, so why not go whole hog and turn it into a real farce?
"Consider yourself a member of the cast, Doc," Casey said.
"Do you mean it?"
"I mean it."
"Thank you, Casey. And to show you how much I appreciate what you're going to do for me, I want you to come to my office tomorrow morning for a free physical."
Casey nodded. "Arab's been bugging me to see you for weeks now, so I might as well."
"Good! I'll see you later, Casey. Right now I have to rejoin the party and give Pierre the Town Council's official green light to get the show on the road."
Casey watched the gorilla-sized doctor walk away, and this sight reminded him of the chimpanzee he had brought to the party.
I'd better get Mr. Mahoney out of my car before he loses his temper and tears hell out of the upholstery, Casey thought as he threaded his way through the small parking lot that fronted the mansion. That damn chimp gets meaner than an Irishman when he goes without a drink for awhile.
He found Mr. Mahoney standing on the front seat, staling at the couple in the next car who were screwing like crazy, and beating his meat while he watched them.
Casey jerked the door open and slapped the chimp's mitt away from his dick. "Damn sex fiend. How many times do I have to tell you that it isn't polite to masturbate in public?"
Mr. Mahoney gave him a stiff finger that meant "fuck you," and then he went into his panhandling routine.
Casey shook his head. "You're an impossible bastard, did you know that? Most chimps would settle for a banana, but all you want is booze. All right, come on; let's join the party."
Mr. Mahoney chattered happily and started toward the parked car that contained the fucking couple.
"That is not the party I had in mind," Casey growled as he led the chimp away from the diddling duo. "They don't have any beer with them."
Casey took Mr. Mahoney in through the servants enhance and got him a bottle of beer. A moment later the short and pot-
bellied Mayor of Legend entered the kitchen. Casey smiled at the way Mushy Fink was walking, all stooped over, and asked, "What's the matter with you?"
Mushy Fink located a bottle of wine and poured himself a generous drink before he answered. "My back is sore, that's what's the matter."
"What did you do, wrench it?"
Mushy Fink shook his head. "No. I was kissing a constituent of mine goodnight when her husband came out on the porch and stepped right in the middle of my back."
Casey threw back his head and laughed. He was still laughing when Fanny Hertz walked into the kitchen and said, "Ah, here you are, darling Casey; I've been looking all over hell for you." She took him by the hand. "Come along. There's something I have to discuss with you." Casey permitted Fanny to lead him upstairs to her bedroom, for he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, and the moment the door closed behind them he trapped her in his arms and wasted no time. He felt the pneumatic pressure of her gigantic breasts against his chest as he moved his mouth
against hers and pried her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. Fanny opened her mouth to receive his tongue, then ground her cunt against his hardening penis until they were both on fire.
"Whew!" Fanny said when she finally stopped raking his tongue with her teeth and came up for air. "That smooch really turned me on! I damn near creamed in my panties when you tickled my tonsils."
Casey glanced toward the unshaded window and found Albert Crawley watching the action. He winked at the Peeping Tom and then he went to work on Fanny's clothing. The blouse went first. He undid the buttons in slow motion, then pushed it from her smooth shoulders and tossed it across the back of a nearby chair. He admired Fanny's exciting breasts and wondered how the poor people were doing.
Fanny took a deep breath that thrust her breasts into greater prominence and said, "This is a new half-bra I'm wearing, lover. Do you like it?"
Casey swallowed hard. "I like it. You fill it quite nicely."
"I was expecting you to say that my cups
runneth over." Fanny reached out and found his erection. Her eyes widened as she unzipped his fly and removed it. "How now, big bull?"
Her hand scorched Casey's flesh when she touched him. He shivered for a second or two, and then he attacked her clothing again. He ignored her crowded bra for a moment and loosened the hip zipper on her Western stretch pants. The zipper hissed in the thick silence, and to Casey it sounded like a love song without lyrics. He grinned and followed the stretch pants down to Fanny's ankles, and when she was free of them he planted a fleeting kiss on her slightly warm and moist crotch and stood up.
"Why didn't you remove my panties while you Were down on your knees?" Fanny asked as Casey unfastened her bra and spilled her tits into nakedness.
Casey tossed the scrap of bra away and kissed her nipples into stiffness before he said, "I prefer doing things the hard way."
"And I prefer taking things the hard way," Fanny said as she tightened her grip on his cock and forced him to his knees. "Especially your thing."
Casey felt his heart skip a beat as he removed Fanny's panties and watched her pussy come into full view. The mattress of hair that covered it was black and curly, and sight of it excited him. He moved his nose closer and took a whiff of her vagina. It smelled clean and sweet, and now he was tempted to explore the inner walls of it with his long and experienced tongue, but a moment later he changed his mind and stood up again.
"You started to lick my kitty and then you changed your mind. Why? No guts?" "No appetite."
Fanny was amused. "What do you have an appetite for, lover? Some hanky panky?" "Not the regular kind." "Oh?"
Casey took Fanny's firm, large breasts in his big hands and smiled boyishly. "Let me tell you about my aberration ..."
"Let me show you mine," Fanny said as she dropped to her knees before him and rubbed the glistening knob of his cock against her ripe red lips. "It's called a blow job."
Casey spread his legs. "I like blow jobs."-
"I'm sure you do."
"Are you good at sucking a cock, Fanny?" "I'd rather show you than tell you." And she did. She hooked a finger around the base of his shaft and stretched her jaws to receive his gift of swollen flesh. Casey felt his heart stop beating as he watched his cock vanish inside her eager mouth, and a few seconds later his scrotum came to a rest against her chin. He was surprised. Nine inches of dick was a lot to take in one fluid gulp, but the way Fanny did it made the whole thing seem easy, and soon she was sucking the hell out of it.
"You're good," Casey panted as he gripped the back of Fanny's head and tried to cram his balls in her mouth. "Damn good. Especially with your teeth."
Fanny made a sound around the cock that filled her mouth, and to Casey the sound reminded him of a muffled giggle, but he couldn't be sure, for at this point the surf of passion pounded in his ears and reduced the rest of the world to irrelevancy.
"Suck harder, suck faster," Casey moaned as he jammed his cock in Fanny's mouth
and shuddered his way through a violent release. "Suck harder, harder, harder ..."
Fanny made loud gulping sounds in the silence, until he finished squirting come in her mouth, and then she permitted his dick to slip from between her lips and attacked his balls with her tongue. She licked his scrotum until it turned dry, and then she spun him around and did the same thing to his anus. By the time she finished checking his piles with the tip of her tongue, Casey was the proud owner of another erection.
Fanny kissed the cheeks of his ass and stood up. Devils of passion danced in her eyes and her naked breasts tossed wildly as she trapped his rigid rod of rapture in her warm hand again and murmured, "Now you can tell me about your aberration, lover."
"It's called hide the weenie."
"Hell, that's not a new game, lover."
"It is the way I play it. I want to stick mine between your beautiful tits and fuck them."
Fanny squealed like a new tire on a sharp curve. "Ursula Crazy Rabbit told me you liked to go that route, but I thought she was making it up. By golly, I like the idea."
"Then you'll let me fuck you between the tits?"
"Hell yes. I'm no prude. Tell me what to do, lover."
"Stretch out on the floor, on your back."
Fanny did. "Like this?"
Casey nodded and straddled her stomach. He grinned at her twin mounds of nip-pled flesh for a moment or two, and then he took himself in hand and placed his cock between them.
"Now what?" Fanny asked.
"Grab your breasts and squeeze them together against my dick, then hold them like that while I fuck your titties."
Fanny mashed her breasts against his erection, then smiled as she watched him go through the motions of screwing her, and each time the knob of his cock peeped out, she flicked her tongue toward it and took a lick before Casey retreated. It was a fun game, one she enjoyed playing, and she became so fascinated with it that she didn't know he was coming until he shot and hit her in the face with his jism.
"You crazy bastard," Fanny said as she pushed Casey away from her and sat up.
"Why didn't you warn me that you were going to throw a fuck bomb in my face?" She wiped the jism from her eyes and laughed suddenly. "Wait until I tell Pierre what happened; it will break him up."
The moment Fanny dropped Pierre's name into the conversation ring, Casey lost interest in her.
"I think we'd better rejoin the party," Casey said hollowly. "My wife will be arriving any minute."
"Your wife has arrived," Arab said as she made her presence known, "and just in time to discover that her husband is a culvert."
"Not culvert, Arab, pervert." Casey corrected her automatically, then paled. "And you didn't see me doing anything wrong.
"Ha," Arab said as she closed the gap between them and kicked Casey in the shin. "Your palace is hanging out of your pants, Fanny is naked as a hummingbird, there's love juice running down the planes of her face, and you still have the audacity to tell me that nothing happened between you two?" Arab shook her angry head. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's, an Irishman who speaks with a forked tongue."
Casey spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Aw, Arab, don't be that way."
Arab's dark eyes continued to sparkle with anger. "I can't help it. I know what I saw when I came in here, and I'm still looking at it. Oh, Fanny, how could you do this to me?"
Fanny donned her bra and panties before she answered. "We aren't guilty of anything, Arab. I simply lost my earring and Casey was good enough to help me search for it."
"Where did you lose it? Between your titties?"
Fanny laughed, gathered up her blouse and stretch pants, left the room. A pulse-beat later Arab started in on him again. Casey waited until she ran out of breath, then asked, "Are you finished?"
"I'm finished, all right, but only where you're concerned," Arab retorted. "I want a husband, not an alley cat. I'm leaving you, Casey."
Casey reached out to grip her shoulder and found a sweater filled with breast. "Have a heart, hon ..."
Arab brushed his hand awav from her
breast, but not before she came down with a bad case of stiff nipples that showed through the material that covered them. "Stay away from me, Casey. I mean it; I'm leaving you."
Casey tried a different approach. He smiled boyishly and drawled, "Know something, hon? You're beautiful when you're angry."
"And you stink!"
"I know," Casey said solemnly. "This new deodorant I'm using isn't what it's cracked up to be."
Arab tried to fight the smile forming on her lips, failed, and a whisper later she started laughing.
"You fight dirty," Arab said as Casey took her in his arms and blew in her left ear.' "You know I can't hate you while I'm laughing."
"I had to do something," Casey said as he slipped a hand under her snug pink sweater and kneaded a nipple through her bra cup. "I've never seen you blow your cool like this before."
Arab shivered deliciously, then reached down and milked his penis into hardness.
"Can you honestly blame me, Casey? I love, you, and when I caught you diddling Fanny between her titties . . . the cat came out in
me."
"It sure did."
Arab kept massaging his cock with her fingers. She sighed like a neglected virgin. "Just promise not to cheat on me again and I'll forgive you."
"I promise."
"And you'd better keep your promise, or the next time you'll find out how true that old saying really is."
Casey stopped kneading Arab's breast and blinked. "What old saying?"
"The one about a lady's wrath. You know: Hell hath no fury like a woman's corns."
"Scorned, not corns." "Well, whatever."
Casey laughed and led her over to the bed. Arab did a fast strip, stretched out on her back and smiled at him over the glorious peaks of her breasts while he did the same. Casey still thought of her as the most beautiful woman in the world, and when he glanced toward the window and saw the
Peeping Tom's eyes dancing in their sockets, he concluded that Albert Crawley shared his opinion.
Good man, that Crawley, Casey thought as he sank to the bed and moved in between Arab's scissored legs. Knows quality when he sees it.
Arab giggled when the head of Casey's cock touched her dimpled navel, and then she took it in her hand and tucked the knob between the lips of her tight pussy. "Ready?" Casey asked. "You may fire when ready, Gridley." Casey dipped his face toward the nearest breast and took a nipple in his mouth. He gave it a quick suck and fed Arab's pussy his cock in one fluid lunge; she squealed like a neurotic mouse on a cheese bender, and a moment later her legs coiled around his buttocks and her hips went crazy with delight.
"Good man," Arab said torridly as she met Casey thrust for thrust. "That's the way, darling, pour it to me. Make me a baby, make me a baby."
Casey tried, for he was a firm believer in Father's Day. He ignored the sweat that ran down into his eyes and splashed against
the breast he was sucking as he raced toward the edge of the cliff called release, and Arab ran with him.
"I'm almost there, darling," Arab panted as she buried a slender finger in his anus and wriggled it. "One more time, one more time! That did it! Wheee, wheee, wheee . . . !"
They ran together, they stopped together they came together, and now he was firing his jism into her. Squirting, squirting . . . until he ran dry.
Arab sighed and relaxed the legs she had wrapped around her husband. She rolled him away from on top of her, then sat up and smiled dreamily.
"Remind me to start knitting a pair of booties tomorrow, Casey."
"For whom? Mr. Mahoney?"
"Don't be a goose and spoil the mood, darling. You know how badly I want a baby from you."
Casey stopped teasing her. "I know, hon. I want it, too. Mr. Mahoney could use a little sister."
Arab climbed out of the bed and located
her panties. "Which reminds me, where is the old drunk?"
"He's probably bombed out of his tree and sleeping it off under the kitchen table; that's where I left him when Fanny forced me to come here and seduce her."
Arab finished patting her panties into place and stared at Casey. "Forced you?"
"That's what I said. She threatened to cancel her advertising in the Moutaineer if I refused to play ball with Pierre . . . and sexual footsies with her." He sighed loudly. "So you see, hon, I really wasn't cheating on you." He forced a tear or two into his voice. "I did it for you, for the baby . . . and for the hospital we need."
"Lord, how I've misjudged you," Arab said as she covered her exquisite breasts and let him snap her bra into place. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Casey smiled at her shoulder blades. "That's okay. I just wanted you to know that I'm not really a sex fiend."
Arab whirled sharply to show him the laughter in her eyes. "You fink! You stole that corny line about not being a sex fiend from Uncle Barney!"
Casey nodded. "Uncle Barney is the smoothest talker I know, hon, and right now I wish he were here and not in Florida."
"Oh, he's not in Florida anymore. He phoned long distance right after you left. He's in Cuba."
"Hijacked?"
"Yep."
"That's bad."
"It's worse than you think, Casey - he was coming by bus."
Casey winced. "I could use a stiff drink after that bad joke."
"Same here. Help me get into this sweater and then we'll go home."
"Why home?"
"You know how I get after a few drinks, and I wouldn't want to embarrass you by ending up under a strange man."
Casey patted her on the derriere. "I'll get Mr. Mahoney and meet you at the car."
Arab glanced around the room. "Wait, darling. Let's have one for the road."
"A fuck?"
Arab shook her head. "A drink. There's a bottle on the dresser. Fill three glasses."
"Your arithmetic is as bad as your vocabulary, hon. Why three glasses?"
Arab nodded toward the window and laughed. "I think Albert could use something to calm his jangled nerves after watching you put the meat to me. Don't look so surprised, Casey; I've known about Albert for a long time."
"And it didn't bother you?"
"Why should it? He's just a harmless voyager."
"Voyeur, Arab, not voyager."
Arab snatched up a glass of brandy and crossed over to the window. She raised it and smiled at the Peeping Tom.
"Good evening, Albert. Are you enjoying the party?"
"I am now, Mrs. Cassidy." Crawley accepted the drink and sampled it. "Hi, Casey."
"Hello, Albert." Casey passed the remainder of the bottle through the window. "Keep the jug. There's a nip in the air and you might as well have one to go with it."
"Out here isn't the only place it's chilly," Crawley said. "Icy weather and moods seem to follow Pierre St. Pierre around like the smell of a skunk."
Casey stared at the friendly voyeur. "Are you trying to tell me something?"
Crawley poured himself another drink before he answered. "Nothing you can use to expose Pierre for the fraud he really is, because it would be my word against his and that swishy theater usher, but I did overhear them talking about how they were going to use this town as a passport to a place called Easy Street."
Casey rebuked Arab with his eyes. "See, I told you that oversexed Frenchman was as crooked as a dog's peter."
"Did you overhear anything else, Albert?" Arab said, ignoring Casey.
Crawley nodded. "Someone named Cynthia Rothrock was mentioned. Do you know her, Mrs. Cassidy?"
Arab's eyes turned angry. "I brought her to the party from the station awhile ago. I wondered why I disliked her at first sight. Now I do know. The little bitch came here to help Pierre perspire against us."
Casey winced. "The word is conspire, not perspire, and the question is; what are we going to do about it?"
"Let them go through with their plans."
Casey blinked. "Are you out of your mind, hon?"
Arab shook her head and smiled sweetly. "I'm being practical darling. Use your head for a moment. We need a hospital, right?"
"Granted, but -"
"And Pierre is supposed to be one of the best promoter's around, right?" "So?"
"So we let Pierre go ahead with his promoting, while we continue to act like the hayseeds he thinks we are. In other words, we'll use him the way he wanted to use us, only we'll be doing it for a better reason."
Casey reached for a cigarette. "I like the idea, but who's going to keep an eye on Pierre when the money starts rolling in?"
"I will," Arab said.
Casey looked disappointed. "I was planning to use you as the star in my play."
"I've got a more important role to play, Casey. Let Cynthia Rothrock bask in the spotlight and that way you can keep an eye on her. But that's all I want you to do - look, not touch."
Casey lit his cigarette. "It just might work. All right, we'll do it your way, Arab."
"What can I do to help?" Crawley asked.
"You can keep an eye on Cynthia Roth-rock after she leaves the theater," Arab replied. "Find out who comes to her room at the Legend House, and then report directly to Casey. Think you can handle it?"
"Leave it to me, Mrs. Cassidy. Isn't anybody in this town who can keep an eye on someone better than me. When do I start?"
"How about right now?" Casey said.
The Peeping Tom nodded. "Now it is. Well, I'd better move on and find the right window for the job." He caressed Arab's magnificent breasts, then tipped his baseball cap to her and said, "It was nice seeing you again, Mrs. Cassidy." A moment later he was gone.
Arab turned to face Casey and said, "I hope Cynthia Rothrock puts on a nice show for Albert when he shows up at her window."
Casey smiled. "So do I. And speaking of shows, I think you and I better head for home so I can start getting mine on the road."
Arab agreed.
Chapter 4
"You're late for your appointment with Dr. Scroggs," Hyacinth Harkness told Casey when he entered the reception part of what he considered to be Scroggs' Hippocratic Home for Hopeless Hernias. She tapped the pad in front of her with a long, red fingernail and added, "Three weeks late."
Casey smiled at her sensuous mouth and wondered if Hyacinth gave a good suck job. "I've been busier than a one-armed woman at a rummage sale, and that's my only excuse."
"Seeing as it's you, we'll accept it, Casey. By the way, how is the new play coming?"
"Just fine." Casey admired the way the mini brunette's not so miniature breasts punched against the front of her crisp white uniform and grinned. "I'm doing the final polish on the third and last act now. A few more sleepless and sexless nights should do it up brown."
"So is the play. It's strictly for laughs, I hope. Would you like to try out for a part in it?"
Hyacinth's eyes went wide with excitement. "I'd like that, Casey."
"Good! Drop by my house tonight, around eight o'clock, and we'll go over your part."
"Fine. Meanwhile, take a load off your feet; Dr. Scroggs will be with you in a few minutes."
"If he's too busy to see me, I can always make it another time ..."
"You'll see him now," Hyacinth said firmly. She glanced at her wristwatch. "He isn't working on a patient. Truth is, he's giving himself his daily enema; it's a hangup he has. Sit down."
Casey chuckled and sat down in the one chair that afforded him an excellent view of the cuddly Dixie cup. He liked the way Hyacinth sat with her shapely legs crossed, treating him to a generous glimpse of her nylons and the marble smoothness of her thighs. He remembered her nakedness and the fuck session she'd had with Jake Crazy
Rabbit at Fanny Hertz s party, and the memory caused his penis to harden. He found himself wishing he could throw a quick fuck into her right now, but common sense overpowered his libido and told him that he would have to wait until Hyacinth came to his house tonight. Then . . .
A buzzer interrupted Casey's train of thoughts. He watched Hyacinth answer the phone, then turn toward him with a humorous glint in her eyes. A pulsebeat later she stood up and said, "Doctor Scroggs will see you now."
Casey stood up and dug his hands deep into his pockets, to keep his embarrassment of flesh from showing, but Hyacinth wasn't interested in his erection for the time being.
"Walk this way," she said.
Casey grinned at her squirming hips. "If I walked that way, I'd get arrested."
"Hyacinth giggled. "You're crazy."
Casey could see the outline of Hyacinth's brief panties as he followed her through the frosted glass door, into the doctor's examining room. His hands itched to get under the hem of her uniform, to rub his dong between the dimpled cheeks of her ass . . .
"Here he is, Doc," Hyacinth announced. "Take care of him."
"I will. Hello, Casey." "Doc."
Dr. Scroggs waited until Hyacinth left the office, then said, "Tell me about your play while you remove your clothing, Casey, and then I'll give you a thorough going over."
Casey hesitated. "Why don't we just discuss the play and skip the examination, Doc? Hell, there's nothing the matter with me.
"Let me be the judge of that," Dr. Scroggs growled. "Strip." "But - "
Doc's eyes turned frosty, and so did his voice. "I'm not a very patient man, Casey, so don't rile me."
Casey stared at the ugly giant who looked more like a wrestler than a pill pusher and thought; boy, what a grouch!
"That's better," Doc said when Casey finished undressing and telling him about the new play. "I'll look forward to the start of rehearsals. Meanwhile, let's see what we can do about giving you a clean bill of health."
Casey sighed.
For a big man there was nothing clumsy about the doctor. After taking Casey's temperature, pulse and blood pressure, Doc started at the top of him and worked his way down. Eyes, ears, nose and throat; the stethoscope bit, including the sounds all doctors make to terrify patients into forgetting to squawk over the bill on the way out.
"Now for the lower extremities," Doc said as he slipped his hammy hand into a rubber glove. "We might as well do a good job while we're at it."
Casey tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat as he stared at the rubberized hand, a bit awed at the size of Doc's enormous fingers, and in the same breath he wondered why the man didn't put a glove on his other hand. A pulsebeat later Casey moved his wide shoulders in a Mexican shrug and thought; hell with it. I guess Doc knows what he's doing.
Doc moved in behind Casey for a moment, then reappeared before him again and said, "Relax. This won't hurt us a bit."
"Us? What do you have - a mouse in your glove?"
Doc's bushy eyebrows humped up like a pair of constipated caterpillars. "Just a little joke of mine." "Ha, ha."
Scroggs scrutinized Casey's scrotum, then buried a stiff finger behind his balls and said, "Cough."
Casey stood up on the tips of his toenails and tried to escape the digit digging into his scrotum. Man, talk about long fingernails!
Cough, Casey." Casey coughed.
"Again."
Casey coughed, but he really felt like screaming for help. "One more time." Casey coughed.
Scroggs nodded to himself. "Just as I suspected."
Casey blinked. "You mean I've got a hernia?"
"No, but if I had a cough as nasty as yours, I'd change to a different brand of cigarettes."
Casey winced. It was his opinion that Scroggs told the lousiest jokes in the world, but he didn't want to antagonize the big-fingered proctologist, so he laughed until his
throat began to ache, and this pleased Doc so much he removed his hangnail from his scrotum. Casey heaved a sigh of relief. "Finished, Doc?"
"Not quite. Since I do specialize in anal disorders, you might as well drape the upper half of your body over that table and let me check you over for piles. Besides, a good prostate massage never hurt any man."
"I don't know," Casey said doubtfully. "That's a pretty mean looking finger you've got there."
Doc glared at him with a threat in each eyeball. "Are you going to start that again?"
Casey sighed in resignation and draped the upper half of his torso over the white-sheeted examination table, and now he was at the complete mercy of the temperamental proctologist. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in order to better endure Doc's digital exploration beyond his tense sphincter; he was as nervous as rabbit during the first day of hunting season.
"Relax, Casey."
Casey relaxed, but not for long.
Yoicks! Casey thought as Doc filled his anus with one thrust. This bugger has the
biggest and boniest finger I ever had the misfortune to come up against. "Relax, Casey." "I can't. That hurts." Doc laughed and wriggled his huge finger. Casey grunted, but a heartbeat later the initial stab of pain passed and now the prostate massage, or the finger wave as it was referred to in lesser circles, wasn't such a bad thing after all.
It was getting good to him. It was giving him a hard on. "Am I still hurting you?" Doc asked. Casey shook his head. He was on the verge of telling Doc that the finger felt wonderful inside his happy asshole, until he became aware of the fact that the man behind him had both hands on his shoulders!
Casey gulped and tried to spin away from the cock that filled his anal canal, but Doc wasn't buying the idea; he applied pressure to the back of Casey's neck and kept him pinned down while he screwed his squirming ass.
"That's it, you darling man, squirm and give me a real wild ride! Shake it, man, shake it!"
Casey felt a come of his own building up in his loins. He stopped hating Doc for practically raping him and got with it. He starting grinding his hips against the cock that filled him and panted, "Sock it to me, sock it to me!" A moment later he shuddered and popped a load of jism all over the floor.
Doc hurried toward a release of his own. He stopped holding Casey's head and gripped him around the waist, and now the speed of his thrusts increased.
"Hang tough, you darling man; I'm almost there!" And a whisper later he made it.
Casey trembled like an old maid on the verge of surrendering her cherry to a candle or a carrot as Doc hunched into him for the last time and stung his ass with a hot load of jism . . .
"Care for a cigar?" Doc asked later.
Casey rubbed his behind and grinned sheepishly. "Why not? I might as well be smoking at both ends."
Doc was amused. "Don't tell me I got a cherry when I fucked you?"
"You know better than that."
Doc nodded. "I just wanted to see if you'd admit it."
"Did you think I would?" "Not really. You're one of those rare breed of cats who finds beauty and pleasure in everything, and fault with nothing."
"You're ahnost right, but not quite. I find fault with certain people, especially when a hospital is involved."
Dr. Scroggs smiled without humor around the cigar he had tucked in one corner of his mouth. "In case your memory needs refreshing, I'm the one who brought Pierre St. Pierre to Legend, and I resent -"
Casey held up his hand for silence. "Forget what I just said, Doc, and while you're at it, forget about the hospital, because there isn't going to be any." "Casey!"
Casey sighed and finished dressing. He shook his head. No use. With the exception of Arab and Albert Crawley, Doc Scroggs was as blind as the others when it came to seeing Pierre for the crook he really was.
Doc Scroggs got his temper under control again and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you."
Casey moved toward the door. "That's okay, Doc."
"But I still think you're wrong about Pierre."
Casey walked out of the office and heeled the door shut behind him. He found Hyacinth perched on the edge of her desk, sipping coffee from a paper cup.
Hyacinth saw the anger that clouded Casey's face and asked, "What are you so pissed off about?"
Casey jerked a thumb toward the closed door that led to Doc's office. "Him. He's so damn bull-headed it's pathetic."
Hyacinth smiled. "What did you expect him to do? Admit that he made a boo boo when he sent for Pierre?"
"How did you know we discussed Pierre?"
"I listened at the intercom."
Casey blushed, then he reached out with his right hand and felt Hyacinth's nearest soft mound of breast. "I hope you aren't the type of girl who tells tales out of school."
Hyacinth moved her hand against Casey's crotch, found his cock, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Not this kid, big man; I'm on
your side. She stopped toying with his cock. "I'll prove it . . . tonight, providing your wife doesn't object."
"Oh, Arab won't be home when you come over to read for me. I've got her keeping an eye on Pierre."
Hyacinth started a laugh that died unborn, for a pulsebeat later Dr. Scroggs barged out of his office and growled, "Do you always lose your hearing when a man puts his hand on your tits, Miss Harkness? I've been buzzing you for the past five minutes."
Hycanith's one word reply was sweet enough to give a strong man diabetes. Sorry.
Doc shifted his fat cigar to the other side of his mouth. "Never mind the sorry routine. Just bring me the chart on Kirby Stone before he arrives and be quick about it!"
"Yes, sir."
Doc vanished with a bang. Casey waited until the echo of the slammed door faded into silence before he stopped playing with Hyacinth's chubby breast and said, "Mean son of a bitch, isn't he?"
"You can say that again."
"A man like that gives me a pain in the
"
ass.
Hyacinth's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Would you care to rephrase that, Casey?"
Casey lowered his eyes and blushed.
Chapter 5
Pierre St. Pierre sat on the edge of the bed and watched Cynthia Rothrock build a pair of drinks. The young, petite, midnight-haired and beautiful girl looked sexy from any direction, and yet Pierre had never been able to get aroused around her. He shook his handsome head and wondered why. It didn't make sense, and yet his prick refused to get hard with desire for the exotic, unsuccessful bit player he had summoned to Legend, all the way from Hollywood, to help him shear a bunch of sheep.
Cynthia interrupted his reverie by looking his way and asking, "The usual double shot in yours, darling?"
"Please."
Pierre continued to dwell on his odd relationship with Cynthia Rothrock. The kid was not a pig, this he knew, for he had slept with more than one oinker during his brief stint as a Hollywood flesh peddler, before a stomach that liked to be fed three squares a day forced him to close shop, so why couldn't he make it with her? Certainly he had eaten
her pussy on a few occasions, and certainly he had enjoyed the fluid of her passion, but there it ended, for whenever Cynthia attempted to first harden and then soften his penis with those bee stung lips of hers, nothing happened. Why?
He kept staring at the girl. She constantly reminded him of the fornicatory doll he had once purchased via a mail order house, right down to the way she was presently attired in lacy half-bra, matching black bikini panties, nylons held in place on her creamy thighs with ruffled garters, and black shoes with long, needle heels. He nodded. Yes, exactly like the fornicatory doll he had once owned, and yet she continued to fail to turn him on.
Why?
He frowned. Maybe the past had something to do with his feelings. The past . . .
"If that look on your face means your conscience is catching up with you, I'm all for it," Cynthia said as she crossed the room with swaying hips, handed him a drink, then sat down beside him on the bed. "I still don't like the idea of robbing people. If you
want to drink champagne, why don't you sell those trunks of yours?"
"Not a chance." Pierre smiled tightly. "I came here to clip these Yahoos and I intend to do just that, with or without your help, but that isn't what I was frowning about."
Cynthia leaned toward him and kissed him on the cheek. "Then why were you frowning? Is it something I said, or did?"
Pierre shook his head. "I was just thinking about the first time we met. Remember?"
Cynthia's eyes turned dreamy. "I remember. I was just a dumb kid of fourteen at the time, a runaway fresh from the farm, nursing hunger pains in my tummy but filled with wild dreams of becoming the brightest star that ever twinkled in the Hollywood heavens. What a laugh that turned out to be!"
"With a good agent, you might have made it."
Cynthia shook her head. "It wasn't your ^ fault, darling. You did the best you could. It just wasn't meant to be. Let's face it; the only talent I have is packaged behind my bra and in my panties, and sometimes I'm not
even sure of it, especially where you're concerned."
Pierre nodded solemnly. "It bothers me, too. I was just thinking about it, and wondering."
She arched an eyebrow. "What's there to wonder about? We were meant to be pals, not lovers."
"Sure. That's why you're always dressed in your undies whenever I show up - because you think of me as your pal."
Cynthia smiled sadly. "It hasn't worked yet, and I've tried just about every trick in the book to make your big cock stiff."
"Maybe I'm impotent."
"Ha! Don't give me that bull, darling; I've seen you get a bone up from just looking at other dolls, and whenever Arab Cassidy shows up, you positively drool."
"I -"
Cynthia reached for Pierre's crotch and gave his soft penis a gentle squeeze. "It's all right, hon; I understand. I'm a bit jealous, but I don't blame you for wanting to get into her panties, because Arab is a beautiful and sexy wench."
"So are you."
"Oh, sure."
Pierre lowered his unfinished drink to the rug and lifted Cynthia to his lap. He brushed his lips against the side of her neck. "I mean it, baby. There's nothing the matter with the way you're packaged. You've got a pair of big, long-nippled breasts, beautiful legs, slender hips, and one of the juiciest pussies I've ever tasted. On top of that, you're also smart."
Cynthia squirmed on his lap and rubbed her bra-covered breasts against his chest. "I could listen to you talk like that all day and all night, but all I'd end up being is frustrated, so why don't you be a good boy and leave for your office?"
Pierre glanced at his wristwatch. "There's no hurry. I'm not scheduled to meet Arab until noon." He grinned. "I think I'll stay awhile and eat you up."
Cynthia made no move to stop him. She sat on his lap and remained completely motionless while he unsnapped her bra and tumbled her breasts into nakedness. The air rushed against her nipples and stiffened them, and now a smile softened her lips.
"Be my guest," she said quietly.
Pierre dropped her bra to the rug and palmed her generous breasts. He kneaded them until her breath turned ragged, and then he stood up, still holding her in his amis, lowered her to the bed. He sank down beside her and buried his face between her breasts. His mouth found and trapped a large coral nipple, and a pulsebeat later he began to gnaw on it while his right hand slipped behind the waistband of her bikini panties and dipped toward her clitoris and then the swollen lips of her cunt.
Cynthia closed her eyes and lost herself in the sweet sensations Pierre's lips and fingers were giving her.
"Ah," she murmured, "your finger feels wonderful inside my kitty, darling, and your lips on my dairy makes my nipples sing."
Pierre kept sucking her tit, loudly, and now his finger increased its speed inside her dewy cunt.
Cynthia's eyes flew open as his thumb found and raked her jutting clitoris, and now she kept them open and watched Pierre suck her tits, first one and then the other. The sight of his lips milking her nipple fascinated her, stimulated her. She enjoyed watching
a man suck her tits, and when that man happened to be Pierre, her pleasures were intensified. Her hips began to twitch as she watched the man she loved devour her breasts, and a whisper later she was moving toward her first release with surprising swiftness.
"Now, darling," Cynthia said urgently as she pushed Pierre's face away from her tits. "Take me, take me ... all the way."
Pierre kissed her on the lips and smiled tenderly, and then his face vanished. He kissed her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat, and then her breasts. His tongue licked her flesh as it trailed downward to her dimpled navel. He kissed her gently rounded stomach, her hips and thighs, and then he buried his face in her midnight grotto and took her clitoris between his lips.
Cynthia raked the back of his neck with her long fingernails and moaned deliciously. "That's it, lover, eat my clit, eat mv clit. Ahhh . . ."
Pierre kept sucking and raking her clitoris with his teeth, until he felt her tension mounting, and then he changed position and
jammed the entire length of his stiff tongue deep inside her juicy and delicious kitten.
"Oooh," Cynthia squealed with delight as she coiled her shapely legs around his back to strain him closer, "that did it, that did it!"
A moment later she exploded. Violently.
The juices of her spent passion flowed freely, and Pierre's tastebuds came alive as his tongue earned those same juices into his mouth. He licked and swallowed, licked and swallowed, until Cyntnia's pussy turned dry, and then he lifted his handsome face from between her perspiring thighs and stretched out beside her, on his back.
"Did you have a good come?" he asked.
Cynthia smiled dreamily. "I had a beautiful come, darling."
"I'm glad."
"That's because you're a good man, darling."
Pierre's face clouded as he lifted his head and looked at his penis. It was softer than a woman's touch. He moved his head against her breasts and said, "I'm not good
enough for you, baby. You deserve more than an occasional cunt lapping from me."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself, muscles," Cynthia said truculently as she took his flaccid flesh in her warm hand and nudged back the foreskin to expose its large, pink knob. "There's a reason for your impotency with me. Maybe I'm not doing the right thing to excite you."
Pierre relaxed his head against the pillow again. He knew that Cynthia wanted to fuss over him for the muff job he had just given her. He also knew that her efforts would be wasted, but he didn't want to hurt her feelings and so he said, "Try sucking it again."
"All right."
"Maybe I'll get hard this time. Go ahead, blow me a little."
Cynthia nodded and dipped her head toward the cock she held in her hand. She took the velvety knob between her bee stung lips and licked the underside of it with the tip of her tongue, and then she crammed the entiie length of it in her mouth and cupped his scrotum. Nothing happened.
Pierre patted the back of her head. "It's no use, Cynthia."
Cynthia kept sucking his soft flesh. Still nothing happened. Pierre was on the verge of pushing her mouth away from his cock when he saw the face at the window. Surprise jumped into Pierre's eyes and he opened his mouth to scare the voyeur away, but a heartbeat later the words died unborn, for as he watched the Peeping Tom ... he felt his cock harden in Cynthia's mouth!
I will be damned, Pierre thought as the truth hit him between the eyes of his brain, the knowledge that I am being watched while Cynthia sucks me off makes me hard!
Now he remembered back to the one and only time he had almost made it all the way with the girl who was fellating him . . .
He had taken her to a night club in the Valley, and on the way back to Hollywood he had parked on a convenient side road that had turned out to be a lover's lane. It hadn't taken him long to remove Cynthia's skirt and blouse, panties and bra, and after he had eaten her juicy pussy he had asked her to suck his cock. His whang had refused to get hard, even then, until he looked out the
window and saw the voyeur, and then he stiffened, but before he could pop, another car appeared and frightened the man away. A moment later he had softened, never to become hard around Cynthia again . . . until now.
He turned his head away from the face at the window and thought desperately, "Don't leave, friend. Stay there and watch Cynthia suck my cock until I come in her mouth. Stay, oh, please stay!"
Cynthia was startled at the turn of events, but she didn't take Pierre's cock out of her mouth to ask foolish questions. She tickled his balls with her fingers and made like a happy cannibal. She sucked and gnawed, raked his cock with her teeth, and made loud slurping sounds in the thick silence . . .
Pierre moaned like a sick wind and gripped the back of Cynthia's head. Sweat beads dotted his face and his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and a heartbeat later he shuddered violently and broke his string.
"There," he groaned. "I made it, I made
it!"
Cynthia made no answer. She was too busy swallowing the generous load of semen
he had just given her. She kept swallowing, until there was no more, and then, reluctantly, she permitted his awesome cock to slip out of her mouth and sat up. She licked a stray droplet of come from the corner of her mouth and smiled at him.
"I feel like a virgin bride," she said. "A full one. Goodness, I haven't eaten that much joy juice at one sitting in my entire life."
Pierre sat up and looked toward the window. The voyeur was gone.
"I wouldn't have made it if we hadn't had an audience," Pierre said, then explained about the Peeping Tom. "I wish I knew his name so I could thank him for showing me what my hang-up is." "You mean was."
"I mean is," Pierre said as he placed his cock in her hand. "I'll never be able to sex it up with you without an audience."
Cynthia frowned. "I wonder how long he was standing outside my window?"
Pierre shrugged. "What's the difference?"
"Maybe nothing, maybe everything. Take a closer look at that window, Pierre. It's slightly raised."
"So?"
"So maybe the peeper overheard you mention the fucking you were going to give this town. If he did, maybe you'd better forget about clipping them, sell your trunks and make like a square John again."
Pierre treated her to a nervous laugh as he climbed out of bed and adjusted his clothing. "You're jumping at shadows, Cynthia. So what if he did overhear us? Whom would he tell? Moreover, who would believe him?"
Cynthia swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. She frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then turned away from Pierre and crossed over to the window, her tight little buttocks twitching. She loved Pierre and she wished he would give up his plan to cheat the people of Legend, but since he wouldn't . . . she would have to stick by him.
"Let me think for a minute, Pierre. I heard somebody mention something about a voyeur the same night Arab Cassidy picked me up at the station and delivered me to Fanny Hertz's party."
"Do you recall what that something was?"
Cynthia shook her head.
"Well, don't worry about it. As long as he's not a personal friend of Casey Cassidy's, every -"
Cynthia whirled to face Pierre, her beautiful face ashen. "That's it! Arab was the one who dropped Albert Crawley's name into the conversation by telling me that he was her husband's friend."
"Albert Crawley?"
Cynthia nodded. "The voyeur. The same one who stood at this window and watched me suck your cock."
Pierre winced at the thought of having this deal blow up in his face, and then his lips stretched in a thin line of anger. He shook his head. This one wouldn't get away from him. He wouldn't let it happen. He needed this big bundle of money, and he intended to get it, with or without the cooperation of that lousy Peeping Tom.
"What did you say the looker's name was, Cynthia?"
"Crawley. Albert Crawley. Are you going to have a talk with him?"
"I'm going to try."
"And if he refuses to listen?"
"Then I'll just have to kill him."
Chapter 6
Arabella Casey awakened to the sound of music. She relaxed against the pillow and listened to the song being whistled, until the song stopped abruptly and somebody tapped at her bedroom window. She rolled over on her hip and looked in the direction of the tapping. A smile tugged at the comers of her mouth. The tapper was Albert Crawley.
"I wonder what he wants this early in the day?" Arab mused as she sat up in the bed and permitted the sheet to fall away from her naked breasts and drop in her lap. "It must be important. I never knew him to work days before. She shrugged and swung her shapely legs to the rug. "Maybe he's moonlighting by daylight."
Arab didn't bother to reach for a robe, mostly because the thought never occurred to her. Besides, Crawley had seen her in the nude before, and the way his eyes were eating her up as she walked over to the window and opened it, it would have been cruel to put his eyeballs on a diet.
"Good morning, Albert. Come in and rest awhile; you look tired."
Crawley came inside the bedroom and slacked into the nearest chair. His eyes caressed Arab's pussy, then lifted past her colossal breasts and came to a rest on her beautiful face.
"Thanks for asking me in, Mrs. Cassidy. I really am bushed." He shook his head. "I love peeping, but this day shift is murder. Is Casey home?"
Arab lowered her shapely haunches to the edge of the bed and moved her legs apart so Crawley wouldn't have to strain his eyes to admire her pussy.
"Casey went to see Dr. Scroggs about an examination this morning, Albert. Maybe you can tell me what's on your mind."
Crawley uncrossed his legs to show Arab his erection. "It's about Pierre and that Rothrock girl."
"What about them?"
"I overheard them discussing their plan to swing with the new hospital funds."
"We already know that, Albert."
"Sure, but they don't know we know, and since I let Pierre catch me at the window -"
"You let Pierre see you?" Arab was shocked.
"Only because I felt sorry for him, but now that I look back I don't think I should have."
"Why did you?"
Crawley studied Arab's jutting nipples before he answered. "Because I felt sorry for him."
"I don't understand?" Crawley licked his lips. "Pierre loves that Rothrock girl, but his cock wouldn't get hard for her to suck it. After you've looked in through as many windows as I have, you get to where you know what turns some folks on, and Pierre is the type who has to be watched by someone before he can make it with the girl he really loves."
"So you let him see you and he made it." "I'll say he made it! Once his cock got hard, I thought he was going to knock Cynthia's teeth out with it."
Arab laughed. "I know the feeling. Can I get you some coffee, or something?"
Crawley shook his head. "No, but you and Casey can do me a favor." "Name it."
"Pass the word along to your friends not to mention my name to Pierre St. Pierre. I don't want him to catch up with me; I bruise
easy."
"Do you honestly think Pierre would try to silence you, Albert?"
"That man has a disposition like an un-tipped waiter where money is concerned, and if he thinks I pose a threat to his getting it . . ." Crawley shuddered.
"Stop worrying, Albert. Nobody will bother or hurt you. I'll see to that."
A tear formed in Crawley's right eye and he stood up. "Thanks, Mrs. Cassidy. I knew I could count on you and Casey." He moved toward the window. "Well, back to the old grind. Be seeing you."
Arab thrust her breasts toward him. "You already have."
Crawley chuckled. He stuck one foot1 over the window sill, paused. "I almost forgot the rest of my report, Mrs. Cassidy. Jake Crazy Rabbit delivered some trunks of Pierre's to the theater a few weeks ago. They're supposed to contain costumes, but a friend of mine did some checking in Rock Springs, Wyoming, and she thinks there's
something fishy about them. Maybe you'd better ask Casey to check them out." "I will."
A moment later Crawley vanished.
Arab stretched out on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She devoted a few minutes of thought to the trunks Crawley had mentioned, decided to check them out herself. Casey had enough to do . . .
"Something else I forgot to mention," Crawley said as he reappeared at the window. "It's about Pierre?"
Arab turned her head in his direction. "Oh?"
"He has the hots for you."
Arab's lips tightened at their comers. "If he has the hots, he can keep them; no crook will ever frock me."
"The word is fuck, not frock."
Arab laughed. "You sound like Casey. Are you going home now?"
"No. I'm going back to Cynthia Roth-rock's pad."
"Be careful, Albert."
"I will."
"And keep your eyes open." Crawley grinned. "Don't I always?"
Arab waited until Crawley vanished for the second time, and then she left the rumpled bed and padded into the shower. She donned a shower cap and stepped under the lukewarm spray. The water stitched needles of refreshment into her back, and then she turned and let those same needles attack her gigantic breasts. Her cherry-colored nipples came erect under the onslaught of the water, and some of the same excitement crept downward into her loins.
My pussy is begging for attention, Arab thought. I wish Casey would come home unexpectedly and take care of it.
She patted her cunt. The poor thing was always begging for a tongue or a penis.
"You insatiable little rascal," she told her vagina. "You're always crying for sex. No darn wonder Casey thinks I'm a kleptomaniac, or whatever it is the doctors call an oversexed girl."
Arab laughed and stopped caressing her cunt. She soaped her magnificent breasts, then placed the soap in its dish and rubbed the heels of her hands against her tingling nipples. She was proud of her breasts and she enjoyed caressing them, but not as much
as when Casey caressed and suckled them with those expert lips of his.
I'd better stop thinking about Casey before I have an exclamation right where I'm standing, she thought. Besides, it isn't right for a big girl like me to play with herself.
She retrieved the soap and continue to lather her exquisite body. Beads of water clung to the pubic mop below her dimpled navel and she arched her pelvic area to let the spray rinse the beads away, but a few droplets continued to cling there. She thought they resembled tears. It was almost as if the blind eye that represented the beginning of paradise was crying for appeasement, begging to be washed by the Murine of Casey's spent passion. Arab sighed.
She was getting hotter and hotter. She stepped out of the shower and studied her reflection in the door mirror. She cupped her breasts and admired those two proud beauties. She remembered the way Albert Crawley had stared at them awhile ago. She wished he could see them now, with their long nipples stabbing toward the mirror, her breasts resting on the palm of
her warm hands like ripe cantaloupes waiting to be devoured by a gourmet who appreciated the rare and the exciting things in life.
Albert would really go off his stick if he could see my titties now, she thought. Those nice hot eyes of his really enjoy playing peekaboob with mine.
Peekaboob?
Arab shrugged and her breasts danced.
Hotter and hotter . . .
Her hands dropped from her slightly quaking breasts and came to rest against her marble hips. They were full hips, the kind that were created to embrace the most ardent lover.
Like Casey.
But not Pierre St. Pierre. Never again.
Arab went into the bedroom and sat down at her cosmetic table. She frowned as she applied a generous coating of lipstick to her sensuous mouth and wondered how Albert Crawley would feel toward her if he ever discovered that his warning about Pierre having the hots for her had been given one day too late. She giggled at her
reflection in the mirror and permitted her thoughts to drift back to yesterday . . .
Pierre had dropped by the house at her request. It had been her intention to ask him how his fund raising campaign was progressing, but the intruder called lust created a diversion that ended up being resolved in this very bedroom, for answering the door dressed in a diaphanous black gown that betrayed the bikini panties and French bra she wore beneath it had been her undoing, in more ways than one.
"Do you always greet your guests in such stimulating attire?" Pierre asked as his eyes prowled the lush curves of her body and finally came to a rest on the crowded French bra beneath her misty gown.
"That depends on who the guest is," Arab replied with a soft laugh. "Thanks for coming over. Let's go into the living room and discuss the money you're going to raise for our new hospital. Drink?"
"A snifter of brandy would hit the spot."
Arab led the way into the living room and motioned Pierre toward the sofa. She poured a pair of drinks and sat down beside him. She was on the verge of asking her first
question about the private donations he was soliciting from local businessmen, but a pulsebeat later Pierre dropped his free hand against the webbing of her panties and passion turned her into an amnesiac, for she was, after all only human.
"That's better," Pierre said as his hand continued to fondle the crotch of her panties. "Our talk can wait until we get better acquainted with each other."
Arab made no move to brush his hand away from the webbing of her panties. "Please don't, I'm a married woman."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Does that mean you want me to stop?"
Arab giggled. "I just wanted to set the record straight."
Pierre smiled wickedly and tapped her clitoris with a fingernail. Arab shivered, then wondered if she really was a nymphomaniac as she took his other hand and lifted it to her quaking breasts.
"Casey might come home," she murmured.
Pierre shook his head. "I passed him on the way into town. He was heading toward the Indian reservation, in the company of
Ursula Crazy Rabbit. I glanced inside the pickup as they passed by, and it looked as if Ursula was giving Casey a hand job."
"I hope she doesn't tire him out."
"You don't object to his stepping out on you?"
"Why should I? Everybody should have some kind of hobby." "You're crazy." "I'm also hot."
"We'll have to do something about that." "I wish you would." "You mean it?" "I do."
"I'm glad, because I have a vicious bone up and it's just begging to - "
Arab silenced him with a glance and said, "You talk too much."
Pierre stopped talking and went to work. So did Arab. She snuggled up to him and her hands did some groping of their own. She squeezed his huge cock through his pants and said, "Your palace is almost as big as Casey's."
"Almost?"
"Well..."
Pierre chuckled. He kissed her moistly
on the mouth while his fingers found their way behind the misty gown and tweaked her coral nipples into full bloom. He tugged the bra downward and tumbled her breasts into nakedness, and then his pouting lips puckered and zeroed in on them.
"Ah," Arab sighed, "I like that, but I enjoy having my nipples nibbled on even more."
Pierre took the nearest nipple in his mouth, then released it. "Like this?" "Yes, like that."
Pierre returned the nipple to his mouth and gave it a violent suck that nearly drove her out of her tree. Arab's body caught on fire as his lips and his fingers kissed and caressed her. She offered no resistance, and soon the misty gown and the French bra lay in a crumpled heap on the rug. Now she was down to her bikini panties, and Pierre was doing his best to remove these and render her completely naked.
"Lift your fanny," Pierre said as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties.
Arab did, and a pulsebeat later, the panties were down and she was on her feet.
"Now you," she said throatily. "Now let me see you strip to the bluff."
"Bluff?"
"Never mind."
Pierre shrugged.
Arab's breasts danced with desire and her hips swayed like a sapling in the breeze. Her eyes turned soft with admiration as she watched Pierre undress and unveil his awesome lance of love.
"That's a pretty big cock you have there, Pierre."
"As big as Casey's?"
"Almost," she said again, this time out of loyalty to her husband.
Naked, eager and horny as hell, Pierre, reached out to drag Arab down on the couch, but she shook her head and said, "No, in the bedroom. My hips go crazy when I make love. I need all the room I can get."
"All right."
She grabbed Pierre by his cock, turned it into a most unusual leash and led him into the bedroom. They sank to the bed as one and Arab locked her arms around his neck and pulled his face down against her hot breasts, while at the same time her thighs
drifted apart to receive his gift of flesh, but not in her cunt.
Pierre was surprised. "You want me to screw you in the ass?"
"Sure. You don't expect me to let you diddle my kitty?" "Why not?"
"Because it belongs to my husband, and if anybody is going to make me stagnant, it will be him."
"But I don't particularly care for asshole." "Well, that's all you're going to get from me, and if that isn't enough, you can get dressed and - "
Pierre sighed and dug his fingernails into her smooth hips. "It's your ass."
"Oh, baby," Arab moaned as he hunched forward and made her soul render an aria to the Greek who originated this pleasant form of recreation for married women who believed in planned parenthood. "That feels so good!"
"As long as I'm not boring you ..." "But you are, you are, and I love it!" Her hips went wild and her legs coiled around his buttocks to strain him closer. "Sock it to me, sock it to me!"
Pierre socked it to her. His cock wormed in and out of her anus until silence moved into the room, broken only by the occasional protest of bedsprings as their tangled and sweaty bodies rocked and squirmed toward the liquid gates of release.
Later, much later, Arab lay alone on the rumpled bed. Pierre was gone. She was on her second cigarette before she realized that she didn't smoke, and on the heels of this discovery she also became aware of the fact that she had forgotten to question Pierre about the monies he was collecting in the sweet name of charity . . .
Arab's thoughts returned to the present. She stood up and moved over to the bed where fresh clothing waited. She was partial to black undies of late, and now she stepped into a pair of bikini panties and wriggled them into place over her hips. Then she tucked her breasts into a matching half-bra and patted the sleeping nipples that liked to be awakened with kisses. The tight, micromini skirt was next. Then the mannish-cut blouse that assumed a most feminine look the moment she buttoned it over her breasts. She decided against nylons and
stepped into a pair of shoes with skyscraper heels and now she was ready to leave for the Legend Theater . . .
"I hope Wolfgang O'Keefe has lots of company when I get there," Arab mused as she tooled the Mountaineer's Edsel along the crowded main drag of Legend. "If he isn't . . . I'm in trouble."
Wolfgang O'Keefe was not alone in the theater, but the moment the dirty old man saw Arab enter, he handed the swishy Kirby Stone a five-dollar bill and said, "Take this fin and go down on Skid Row and eat somebody, Kirby."
Kirby giggled his way out of sight, out of mind, and Arab shivered as Wolfgang O'Keefe turned to her and asked, "Can I help you with something, Arab?"
Arab swallowed her fear and smiled shakily. "I understand Jake Crazy Rabbit delivered some trunks that belong to Pierre St. Pierre to this theater the other day."
Wolfgang stopped staring at her breasts and nodded. "So?"
"May I see them?"
Wolfgang shrugged. "Whatever turns you on. Follow me."
Arab followed him into the basement. "There they are, Arab." "Thanks." She started toward them. "Hold the phone," Wolfgang said with a leer. "I could lose my job by letting you open those trunks, so if I'm going to join the ranks of the unemployed, maybe we'd better start talking a deal."
Arab walked right into it. "Deal? What kind of deal?"
Wolfgang licked his lips. "A favor for a favor. You'd like to get inside those trunks, and I'd like to get inside your panties."
Arab's face registered shock. "You're nothing but a dirty old man! What makes you think I'd let you frock me?"
"This makes me think so," Wolfgang said as he took out his massive cock and showed it to Arab. "This, along with the knowledge that you're too nice a woman to let a man down when he's desperate for relief from the daily tensions caused by an overactive libido."
Arab fought the smile that tried to form on her lips, but her eyes never left his erection. "Between you and Uncle Barney, I
have a terrible time staying loyal to Casey, Wolfie."
"Just let me take you one more time and I'll never bother you again, Arab."
"That's what you said the last time I took your insurrection in my mouth and softened it, Wolfie." She glanced toward the small row of trunks that belonged to Pierre. "Never again?"
Wolfgang stopped playing with his cock and crossed his heart. "Never again."
"You're a liar." t
"Sure, but I'm a good one." Arab threw back her head and laughed. Then she reached out and trapped Wolfgang's love muscle in her hand. She nudged the foreskin back with her thumb and exposed the head of his dick. It wasn't a very fat-looking head, but the way it came to a point was fascinating . . . and different.
"Why didn't you let the beautiful boy who just left suck you off?" Arab asked as she continued to play with his penis.
It was Wolfgang's turn to mirror shock. "Let Kirby suck me off? What do you think I am - a queer?"
"Well, you always want me to take your
thing in my mouth and suck the cement out of it."
"That's because you're a girl, and I like girls," Wolfgang said as he opened Arab's blouse and admired her crowded half-bra. "Let me see your tits."
"You're seeing them."
"Without the bra."
Arab sighed and thought, I hope this town appreciates what I have to do to keep them from getting screwed out of their money by that damned Pierre.
"Please, Arab?"
She smiled at the dirty old man whose cock she held in her hand. It really wasn't an ugly penis, and it did taste good. She nodded. "All right, Wolfie, you can pull my bra down and look at my titties."
Wolfgang felt happier than a sex fiend getting a hand job from a five-string banjo player as he tugged Arab's bra downward and tumbled her breasts into nakedness.
"Beautiful," Wolfgang slobbered. "I haven't seen tits like these since I left the farm." He sighed. "She was a good stump-broke cow ..."
Arab giggled and moved in closer. She
pressed the tips of her breasts against his face, then crammed a nipple in his mouth and permitted him to suck her into an orgasm, and after she stopped shuddering cream into her panties, she dropped to her knees before him and took his needle-tipped cock in her mouth and proceeded to fellate him.
Speedily. Expertly. Hungrily.
"Oh, boy," Wolfgang chanted as he watched the entire length of his whang vanish inside Arab's mouth. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!"
He's a man of few words, Arab thought as she continued to pull at his pulsating penis with her passionate puckered lips, but they're all dirty ones . . .
Wolfgang was going to the dogs faster than a flea. He chanted obscenities and gripped Arab's delicate ears while he poured the cock to her mouth.
"Eat me, Arab, eat me! Tickle my balls with your fingers, take the whole damn bit of my whang down into your throat and eat me, eat me, eat me!"
Arab giggled around the cock that filled her mouth, then gave it a fast and violent suck that included a rake with her teeth, and a pulsebeat later Wolfgang screamed like a whore with bed sores and exploded . . .
"Good girl," he told Arab in a faraway voice. "Good girl."
Arab kept swallowing his come, until he stopped squirting, and then she permitted his penis to leave her mouth and attacked his scrotum. She believed in doing a thorough job. She put the tongue to his balls and made him squirm, savoring the salty taste that came from the mixture of come and sweat, and when her tongue found no more moisture she moved her mouth away from his nuggets and stood up.
"I did as you asked, and now I want you to return the favor," Arab said as she speared a stray droplet of jism from her upper lip and carried it inside her mouth. "Show me the insides of those trunks."
Wolfgang was smiling like a shit-eating dog in the middle of a cesspool as he stuffed his cock back inside his pants and zipped up. "You can look in those trunks all you want, but you'll be wasting your time, Arab."
"Oh?
Wolfgang kept smiling. "You think I'm kidding, don't you?" Arab nodded.
"Well, I'm not. Those trunks are about as useful as hair on a doorknob."
Arab blinked. "Come again?"
Wolfgang feigned embarrassment. "I can't come again, Arab. I can't even get a bone up. I'm not as young as I used to be."
Arab giggled like a bashful virgin who just discovered that she had lost her maidenhead to a bicycle seat. "I didn't mean that kind of come, Wolfie. We were discussing the trunks. You seem to be trying to tell me something about them."
Wolfgang O'Keefe stopped smiling. His face was shiny with perspiration, but he made no move to sleeve it away. He scratched his balls and nodded. "I'm trying to tell you that those damn trunks are empty."
"Empty."
"Empty."
Anger tightened Arab's beautiful face, and some of the same anger caused her dark eyes to shine like fireflies at midnight. "You
mean somebody broke into the theater and buglerized them?"
"You mean burglarized them."
"Well, whatever."
Wolfgang O'Keefe stopped staring at Arab's naked breasts and shook his head. "I mean those trunks were empty when Jake Crazy Rabbit delivered them."
"Casey was right; there is hanky panky at the crossroads." Arab shook her head in bewilderment. "But empty trunks. I wonder why?"
"Why don't you ask Jake?"
"I think I will."
"Perhaps I can explain and save you some shoe leather," Pierre St. Pierre said as he walked into view, holding a deadly .32 automatic in his hand that was pointed in their direction.
Chapter 7
Casey found no sign of life when he ar-rived at the Happy Hunting Ground Mortuary, and concluded that things were a little dead around the place. He smiled at his own feeble joke as he entered the business end of the mortuary and waded across the thick rug, toward the rear of the building where Jake Crazy Rabbit and his wife had their private paleface tepee. He was here to ask Ursula about taking a part in his play, but as he moved through the silent chapel he found himself wishing that Jake was among the missing so that he could sex it up a little with his wife. Casey winced. After the ass fucking Dr. Scroggs had given him awhile ago, he needed someone like Ursula to make him feel human again.
It wasn't that Casey objected to the Greeking Scroggs had given him, but he was critical of the way the proctologist had taken him . . . without the benefit of vaseline.
You'd think that a son of a bitch like that who specializes in checking assholes for anal disorders would know better, Casey
thought. The way he shoved that dry prick of his up mine . . . he might have hurt me, permanently. Still, what can you expect for nothing? After all, the examination was free.
Casey reached the apartment door and danced his knuckles against it. A few seconds later Ursula Crazy Rabbit opened the door and he promptly forgot about the pain in his rectum. His eyeballs turned into a pair of sex fiends and raped Ursula. She was all dolled up in a crisp pink dress that accentuated her ripe breasts with startling clarity, despite the fact that the dress had no betraying cleavage. He admired the beautiful long legs that showed below her short hemline and felt his blood turn hot. He had to dig his hands deep into his pockets to keep his stiff cock from showing, but he kept staring.
Ursula's lips were soft red pillows, shaped into the most seductive smile he had ever seen her wear around him. His blood turned into hammers against his temples and tried to pound his eyes out of their sockets, and his tongue hung out so far that from a distance it looked as if he were wearing a pink neck-
tie, for he was not above lapping a cunt, and Ursula did look good enough to eat.
Ursula laughed softly and said, "Keep staring at me like that and I'll rape you in the hallway, Casey. Come in."
Casey hesitated. "Is Jake home?"
"No. He's on a trip."
"When do you expect him back?"
"As soon as the LSD wears off."
Casey winced. "That's a terrible joke."
Ursula nodded solemnly. "I reached the same conclusion the first time a heard you tell it at one of Fanny Hertz's parties." Her eyes dropped to his crotch. "For the record, Jake drove out to the reservation to spend the day with his relatives, so take your hands out of your pockets and come in; I think I can scrounge up something to drink."
Casey followed Ursula's twitching buttocks into the living room. She motioned him toward the sofa and crossed over to the liquor cabinet. Casey's cock throbbed behind his pants and his heart panted like a puppy on a hot day as he watched her.
"Embalming fluid on the rocks all right with you, Casey?"
Casey grinned and came up behind Ur-
sula. He rubbed his sheathed penis against her tight ass for a few pulsebeats, then turned her around to face him. His big hands reached, out for her shoulders and drew her against him, hard. His hands slid down her back to her slender waist, then down to the firm but shapely derriere he had just finished nuzzling with his cock.
Ursula smiled coyly. "You wouldn't be trying to take advantage of me, would you, Casey?"
"Don't I always?"
Ursula laughed throatily. "That you do, my long-cocked friend, that you do. I always promise myself that I'll never suck you off or let you fuck me again, but everytime you show up I break that promise."
"Are you going to break it again?"
"What do you think?"
"Show me."
Ursula did. She slipped her arms around Casey's neck, her sensuous face tilted upward, her eyes half closed, her moist red lips parted. She insinuated the length of her body against his, mashed her tremendous breasts against his chest and ground her hips into his throbbing loins.
"You like?" she asked teasingly.
Casey fought to keep from popping in his pants and nodded. "I like."
His mouth moved against hers, and his tongue slipped between her milk-white teeth and explored the inner sweetness of her mouth. Ursula shivered against him and her warm arms tightened around his neck.
"Baby, baby," Ursula moaned as their lips parted with great reluctance, "that tongue job you just gave my tonsils really set my pussy on fire!"
"Let me cool it with a load of come,"
"Yes, baby, but not here. In the bedroom."
Casey nodded and led Ursula into the bedroom, then kissed her again. Ursula felt her blood bubbling along her veins as his big hands fondled her breasts. A whisper later his head dipped and he was kissing her tits through her dress and bra, and her jutting nipples were singing with happiness .
"Now, Casey," Ursula panted. "Fuck me or suck me, but do something . . . now!"
Casey stopped kissing her breasts and nodded. They sank to the bed in unison and Ursula smiled up at the ceiling as he pro-
ceeded to undress her. His hands moved up and under her short hemline in a caressing fashion until they reached their destination. Ursula's breasts rose and fell as Casey's fingers hooked into the elastic waistband of her skimpy panties and tugged them free of her hips, down past her dimpled knees and all the way off. He tossed the panties aside and went to work on her dress. He moved slowly. He groped for a zipper and found it. He loosened it. The zipper made music in the sudden silence, a song of passion that caused his cock to dance behind his pants like an insane student taking his first lesson at Arthur Murray's.
Casey knuckled some sweat from his eyes and then finished removing her dress. Ursula sat up until he took it off, and then she dropped the back of her head against the pillow again. One of her breasts escaped from behind the pink net half-bra she wore and now Casey unfastened it and brought the other breast into glorious nakedness.
"Ah," Casey said as he tweaked her nipples into full bloom and tasted the nearest one for a brief moment, "what foods these morsels be."
Ursula giggled and pushed his mouth away from her nipple. "If you're going to make with the clown bit again, you can - "
Casey apologized hurriedly, and cursed the warped Irish sense of humor he couldn't seem to control at times like these. He didn't want Ursula to get teed off at him. Not now. Not while he still had this throbbing hard on. Not while he was puffing like a medieval dragon trying to climb out of a muddy moat before being raped by an oversexed crocodile.
He nibbled on Ursula's ear lobe and said, "I'm sorry, doll; it won't happen again."
"I hope not. I hate to get fucked while I'm laughing."
Now they were friends again.
Good fucking friends.
Casey lowered his lips to her jutting nipples and gurgled over them like a happy baby at feeding time, until she was bouncing her ass all over the bed, and then he swung his long legs to the floor and devoured her with his eyes while he stripped.
"Hurry, Casey, hurry!"
Casey did.
Ursula had seen his cock before, but it
never failed to amaze her, and it didn't now. She moved her head from side to side against the pillow and said, "If Jake had a prick that big I'd never let him out of my sight. Arab must be crazy."
Casey grinned. "She is. She lost her mind when a butterfly kicked her in the head; that's why she married me."
Ursula rebuked him with her passion-filled eyes. "Casey."
"Sorry." He grasped his erection and shook it at her. "Ready?"
"Yes, baby, I'm ready."
Ursula's legs moved apart like scissors of � flesh, and a heartbeat later Casey sank to the bed and pressed her deeper into the mattress. He decided against eating her pussy and nuzzled the knob of his cock against the lips of her vagina. A low animal moan of pleasure escaped from between Ursula's lips as their bodies fused together.
Ursula coiled her legs around him, took his dick all the way to his balls in one smooth lunge, then shrilled, "Fuck me, baby, fuck me!"
Casey silenced her with a kiss. Their lips met and locked in an embrace of their own,
and his hands massaged her heaving breasts as they raced toward the oblivion of release, both blind to everything except their own lust, until the world around them exploded and sent them flying into the bits and pieces of fulfillment . . .
Afterwards they lay together on the rumpled bed, sweat soaked and temporarily sated, resting. Ursula sighed with contentment as she admired her still swollen nipples, and then she rolled over on her hip and trapped Casey's soft cock in her hand.
"Think you can stand it one more time?" she asked.
Casey felt his cock come alive in Ursula's hand and grinned. "I wouldn't mind a suck job."
Ursula's tongue raced around her sensuous lips in a moistening gesture. Her fingers tightened around his again stiff dick and her eyes twinkled with amusement. "I don't know about eating your prick, Casey. You make me feel like a freak when I do that to you."
Why should it? You told me yourself that you enjoyed the taste of my jism."
"I do, I do, but everytime you stand on
a chair and make me do the tiptoes bit to get at it, I always end up having a sore neck.' A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Do you stand on a chair when Arab blows you?"
"Sometimes. I know it's a kink, but I enjoy standing on a chair and having a girl go UP on me."
Ursula laughed. "Well, this is one time your kink can go to hell, Casey. I'm going to eat that juicy cock of yours, but I'll do it my way."
"All right."
Ursula moistened her ripe red lips again, then dipped her face toward his lap and kissed the swollen knob of his penis. Casey sucked wind while Ursula sucked him, and in a few seconds he was dancing like a puppet on passion's string.
"Good girl," he panted as Ursula's head bobbed over his cock. "That's it. Tighten those beautiful lips of yours around my dick. Rake me with your teeth a little. Yes, yes, like that. Now play with my balls. Ah, that feels so good. So goooood . . . !" A moment later he exploded.
Jism gushed out of his cock and splashed
against the back of Ursula's mouth, and for the next few seconds she was busy eating, eating, eating . . .
"Anybody home?" Crawley the voyeur asked as he climbed in through the now open window and grinned at Casey, who still had his cock crammed in Ursula's mouth.
Casey's dick jumped out of Ursula's mouth as she sat up and glared at Crawley. "Damn you, Albert; don't you ever knock?"
"Albert was just being polite," Casey said. "He's one of those rare breed of people who doesn't like to interrupt anybody when they're eating."
Ursula forgot her anger and started laughing. "You're both crazy." She sobered abruptly, then glared at the Peeping Tom and asked, "What are you doing here, Albert?"
Crawley stared at her hairy pussy. "I came to see Casey."
"You won't find him between my legs."
Crawley grinned sheepishly and shifted his glance to Casey. He looked worried. Casey noticed this and said, "What's bugging you, Albert?"
"Didn't Arab tell you what I told her this morning?"
"Arab was asleep when I left the house; you tell me."
Crawley briefed Casey on the conversation he had overheard between Cynthia Rothrock and Pierre, then added, "I promised Arab I'd go back to the hotel and keep an eye on Cynthia, only I never did."
"Why not?"
"Because of your wife. I was passing the theater when I saw her drive up and get out. I knew she was going in to check on the trunks I told her about, so I started looking for a window to sort of keep an eye on her. I was still looking for one when Kirby Stone came out and headed for the nearest phone booth to call Pierre St. Pierre . . . about those damn trunks."
"Go on."
"Well, after Kirby finished making his call to Pierre, I doubled back to the theater, just in time to see Arab and Wolfgang O'Keefe make a beeline for the basement. I immediately went to the window I always use when that dirty old man takes one of his
usherettes into the basement for a quick fuck. About ten minutes later - "
"Hold the phone, Albert," Casey interrupted. "Fill me in on those ten minutes before you go any farther. What happened between Arab and Wolfie while you were watching? Did he try anything funny with my wife?"
"Surprisingly enough," Crawley lied smoothly, "Wolfie didn't do anything to Mrs. Cassidy."
Casey didn't believe the voyeur but he let it pass and said, "Go on, Albert."
"There isn't much more to tell, Casey. I overheard Wolfgang tell Mrs. Casidy that Pierre's trunks were empty, then she started to wonder why, and a few seconds later Pierre showed up in the basement and pointed a gun at them."
"He what!"
He pointed a gun at them."
Casey recovered from his momentary surprise and said, "Wait until I get my hands on that dirty dog. Is he still at the theater?"
Crawley nodded.
"Did he hurt Arab or Wolfie in any way?" Crawley shook his head. "All he did
was tie them up. I made sure they were all right, and then I came after you."
"You did right, Albert." Casey started to dress. "Ursula?" "What?"
"Can you reach Jake at the reservation by phone?"
"No, but I can drive there and back in twenty minutes. Where do you want him delivered?"
"To the theater." "Will do."
"What about me?" Crawley asked. Casey slipped into his shirt and smiled at the Peeping Tom. "I've got two jobs for you, Albert. The first thing I want you to do is drop by Dr. Scrogg's office and tell him what's shaking, and then I want you to put the arm on Cynthia Rothrock and bring her to the theater."
"I'm practically on my way," Crawley said as he moved toward the window. He tipped his baseball cap to the still naked Ursula as he went past her. "Nice seeing you again, Mrs. Crazy Rabbit."
Ursula threw back her head and laughed.
Casey finished dressing and went to the door. Her voice stopped him. "Casey."
He turned to look at Ursula and showed her the worry that masked his near homely face. "What?"
Her eyes softened and held his. "Be careful, huh?"
Casey nodded and walked out into the early night. He hailed a passing taxi and a few minutes later he arrived at the Legend Theater. The marquee was all lit up, and so was the drunk Casey followed up to the ticket window that was being worked by Kirby Stone. Casey waited until the wino purchased his flop for the night, and then he opened the door and dragged the swish out of the ticket booth by the collar of his perfumed shirt.
"What the hell - "
Casey turned Kirby Stone around to face him, then shook the fruit until his teeth rattled. "You bet on a dead horse when you tied up with Pierre, friend."
"I - "
"You phoned Pierre St. Pierre this afternoon and got my wife and some friends in
trouble, and now you're going to tell me why."
Casey tightened his grip on Kirby Stone's shirt front and said menacingly, "Talk, or I'm liable to get mad and rearrange your psychosomatic womb with my knee."
Kirby paled. "Don't. I'll talk."
"That's more like it. Now tell me about Pierre's empty trunks, and why he was willing to come here with a gun and risk a stretch in prison to protect them?"
Kirby swallowed a mouthful of saliva and started to answer, but Casey was no longer interested in what the swish had to say, for at this precise moment something hard and heavy crashed into the back of his skull and sent him tumbling down into the deep and seemingly bottomless pit of unconsciousness.
Chapter 8
Arabella Casey waited until Pierre and Kirby finished tying her husband to the only chair in the theater basement before she struggled against her own bonds and said, "You'll get what for from Casey when he comes to and finds out you were the one who conked him over the geranium."
"She means cranium, not geranium," Casey translated as he opened his eyes to a world of pain. "But she isn't lying, Pierre; when I get out of these damn ropes I'm going to turn you every way except loose."
"Casey means that you'll pay for this," Arab said, "and I do mean pay."
"Wrong again," Pierre said as he helped Arab to a sitting position on the floor and propped her against one of the six empty theatrical trunks he'd had shipped all the way from Wyoming. "You, Casey, Wolfgang - the entire town of Legend will do the paying." He moved his hands against her naked breasts and smirked. "Savvy?"
Arab nodded. "You're going to turn into
a kidnaper and hold the three of us for transom."
"Now you're getting the picture."
Casey stiffened in his chair the instant Pierre touched Arab's naked breasts, and promptly forgot his headache. His voice flattened. "Leave her alone, you dirty dog."
Pierre kept toying with Arab's knockers and chanted, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me."
"Maybe not," Cynthia Rothrock said as she made Pierre aware of her presence by delivering a swift kick to his ass that sent him in a sprawl, "but if I ever catch you playing with another woman's tit, I will."
"Atta girl," Casey encouraged. " "Kick him in his brains again."
Cynthia didn't.
Pierre rolled over on his back, then sat up and stared with surprise at the girl he loved. "What the hell's wrong with you, Cynthia?"
Cynthia leaned toward the now seated Pierre and showed him the deep valley between her braless breasts. Sharp anger glinted in her eyes. Her lips parted in a smile filled with a mixture of sadness and
venom. Her pink tongue darted out between them in a moistening gesture. She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity of heartbeats, and then she put the oral whip to him:
"I'll tell you what's wrong with me, Pierre. I'm just as greedy as the next person when it comes to hustling a buck to keep body and soul together, but kidnaping and violence just isn't my bag, so I'm dissolving our partnership, as of now." She paused for breath, then shook her head. "I'd rather go back to being a whore than sit by and watch you sink to the level of an unreasoning animal. Goodbye, darling."
"Wait." Pierre stood up and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Don't leave me, Cynthia. I need you. I love you."
Casey winced. Boy, what a cornball bastard this Frenchman was turning out to be!
A sob caught in Cynthia's throat. "I must leave you, Pierre, I must!"
Pierre dropped to one knee and kissed the back of her hand. "You can't, you can't!"
"Why not?"
"Because I love you."
"Enough to untie these people and take
your chances with the fuzz - uh - the police?"
Yes, yes.
"And donate those antique trunks of yours toward the hospital Legend needs?"
Pierre's face mirrored shock. "You want me to sell my beautiful antique trunks and turn the money over to . . . charity?"
Cynthia nodded. "It's the only way we'll be able to live in this town, darling."
Pierre stopped kissing her hand and came erect again. His eyes probed the depths of hers. "You want to live here, in Legend?"
"We haven't any other choice, darling," Cynthia said. "I had a long talk with that nice Albert Crawley on the way here. He's willing to help us with your sexual problem where I'm concerned, but only if we settle in Legend. Well?"
Pierre didn't say anything for a maddeningly long time. He simply stood there with a shocked look on his handsome face and stared at the six antique theatrical trunks he would have to lose in order to find happiness. He sighed loudly. Six trunks, each worth a thousand dollars . . .
"Well?" Cynthia repeated.
Casey held his breath.
Arab started praying.
Wolfgang O'Keefe stared at Cynthia Rothrock and wondered what Peeping Tom Crawley had to do with her and Pierre's sex life.
"All right," Pierre said quietly, "you win." Casey heaved a sigh of relief. Arab went back to being an atheist. Wolfgang O'Keefe started feeling horny again.
Pierre cut his prisoners free, then smiled sheepishly at Casey and said, "I'm sorry I slugged you outside the theater awhile ago."
"Think nothing of it," Casey replied, liking the handsome Frenchman for the first time. "One sip of your wedding wine and I'll be as good as new."
"Then you aren't going to press charges against me?"
"That would be foolish. You're no good to me or this town if you're behind bars. We still need that hospital, and since it is your baby - "
Pierre sniffed loudly. "After what I tried to do to you . . . you still want me to ... "
"More than ever, but not tonight," Casey
said. He saw Albert Crawley standing in the nearby shadows and motioned the voyeur over. "Take Pierre and Cynthia home in my car, Albert." "Righto!"
"And keep an eye on them." "Don't I always?"
Casey waited until they left the basement, and then he turned to Kirby Stone who was cowering in the comer and said, "Come here, sweetheart."
Kirby Stone pranced up to Casey just as Dr. Scroggs arrived on the scene.
"Don't hit me, Casey," Kirby begged.
"If he doesn't, I will," Wolfgang O'Keefe growled as he caught the little homo by the shoulders and shook him. "I thought you were my friend, and you sold me out."
"I'm sorry, Wolfie."
"Where's the five bucks I gave you today?"
"I spent it. I blew myself to a meal and bought this darling sausage that was attached to the loveliest man you ever saw. I swear he was hung like a - "
Wolfgang stopped shaking Kirby and doubled up with laughter. He was still
laughing when Casey shoved Kirby Stone toward Dr. Scroggs and said, "I'd like you to take Kirby to your office and examine him, Doc; I think he's suffering from a bad case of insecurity."
Dr. Scroggs slipped his arm around Kirby Stone's slender waist and grinned at Casey. "You can stop worrying about him, Casey; I'll cure his ass."
"Well," Arab said as she rubbed the tips of her still naked breasts against Casey's chest, "all's well that ends well." She watched Wolfgang wince and walk out of the basement, then said, "Shall we go home and celebrate our future hospital with a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and a whole lot of hanky panky?"
Casey started to nod. Then he remembered that Hyacinth Harkness would be on hand to greet them and changed his mind. The last thing he wanted was for Arab and Hyacinth to meet and compare notes. He shuddered at the thought of sleeping alone on the sofa for another three nights, then tried to think up an excuse to keep from having to go home until morning. He was still
trying when Jake and Ursula Crazy Rabbit arrived.
"You're too late," Casey told them. "It's all over."
"Not for us it isn't," Jake Crazy Rabbit said as he nodded toward the six antique theatrical trunks. "I just bought these damn trunks from Pierre for six thousand pieces of wampum, and I'll be damned if I'm going to leave them here overnight."
Casey chuckled. "I'll give you a hand with them, Jake."
"Like heck you will," Arab said as she covered her breasts and led him toward the stairs that led to the street. "You're not used to lifting heavy things, and I certainly don't want you to come down with a bad rapture."
Casey grinned. "The word you want is rupture, not rapture."
Arab sighed. "I always have trouble saying the right words."
"Try I love you."
Arab stopped and moved into his waiting arms.
"I love you," she whispered. "That goes without saying . . . but it shouldn't."
