I jerked up violently and shoved my whole rod deeply inside Patti. Her vagina was tight and firm, and she worked its muscles like a moist hand-a squeezing fist applying delicate, subtle pressures against the length of my pulsating member. It was like being inside a tight, wet sleeve that touched me from the root of my belly right up to the tip of my phallus. I thrust in and out and knew it would not take very many strokes to bring me off.
On my face, Diane's crotch was like a hot, open mouth. I felt the hard edge of my nose slide up as the lips pushed down against my face. I wriggled my tongue back and forth against her, stabbing it occasionally straight up so that I was screwing her with it. Her hair scratched my cheeks as she began to rock her dripping lovebox against my face.
I had my hips raised as best I could, and I pounded my stomach into the open tightness of Pattie's warm crotch. I heard my rod squishing inside her, parting her with the solid wedge of my thrusting organ. She was flowing very heavily and it seemed as though her wetness was spread all across my belly.
"I can see you screwing her!" Diane shouted, as she began to orgasm into my lusting mouth. "Oh, God-screw her good! Make her come! Make her come!"
CHAPTER ONE
Something wet was licking at me through my sleep. I felt myself torn between the warm comfort of my dreams and the growing erotic stirring of pleasure that was spreading like a pool of warm water up and down my body. It was as though the blanket of sleep was like a cover around me, engulfing my body, and this moving wetness, like a distant awareness, was abrasively washing through the mud-like fog of sleep.
"It's eight o'clock, Mr. Caldwell," said a voice, cutting like a knife and opening a hole in my brain. The words fell through the crack, like drops of colored rain, and tinkled musically against my consciousness. "Time to get up, sir. It's morning."
I gripped the edge of my sleep and began to pull my body through the hole punched open by those soft words. Closer to awareness, I could feel the wet pleasure more acutely now, and my body stirred as, involuntarily, I arched my hips up. My groin seemed suddenly very hot, as though I had somehow penetrated even more deeply into the wetness; as though there was a sucking warmth pulling against my erect cock.
"It's eight o'clock, sir," the voice said again. It was a woman's voice.
I pried my eyes apart and a flood of bright light exploded in my brain. A shadow passed in front of me and then gradually took focus. I was looking up into the face of an exquisitely attractive woman. She was smiling down at me. Her lips were colored a deep red, and they were parted moistly, and behind the two even rows of perfect white teeth, I could see her tongue. The woman had jet black hair, and it flowed down around her face like a vivid frame, setting off her striking features and deep-set, electric-blue eyes. The woman was also very naked, and her breasts, like two large grapefruits, were almost in my face.
"Good morning, sir!" she said crisply. Her hands were against me and she was rubbing my chest and stomach. Smiling, she asked, "Did you sleep well?"
A name floated through the fog in my skull and attached itself to her face: Diane. Her name was Diane Miller and she worked for me.
"Good morning, Diane," I said finally. My voice was brittle with sleep and it cracked. I tried to move my body, but I seemed to be pinned down to the mattress, as though there was a great weight pressing against my thighs. Completely conscious now, I was aware again of a sexual tingling in my crotch.
I must have looked confused for Diane smiled at me again. She turned her head and looked towards a point just in front of me but barely out of my line of vision. Her eyes suggested that I follow her stare.
With an effort, I lifted my body slightly and propped myself on my elbows. The blanket on the bed was pulled up to my waist, but down between my legs, hidden by the covers, there seemed to be a very large, irregularly shaped figure moving about on the mattress.
Sleep must have numbed my mind, for I still didn't understand what it was that I was looking at.
Diane sensed my confusion. She took hold of the sheet and blanket and flipped them back.
"Mr. Caldwell," she said, "allow me to introduce you to Patti Marshall. Patti is working with us now. Today is her first day with Xanadu."
Down between my legs was Patti Marshall. like Diane, she was stark naked, but I couldn't appreciate the view for all I could see of her was the top of her blonde head. Her arms were pressed against my stomach, holding me down, and the long blonde strands of her hair were splayed out across my lap like a sunburst. She was pumping her head up and down in a slow, bobbing movement, and I could feel the stiff tip of each breast brushing against my thighs. It took me a second or two to realize that Patti Marshall was sucking on my cock.
I looked back at Diane, but her attention was still fixed on what Patti was doing to me. There was just the faintest flush of excitement coloring her cheeks, and she held her mouth open, as though she were breathing heavily. I stared at her breasts. Her nipples were hard and erect as her breasts rose and fell.
Diane turned back to me. "It was Patti's idea to wake you in this manner, Mr. Caldwell. I hope you don't mind, sir?"
I thought for a moment. "No ... I don't mind."
"Good. I'm glad. Actually, I thought Patti's idea was rather inspired. After all, what better way could there be to wake a man from a deep sleep than by ... sucking his cock."
Diane said these last three words slowly and gutturally, and I felt a chill run through me. Blunt, sexual words, coming from a beautiful woman, have always had a strangely exciting effect on me: I've always found it extremely erotic. Diane knew perfectly well that she was preying on one of my sexual weaknesses. She often used that technique very effectively.
"You do like your cock sucked, don't you, sir?" she asked playfully. She ran her hand down to my crotch and I could feel her fingers in my pubic hair. Her hand slipped around the base of my cock, around the part that was outside of Patti's mouth, and she squeezed the shaft in her grip. My cock was coated with Patti's saliva, and I could hear the sticky-wet squish of Diane's closing fingers.
Despite not being quite awake, I began to moan softly. A wave of pleasure spread warmly across my crotch, and I arched my hips up into it.
"You know I like it, Diane," I said, dividing my attention between her smiling face and all the frantic activity going on around my cock.
Diane slipped her hand between my legs, just under the plunging wetness of Patti's pumping mouth. Her fingers were wet with saliva and I trembled as she spread the thin film of moisture across the sensitive flesh of my balls. Then she grabbed the twin sacs in her hand and squeezed gently, applying just enough pressure to bring on another rush of excitement.
"Your cock feels very hard this morning, Mr. Caldwell," Diane observed. "Patti must have a very good mouth. Perhaps I'll let her use it on me before we've finished. Would you like to see her do that to me, sir? Would you like to see Patti use her mouth on my ... cunt?"
It was a rhetorical question: Diane knew very well what my preferences were, and she catered to them. She knew how to turn me on.
An image flashed through my mind of Diane on her back, with her legs parted and Patti between them, applying her lips and tongue to Diane's cunt. Then the image altered to include me, and I saw myself fucking in and out of Patti's elevated cunt while she licked feverishly at the aroused clit that was nestled warmly between the delicate folds of Diane's very hairy cunt.
The images excited me very much, and I arched my hips up again and buried even more of my cock into the wet hollow of Patti's sucking mouth.
Diane was very good today, I thought. This was an inspired move on Patti's part, and she was making the most of it. To be wakened up to sex was extraordinarily erotic and stimulating! It crowded everything else out of my brain.
My senses were fully awake now, and I began to appreciate the softness of Patti's wet mouth. My cock was very hard, and it stood stiffly between her puckered lips. I could feel the slow, rolling caress of her tongue as she washed it across the tip of my organ. She used her tongue expertly, and pressed it flatly against my cock, wrapping it around the swollen, spongy head of my organ as though it were a thick, wet blanket of swirling flesh. Her movement was steady and insistent, building to higher and higher peaks of pleasure; then she would shatter these peaks of pleasure and reduce them with quaking tremors of raw intensity by breaking away from her steady tempo, and inserting just the tip of her stabbing, darting tongue into the narrow, slitted opening at the tip of my cock.
Allowing Patti to wake me like this was inspired in another way, I soon realized. Patti was a new girl, and to my erect cock, her mouth and her lips and her tongue were equally new. The very uniqueness of her touch, her very lack of familiarity, the applied differences in pressure and texture from the swishing friction of her tongue, coupled with Diane's intimate knowledge of how best to satisfy my every desire, made the act so much more exciting and intense. There was a raw, almost frantic energy, a selfless enthusiasm to please me, that was clearly evident from the vigorous suction of Patti's vacuum-like mouth.
"Suck him, Patti!" Diane whispered urgently. "Suck his cock until he shoots his sperm into your mouth!"
Diane's hand loosened its grip on my balls. She wiggled her fingers between the open vee of my parted thighs and the plunging efforts of Patti's mouth until her hand was almost curled under my body. Her hand was still very wet and I could feel her pressing her long, tapered middle finger between the bunched muscles of my ass cheeks. The sharp, pointed fingertip scratched against my flesh and made me quiver with anticipation.
I pushed myself even higher on the bed and propped myself against the wooden headboard behind me. The back of my head ached and my neck was stiffly pressed forward, but the sight that this new position afforded me was well worth the price of my discomfort.
I could see my own cock now, and it was sliding effortlessly in and out of Patti's mouth. The organ was rigidly stiff, and the throbbing web of veins along the shaft made it seem as though it was straining to push between her lips. The flesh was wet and shiny, and in the bright morning-light of the bedroom, it glistened like new leather.
"Suck him, baby!" Diane urged. "Suck him!" ll
Diane's fingertip pushed at the puckered mouth of my anus. My balls tensed with excitement and I tried to press down so that I could impale myself on the slender probe of her finger. But Diane had already anticipated my move, and I felt her finger push suddenly upward, into me, and she slid it into my anus.
I closed my eyes and ground my teeth together at the intensity of the pleasure. The sensation was a close combination of pain and pleasure, and I rolled my ass down against it so that the twin-pronged sensation filled my body with a burning swell of ecstasy.
"Push it up ... further!" I groaned and tightened my stomach muscles so that I could endure the intensity of the pleasure. I began to rock myself against Diane's finger, moving in and out slowly.
It took a moment or two to adjust to the size of her finger. Then, gradually, as the saliva on her finger and the natural lubrication of the passageway made the penetration comfortably smooth, Diane pushed upward, moving even more deeply into me, and I cried out and pushed my body down around it.
The high-degree of pleasure that Diane was providing almost made me forget the excitement of Patti's mouth. To remind me, Patti tightened her lips around the shaft of my cock so that, in my excitement, I didn't dislodge myself from her mouth; then she proceeded to follow me down as I crushed my ass into the soft knuckles of Diane's thrusting, curled fist.
Eat him, baby!" Diane moaned, watching Patti pursue my cock with her lips. "Eat him up! Don't let him get away from you!"
Patti had an extraordinary mouth: somehow she managed to sink her lips to the base of my crotch and take in the whole length of my seven-inch cock. I could feel her tight, pursed lips nuzzling through the forest of hair on my stomach while the tip of my cock pounded repeatedly against the soft opening of her throat.
Then Patti began to pump, using her mouth like a piston. As her lips slid up the length of my cock, her teeth scraped teasingly against the swollen column of flesh until they were pressed tightly against the stiff crown of my organ's head. She began to lick the head as she had before, running her tongue over and over the tip. Then, before I could get used to this feeling, she swooped again, and I felt myself swallowed into the warm wetness of her pulling mouth.
There was a burning in my balls, and I knew, if I wanted to, I could have ended it then and there by depositing the hot issue of my balls down Patti's throat. But I wanted something else; I needed something more.
I opened my eyes and my breath sucked in at the vividly exciting sight of the two women working industriously on my cock. I purposely pushed my cock up into Patti's mouth and watched it sink into the ragged O-shaped hole of her lips. Diane's hand, buried deeply in my ass, jabbed upwardly as she followed my thrusting hunch.
I put my hand on top of Patti's blonde head and pushed her away from me.
"Sixty-nine, girls!" I said. "Do sixty-nine to each other!"
I stared down and, with the wet, rigid silhouette of my cock standing starkly erect before her face, I saw Patti Marshall for the first time. like Diane, like all of the girls in my own personal harem, Patti was a strikingly beautiful woman.
The flush of passion on her cheeks made her intense, aqua-blue eyes burn like pieces of ice. She held her mouth open, and the heavy, curved impression of my cock's weight remained evident on her lips. Her long blonde hair cascaded down to shoulder-length, and she tossed her head sexily and flipped the hair behind her. A thick slobbery film of her saliva coated the whole lower half of her face, and I watched as she attempted to pull a short dark pubic hair-my cock hair!-from her red, slippery tongue.
I bit down on my lower lip as Diane withdrew her finger from my rectum. It was like a balloon deflating inside of me; as though the burning pleasure was trying to follow her finger out. I was almost disappointed when it was no longer there, but then the realization of what was to follow more than compensated for my momentary paroxysm of disappointment.
"Sixty-nine!" I encouraged again, pulling myself away from them so that they'd have room on the bed to come together. I stood up and leaned against the wall, sitting on the headboard's narrow wooden lip because my legs were weak and like rubber. "Eat each other's cunt!"
Whether it was out of real passion or the desire to please their employer and give me what I wanted, the two naked women curled their bodies around each other. I watched excitedly as heads entwined in limbs, blonde hair against olive skin; thick, black waves twisting between the vee-like spread of alabaster thighs until the air was filled with the rapid wet-slap of lashing tongues.
I put my hand on my cock and began to stroke myself. My cock was wet and my hand slipped effortlessly up and down the length of the shaft. My whole crotch was soaked with the dripping efforts of Patti's enthusiastic bath and against the wet, exposed flesh, the cool air of the morning began to tickle at me and make me even more excited.
As I stood there, staring down at the two women making love for me while I massaged my own cock, I became increasingly aware of the room beyond their twisting, sweaty bodies. The profusely ornamental decor of the room was well-suited as the private bedroom for the owner and founder of the Club Xanadu. There was an opulent splendor about the room-an almost decadent richness that was somehow fittingly appropriate to the function of the room. The swirling forms of the pink, spiraling columns stretching from floor to ceiling, the lavish overuse of gold ornaments and gilding whenever and wherever possible, the light, bright colors reflected back and forth in the many, many mirrors until the whole effect was to make you dizzy with color, the lustrous satins and richly brocaded draperies, even the plush, arabesque-like carpets and rugs-certainly the kings and sultans of old could not have easily matched such extravagances as these I Then, as I looked at the two women making love for my benefit, I remembered all the other, similar women who have worked for me, and I knew that I had those regal monarchs outclassed in yet another way. In all of history there could have been no harem as beautiful and varied and as willing to please than my own personal harem. The women of Xanadu! Brian Caldwell's girls! Wall to wall women! Cunts like running water-just pouring from open taps!
I was a king! I thought. Truly a twentieth-century king of my own making! And Xanadu, my estate, was my kingdom!
My momentary reverie was shattered by a loud, unmistakable groan of passion, and I turned my attention back to the two women writhing on the bed.
Diane was on top and she was facing me. I could see the wild, flowing mane of her black hair spread across the open nakedness of Patti's parted thighs. Her face was pushed tightly against the fine blonde hair of Patti's thrusting cunt, and I watched in fascination as Diane's lapping pink tongue parted the delicate, lip-like fold that ran the length of the new-girl's crotch. The tongue went in and out, up and down, and made a wet slurping noise as it rapidly stroked the firm, supple bud of Patti's clitoris.
Thoroughly excited now, I was anxious to see how this all looked from the other side of the women, and so I moved away from the wall. Holding my cock in my hand, still pumping my fist up and down its length, I bounced across the soft, bobbing mattress and fell down beside the two women. I ran my hand across Diane's back, from the curved arc of her bent, pressing neck to the soft, round curves of her rocking, tensed ass. Her back was damp with a slippery coat of perspiration.
Down on all fours, I bent forward and looked around the bulging swell of Diane's open thighs. My cock throbbed excitedly when I saw Patti's lips and tongue working feverishly in the sloppy wetness of Diane's cunt. Diane's short dark pubic hairs were all matted down against the underside of her crotch, and I could see Patti's tongue, like a miniature cock, thrusting in and out of the gaping hole in the middle of Diane's very wet, very active pussy. There was the raunchy odor of an excited, oozing cunt in the air, and it hung thickly, like a sweaty, sexual cloud.
"Move!" I said, commanding Patti to pull her face away from Diane's cunt. "I want to lick her!"
I put one hand on the soft, pillow-like cushion of Diane's ass for support, and I applied my lips and tongue to her wet, open cunt. I stabbed my tongue into her and enjoyed the warm tightness of her slippery canal as my tongue slithered up. The wetness of Patti's saliva and the heavy flow of Diane's excited cuntal juices greeted my face and lips, and I slid my head from side to side across the heavy, flapping lips, and spread the wetness all over my face until the reek of her flowing cunt filled my nostrils with the intimate fragrance of her body.
I pulled my lips away to gasp for air, and as I wiped the wetness away with the back of my hand, Patti pushed her face into the very same spot where my lips had been. The urgency and directness of her move seemed very real to me, and her stiff tongue stabbed forward and replaced mine inside of Diane.
Now that I had tasted one cunt, I knew I had to taste the other. I slid my wet mouth over Diane's ass and moved it down her back, retracing the path my hand had followed just moments before. I licked my tongue against the nape of her neck.
"Let me!" I said, pulling her face away from Patti's cunt. "It's my turn!"
Diane moved away, and I moved in. Patti's cunt was smaller across than Diane's was, with narrower lips and considerably less hair. It even smelled different: cleaner, newer, and had just the faintest sweet-smelling trace of powder or perfume.
As my lips touched her cunt, I felt Patti shudder with excitement. "Oh God!" she moaned. "Eat me!"
I opened her narrow cunt lips with my tongue, exposing the bud of her clitoris at the tip of her mound. I flicked the small nub rapidly with several short, quick strokes, and felt Patti's body trembling again in pleasure.
"God!" she screamed. "God!"
Did she mean me? "Oh God! God! Do it!"
Her clitoris felt hot to my tongue, and I allowed saliva to dribble down the curve of my tongue until the trembling bud was bathed in a pool of wetness. I put my teeth gently around the sides of the pod, and as I splashed through the saliva, I began to saw my teeth back and forth into her excited flesh. Patti's legs stiffened, then shot straight out in the air, opening and exposing the whole underside of her cunt, as though she were preparing her body to accept the thrusts of some huge, invisible cock.
"Eat me, you fuck!" she screamed, hunching her cunt into my face. "EAT ME!"
I thrust my tongue once up into her cunt and I marveled in surprise at the intense, almost molten heat I discovered there in the depths of her liquid belly.
"Now you eat her," I told Diane once my face was pulled away from Patti's hot, blonde-haired cunt. "Put your tongue where mine was."
I was in the last stages, I knew. Just one more new experience and then I would be ready for the final act.
On my knees, I positioned myself in the middle of the mattress, between the two women and I stretched out my arms. I bent my hands around the opposite ends of Diane's prostrate body so that I was touching both cunts at the same time. Then, just as one of the women grabbed my stiff cock and began to furiously jerk me off, and I could feel two tongues licking at my hands, I plunged a single finger into both their cunts and impaled them down to the knuckles of each hand.
The sensation was like an electric charge that raced through my body: it flowed from one finger in one cunt, through the two women, and into the other finger in the other cunt, as though closing a circuit. A complete sexual circle.
"I'm ready," I said, pulling my hands out. "I'm ready to fuck now!"
I lay flat on my back and my cock stood straight up in the air. Diane knew the method I desired, and she directed Patti with a few crisp words.
I saw Patti standing over me, preparing to squat down on my cock. Her eyes were glazed and she was squeezing her own breasts in excitement as she descended. Then my line of vision was cut off by Diane. She was standing above me with her legs parted around my head. I was looking straight up into her cunt. Diane's knees bent and she began to lower herself, and just as the moist, leather-like lips of her cunt touched my face, I could feel Patti's cunt slide down around the stiffness of my cock.
I jerked up viciously and pushed my whole cock inside of her. Her cunt was tight and firm, and she worked her cuntal muscles like a moist hand, a squeezing fist, applying delicate, subtle pressures against the length of my cock. It was like being inside of a tight, wet sleeve that touched me from the root of my belly right up to the tip of my cock-head. I thrust in and out and knew it would not take very many strokes.
On my face, Diane's cunt was like a hot, open mouth. I felt the hardedge of my nose slide up, inside of the open passageway of her cunt, as the flap-like lips pushed down against my face. I wriggled my tongue back and forth against her clitoris, stabbing it occasionally straight up so that I was fucking her with it. Her slimy-wet pubic hairs scratched my cheeks as she began to rock her cunt back and forth against my face.
I had my hips raised as best I could, and I pounded my stomach into the open tightness of Patti's cunt. I heard my cock squishing inside of her, parting her cunt with the solid wedge of my thrusting organ. She was flowing very heavily, and it seemed as though her wetness was spread all across my belly. It was like sliding through a puddle of hot water.
"I can see you fucking her!" Diane shouted. Her voice came to me through the muffled distance of her pressing cunt and thighs. "I can see your cock going into Patti's cunt!"
I pictured it in my mind and constricted my stomach as I prepared to spew out my sperm. I felt a hand circle the base of my cock as I sawed it in and out of Patti's hole. I knew it was Diane's hand that was assisting me. She squeezed me tightly and just as my tongue pushed itself as deeply into the wet, secret lining of Diane's cunt as it was possible to penetrate, I thrust up hard, with all of my might.
I began to come. Hot, thick spurts of an orgasm that began at the tip of my spine, coursed its way through my balls, up the spout of my penis and exploded out like an erupting volcano. My cock throbbed, and I felt the walls of Patti's tight canal grow even wetter and more slippery than before, and I knew it was from my sperm-gushing out and splashing against the tip of her womb, coating my cock and the whole passageway of her cunt in the thick, mucousy discharge of my pleasure.
I licked furiously at Diane's cunt and tried to drive my tongue as deeply into her as I had plunged my cock into Patti. Diane squatted heavily on my face and ground her cunt into my mouth and nose, almost cutting-off my breath.
"I can feel you coming!" Diane screamed and she tried to shove her fingers along side of my throbbing cock, inside of Patti's cunt. "I can feel your sperm!"
Unable to force her entry into the overstuffed passage, Diane took the sperm that was dripping down the pole of my cock as it oozed out of Patti's overflowing cunt, and she began to rub it against my belly. Then she lifted her hand, and clutching the dripping, spermy fingers to herself, I felt her slide two fingers into the crack of her own cunt until she was fucking the two fingers in and out of her sucking hole. And while my cock was exploding violently inside of Patti cunt, dripping from Diane's slimy fingers, I found myself lapping up my own thick, hot sperm.
I held out as long as I could, fucking and sucking the two cunts, and then, when I could no longer breath, I lifted Diane's ass and pushed her back on the mattress. A sudden rush of cool air flowed across my naked, perspiring body, and I lay, still deeply buried in Patti's cunt, completely exhausted.
Eight o'clock in the morning and I was exhausted already.
CHAPTER TWO
Upon the completion of the sex act, there always has been, for me at least, a sudden onset of intense depression. A feeling of emptiness. Perhaps this is merely the body's way of reacting to the physical and mental exhaustion it has endured; a depletion of energy expended in bringing about the orgasm. Or perhaps this feeling is precipitated by the disappointment you mentally experience knowing that the pleasure is over, and everything following will literally be anticlimactic. But whatever the reason was for this feeling, it has always disturbed me greatly (more so lately than ever before,) and has always detracted from the intense peak-experience of the sexual act and orgasm.
I looked down at Patti. My cock was still inside of her, but it felt like a dead-thing, with no connection to my body at all. Patti had slumped forward and was resting against me. Her breasts were pressed into my chest, and I was conscious of the labored rise and fall of her breathing. My sperm was dripping out of her cunt, oozing onto my balls, and it felt cold and slimy.
It makes you wonder what it was all for? I thought, feeling something very close to revulsion. The whole thing-the whole sexual experience-the great foreplay, the fantastic build-up, the powerfully intense feeling, even that supreme instant of orgasm ... and then nothing. A big hole. An emptiness. Cold scum on your balls.
Diane still had her thigh stretched across my neck. Her cunt hole lay open from the dent made by the combined efforts of my tongue and her fingers, and I could see tiny bubbles of sperm clinging to the ends of her sweaty pubic hairs. She lifted her leg slowly and dropped it back to the bed, moving it as though it were a heavy weight. The mattress vibrated as it absorbed the impact.
"How was it, sir?" Diane asked. Her voice sounded exhausted, and I wondered whether she really had had an orgasm. The girls who worked for me always had an orgasm when I fucked them. Always.
"It was ... good," I said evenly. "Very good." I thought for a moment. "Did you ... come?"
Diane snorted. "Did I ever! The minute I rubbed your hot sperm on my cunt, I went off like a firecracker! I started to come like crazy. You really know how to make love, Mr. Caldwell."
For a brief moment I wondered whether she was telling me the truth, but, not wanting really to know, I dismissed the thought and turned my attention to the new girl, Patti Marshall.
"How was it for you, Patti?" I asked.
Patti made an effort to sit up. Her arms were rubbery and her eyes were glazed. She had a silly, crooked smile on her lips and she giggled obscenely.
"It was fantastic!" she bubbled. "My God! I never thought fucking could be like that."
The perfect answer, I thought. They always knew what to say.
"I told you, you'd like Mr. Caldwell," Diane added, more for my benefit than Patti's.
I ignored Diane for a moment and studied Patti's face. I decided that she was quiet attractive. And from the flush on her cheeks, I decided too that she did experience an orgasm. Whether it was as fantastic as she claimed was another matter.
"Just fantastic," she repeated. "You have a wonderful cock, sir."
I couldn't help but laugh at her last sentence. I could see that Diane had instructed her well. She really did know what to say to me and how to say it. But what an insane thing to say to a man you've just met for the first time in your life-You have a wonderful cock, sir! Could I say that to a woman I'd just met? You have a wonderful cunt, Miss!
I laughed again, more to myself this time, and with very real, almost bitter irony. Of course I could say such a thing. I've said it hundreds of times.
"You were very good, yourself," I said to Patti. Then, tiring of all the bullshit, I tried to sit up. "If I could just have the ... rest of my body back..."
"Oh, yes, sir! I'm sorry."
Patti lifted herself from me and I felt my cock stir again as she pulled her cunt away. My cock stood straight up, still inside of her, then she moved, and it disengaged. It flopped over as though it were broken and it splashed in the puddle of sperm on my belly.
The bed jiggled as Diane clumsily climbed out, and then I began to get up. I was halfway up when Patti leaned over and took my semi-hard organ into her mouth once more. Her mouth was very warm and she began to suck slowly and wetly. The feeling was pleasant.
I leaned forward and touched her on the shoulder.
"That's enough, please, Patti. No more, thank you. I'd like to get up now."
She pulled her mouth away and looked apprehensively at me. It was as though she was afraid she might have displeased me.
I smiled at her to reassure her. "I appreciate your intention, but I'm in a little hurry this morning. Maybe some other time."
Patti smiled back at me, but there was just the faintest flicker of doubt or disbelief in her eyes. She lumbered awkwardly out of the bed and stood silently at the foot of the mattress with her eyes downcast. I could almost sense her thinking that she would have to speak to Diane again to see what it was that she had done wrong. It's not a wise move to make a bad impression on your new boss the first day on a new job.
I climbed out of bed, and Diane and Patti helped me up. I stretched and yawned, and the mirrors around the room began to parody my movements with strange distortions and mocking reflections.
Although I was in a hurry to get to the office now, I still felt a twinge of guilt about what had just happened with Patti. So I decided to take a few moments out to speak to her.
"Are you a model?" I asked.
She looked up with an expression of surprise registering on her face. "Sometimes, sir," she began. "But mostly I'm an actress. Well, I'm trying to be an actress someday..."
They were always one or the other, I thought cynically. Either models or starlets. Beautiful, attractive young women who were willing to sell their bodies to advance their careers. Well, this was the place to do it. Club Xanadu had more than its share of Hollywood producers and directors in its membership. We even had a few politicians too. This was the right place for an ambitious person to make good, solid connections. All a young girl had to do was please me and the doors would begin to open for her.
"Commercials?" I asked. "Have you ever done any commercials?"
"I did one. Back in New York, I mean. It wasn't all that much of a part..."
"I'll see what I can do," I promised. "Dick Free-berg from Titanic Television Productions is a Club Xanadu member. He usually comes to our weekend things. I'll mention your name to him."
Patti's mouth dropped open and I thought she was going to cry for a moment. She started over to touch me or to hug me then, perhaps remembering before, thought better of it, and she stopped.
"Oh, thank you, sir!" she said. Her voice almost sobbed with emotion. "I don't know what to say! Thank you, sir! Thank you so much!"
I smiled back at her and felt awkward and just the slightest bit uncomfortable. I never knew how to react to that kind of gratitude.
"You'll find that Mr. Caldwell really knows how to treat his girls," Diane assured Patti. She put her arms around Patti's naked shoulders and hugged her maternally. "All Xanadu girls do well."
I stared at Diane for a moment and wondered about her. There has always been a tremendous turnover in personnel in the Company (that was one of the advantages of being the owner of a club like Xanadu-there were always plenty of good-looking new cunts around), yet Diane has been with the Company for more than a year now; much longer than any of the other girls. I wonder why she's never moved on to bigger and better things?
I thought for a second, but the answer was obvious: her salary was good and Diane liked her work. Maybe she's even imagined that someday she would marry me. Unlike the other girls, Diane's found a home at Club Xanadu. This was all that she was interested in-sex and money.
"Well," I said, "I've got to get ready." I turned from the two naked women and watched my reflection in all the mirrors. A cold, creepy chill went up my back.
"Just one thing," I said, turning back suddenly. "Where did you learn that ... trick?"
Patti's face flushed. "You mean ... sucking you ... awake?"
I nodded. "Yes."
She was blushing now. "My husband. Ex-husband, I mean. He liked me to do that ... suck his ... thing ... so I used to do it to him ... to wake him up..."
How strange, I thought. It embarrassed her to tell me about it, but she had no compunction about doing it.
"Oh," I said. "I was just curious. Thanks." I turned away from her and wondered why they always have ex-husbands.
CHAPTER THREE
I tried to take a quick shower, but I was slowed by one of my other new girls, Mia, who insisted that she shower with me. Mia came into the shower stall and soaped my body with a warm, soft wash cloth. She rubbed my body erotically with the wet cloth, lingering much too long around my sexual areas. She soaped my crotch until it dripped with frothy bubbles of foam, and she slid her slippery hand slowly up and down the length of my dormant prick in an attempt to reawaken its hardness. Finally, she permitted me to get under the shower, and I washed away the soap and left her standing under the hot, biting sting of the shower spray as I stepped out of the stall.
My naked foot had just touched the bathroom floor when two other girls-Gloria and Maritza swooped down around me and covered my nakedness with two large open bath towels. The girls wrapped me around with the towels and began to rub my body dry with their rapid caressing strokes. Again I waited patiently while their working hands paid just a little too much attention to my crotch and my cock. Both girls wanted to make very sure that that one area was not neglected.
Maritza, a tall, statuesque, dark-skinned Spanish girl with enormous breasts and ebony-black hair that tumbled down to the middle of her back, got down on her knees so that she could dry my legs properly. Her hands went up and down my thighs, carefully rubbing between them, and she lifted my prick and balls so that, as she said, she could "dry underneath them."
When she was finished drying me there, she bent her body forward and began to get the area all wet again as she took the flesh of my cock between her lips. She crushed her chin against my crotch, lifting my balls in her hand, and she sucked energetically on my cock with her wet, pliant mouth. It felt very good and I could feel myself wanting to get excited, but in the end I had to push her away.
"Thanks," I said, "but I'm in a hurry, Maritza. Some other morning perhaps. I have an early appointment this morning and I want to get to the office."
She released my cock. "Sure, Mr. Caldwell," she said, smiling. "I understand. As you said: perhaps some other morning."
She dried me again there, only this time her hand was only interested in drying me. After a few more moments, the rest of me was dry, and I left the bathroom.
I dressed quickly now, sending away one other new girl who wanted to help me get dressed. I slipped on a pair of socks, a pair of shorts, pants and a lightweight sweater. I brushed my hair into place and slipped my feet into an old, comfortable pair of loafers. I was dressed for work.
"Good morning, ladies," I called to the various girls who were still in my suite. "I'm going to work now. See you all later."
A chorus of good-bys rang out, and I quickly cut them off as I stepped out into the hallway and closed the bedroom door behind me. For the first time since I'd gotten up that morning, I was alone. I savored the luxury of the moment by taking a deep breath of relief. Somewhere in the house a window or two was open, and the fragrance of spring was in ' the air. I took another breath and steeled myself for the morning. I walked rapidly down the long hallway of my estate Xanadu to my office.
Harvey Curtis, my business manager, was already in the office when I entered. In fact, he was sitting at my desk, in my chair. He was reading the Wall Street Journal, and he smiled at me as he looked up from his newspaper.
That seems to be a habit, I thought to myself when I saw him. Sitting in my chair, behind my desk. Harvey's doing that a lot lately.
"Good morning, Brian," Harvey greeted. "Did you sleep well?"
I nodded slowly. "Yes, I did. I slept very well."
Harvey smiled broadly, and his thick lips curled up at the edges, giving his balding, pudgy pink face a leering lasciviousness.
"How did you like the new girl?"
"Do you mean Patti Marshall?"
"Yeah. I think that's her name. How do you like her?"
Harvey made no attempt to move from behind my desk.
"She was good," I answered. "Quite attractive."
Harvey chuckled. "I heard that she has a pretty interesting way of waking a person up."
I thought of Patti Marshall and then I thought of Maritza, the beautiful Spanish girl who was drying my legs. "Yes," I said slowly. "There always seems to be someone in this company who is willing to suck my cock."
Harvey stood and stretched his body. The sight reminded me of a mountain rising up from the ocean floor and punching a hole in the sea. The layers of fat under his clothing moved like the swells of an ocean, slow and rippling.
"You make it sound like such a bothersome chore," he said. "Getting your cock sucked. Believe me, Brian, I'd trade places with you any time it got too troublesome. Any time."
He laughed, but I knew there was more truth in what he said than either of us cared to admit. Harvey would love to be in my place. Money and power excited him almost as much as women did. And as for trading places for sexual reasons, he wasn't missing anything because Harvey made it a practice always to personally interview any new girl who applied for work at Xanadu. As a result, anything I got, Harvey got first. He was my official "taster," and he was equally familiar with the sucking warmth of Patti Marshall's excellent mouth as I was.
Still, I thought, I didn't mind. There was more sex going on than I could easily handle. If Harvey wanted to skim a little off the top, let him. I really didn't mind at all.
"Remind me," I said, "to tell you something about Patti Marshall."
Harvey's eyes lit up. "Something good?"
"No. Nothing like that. I just promised her something. I told her I'd get her a spot doing commercials. I want you to put the wheels in motion."
Harvey leaned forward and scribbled himself a note in the corner of his Wall Street Journal. "Let me jot it down so I don't forget."
I waited until he was finished, then said, "Come on, Harvey. I'd like to sit down. Let me have my seat back so I can go to work."
"Sure, Brian. Sure."
Harvey lifted his vast, hulking body from my high-backed black-leather chair. He picked up his newspaper and walked around the side of the desk, vacating the chair for me. He smiled as he approached me and gestured toward the seat with his open hand.
"It's all yours, Brian. Sit down and we'll get to work:"
The chair was still warm from Harvey's body when I sat down, and that bothered me. To sit in a seat that someone has just vacated always made me feel uncomfortable, and the feeling was especially disconcerting with Harvey. The heat left behind made me very much aware of his thick, heavy body. The feeling was much too intimate for it to be comfortable.
I sat in my chair for a few moments and tried to ignore Harvey by shifting around the various papers that were left on my desk. Mostly they were letters to be read and signed, and I noticed that Harvey had prepared a new quarterly breakdown of Xanadu's financial standing. I studied the figures briefly, but they didn't mean very much to me, so I put them aside and signed a letter or two.
When I finally looked up, Harvey was sitting patiently across the desk from me. As usual, Harvey was impeccably dressed; perhaps overdressed. I guess it was vanity with him the way he tried to drape his gross bulk in the finest silks and mohairs; as though he could cover over the swollen obscenity of his body with a respectable camouflage. He had on a dark navy suit, a white shirt and a wide, pearl-gray tie. like his body, his cufflinks were gaudy and huge.
He smiled at me and his pale blue eyes twinkled through his tinted, mod wire-framed glasses.
"What do you think of the report?" he asked. He indicated the quarterly statement.
I picked it up. "I don't know. I didn't really look at it too closely. Why don't you summarize it for me."
Harvey snorted. "Well, briefly, it says that I'm making you a millionaire."
He let me savor the revelation, perhaps hoping that I would make some sort of comment about it. But I didn't say anything, and I could see the disappointment in his eyes. He waited a second or two more to be sure, then he continued to elaborate.
"That's right, Brian. A millionaire. We're zeroing in on the ten thousand membership mark with no lack of enthusiasm in applications. Membership is going like hot cakes. Xanadu has really caught on big across the nation. Ten thousand men and women willing to pay one hundred bucks each year for the privilege of attending the only legal orgy in the country."
Harvey let the last part of the sentence drop quietly so that I couldn't miss his intention.
"What do you mean legal?" I asked. I put the financial report down. "Since when did what we do become legal?"
Harvey chuckled gleefully. "I've been talking to Bill Prentiss, and he's been thinking about sponsoring a bill to make Xanadu legal. He feels any governmental interference with us violates the Constitution and our Civil Rights. What do you think of that?"
Bill Prentiss was a California State Senator. He was also a Xanadu member, enrolled under another name. I eyed Harvey suspiciously.
"What made Prentiss decide to fight in our behalf?" I asked.
Harvey's chuckle grew into a snorting, animal-like laughter. "Ever since a photograph of him fucking one of our members up the ass was brought to his attention. For your benefit, the other member was also a male."
I stared at Harvey coldly for a moment and didn't say anything. "You mean we're blackmailing Prentiss into sponsoring the bill?"
"You could call it that. There is no quicker way to end a promising political career than for your constituents or your opponents to discover that a virile, athletic man and politician is really-a faggot. Divorce, even adultery he might get away with, but never homosexuality."
I stared at Harvey. "Isn't that dangerous? Blackmail sometimes has a way of backfiring."
Harvey shook his massive head. "Not a chance. We have Prentiss right where we want him-by his balls. He's as good as on Xanadu's payroll right now."
I still didn't like the idea. "I don't know..."
"What do you mean, you don't know! Do you want to go on bribing half the police in the state to keep Xanadu open for our weekend parties? Do you know how much money that costs us every week? Thousands! Tens of thousands. But with this one bill, we could save that all. All that money would be right back in our pockets where it belongs."
I still wasn't convinced. "What if we got caught?"
Harvey sighed in exasperation. "Brian, is it any less dangerous to get caught bribing police? Especially on the scale that we pay off on? If they get us for one thing, they'll get us for everything."
"But a State Senator..."
"Brian, you're really something, do you know that? You speak as if we're on the side of the angles. Do you know what we're doing-we're running an orgy! An orgy every single weekend-Friday, Saturday and Sunday! Hundreds of people come to that orgy every weekend, and thousands more pay for the right to come to these orgies. Do you think that's legal?"
I thought for a moment.
"And since when did you become squeamish about applying a little pressure to get things done. Just a few seconds ago you tell me you want to get Patti Marshall a spot doing television commercials, right?"
I nodded. "Right."
"Now how do you think I get things like that done-by asking for a favor, please? Bull shit! I get it done by applying pressure. By blackmailing the right people. Jesus, you even get a kick-back on these commercials, and all of a sudden you're worried about legalities!"
Harvey unfolded his Wall Street Journal and dropped it on my desk for emphasis. "Brian, do me a favor. Let me handle this. I know what I'm doing. I know how to handle this kind of work. You stick to the creative part, I'll worry about the rest."
What's the matter with me? I thought. Harvey's right. Of course he's right. This is what I've always wanted, isn't it? Power and wealth. Political power. Of course he's right, I told myself again and again.
"Brian," he continued, "trust me. This is the way the system works. This is the American way. You have to readjust your thinking. We're not nickle and dime enterprises any more. Xanadu is big, Brian. This is the age of permissiveness and we've got to capitalize on it. And that means wielding power. You've got the power-now use it."
I picked up the quarterly financial report and pretended to study it for a moment. The figures seemed blurred. What was wrong with me today?
"You say I'm close to being a millionaire?" I asked, changing the subject.
"That's right," Harvey answered. "From membership alone you make close to a million dollars a year. And that's not including kick-backs, films, books, tapes, photographs, the modeling agency and all the other Xanadu enterprises. In less than two years, Brian, you're a millionaire."
"A millionaire," I said, but I didn't feel different.
"And next year you'll make even more. We up the membership fee from one hundred dollars to one-twenty-five. Not only will we be making more money per person, we'll be picking up thousands of new members. And if Prentiss's bill passes, there will be no stopping us."
I considered this for a moment. "If that's true," I began, "Then I think we should begin considering branching out on the east coast."
Harvey shook his head and laughed. "Brian, you certainly will never make a businessman."
I knew what he was going to say and I tried to prepare myself for it. We'd discussed this idea before.
"When are you going to learn that you do not need an east coast branch for Xanadu yet. Someday maybe, but not yet. All it will do is cost you extra money. It won't bring in anything. It's too soon for it."
"But you just finished telling me that membership was growing..."
"And it is. But how many members do we have?"
"A little under ten thousand."
"Right. And how many come each weekend to the orgies?"
"A couple of thousand."
"Right again. People come from all over the country to come to our orgies. People from New York. They save up their money to come out here once or twice a year or they wait for their vacations to come out here. What do our attendance statistics show us? That the further away each member is from Xanadu, the less frequently he attends. In fact, you have members paying one hundred dollars a year who come out to us only once a year! Now that's profit, Brian!"
Harvey paused a moment for emphasis. He was working himself up to a sweat, and the top of his balding head glistened with a shiny film of perspiration.
"Now you want to cut that thick profit to nothing. So what will happen if we build another Xanadu on the east coast? I'll tell you. All those people who'd come out here once or twice a year would find it easier now to go to our east coast branch. They'd go more often. And that would cost you more money in overhead and expenses. It would be an unnecessary output just for the benefit of their convenience. It would do very little for you financially."
I found myself hardly listening to Harvey. Everything just seemed so inexplicably boring today. I couldn't get my mind to it.
"So what do you suggest we do?" I asked finally.
"Wait. Waitl That's what you do-you wait. Until Xanadu gets so big that we can't contain the weekend flow. Then when that happens, then we can start thinking about expansion."
I picked up a pen from the desk and I twirled it through my fingers all the while Harvey was speaking. Then, when he paused, I flipped the pen suddenly with my fingers and it bounced on the desk and rolled off the edge.
"Sorry," I said.
Harvey bent over with an effort and retrieved the pen.
I sighed. "Okay, I guess what you say makes sense." I picked up the pen again and began to twirl it. "Is there anything else we have to get out of the way this morning?"
Harvey gave me a long, searching look. He carefully removed a silken handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his jacket, and he dabbed the sweat from his upper lip.
"What's the matter, Brian?" he asked. He put the handkerchief away. "Is something bothering you?"
"No!" I snapped irritably. Then I softened. "Sorry, I guess I'm tired."
Harvey didn't buy my explanation, but continued to study me for a second or two longer. He nodded to himself, as though answering an internally asked question, and spoke again in a soft, almost apologetic voice.
"There is one other thing to discuss," he began. "The themes for next month's orgies. We have to get the newsletters out to the members so that they can prepare."
Themes for the orgies, I thought. What are we going to play-act next month? A Roman orgy? A bacchanalia? Another Black Mass? A Come-As-Your-Favorite-Perversion orgy?
I broke off my train of thought. "I don't care what we run. Why don't you take care of it this month, Harv? If you can't come up with anything new, just rerun something that we did before. It won't make any difference."
Harvey snorted and shook his head with growing incredulity. I had broken one of my cardinal rules-originality was a unique part of Xanadu's appeal. Always something new and exciting and different.
"Now I know something is bothering you," Harvey said. "When you tell me to run the creative end of Xanadu, then I know something is eating at you. What is it, Brian?"
His insight annoyed me. Harvey was so thick and gross and so constantly aware of how to make money, why couldn't his mind be as equally dull and occupied? Why did he have to see that there was something bothering me? Why couldn't he have just accepted it and leave me alone?
I sighed again. (I seemed to be doing a lot of sighing this morning, didn't I?) "I don't know, Harvey. I just feel very irritable and annoyed. I feel angry at the world. It's as though there's something digging in at me and I don't understand what it is or what its doing to me. Maybe I'm really tired. Overworked. Maybe I need a vacation."
I said the magic word for Harvey: vacation! His eyes seemed to light up with dollar signs and I could almost read his thoughts on his face. With me gone on vacation, Harvey could sit in my chair, behind my desk, for as long as he wanted.
"Well," he began, "if you think you should take a vacation..."
"I don't know, Harvey. I just don't know. I mean, I should be happy today, right? I should feel as though I have the world in the palm of my hands. But all I feel is this nagging, annoying sense of ... dissatisfaction. Yes, that's what it is-dissatisfaction.
It's as though all of this-everything that I have, everything that I own, all of Xanadu ... is meaningless."
I stared at Harvey and shook my head. "You don't understand what I'm talking about, do you?"
Harvey took a cigar from the box I had on my desk. He wet the cigar in his mouth and carefully clipped off one end with a little gold pocketknife he carried around for just that purpose. He put the cigar in his mouth and lit it, sucking in thick hot drags of smoke.
"You're right," he said, blowing out the smoke. "I don't understand. Nobody could understand what you're talking about because you're crazy.
"Brian, think for a minute!" he insisted. "Look at what you got. Today I told you that you were a millionaire. A millionaire! And just two years ago you were just a shithead! And next year you'll make two million dollars and maybe even three million! You live in a palace-you have a fifteen acre estate in the middle of California's richest community-and that whole estate is owned by you free and clear. Paid for by ten thousand horny men and women who are willing to pay for a safe place to get laid. You have beautiful women all around you, all over you! And their only function is to satisfy your every sexual whim or desire."
Harvey was waving his cigar as though it were a baton; as though he were trying to drive home the most important points with the burning tip of the cigar.
"And, Brian," he continued, "you have power! Real power. Prentiss is just the beginning. There will be others just like him. Xanadu has given us the foothold to immortality! And we are just beginning."
I couldn't help notice that he began his lecture telling me of my advantages and ended by talking about "we" and "us." That was so typical of Harvey. He actually did it without thinking.
"Yeah, I know," I answered. "I know all of this. I understand it fully. Every word is true. But it doesn't change how I feel. It's like you work so hard all your life to get something, and then you've got it, and it doesn't mean anything. It's like the feeling you have after you come-a big emptiness. like you're living your life in an echo chamber and everything you touch rings hollow."
I could see Harvey struggling with my words, desperately trying to grasp what I was talking about. But it was beyond him, beyond his mercenary, monetary, very capitalistic sense of values.
So he did the next best thing: he translated what I was talking about into practical, concrete ideas; into terms he could deal with inside of his businessman's mind.
"Is it the girls?" Harvey asked. "Are you tired of them? Do you want new girls, maybe? Bigger tits, smaller tits? Hairy pussies, shaved pussies? Tell me what it is-I'll get rid of them all. I'll bring in all new girls. I'll bring in girls who'll do anything you want ... anything! ... no matter what it is."
I shook my head. "No, Harvey. It's not the girls."
He crushed his cigar out in the ashtray on my desk. "What is it then?" he demanded. "Is it the decor? Do you want to have your office redecorated? Or your suite? Is that it?"
In his desperation to find a reason, Harvey did manage to touch upon something that triggered a response in my mind. I remembered how I felt earlier in my room, with all the mirrors dancing around me with distorted reflections of my naked body. The room was like a fucking brothel with all the mirrors and the drapes and gold ornaments.
"Yeah," I said, distaste in my mouth. "There is one thing you can do. You can redecorate my bedroom. Give me something livable. I'm tired of living in a palace."
Harvey nodded his head vigorously. "Sure, Brian," he agreed. He seemed to grasp at my request and I realized that my dissatisfaction was upsetting to him. He didn't understand it, and so, he couldn't control it. And anything he couldn't control could cost him money. That was enough to upset any businessman.
"First thing in the morning," he repeated. "I'll have the decorators in first thing tomorrow morning."
Strangely, the words seemed to relax me. I took a deep breath and tasted the sweet calmness of Springtime in the air again. Spring fever? I wondered.
Well, at least, changing the decor would help, I thought. Not much, but it should help. It was a beginning. A small beginning.
CHAPTER FOUR
I felt shitty for the rest of the day. I couldn't shake this persistent feeling of discontentment, of depression. It was like an attack of free-floating anxiety that took hold of my mind and haunted it and refused to let me go in peace. I tried to lose it in work but I couldn't control any sense of discipline over my actions, and I found my mind wandering.
Finally, I gave up. I got rid of Harvey by telling him I was going to take a drive. More than anything else, I just couldn't face going back into my bedroom. Not with all those mocking, jeering mirrors and all those beautiful women all so desperate to suck on my cock. I had to get away and get a breath of fresh air. The world seemed to be closing in around me and I was smothering.
Spring was in the air, and the moment I sat behind the wheel of my car, I could feel its restlessness settling upon me. Yet it was not an unpleasant restlessness; it was more like a rumbling sense of thwarted freedom trying to break free from the grip of winter. I decided to no longer resist all those dark, volatile forces that were swirling around just under the surface of my skin. I put the roof of my car down, and felt that frustrated independence pulling at me, like magnets trying to suck out the poison that was corrupting my spirit.
I drove away from the city, out towards the hills, going inland on the Ventura Freeway. Surprisingly, traffic was fairly light, and it moved at a good clip. The wind was warm and easy, and I felt relaxed as it blew my hair back and billowed under my clothing. For the first time in a very long while, I didn't feel closed in, and it seemed as though I were escaping from some dark and terrible prison.
I allowed the car to steer itself, taking the lead from the sucking pull of the road, and I found myself headed in a northerly direction, out toward Santa Teresa. I got off the Freeway and took a side road that wound lazily through the Spring-green hills. I drove more slowly now, allowing the soft, loose curves of the roadway to work into my mood, and I savored the budding touch of green that was splashed across the countryside. Nature was coming to life again, and the wheel of a year was closing up the circle. The hills seemed to vibrate with this newness, like white blossoms in the sunshine. In the distance, tall brown trees towered as though they were a part of a bristling forest rug pressed against the rolling hills. And underneath the trees, there was a wild explosion of shrubbery and undergrowth that was like some primitive jungle, impenetrably thick, and the earth itself was sometimes hidden from view.
I pulled off the road and just sat for a long while, trying to make my mind blank so that I was thinking of nothing. And it succeeded for a short period of time until my mind began to wander, and I kept returning to my life and Xanadu, my business. Then, with the return of these thoughts, that same emptiness began to gnaw again at my mind, and I realized that there was no way that I could escape from its cold touch. I saw now that a drive in the country would not get me away from it. And the very thing I was running from-I had brought with me. It was inside of me.
No it wasn't, I amended. It was not inside of me-it was me. I was running from myself.
I sat for a while longer, and I was bitterly disappointed when I started my motor again. I was almost hurt in a sense: as though the season had somehow personally failed to live up to something I had needed. There seemed to be a chill in the air now, and I put the convertible roof of my car back up.
Before I left, I looked at the trees again. But my eyes had taken on my mood, and I didn't see them as I had moments before. There was no more green newness of a season reborn. Now all I could see was the end of that cycle: the fall-yes, the fall! At the end of a scorchingly hot summer, the trees would be like twisted match sticks and that lush green undergrowth would be like a dry, brittle tinderbox ready to burn at the least provocation. All that greenness was a trap-waiting for a single spark that would turn this hillside into a roaring inferno.
And the fire would come, I knew. After the summer, the fire would come, and then all that would be left of this new green land would be a charred, blackened earth and the smoking charcoal stumps of smoldering trees.
I ran into traffic on my way back, and I cursed and muttered under my breath as my treasonous car rolled forward only a few feet at a time, then stopped and waited, then rolled forward a few more inches. It was a slow and frustrating trip, and when I came to the next exit, I guided the car off to a side road. I drove aimlessly for a few minutes, then pulled over to a small, quiet-looking bar at the side of the road I didn't even know what town I was in. I hadn't noticed or thought it important.
I had a drink or two, then realized I was hungry. I asked about a place to eat, and I was directed to a diner a short way down the road. I went there and had a greasy hamburger for want of anything else sensible to eat. After sitting around for a little while longer, I decided to return to the bar for a few more drinks. There didn't seem to be much else to do with the day.
It was getting dark and I had to turn my headlights on, even for the very short trip back to the bar. The road was unlit and I was still unfamiliar with the area.
The bar was nearly deserted and I was glad for that. I had no particular need for company, and there could have been nothing more irritating than to sit in a bar crowded with noisy youths. Even the jukebox was quiet and no one made any attempt to revive it. I had three or four scotches, the last one being a double, and I was well on to feeling quite mellow and very sorry for myself. I called the barman over. "Another," I said. He seemed to be studying my face for a moment or-two then he reached for my glass. He refilled it efficiently and sorted out the correct change from the money I had left on the bar. I had given him a twenty when I had first come in, and there didn't seem to be too much left of it. Still, I didn't make any attempt to check his figuring, and really didn't care whether he was clipping me or not.
After all, I told myself, I was close to being a millionaire, wasn't I?
He slid the drink across the bar to me, and I felt a sudden need to speak to someone. I had been alone most of the day and I was getting tired of the monotonous droning of my depressing thoughts.
"It's pretty quiet around here, isn't it?" I said. I tried to smile but it came out lopsided like a grimace. He studied me a while longer. "Yeah."
"Not much to do around here, is there?" He paused again. "No. This is a quiet town. A neighborhood place. A few regulars. Mostly working people."
I picked up my drink and sipped it. A shudder of bitterness went through my body like a shiver. Then it got warm in my stomach.
"I'm surprised that there's no youngsters in here. I thought they liked to hang out in bars."
He gave me a lopsided, hostile look. "What are you kidding? Hang out in bars? You hardly see kids in a bar any more. It's a dying business. They don't drink. They're all too busy getting stoned on drugs or something. They don't drink."
I sipped my drink again. "Is that a fact."
He seemed to be warming to the conversation, as though he wanted to unburden himself to me. I had touched upon a sensitive spot, and now he was going to give me the real low-down on life.
"Yeah," he continued, shaking his head. "You hear the barbers all the time bitching about how long-hairs are killing the barbering business, but I tell you that's a lot of shit. The real business that these kids are killing is this business. The bar business. The drinking business. I don't know what's going to happen after the present generation of drinkers dies off and we're left with all these marijuana-smoking hippie kids. We'll just go out of business, I guess."
He shook his head bittering. "They don't drink."
I said something appropriately sympathetic, but that didn't seem to bother him. He wasn't going to let go of my ear until I knew every bit of the bitter truth.
"I'll tell you something," he said, beckoning me closer to him. His voice was a husky, conspiratorial whisper. "There is a college right near here. Santa Teresa College. Now you'd think, in the old days, with a college so close that I'd make out like a bandit. But it ain't so. If I had to depend on those kids for a living, I'd starve. And that's a fact."
I was rapidly tiring of his conversation, and I drained my glass. I wanted to get him away from me and I was really sorry now that I'd opened myself up to him.
"Let me have another," I said.
He picked up my glass, but it didn't slow his mouth. He shook his head in a slow, uncomprehending way, and the pain of his life became suddenly very real.
"It makes you wonder what the fuck it was all for," he said slowly. "I mean you work hard all your life. You break your balls to get something. Then somebody does something that you can't do anything about, and you're left with a bag of shit. A fucking bag of shit."
He shook his head again and went to refill my drink. He dropped it off for me, and someone else called him over from the other end of the bar. He drifted away, and I was grateful to be alone.
It seems to be the same all over, I thought. But why doesn't it ever bother people like Harvey, though? People like him seem to be immuned to it. Or maybe they're just insensitive. Money's wrapped too tightly around them so the real world can't get through to them to touch or effect them.
I shook my head. Wow, I thought. The drinks must be getting to me. It's starting to effect my thinking. When I start going off in that direction, thinking the way I'm thinking, then I know something is wrong with me.
I sipped my drink and the ice cube clinked against my teeth. Maybe I am tired, I thought. After all, in the two years that it took to build Xanadu up from nothing, I hadn't once taken a break. No vacations. I was always too busy making money, grabbing power. Maybe it's taking its toll? Maybe I'm mentally exhausted? Maybe I do need a vacation.
Somewhere in the back of my mind I heard a door open, and the sounds of the streets filtered clearly into my awareness. Someone had come into the bar. I turned to see out of bored curiosity, and saw that it was a hippie-type young girl walking in.
She wore the typical costume of her type: faded belled jeans that trailed onto the floor, a loose fitting blue work shirt and long black hair. She wasn't wearing a bra, and her heavy, very large breasts seemed to bobble up and down as she walked. The shirt buttoned down the middle of her chest, and it bulged as she walked, enabling me to catch a generous glimpse of her pink tit under the material. And, of course, on her jeans she had the traditional peace emblem. It was sewn to the tightly fitting jeans right over the curved cheek of her right ass.
She smiled at me as she entered, and it was a warm, friendly smile that lit up her very attractive face. Had she been wearing makeup and different clothing, I could have easily mistaken her for one of my Xanadu girls. She was that pretty. Her blue eyes sparkled, and I noticed that she was carrying something in her hands. It looked like a bunch of frail, transparent flowers. But the colors were all wrong. They were too bright and vivid to be real.
I watched as she walked past me, going toward the bartender who was stationed at the other end of the bar. She leaned across the countertop, with one soft breast resting against the damp wood so that it looked flattened against her chest, and she said something to the bartender that I couldn't hear. He said something back to her, then shook his head.
I drained my drink, and the barman looked over at me and shook his head slowly again. He gave me an exasperated, I-told-you-so look of patient disgust.
I was curious now, and I watched as the girl approached the scattered few men at the bar. She spoke softly to them for a few seconds, and they all shook their head or ignored her until she went away. Finally, she began to walk my way, and I felt an inexplicable ball of tension making a fist in my stomach.
As she got closer, in the better light, I saw she was quite attractive. Quite attractive.
"Hi!" she said happily.
I nodded to her. Pick up? I wondered. She didn't look like a prostitute.
She was very close to me now, and I was aware of a sweet, fresh, clean smell in the air. I stared at her and slowly realized it was the smell of clean hair, as though she had just shampooed it. Her face seemed shiny and fresh, glowing like baby's skin. Her complexion was clear and tanned, and up close, her eyes did seem to sparkle. The smile on her face was broad, and her teeth were straight and very white.
"Hi!" she said again, and her voice almost sang the words. "I'm Heather. How are you?"
Her openness made me smile. There was an almost complete lack of guile in her friendliness. She was addressing me almost as though I were a longstanding friend and not a total stranger.
"Hello," I said back to her. "I'm fine, thank you."
With her right hand, she brushed her long black hair out of her face. She flipped the strands behind her shoulder with a pert jerk of her head. Never once did her beaming smile flicker or dim.
"Would you like to buy a flower?" she asked.
"A flower?" I stared at them. They still didn't look right.
"They're made out of spun glass," she bubbled. "I made them myself."
She handed me one, and I inspected it curiously. The flower was thin and frail-looking, with a slender, green-tinted stem and pale, almost clear leaves. The flower itself came up like a rose, and its petals were a pastel-colored red. I handled it carefully and was afraid it would shatter under my touch it was so delicate.
"It's quite beautiful," I said finally. "How do you make them?"
She smiled and then pursed her lips together. Her eyes were still smiling at me when she said, "Gee. I'm sorry, I can't tell you how I made them. It's a secret method I developed myself. I'm the only one who can make them like this."
I wanted to laugh. Was she truly afraid that I would steal her secret?
I handed her the red flower back and looked at all the others in her hand. She held them like a vivid, glass bouquet of strangely unreal red, green, yellow and blue flowers. Yet they were as exquisite as real flowers, and certainly as delicate.
"They really are remarkable," I said. "I like them very much."
"Thank you. Would you like to buy one? The money goes for a good cause."
I gave her a hard look. "A good cause?"
"I use the money to help put me through college," she said slyly, musically. "Isn't that a good cause?"
I laughed out loud. It was the first time today that I could remember laughing. "I guess it is."
She joined my laughter. "Well, then buy one."
"All right. Sold. How much are they?"
She shrugged her shoulders, and her fine black hair slid off the soft, rounded curve of her neck like a slowly moving black wave. "Give me whatever you think they are worth."
I laughed again. "All right, I'll give you a quarter for the whole bunch."
She bit her lower lip and thought for a second.
"Gee. I can't sell them to you for that little. Not all of them. But I'll tell you what. I'll give you one."
She handed me the glass flower and smiled. "Peace," she said, and she turned to leave.
"Hey! Wait a second." I jumped off my bar seat.
She turned back to me with real surprise in her eyes. She cocked her head the way a puppy dog does.
"Yes?" she asked.
"Don't you want your money?" I asked. "I was only kidding about the quarter."
She smiled at me. "That's all right. Keep the flower. It's a gift."
She began to turn away again, and I had to stop her.
"No!" I insisted. "I want to pay. I was only playing a silly joke on you. It was my fault and I'm sorry."
There was no anger or annoyance in her eyes. "I know that you were only kidding. But keep the flower anyway. It's still a gift."
"No. I insist that you let me pay you. It just wouldn't be fair to you for you to give them away. After all, you must have worked very hard on them. I insist I pay you."
She shrugged her shoulders in an easy, free-floating way. "All right. If it means that much to you."
Perhaps the impact of all the drinks I had had was the cause of my sudden generosity; or perhaps it was the depression that had been hanging so tenaciously onto me all during the day that was responsible. But I realized suddenly that it really didn't matter what the reason for my behavior was. It didn't make any difference-because I wanted to be generous. I wanted to somehow pay her. Not for the flower, but for the way she was making me feel.
I shoved all the change I had on the bar top across towards her. "Here," I said.
Her eyes widened and she looked down at the money. "I can't take that," she said. "There's over ten dollars there."
"Take the money, please."
She shook her head again and set her mouth. "No way. That's too much money."
"I can afford it. I'm almost a millionaire."
"Sure. So am I."
She shoved the money towards me and I pushed it back. "I am," I insisted. "And I can afford it."
She moved her hands expressively, in an open beseeching gesture. "Even if you can afford it, it's too much money. The flowers don't cost that much. They cost less than a dollar to make."
Her honesty was frustrating. I exhaled hotly. "Don't you understand I want to give you this money. Just like you wanted to give me the flower as a gift. This is my gift to you."
She shook her head. "But that's an expensive gift
"Money is the only thing I have to give."
She stopped and thought for a moment. "All right," she said slowly. "You take all these flowers." She handed the bouquet to me. "And I'll go home and get three more to make up to the ten dollars."
"Then it won't be a gift, will it? You'll be selling me something. And I don't want to buy something. I want to give something away."
She walked slowly to the bar and put one hand up on the counter top. "But why?" she asked. "Why do you want to give me a gift?"
I thought for a moment. "Because I've had a really rotten day and you're the first nice thing that's happened to me today. That's why."
She was silent for a moment. "Thank you," she said softly. "That's a really beautiful thing to say to someone. That's really nice."
Her sincerity made me feel self-conscious. I suddenly didn't know what to say. And I realized too that I couldn't give her the money now just as she couldn't accept it now. I didn't know what to do.
"What more can you ask out of life," she said. "To be helpful to someone. To bring happiness. To touch a stranger's life. That's a beautiful thing. It makes life meaningful, doesn't it?"
I thought for a moment. "I guess so," I said, but I really wasn't sure. It's been so long since I'd conditioned myself to think along those lines that I really wasn't sure. I'd forgotten how to judge.
We seemed to have reached an impasse, but I don't think she was aware of it. All she could see was the beauty in my cheap, plastic attempt to buy meaning into my life, and for that I felt bad. I did what I did for selfish reasons, but she saw it as something else.
"I can't take the money," she said. "But thank you."
"I understand," I answered. I thought for a moment. "Can I buy you a drink then?"
She smiled and her eyes sparkled like blue water. "Sure."
I laughed. "You may not know it," I said glancing down at the bartender, "but you've just disproved a very carefully worked out philosophy."
She gave me a searching look that reflected her confusion.
"Never mind," I laughed. "What will you drink?"
"Let me think. Yes! A whisky-sour."
I ordered it and she slid into the bar stool next to me. I glanced over at her and remembered how really pretty she was. Her personality had overshadowed it, if that were possible. She was easily as good-looking as any of the girls I've known, and judging from the firm, youthful hardness under the disguise of her clothing, her body matched and surpassed theirs almost effortlessly. And her attractiveness was a real one, based on pleasing features and natural gifts, and not a result of grease and cosmetics and false eyelashes. I could smell the cleanness of her hair more easily now, and it seemed to please me more than any perfume or pleasant smelling powder than I had ever known.
"You know, I was really depressed before I met you," I confessed. "I really was."
"I didn't do anything," she said modestly. "You were just receptive."
I wasn't about to let her off that easily. "No, it's more than that; much more."
And to my amazement I watched in honest surprise as her cheeks colored. She was blushing!
I laughed, and she laughed at my laughing and at her embarrassment. The bartender brought over our drinks and he gave her a dirty look. He left the drinks on the bar in front of us and walked off, muttering something under his breath about " ... dirty hippies."
"What will we drink to?" I asked.
She thought for a moment. "Peace?"
I shook my head. "I have something better. Let's drink to love."
She laughed. "All right. We'll drink to love."
We clinked our glasses together and sipped from them. I found that I was smiling constantly, even when I brought my glass up to my lips. I was suddenly happy-truly happy. What transformation had come over me in the space of these few small seconds? Was it the girl?
I put my glass down. "What did you say your name was?" I asked. "I forgot what you said."
She took another petite sip from her drink and replaced it on the bar top. "Heather," she said.
"Heather? Heather what?"
"That's all. Just Heather."
"You mean Heather like the flower?"
I picked up one of the delicate glass flowers and handed it to Heather.
She accepted it and stared at it for a moment as though she'd never seen it before or as though she were seeing it now in a different way.
"I guess so," she said. "Heather like the flower."
"That's a pretty name. Heather. I like it."
"Thank you." She smiled a pause. "And what's your name?"
I took another careful sip from my drink. "Steve," I told her. "Steven Brooks."
It was odd, but it didn't seem as though I were lying to her. All of a sudden I just didn't feel like Brian Caldwell any more.
CHAPTER FIVE
Heather lived nearby, and when I asked her whether I could drive her home, and she said yes, I was mildly, but happily surprised. Before we left, we had a drink or two more, and we continued with our easy, free-flowing conversation. Heather was an easy person to talk to, I discovered, and although I was lying to her about who I really was, I found I could be honest with her about how I felt and what I thought. And really, isn't that a more important kind of honesty? With her, I didn't have to play my role as an important man, as the head of a powerful company. I found with Heather, I could be myself-my real self, or as close as I could be and still be Steven Brooks. I told her about this vague feeling of dissatisfaction that had recently come over me-the very same thing I had unsuccessfully confessed to
Harvey Curtis. Naturally, I eliminated the personal details concerning who and what I was, and I dwelt more at length as to how this depressing mood made me feel. She paid careful attention to my words, for it was obvious that she was really listening to me, and it made me feel strangely moved. And what was even more important, Heather was sympathetic and interested, and tried with sincere words and a few appropriately kidding jokes to console me and bring me out of my depression. She seemed really to care about me, and to prove it, she even went as far as telling me about her secret method of spinning her prized glass flowers. This too moved me, for I was only a stranger to her, and I took this revelation on her part as a supreme gift of trust and confidence in me.
So we had a drink or two more and we left. I led her to my car and felt again that same tightening in my stomach when she slid into the seat next to me as I had when I first saw her, several hours earlier, when she approached me at the bar. What was that feeling? Was it anxiety? Could it be that I, Brian Caldwell, the supreme cocksman, the super swinging bachelor, the man who has probably fucked more beautiful women than any other man in the whole state of California-could it be that I was afraid? Afraid of this strange hippie girl who called herself Heather?
But-why? I asked myself. What did I have to be afraid of? Why was I so tense? Could it be that I was afraid of being rejected by her?
The fear surfaced and I realized it was true. I was afraid that she would not like me. I was so used to being accepted-at buying my acceptance-that I was afraid to face a real person without my protective armor. I felt naked in front of her, small, almost her equal, and it was something I hadn't felt or been exposed to for such a very long time. I didn't know whether I liked the feeling or not. But it was new, and in a way that was refreshing.
The roads were dark and I still didn't know where I was so I let Heather direct me. The car wound around a few slow nighttime curves and I found myself heading back up towards the hills, in the direction of Santa Teresa. The night was pleasant and cool and she suggested that I put the top down. I did and I could see the stars. They hung dark and vivid in the deep blue sky, and the clear mountain air made them seem closer than I can ever remember having seen them. They looked like ripe fruit, hanging from a tree, waiting for someone to reach up and pluck them down.
We drove on in silence broken only by Heather's few, economical directions, and touched by the coolness of the night and the dim light of the stars. I could hear the wind rustling darkly through the trees and the underbrush, and the sound was crisp and new, as the sound of spring should be. The gray concrete road split off to the left.
"You have to go that way," Heather said, pointing.
The road to the left was narrower and wound more tightly, spiraling up the mountain like a corkscrew. We were closer to the trees now. They were on either side of us, and their thick foliage and branches interlaced above our heads so that the stars only peaked through an occasional open space in the leaves. We wound around the road for a few more minutes, then came to a small driveway.
"Pull over here," Heather instructed. "This is where I live."
I parked my car next to a battered cream-colored old Volkswagen. On the side window I could see a decal for Santa Teresa College. I hoped the car was Heather's.
"Do you live alone?" I asked. I was looking up the hill a way, and there I could see a small, wooden cabin silhouetted against a few dark trees. The cabin was dark, and it looked like an old, perhaps abandoned hunting cabin.
Heather followed my line of vision, and when I allowed my eyes to fix themselves again on her face, I saw she was smiling.
"Yes, I live alone," she said, still smiling. "What did you have in mind?"
"Nothing. I was just curious. Do you rent the cabin or are you just using it."
She laughed. "No, I'm renting it. From a woman down in the valley. She owns it and she rents it to College students. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
I felt myself tense up. It was going badly. "Nothing, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so nosy. If you could just give me the directions back down..."
Heather laughed again, and her laughter touched me in the darkness like something warm and light. "Steve, I'm surprised at you! Don't you know when you're being kidded? Do you really want to know the way back?"
I didn't answer, sensing something in her question.
"I'll tell you what-I'll give you the directions in the morning. It will be easier to see in the light."
A thrill went through me with her words. It was what I wanted, more than anything else. She had read my mind and answered my secret wish.
We walked in silence to the cabin door, and I waited in the darkness while she opened it with her key. The cabin was equipped with electricity, and a sudden flow of white, almost binding light flooded the darkness.
"Welcome to my home," Heather said.
We entered a room that was strangely new for me, but was, I guess, a very typical "hippie pad." Across from me was a huge poster, taking up most of the wall, of an optical design. It was black and orange, like a sun burst, and the black lines spread out from the orange center like spokes of a wheel. The whole effect was like a wheel, and the alternating lines of black and orange gave the feeling that the whole poster was spinning.
Just under the poster was a small three-shelf bookcase, filled with books. There was another next to it on the left, and another on the right, side wall. The one on the right was next to a window, and there was a huge peace symbol, the size of the whole window pane, painted on the window.
On the left-side of the room there was a doorway leading to another room beyond, but it was dark, and I couldn't see beyond a few feet. To the right of the doorway there was a third three-shelf bookcase, and above it was an abstracted silhouetted poster of a man's profiled face. The poster was titled: Dylan.
I took this all in in a matter of a few seconds, standing in the doorway of the cabin entrance. I must have hesitated a second or two longer than expected, because Heather turned and looked back at me.
"Come on in," she said, smiling. "I won't bite you. I promise."
I stepped into the room quickly; perhaps too quickly because I was trying to cover over my hesitation. There was a soft, well-worn forest-green rug on the cabin floor, and I had to lift the door slightly to close it. On the back of the entrance door there was another poster, only this one was in the form of a Wanted Poster. The criminal wanted for rebellion and rabble-rousing was Jesus Christ.
"Well, what do you think of my place?" Heather asked as I turned back toward her.
"It's fascinating," I said, and I was really fascinated. All I could think of was my decadent, mirrored bordello of a bedroom. The contrast in styles made me grasp for a comparison by which I could measure their differences.
"It's fascinating," I repeated, fixing my eyes on the swirling black and orange op-art poster.
"Well," she said, somewhat condescendingly, "it's home. And comfortable."
"Don't depreciate it. It's really nice. It's certainly unique."
"You're being nice, Steve, and I appreciate it. But I long ago decided that if it couldn't be expensive, it could at least be comfortable. This is a room you can relax in."
I walked over to the large, wide bookcase on the right side wall and looked through the titles. I noticed that this bookcase held all hard covered books while the other, smaller cases were filled with paperbacks. My eyes traveled over the alphabetized titles and authors: science fiction, serious literature, mysteries, textbooks: a complete range of taste's and interests.
"Do you want to write something on my wall?" Heather asked.
I turned back towards her. She was sitting on a blue-covered studio couch that was to the left of the entrance. On the wall behind her was a poster of Simon and Garfunkel and several hand-painted oil-paintings, probably painted by Heather. But she wasn't pointing to this wall, she was pointing to the wall on her left.
I walked slowly over to the couch, staring at the wall. It was covered from floor to ceiling with graffiti. I read several, and some were funny, some were obscene, and some were interesting.
"Do you feel like writing something?" she asked again. She was holding a black felt-tipped pen in her hand. "Even if it's just your name or a small drawing. It's something to remember you by. Everyone who comes in has to sign my wall. It's my wall of memories."
I took the pen from her and signed Steven Brooks and added today's date. I couldn't think of anything more original than that, and I felt just the slightest-bit fraudulent as it was. Still, I had gone too far with my charade and I couldn't extricate myself without looking like a fool, so I compounded the felony.
While I was immortalizing my lies on Heather's wall, she had gotten up from the couch and came around next to me. To my right there was a record cabinet with a record player on top of it. She bent down and removed an album from the cabinet. The room was filled with the sudden hum of sound as she turned the turntable on, and I watched as she carefully placed a record onto the machine. It was a Beatles album, Sgt. Pepper, and the selection was "A Day in the Life." The sort of sad sounds of the singing filled the room.
I sat back on the couch, resting my head against the wall, and I watched Heather bend over again as she reclosed the record cabinet. The material of her tight-fitting jeans pulled tautly across the broad swell of her well-rounded ass, and the peace symbol sewn to the right cheek of her pants reminded me of an obscenely winking eye.
A peace sign, I thought, looking at Heather's broad ass. How appropriate. A peace of ass.
Heather returned to the couch and fell casually beside me. She stretched her legs out in front of her, spreading her thighs as she strained forward. Her shoulder was pressed against mine, and I was very aware of her body. As I looked across at her, I caught a glimpse of her naked breast under the bunching folds of her shirt. The sudden sight of her nakedness gave me an erotic stirring in my groin, and I could feel my cock elongating in sexual anticipation.
The music filled the air, and it seemed perfectly suited to my previous mood of dissatisfaction, and perhaps even despair. Maybe that's why she chose it: to match my mood. And perhaps there was no reason.
Heather yawned. "Gee. I'm tired. How do you feel?"
I felt obliged to stretch. "A little tired."
I stared again at her breast, trying to bend my head low enough to see her nipple, but the fold of her shirt hid the tip of the tit from my sight. But the flesh was pink; soft and warm looking. I listened absently to the music, stretching again.
Heather lifted her head from the back pillow of the couch and looked over at me. "Do you feel like doing some hash? I have a little chunk, but its powerful. Three-tokes and you're stoned."
I considered this for a moment. "No, I don't think so. Thanks though."
"I don't really feel like it either," she confessed. "I just thought I'd ask."
We sat in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the record draw to its loud, crashing conclusion, then its final, drawn-out, lonely closing chord. The needle clicked in the end grooves of the record, then the arm swung up, and the record began again.
I was very aware of the silence, and it seemed as though Heather and I were listening to it as carefully as we had listened to the music. It was a waiting silence. I was waiting, and she was waiting for me.
I took a deep breath and made my move. I pushed myself up and swung my arm around Heather's shoulders, pulling her close to me. Her body was soft and warm, and she slid effortlessly across the couch under the gentle pressure of my arm. Our bodies came together, and I found myself kissing her.
Heather's mouth was open, and her tongue slid between my lips. It was wet and slippery, prying open my mouth like an erotic lever. Our tongues touched, and it was like electricity between us. A thrill of excitement went through me at the contact, and I sucked in, pulling the thick softness of her tongue into my mouth. She tasted clean and warm, and I sucked on her tongue and swallowed her saliva as I rubbed the edge of my teeth back and across the swell of her tongue. Her tongue darted and moved like a live thing, almost as if it had a mind of its own, and it slithered like a snake between my lips, exploring the damp, hidden secrets of my teeth and tongue and cheeks and the roof of my mouth.
We were still sitting upright, with Heather bent over, resting on top of my chest with her leaning body. My arm was around her shoulder, holding her close to me, and I felt an inexplicable thrill of happiness when I felt her hand come up from between us, and touch my face. She caressed my cheek with her open palm, rubbing my face as she might if I were her long favorite lover. The touch excited and pleased me, and made my confidence grow immeasurably.
I kissed her more ardently now, lashing back at her stabbing tongue with my own tongue as I jabbed into her mouth. Her mouth was sweet and hot, and I tried desperately to stuff my tongue down her throat as though I were seeking the burning core of her soul so that I might taste it. Our teeth ground together and my lips grew numb and raw from the intensity of our kissing, yet neither of us abated our efforts. That was not to be even considered; the intensity of the pleasure was much too high.
My lips broke away from its kiss, and I slid my mouth around to her neck and ear. My eyes opened for a moment, and could see she held her eyes closed. Her lips were wet and trembling, and the easy white curve of her bent neck seemed more than inviting to my lips. I pressed my mouth to the spot at the top of her neck, just below the ear.
My tongue stabbed inwardly, hotly. "My God," I whispered desperately. "I wanted to do this ever since I met you. The moment I saw you I found myself attracted to you. I wanted you."
Her body trembled as my tongue explored the inner warmth of her ear. I tasted her hair in my mouth like fine, web-like threads of silk. I curled my tongue into a cylinder and pushed into the tightness of her ear's canal. She trembled again, sliding her hand around my shoulder until she was almost clawing at my body in her attempt to pull me closer to her.
My passion stimulated me as I realized her excitement was genuine. There was no falseness of pay in her excitement. Heather's body was growing hot-hot for me.
I ran my hand up the side of her body, cupping the firm softness of her breast in my hand. I squeezed in with my fingers, testing the resiliency of her flesh. My hand was filled and overflowing with her hardness, and in the center of my palm, even through the coarse material of her work shirt, I could feel the stiff, throbbing scrape of her nipple.
I continued to squeeze her tit a few more times, lapping my tongue in and out of her ear, and then I moved my hand and fumbled awkwardly with the buttons on her shirt. My fingers were trembling as I parted the material and slid my hand in against her warm, naked flesh.
"Yes, yes!" Heather moaned. Her body tensed under my touch as though she were concentrating all her energies into feeling the touch of my hand against her. "Yes! Touch me. Touch my tits. Play with them. Play with them hard!"
My fingers slid around her tit, palming the hill of warm flesh as though it were a ball. I squeeze in and moaned into her ear with my own excitement at the feel of her naked body. Her flesh was warm and hard under my touch, and I flicked her nipple rapidly back and forth with my index finger.
"Pinch it!" she said. "Pinch the nipple with your fingers. God, it feels so good!"
I took the firm, stiff nipple between my index finger and thumb and pressed in. Heather's body seemed to turn to liquid under me, melting almost and molding her body against mine as I pinched in. I felt the pressure of my pinching fingers make the nipple deflate, then as I relinquished my grip, grow hard and hot again; harder and hotter than it had been a moment before.
"Do it again!" she moaned, trying to bring her legs around so that she could press them against my body. "Do it again! Oh, my tits are so sensitive! It feels so good! Take them in your mouth and suck them! Suck my tits!"
Nothing could have been more pleasing to my ears than those words of Heather's. My mouth was aching to take her stiff, pert nipples between my lips and suck on them until they got harder and bigger in my mouth. I wanted to feel them scrape against my teeth, and I wanted to lash my tongue against them until they were slippery with my dripping, hot saliva.
I tried to pull the tit through the opening I had parted down the front of her shirt, but the orb was too big. I fumbled a moment or two with the buttons again, trying to open them so that I could pull her breast free, but at last, I became frustrated because I couldn't move fast enough, and I pulled at the hem of the shirt, finally pulling it free of the binding tightness of her jeans. I pulled the material up her body and flipped it back so that her high, large tits were exposed.
I stared at them for a moment-they were so beautiful, so well formed!-and then I bent my face forward and sucked the nipple of one breast into the wetness of my mouth.
It was like fire touching my tongue, and I moaned with the pleasure I was bringing to her. I pursed my lips into a tight circle around the tip of her breast, and I sucked upwardly, pulling the nipple into my mouth. I could feel its heat against my teeth and lips, and I dabbed my trembling tongue into the center of it, depositing a drop of saliva on the very tip, in the very center, of Heather's cherry-like nipple.
"Oh my God!" she moaned, squirming. I could smell the perspiration of her body growing stronger as her excitement heightened. "Suck it, please! Steve! Suck it hard in your mouth!"
I grabbed the tit with my hand to steady it because Heather was thrashing about so wildly in her excitement. My fingers dug into the warm flesh, pinching upward, and offering the nipple to my lips.
I lashed it with my stiff tongue as though I wanted to punish it with pleasure. I flapped my tongue rapidly back and forth and felt Heather trembling under the pressure of my attack as though it were pain and not pleasure that I were administering to her. The nipple grew large and swollen, throbbing in my mouth, and saliva dripped down the flesh of the colloidal orb and wetted my fingers. The whole top of Heather's tit was bathed in wetness, and the bright pink nipple slipped in and out of my mouth.
"You're driving me crazy!" Heather moaned, and she slid her hand between our bodies, pressing her fingers into my cock. She gripped the rock-hard organ through my pants, locking her fingers into my flesh, pinching me back as though she were trying to get even by returning the pleasure I was providing for her.
"You're so big," she crooned. Her hand ran up and down the length of my cock. "My God! You're so big!"
Her words excited me, for I knew it was no Xanadu-paid lie on her lips. She meant what she was saying, and that excited me. I felt my cock grow harder and hotter under her caress. And, if it were possible, I felt my cock grow larger.
Heather's hand began to work on my zipper. Her fingers seemed reluctant to leave the hardness of my cock, but she eventually found the frontal flap of my pants, and her fingers worked themselves under my belt. She took the lead of the zipper in her hand, and she pulled it down.
I moaned against her tit, rubbing my teeth roughly into the nipple when I felt her hand sliding into my pants. I bit down into her, scraping the edge of my teeth back and forth, as though I were trying to saw the nipple off with my mouth. Heather trembled, and her hand thrust itself into the secret warmth down the front of my pants.
"Oh my God! Your mouth is driving me crazy! Oh, Jesus you're good, Steve! Oh, your cock is so big! It's so hot!"
Her fingers slid into the flap of my shorts, and she curled her hand around the naked flesh of my cock. The touch of her hand was excitingly hot against my aroused body, and I strained upward. She tightened her grip around the shaft of my cock.
"You're enormous!" she moaned, pulling my cock free so that it stood erect, poking from between the parted flap of my unzipped trousers. Heather's hand slid up and down the length of my exposed organ. "Steve, you're a giant!"
I let go of her tit with my hand-my mouth was doing enough work to keep it occupied for now, and I slid my fingers down the front of Heather's body. I felt the smooth flatness of her naked stomach, then the lumpy thickness of her jeans as my hand continued to move. I curved my hand around the bend of her body, between her parted, straining legs, and I cupped her cunt in my fingers.
Her cunt was hot, even through her jeans. The heat basked up, like billows of steam, baking out of her cunt and melting against my hand. I slid my fingers up and down the narrow valley between her thighs, feeling the hard firmness of her tensed, mp-straining ass as my hand slid down, and the tight columnar roundness of her legs where they connected to her cunt. The slope of her cunt was sharp and rounded, like the crest of a hill, and I could feel the crisp softness of her pubic hair under the tautly pulled material of her jeans. Heather scissored her legs suddenly, and I felt the clutching strength of her closing thighs as she captured my hand against her cunt. She pressed down with her body, pulling up with her legs, and I pressed inwardly as hard as I could, and squeezed Heather's cunt with my fingers.
"Oh, touch me there!" she moaned. She ran her hand up and down the thickness of my cock, starting at the base of my organ and running her hand all the way up until she was squeezing the knob of my cock in her fingers. "Touch my cunt, Steve! Touch my cunt!"
My tongue ran wild across the top of Heather's tit, sucking and licking and bathing the slippery mound of flesh with my hot breath and sloppy wetness, while I tried desperately to pull my hand from between her tightly locked thighs. My hand popped free, and she moaned and squeezed the stem of my cock.
"No! Don't stop!"
But I wasn't about to stop-I was going to make it better. Better for her certainly, but mostly better for me. The idea of what I was going to do excited me almost as much as doing it would.
The front of Heather's jeans were closed with a cross-work of laces, crisscrossing tightly across the broad width of her cunt. I first tried to slip my hand under the waistband of her jeans, but the material was too tight-fitting, and I couldn't get my hand down. So I began to work on the laces, pulling frantically at them in my attempt to loosen them enough so that I could slide my hand into the pants and fondle Heather's warm, wet cunt.
The laces came loose, and my hand darted into the open flap of material. The flesh of her belly was smooth and hot, and my hand slid across it, driving down, seeking the elastic top of her panties.
But Heather wasn't wearing any panties under her jeans, and my hand slid across the flesh, touching the thick, wiry crimp of her cunt hair.
"Yes!" she hissed the moment my hand touched the outer fringes of her cunt. "Yes! Do it to me-my tit and my cunt at the same time! Do my tit and cunt!"
Heather's hand was a moving blur as she slid her fingers up and down the throbbing staff of my cock. Somehow her hand was wet-perhaps perspiration or the excited excess of flowing sex juices-and the feel of her flesh and fingers against the slippery hardness of my cock was intensely pleasurable. It felt as though she were using her mouth on me, or at least her cunt. Her hand was wet and hard, slippery and moving, pumping up and down the rigid pole of my cock, causing me to tremble with burning flashes of sexual excitement.
Her cunt was thick and hairy, and my hand curved around the bend of her body as she hunched herself against me. The tightness of her pants pressed my fingers into the moist slit between the lips, and I could feel how wet and open she was from the sloppy discharge I found there. Her cunt was broad in size, and the palm of my hand barely could hold it firmly, even when my fingers were spread widely apart.
Heather groaned and squirmed under me, pressing her fingers into the thickness of my cock, as she buffeted her cunt onto my hand. She was trying to impale herself on one of my fingers. I obliged her, and thrust my middle finger stiffly between the lips of her cunt.
"Oh my God!" she cried, tightening the muscles in her cunt so that my finger felt swallowed in the constricted sucking sleeve of her vagina. It was like dipping my finger into a hot pudding, thick and wet, coating the probing hardness in a bath of molten stickiness. I stirred my finger around, scraping it gently across the sensitive flesh of her vaginal canal, and I felt Heather's thighs tremble convulsively.
"Oh, I want you," she said, trying to bend forward so that she could take my cock into her lips. But she was at a wrong angle, and she couldn't reach my cock with her mouth. "I want to fuck you!"
I began to pull at her jeans, sliding them down the tensed, parted thighs of Heather's legs. I released my hold on her tit while I concentrated on removing her pants, and I saw her pulling at her open shirt until it fell open and she slipped it from her shoulders. She was working with one hand, for the other one was still on my cock, and nothing could make her relinquish her hold on it.
I strained to get the bunched jeans past her widely spread knees, but once past this point, they fell heavily down the rest of her legs, and her furiously churning feet kicked them free, and they sailed across the length of the room. Her legs were naked now, and as I looked up at her, I saw that her shirt was off too. Heather was completely naked now.
I was leaning over her thighs to remove her jeans, so I just bent my face down, and I began to lick at her cunt. My tactile image had been correct-she was very, very hairy. Her cunt hair was spread in a high, thick vee on her stomach, and it curved around and under, and seemed to be as equally hairy in that narrow valley between her thighs. The lips of her cunt were thick and wide, like two crimson lines and I saw how they parted and revealed the wet, pink inside of her body. Sweat or discharge clung to the black hairs on her cunt lips, and the swollen bud of her clitoris was easily visible at the top of the lips, opening them like a small wet ruby.
"Eat me!" she screamed, her thighs spreading apart so widely that I thought they might slip from their sockets in her hips. "Eat my cunt!"
I slid my arms under the backs of her knees, and bent her body toward me, spreading her legs as I pulled her closer. I pressed her thighs into her stomach and dropped my lips to the lips of her cunt, and my tongue sank into her hairy mouth. We kissed like that for a long moment-my tongue stiff and inside of her cunt, my lips pressed into the lips of her wet pussy. I could feel the thick growth of her hair tickling at my nose and the thick, raunchy smell of her sex reeked in my face.
"Oh God, oh God, oh God..." she muttered, as though the intensity of the pleasure had dazed her. "Oh God, oh..."
I dug my tongue into her cunt, feeling the hairy flap of her cunt lips pressing into my mouth. Her cunt was wet and hot and the temperature of her insides was like molten lava. I could feel the tight opening and closing of her cunt's passageway moving against my mouth, as though it were saying words that no one could hear. I curled my tongue around, as I had when I pushed it into her ear, into a hard, wet cylinder, and I slid it into the constricted tightness of her closing cunt. I felt the long slippery length of the passageway around my tongue, like a clenching fist trying to lock our lips forever together. I could taste the heat of her body, the slightly salty flavor inside of her that was the combination of her sweaty cunt and her flowing sexual discharge. I rolled my tongue around in it, tasting every inch of her cuntal walls, then my mouth strained forward as I sank my tongue as deeply into her as I could. Heather trembled in pleasure as I found the tight, puckered rim of her cervix mouth, and I tickled it with the flitting tip of my tongue.
"Oh sweet Jesus!" she moaned.
I pulled myself up on my knees and hooked my elbows behind the curve of her legs so that my face was directly over her cunt. I was stroking straight down into her, and her cunt was upturned, spread widely apart by my arms, so that the top of my head was resting in the soft valley of her ass. I licked at her cervix once more, then pulled my tongue out. Her cunt was so wet, it made a sucking sound as I dislodged.
I stared down at her cunt. It was sopping wet and wide open. The lips of her cunt were split apart, almost like a glistening pink gash running down the length of her cunt. Her pussy hair was all wet, and it was matted down against her flesh. The cheeks of her ass were tensed and straining, and the tightly closed hole of her puckered ass looked like a mouth of someone drowning as it opened and closed, seemingly gasping for air.
I moved my head to her ass-hole and I licked it. Her thighs trembled and stiffened as she tried to straighten them, the pleasure was so intense. I pushed down hard with my arms, pinning her thighs back against her stomach, and I slid my tongue into her ass, as far as it would go.
Heather gasped for air, trying to suck out the fire that was burning inside of her, and she tried to scream. But no sound would come from her mouth, so convulsed was her body in its pleasure, only a wet popping noise of lips smacking against lips.
I pulled my tongue from her ass and slid it down the slit of her cunt until I was sucking on her clitoris. It was like a hot pebble under my tongue, and I could feel it trembling in ecstasy as I stroked it.
"Please ... please," Heather begged. "Fuck me! I can't take it any more! Fuck me, Steve! Fuck me!"
By now I was more than willing to accommodate her request. I slipped my arms from out between her parted thighs, and I let them fall back down to the floor. They lay open, like dead stumps, with her wet, juicy cunt between.
I had to pry her hand from my cock so that I could stand up. I pulled myself away from her body and stared down at her for a moment. The sight was breathtaking.
Heather was completely naked, with her thighs parted. She was perpendicular to the couch, leaning back so that her straight black hair seemed like splashed black ink against the blue upholstered pillow. Her breasts were heaving up and down, and her body was glistening with perspiration. The tip of one tit looked swollen and wet, with trickles of saliva still rolling down the gentle curve of the orb. Between her legs, I could see the ring of muscles that sealed off her cunt. The muscles were opening and closing, grasping for some unseen, but very desperately needed, cock.
Heather put her hand up to her breast and pulled it toward her mouth. Her tongue snaked from between her lips and she began to apply it across the nipple. She licked it once or twice more then dropped the tit.
"Fuck me, please!" she asked. She slid her hand over her belly curve until she had buried two fingers into the open red mouth between the lips of her cunt. She sank the fingers down to her knuckles, pulling them slowly in and out.
"Fuck me, please!" she said again. "Please!"
I began to tear at my clothing, letting it fall onto the floor wherever it came off. I was almost ripping at my clothing, so frantic was my need, and after a moment or two, I was as naked as Heather.
I moved towards her, and she lifted her legs, opening her cunt like a target for my cock. And I made a bull's-eye as my cock found its mark, parting the lips of her cunt as I pushed it up inside of her body.
"Oh, it feels so good!" Heather moaned, grasping my cock in her hand, stuffing it into her cunt with energetic strokes. "Fill me up with it! Put your cock in my cunt!"
Heather was still sitting, leaning back, and I lifted her thighs with my hands. I bent them back so that her toes were touching the wall behind us, bending her body almost in two, and I pushed straight down into her with rapid, battering-ram-like thrusts. I watched as the stem of my cock slid between the lips, disappearing inside of her, until the flat hairy base of my belly was pressed as tightly as the round curve of her cunt would permit. I was completely inside of her, and my pubic hair was touching her pubic hair. I slid in and out, like a moving saw, until my balls were swinging back and forth, clanging silently against the tensed swollen hills of her ass.
The backs of her legs were pressing against my shoulders, and I was fucking her standing up, rocking back and forth on my toes. I supported myself by balancing my head against the wall, and I slipped my hands under Heather's ass so that I was cradling her in my fingers. I squeezed the flesh of her ass with my hands, and thrust into her with all my might. The top of my head hurt from the pressure of the wall as I leaned against it, and the calves of my legs pulled and began to ache as I strained in and out of Heather in our awkward fucking position. But I wouldn't have changed it for a moment, and judging from the intense pleasure that was registering on her face, neither would Heather.
I looked down, staring at her as I leaned against the wall. Her eyes were closed, and she was almost slumped down on the couch, bent in half, with her legs behind her. Her mouth was closed, as though she were straining, and I could see her clenched teeth. The chords of her neck were swollen and thick, as though they would burst right through the thin membrane of her flesh.
"Fuck mel" she gritted through her closed teeth. "Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck mel"
I lifted her ass higher with my hands, my biceps straining to support her weight, and I thrust straight down with my cock. I rocked into her cunt, balancing my knees against the cushion edge of the couch. Her cunt looked swollen around my cock, and everything was wet. I could see the slimy trail her cunt made on my cock as I pushed in and out of her, and the inside of her thighs glistened wetly from my saliva, her perspiration, and the heavy, raunchy flow of her cuntal juices. She was squeezing her tits in her hands, pinching the nipples with her fingers, and tightening her cunt in iron-like spasms every time I drove the thickness of my cock into her.
"Soonl" she told me, grunting. "Soon!"
Her cunt was like a swirling vortex: a sucking, draining puddle of scalding water, pulling me down into the molten depths of Heather's body. I could feel the whole length of her cuntal canal as it pressed against my cock, from the tip right down to the base. She worked her muscles rhythmically, rippling her cunt against the long pipe of my stabbing, thrusting cock. I thrust in and out, in and out, and my balls bounced up and down against her ass. I would cut deeply into her, and she would clutch in pleasure from the fucking, tensing her ass muscles, and would occasionally catch the sac of my balls between the closing cheeks of her ass. I would moan from this momentary pain, but forgot it in an instant because the pleasure was so high, because the pleasure was so intense. My cock felt as though it were melting inside of her; melting from the heat of her cunt and the pleasure of our fucking.
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Heather cried, still through her teeth. "I'm going to come-fuck me!"
Heather reached up and locked her hands behind her knees, pulling her body down, bending it even further behind her. She pulled down with her hands and strained up with her cunt, matching my downward thrusts with her upward hunches. I watched my cock go all the way inside of her, until I could see the tip of her cunt pulling at the hairs on my belly. I could feel the end of my cock trembling deeply in her belly, pounding against the slippery walls of her cunt. Her cunt seemed to gasp, then it opened and closed as though in a paroxysm of supreme intensity.
Her cunt turned into a mouth, a greedy sucking mouth. I could feel it sucking at the tip of my cock, pulling on it as though she had a suction pump in her stomach. The mucousy walls of the canal began to tremble and shake, like stuttering spasms, and she screwed her cunt as tightly against my cock as she could. She ground her cunt around in a tight hard circle, pressing her swollen pussy lips against my belly, scraping the fragile bud of her clitoris against the brillo-like growth of my crotch hair. Her cunt tightened like an angry fist, biting into the flesh of my cock with its wet teeth, and she tried to squeeze it to death, or to break it off inside of her.
There could have been no doubting that-Heather was coming. I could feel her coming; I could see her coming. Her head was rolling from side to side on the back pillow of the couch, and sweat was pouring down her face. Her pleasure was etched on her features causing her upper lip to curl up and reveal her tightly drawn, gritting teeth. Her hands were still on her breasts, and her fingers were bleached white from the straining pressure as she pinched her nipples painfully in her excitement. But most of all, I knew she was coming from her cunt: no cunt could do what her cunt did to my cock, and not be coming. It just wasn't possible. No one could be that good of an actress.
Heather's cunt turned into a vise and it gripped the shaft of my cock as though it were trying to leave an indelible impression forever etched into my flesh. I felt the tight ring of muscles lock around the thick base of my cock as though it were a draw purse, and someone had pulled the closing string. The muscles closed to a narrow circle, and I could feel the blood gushing down the shaft of my cock, under pressure from the squeeze of her cuntal muscles, and fill the already swollen head of my cock until it was huge and distended in my excitement. It was as though she were trying to wring an orgasm from me.
"Oh God!" she cried, tears running from her eyes. "Oh God. Oh God!"
I felt my orgasm build, spreading across the base of my stomach like a growing pressure: like gases, volatile and churning, angrily ready to explode. I could feel my balls swelling, and my legs went weak. My jaw was trembling and I couldn't still it. Up and down my flesh I felt a fever: a burning fire that I made my flesh ache with pleasure and drove me insane with excitement as it rubbed against the naked, hot flesh of Heather's body. Inside of her cunt, I felt my cock growing, expanding, getting larger and larger until it filled her like a balloon, filling her, touching every single inch of that wet canal, growing bigger, until it was ready to burst.
"I'm coming!" I screamed, the words gushing out of my mouth like an explosion. I wanted to let her know: I wanted her to know how good it was for me, how wonderful she made me feel. "Heather, I'm coming!"
My cock turned into a flame-thrower, and hot, wet licks of flames spilled from the tip of my cock and burned out the inside of Heather's cunt. It was as though my sperm were a solid mass-some bubbling sulfurous magma-belching from the constricted opening of my cock, and flowing down into her in a thick, solid stream. I could feel the hot orgasm running down the stem of my cock, still inside me, and its heat burned me with pleasure. My balls ached from the effort of welling up such a flow, and my cock throbbed and spit it out in angry, swirling globs. It was like an endless fountain of sperm, gushing and pumping, and spilling the molten seed into the narrow tightness of Heather's cuntal canal. And I kept on coming and coming, with no end in sight, draining my body of fluid and emotions until her cunt could no longer hold the lava-flow, and I felt the sticky wetness overflowing the lips of her tightly sealed cunt, until it was like a waterfall, and a flood of semen cascaded down the gentle hills of her ass.
The effort of coming was so intense that I fell forward on her, slipping down the wall, and I found myself kissing her on the lips. Her mouth opened, and our two tongues lashed into each other, dueling viciously against each other, desperately trying to match the fire that was burning at the other end of our bodies.
My cock throbbed inside of her, expelling its thick white fluid, and Heather took my bottom lip between her teeth and bit down on it. Pain shot through my lip, and I tasted a new, slightly salty warmth in my mouth, mixing with our saliva, flowing from mouth to mouth, sealing the communion of our act, like some ancient rite, in blood.
My cock pulsed its final spurt, like some dying whale, and my body collapsed. I was drained completely. Not just sexually, but emotionally and spiritually as well. I was numb from sensation, and exhausted from experiencing all its facets. My body was a shell, and my mind rattled around inside of it like a dimming echo.
I fixed my eyes on the orange and black poster, but it seemed to be swirling madly about. I couldn't take it, and I closed my eyes.
CHAPTER SIX
I lay in bed for a long time after it was over, just staring at the ceiling. The bedroom was a small, rectangular room off to the left of the living room, with a large, king-sized bed pushed against one wall, so that it stood out into the middle of the room. At the foot of the bed there was a long dresser with a mirror, and I could see our dark reflection if I lifted my head. To the right of the bed, on Heather's side, there was an open window, and along the same wall, a short way down, there was a back door. The door was parted slightly and a solid wedge of darkness was visible. I could hear the wind blowing through the trees, making a rustling sound with the leaves, and sometimes I could hear an occasional noise of an insect's song.
Heather stirred in her sleep, and I lifted my head and looked at her. She was sleeping soundly, naked still, with a sheet thrown over her body. She was sleeping on her stomach, with her pillow rolled under her, and her long black hair, like shadows against the night, splattered out against the gray-white sheet. Her body was heaving softly, moving up and down, and I could hear the rolling purr of her breath. Her body felt warm, and I slid my thigh across the mattress until I was touching her. The soft warmth of her leg was pleasant, reassuring almost, and I took my eyes from her sleeping form, and stared again at the dark ceiling.
It was all so strange, I thought, listening absently to the even rhythm of her breath. This place. This girl. Why did I feel so relaxed with her? What was it about this place that made me feel at home? Even more at home than my own place at Xanadu?
I reached over to the night table on my side of the bed and fished a cigarette from the open package. I lit it and inhaled deeply, resting my head again against the pillow. The smoke gushed from my mouth in a pale gray cloud, like a smudge on the night, and I watched, mildly interested, as it dissipated itself in the air.
After we had made love (I could call it that, couldn't I? It wasn't just fucking that we were doing-we were making love to one another. We had rested together on the studio couch. My cock was still buried deeply inside of Heather's cunt, bent at an awkward angle because she had dropped her legs back down, and they were resting in front of her, with one leg lifted to accommodate my body. My body was drenched with sweat, and I could feel her body moving, her breath really, as though my cock were connecting more than just our bodies.
I was afraid that my sperm would stain the slipcover on the couch, and I told her so. Heather laughed, and the laugh told me more than any words could ever have said. Her words said who cares if the slipcover gets stained; that was unimportant. The important thing was that she had enjoyed the act fully and deeply, and she was too exhausted now to move or to care that anything so unimportant as a piece of cloth might be ruined.
"Let it be stained," she actually said. "Let it be a memory of tonight so that whenever I look at it, I can remember how I feel now."
It was like her wall of graffiti, I thought. Only this time I had not lied about who I was. This mark I had left was a real one. This was the real me.
"And how do you feel?" I asked, pushing my turgid cock slowly in and out of her. A residual tingle of pleasure made me shiver with numbed excitement.
"I feel great!" she said, squeezing her cuntal muscles together in a sudden spasm. My deflating cock, wet from all the come of both our orgasms, slipped under the pressure of the tightening muscles, and plopped out wetly, leaving a string of sperm across the couch.
"I feel fucked," Heather continued. "Truly fucked. Not half-fucked like you feel sometimes, but completely and fully fucked. So well fucked that if the world suddenly ended now, I wouldn't care."
She laughed, more for herself than for me. "And if you knew me, you'd know that was quite an admission."
I stared at her face. Her eyes were closed yet, as though she were looking inside of me and not at me, and she had a smile on her lips.
"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate the compliment. You were quite good yourself."
And she was, I realized. For me, it had been a monumental orgasm. It had left my body quaking just from its memory. But it had been more than a physical experience-for my mood, my emotions, even my spirit felt touched by her presence. It had been one of those supreme peak experiences that you often fantasize about: the super, colossal, exquisite, ecstatically intense experience that touches you so deeply, so profoundly that you are never quite the same afterwards. It's as if everything was going along greatly, all systems "Go," and Heather and I had been tuned into each other's mental frequencies. Our bodies had come together like magnets, and our orgasm had been like a chemical reaction. It effected the both of us.
It had been like a dream, I thought, trying to expand my mind again to reaccept the scale and magnitude of the experience. It had been like a perfect sexual fantasy: the kind that only works when you're alone because no human being can ever match up to your imagination.
But Heather matched up to it, I thought again. She was no fantasy, and the way we had come was no make-believe dream. She was real, flesh and blood, warm and tender, compassionate and passionate in that same crazy, schizoid moment.
We had rested on the couch a while longer, listening to the music of the Beatles as the one side played over and over again. But now the music no longer sounded sad or depressing. Had Heather actually changed the tone of the music? I wondered. Or had she changed the way in which I heard the music?
"Come one," she said finally. "We have to get to sleep. I have to get up early in the morning."
A pang of apprehension stabbed through me. "Could I stay the night?"
Heather laughed, as though she couldn't believe me. "Steve, after a fuck like that, believe me, I'm not about to throw you out in the middle of the night. Who's to say I might not need you again before the night's over?"
She laughed again. "Hell. I might not let you go in the morning either. You're too good to throw away."
Heather finally got up from the couch, cupping her hand to her cunt so that my sperm did not trickle down her legs, and she went into the bathroom. Proprietarily, she closed the door behind her, leaving me alone in the living room.
I sat for a moment on the couch and tried to gather my thoughts. My mind was still boggled by what had happened and I couldn't seem to adjust to it. It shouldn't be, I thought. She's just another woman; no different than any other. Or, in Harvey's terms, just another cunt, another pussy.
But Heather was different, that much I did know. Very different from any other woman I've ever known.
In my mind, I tried to measure Heather against Diane Miller, my chief Xanadu hostess. But there was no comparison. Diane was flat and paper-thin: no substance, like a shadow or an echo. Heather was like a bright light. like the sunlight. She put them all to shame.
I got up from the couch and began to pick up my hastily discarded clothing. It was as though I couldn't put my mind back in order, but I could control the outside world. I picked up my shirt and pants and underwear, wondering for a moment if I should put them back on. I decided not to, and I folded them carefully, placing them on the couch, away from the thick sperm stains.
Noticing the stains made me realize that my whole crotch was still wet, and I took my handkerchief from my pants pocket. I rubbed it up and down the flaccid length of my wet cock, dabbing it between my legs and matting it against the damp, sticky hair of my crotch. Then, when I was finished with myself, I re-opened the handkerchief and blotted the stain on the couch. It smeared, spreading out in fine, thin lines, like a cobweb. Heather would have her stain now, I thought. A fine stain.
I was looking at the books in the large bookcase when Heather came out of the bathroom. She was still naked, and the stark beauty of her body made me stare intensely at her. It was as though I were reawakening to the magic of her nudity, and I felt a stirring again in my almost dead cock.
She smiled at me, blushing. Involuntarily, her hands came up to her breast, covering her nipples. She laughed, to convince herself, and she dropped her hands.
"Are you ready for bed?" she asked.
I nodded, marveling at the flatness of her stomach, and the gentle way in which it curved under her body and became her cunt. Her pubic hair was wet and fluffy, and I suspected that she had washed it with a washcloth.
We went to bed together, slipping under the cool, clean sheet from opposite ends of the huge flat mattress. Once in bed again, our bodies came together. But there was no urgency in the movement, and Heather pressed her naked body against mine as though we had all the time in the world. And who knew, perhaps we had.
We kissed slowly, romantically, with open mouths, and my cock grew hard again. I mounted her a second time, and slipped my organ between the lips of her cunt. I thrust slowly in and out of her, not in any hurry, as though I were stoking a fire and wanted to keep it smoldering. Her cunt grew hot and wet as I moved in and out of her, and Heather came a second time. There was no wild thrashing about or much moaning, just a tightening of her cunt around the shaft of my cock, and the digging of her nails into my back. She lifted her cunt and ground it into me, locking her ankles behind my ass until she was finished coming.
I continued to slide in and out after she had finished, and she released her legs and lay below me, inert almost, panting and sweating.
"You didn't come," she said.
"No, I didn't. I usually can't come a second time," I lied.
"Would you like me to do you another way? With my mouth maybe."
"No thanks. It's not necessary."
And it wasn't, really. Usually, I would have felt frustrated or cheated that I hadn't come. Once I put my cock into a cunt, there was only one way it would come out: wet and sticky from an orgasm. And any woman who couldn't make me come, was at fault, regardless of how many times I had come before. I was used to having the most beautiful women in the world working over my cock: laboring, sucking, coaxing it until it spit out its final orgasm, even if it was only a dribble.
Yet, with Heather, I did not feel that mindless, selfish compulsion to come. I was content to know that I had satisfied her; satisfied her a second time. I felt no urgency for myself even though my cock was stiff and hard, and if I had put my mind to it, I could have easily come again. There was none of this, and I felt relaxed, almost, and ... contented.
Our bodies disengaged, and Heather moved to her side of the bed, curling her pillow under her head. Then, as an afterthought, she turned back to me and kissed me on the cheek.
"Good night, Steve," she said. "You're a very nice person."
I threw a kiss back to her. "Thank you. You are too, Heather. Sleep well."
She laughed again (Heather was always laughing, I noticed. Could her world be that happy?) and said, "After that last fuck, I could do nothing but sleep well."
She turned away from me, and after a moment, she was asleep. That had been a long time ago, and I still have not fallen asleep. All I could do was lay here, in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, thinking. I was thinking very deeply. I had a great deal on my mind.
My cigarette burned down to my fingers, and I crushed it out in the ashtray. I thought about lighting a second one, but felt a burning pressure in my bladder, and decided to urinate first.
I sat up and flipped the covers back, sliding out of the bed. I could see the broad slope of Heather's ass, revealed by the open flap of the sheet, and it looked soft and inviting in the darkness. I couldn't resist its lure, and I gently ran my hand over its soft, firm curves. Heather stirred in her sleep at the contact, and I pulled my hand back, afraid that I would wake her.
I walked bare-footed to the bathroom. It was in between the bedroom and the living room, with a door off to the right of the bed. I switched on the fluorescent light and waited a moment or two for the soft brightness to stop flickering. There was a red, threadbare rug on the bathroom floor, and it felt good under my cold, naked feet.
The toilet was straight ahead, at the end of the room. Up above it, facing the doorway, there was another poster, and I laughed when I saw it. It was a huge poster, stretching almost to the ceiling, and it was a photograph of an atomic explosion. It was in black and white, and the swirling, angry mushroom cloud seemed like a fist shaking at heaven.
I lifted the seat, taking my cock in my hand, and began to urinate in the bowl. I aimed my prick, taking a steady bead, and sent a thin, yellow stream in the center of the water. As the pressure in my bladder emptied, I found myself thinking of Heather. I made another startling realization.
She never used her mouth on me, I recognized. Never once did she take my prick into her mouth, although she did try. All we did was fuck, rather traditionally, both times, with me on the top. But never once her mouth.
I shook my cock, dislodging a tiny drop or two of urine from the end of my organ. I tried to remember the last time I had sex with a woman and she didn't suck my cock. I couldn't remember a time.
It made what Heather did even more extraordinary, I thought, switching out the bathroom light. To make someone as jaded as me come from just straight-forward fucking was something to marvel at.
I slid into bed, feeling the warmth of Heather's body against my flesh. I lifted her head, cradling her in my arms, and I pulled her body close to me. She muttered something in her sleep, and I closed my eyes, holding her tightly against me. I fell asleep without any trouble.
"Come on, sleepy-head!" Heather shouted, shaking my foot. "Time to get up!"
Sleep was still in my brain, and I tried to shake it free by rolling my head back and forth. I squinted up at her, and saw the room was bright with sunlight.
My mouth was dry, and my voice broke. "What time is it?"
"What time is it?" she echoed. "It's morning! It's the beginning of a new day. Now get out of bed."
There was a smell of something rich and aromatic in the air, and I recalled that I hadn't eaten very much the previous day. The smell of food was exciting, and my mouth watered. The incentive of food alone almost made me want to leap out of bed.
"What time is it?" I asked again.
"It's almost six o'clock. Time for all decent people to be up and about. Look at that day! It's beautiful. It makes you glad to be alive."
I put my hand in front of my eyes, shielding them, and I looked towards the open window. A blinding white light made my eyes tear, and I couldn't look straight into it.
"Six o'clock?" I croaked. "In the morning?"
"Yes, and it's time to get up." Heather took hold of the sheet and began to yank it off me. There was a chill in the morning air, and I grabbed back at the slipping sheet.
"Give me that!" I pulled the sheet out of her hands, then jerked it out from under the mattress. Then, to make sure, I wrapped it around me as I sat up, dangling my feet over the side of the bed. The floor was cold.
I yawned and shook my head, trying to clear away the clouds of sleep. "How much of this exuberance has to do with last night?"
Heather laughed, and the sound of her voice was as clear and as bright as the sunlight. She shook her finger at me in a mocking fashion.
"Naughty-naughty," she said. Then she laughed again. "And if you must know, probably all of it. A good lay does wonders for a girl's mood. And how do you feel?"
I smiled back at her because it was impossible not to. "I feel good," I said. "Not as wild and as bubbly as you, but I feel ... good."
Heather pouted. "Only good?"
"Well, very good."
"Boy!" she said, trying to pull the sheet from my shoulders. "If I'm fishing for a compliment, I have a feeling I'm going to be here all day. Get up, you fucker."
I stretched and brushed my hair out of my eyes. "What's the real rush? Are you going somewhere."
"As a matter-of-fact, I am. I have a class at nine, and I have to get down to school. So if you want breakfast, you better hurry."
My hunger came back to me. "You talked me into it."
I stood up, shivering with the cold, and Heather put a kiss on my cheek. "Good morning, Steve."
"You can do better than that, can't you?" I pulled her close to me, dropping the sheet, and I kissed her full on the lips. Her body became pliant, and she wrapped her arms around me, pulling me even closer to her.
The sensation was strange. I was completely naked, and Heather was dressed. She had on her jeans and blue work shirt, and the material felt stiff and starchy against my flesh. I shivered from the early morning cold, and I pressed my nakedness more tightly against her, trying to cloak myself in her warmth. Her mouth was soft and wet, and our tongues touched and stretched against each other. The closeness of her body aroused me, and I felt my cock growing hard between her open legs.
"What is this I feel?" Heather asked, dropping her hand down between us. She fondled my cock in her hand, squeezing it softly and stroking it up and down.
"I don't know," I answered, my eyes closed, whispering the words into her open mouth. I felt as though I could come again now. "What does it feel like?"
"It feels like something I don't have time for." She squeezed my balls. "Sorry."
I opened my eyes. "Really? Not even a short, quick one?"
"Sorry, Steve. I really do have a class. Maybe tonight."
I pulled away from her, with my ego slightly bent. "Well, it's not really getting hard for you. It's always hard in the morning. It just means I have to take a piss."
"Ha-ha!" I knew I hadn't fooled her for a moment.
"If you really have to take a piss, take it now. Breakfast is almost ready."
I picked up the sheet and wrapped it again around me. I sort of hopped across the cold floor to the bathroom.
"What's for breakfast?" I called, standing on the red rug of the bathroom. I began to piss.
"Bacon and eggs. You like?"
I giggled to myself, staring at her atomic explosion on the wall. "I like," I said.
I flushed the toilet. "Do I have time to dress?"
"No. Come on in now. I'm just taking your eggs out. Just drape the sheet over your shoulders if you're cold."
I stepped into the living room and pulled my socks on. I felt ludicrous, naked with only my long black socks on, but my feet were cold. I put the sheet back over my shoulders and went into the kitchen.
The kitchen was a long thin room that ran parallel to the bedroom. There was a door entering its base from the bedroom, and at the far end of the room there was a sink and stove. Heather was at the stove, with a frying pan in her hands.
"Whose idea was it to put a bomb in the bathroom?" I asked, sitting down at the table. The table was set with two dishes and two cups. One was filled-with black coffee, and the other was filled with milk. There was also a thick long loaf of brown bread on the table, and a stick of butter.
Heather slid two eggs from the frying pan into my dish, and she gave me three slices of bacon. Then she put two eggs in her dish.
"It was my idea," she said, absently, concentrating on the eggs. "Can you think of a better place to put a picture of an atomic bomb? The bathroom is perfect for any number of reasons."
She sat down across from me, slicing two thick sections from the bread. She handed one to me. "Butter?"
"Please."
"I made the bread myself. I hope you like it."
I buttered it and bit into it. It was thick and rich, tasting more like cake than bread. "Whole-wheat?"
"No. Just unbleached flour. No preservatives. All natural, organic ingredients."
It was delicious and I told her. I dipped the bread into my eggs and noticed that Heather didn't have any bacon in her dish.
"Aren't you having any bacon?"
"Ugh." She made a face.
"You don't like it?" I chewed the bread and eggs slowly, savoring the delicate flavor.
"I don't eat any meats. I'm a vegetarian."
"Yet you made the bacon for me?" I picked up a thin golden slice and bit into it, feeling almost guilty.
"Sure. Why not? Not eating meat is my thing. I'm not about to force my-likes on anybody else. That's just not my way."
I dipped another piece of the bread into the eggs, breaking the second yolk. "You're a strange girl, Heather," I said. I chewed the bread.
"Is that good?" she asked, dipping her bread into her milk. She bit off a big chunk and chewed it energetically. "Being strange, I mean?"
"It's very good," I answered. "For me, at least."
We finished the rest of the meal in relative silence, neither one of us wishing to interrupt the steady flow of the simple, but elegant, food. I drank my coffee black, and asked for yet another piece of bread.
"Can I ask you a question, Heather?" I said, spreading the butter on the thick slice of bread.
She was on her feet, hurriedly stacking the dirty dishes into the sink. "Sure."
I didn't know how to phrase my request, so I just asked her outright, coming right to the point. "Can I "crash" here for a week or so?"
Heather didn't even bat an eye, she just continued to place the dishes in the sink. "Sure," she said, only paying marginal attention to me. "Stay as long as you'd like."
"I can pay you for the food or the rent," I began.
Heather cut me off. To that she paid attention. "Don't be silly, Steve. If you stay here, you stay. I don't need your money. What is it with you anyway-do you have this compulsion to give your money away?"
I knew it would be useless to argue with her. I had tried once before, and I had been unsuccessful. The one thing she was adamant about was not taking my money.
"Thanks, I appreciate this. I'd like to spend a little more time with you."
Heather looked at me and smiled. "What do you think I'm letting you stay for? I'd like to see more of you, too. Now I've got to go."
I stood up, still clutching my sheet. "I'll be just a second. I'll get my clothes."
She stopped again, this time with a pained look on her face. "Where do you think you're going?"
"You have a class, don't you?"
"Yes. I have a class, not you. Do me a favor, relax and take it easy. Finish breakfast. I have classes until two, so I should be home about, two-thirty, three."
She was out of the kitchen door, picking up her books from her dresser top. She was in a hurry to get out, and I followed her, dragging my sheet behind me.
"Walk me to the door," she called. "I'm leaving now."
I stared at her, shaking my head. "You trust me?" I'll
I asked. "You're leaving me alone here? You trust me that much?"
Heather smiled and shook her head. The smile looked soft and warm on her face. "You never cease to amaze me, do you know that, Steve? What would you do here alone-steal something? Of course I trust you, and you should know that. I would never had allowed you to make love to me if I didn't trust you."
Heather spoke the words simply and honestly, and I believed her. She was that kind of person. I was warmed by her feeling of trust.
"Thanks ... " I began.
She shook her head. "Give me a kiss, I've got to go," she said, cutting me off. "I'm really in a hurry now."
I kissed Heather on her lips, and she opened the door. She started out, then stopped and turned. "Yes?" I asked.
"If you really want to help," she said, "there is something you can do."
"Anything, just name it."
"Would you wash the dishes, please?"
I laughed and said I would, and Heather blew me a kiss. A moment later, she was gone.
I stood in the open doorway a long time after she was gone, thinking. Heather was a very different kind of girl, I told myself. And I was only now beginning to suspect how very different she was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The sun was warm and it basked down on my head as I pulled my convertible into Xanadu's driveway. I drove slowly around the easy, graceful arc, even though the urgency of wanting to get back to Heather's pushed me to hurry. Still, it was only ten, and Heather wouldn't be back until two-thirty or three o'clock. I had more than enough time.
The large white house came into view, and an unexpected tightness gripped my stomach. It was as though I had swallowed a rock and it were laying in my belly, trying to pull me back down to the earth. My hands tightened on the steering wheel, and the car's speed picked up subtly.
As the roadway wound around to the right, I looked across and I could see the swimming pool. There were people around it, about a dozen or so. and I eyed the trim, voluptuous figures of the women in the bikini's. One of the women had the top of her suit off, and her breasts flapped from side to side like balloons filled with water as she ran around the perimeter of the pool. I didn't recognize the man chasing her, but I recognized his intention. The sound of laughter carried across the emptiness to me, and it seemed distant and hollow.
It's good to be home, I thought bitterly. Perhaps too bitterly for this early in the day. What was it about this place that irritated me? It was like a burr under my skin-no matter which way I moved, it stuck me.
I drove past the pool, into the parking lot. There were several cars already in it, and I noticed that they were all either Cadillacs and Continentals, and one of them had a California Official plate. The State Senate, I noticed.
At least that wasn't unusual, I thought. We were always entertaining special guests at Xanadu, treating them to special considerations, for which we, in return, would receive back other special considerations. Favors. Payoffs. Business as usual.
I braked my car slowly, noticing that my usual spot in the parking lot was occupied this morning. There was a little red sports car with black leather seats in my place, and I recognized Harvey's gaudy taste. It was his car.
I pulled into the next available spot, picking up speed, then jerking to a halt.
It didn't take him very long, did it? I thought, shutting the motor and removing the keys. Only one day.
"Good morning, Mr. Caldwell!" a voice called to me.
I looked up and saw the rambling limp-slide gait of Billy, the parking attendant, coming up to the side of my car to greet me.
"Good morning, Mr. Caldwell," he said, opening the door. "How are you this morning? Beautiful day, isn't it?"
"It's a nice day, Billy. How are you?"
"Oh, I'm busy as a son-of-a-bitch this morning, sir." Billy was always busy as a son-of-a-bitch. "They got me coming and going. Car's all over the place. So many damn people so early in the morning."
"It's a busy day." I was trying to move away from him, because once Billy got started, he forgot how to stop. And I just wasn't in the mood to do a great deal of talking today. I wanted to get in and out.
"They're having a regular party over there." He looked in the direction of the swimming pool. "Are they friends of yours?"
"No," I answered, breaking away. "They're friends of Mr. Curtis."
I walked across the asphalt drive, up the steps, and entered the backdoor of my estate. It was cooler inside, and the air-conditioning was blowing at full force even though it was not really hot outside. I walked down the main corridor, and looked in at the large room that was on the right side of the hallway. It was our central orgy room.
There were carpenters and decorators in the room, and they were in the middle of redecorating it for this weekend's party. I tried to judge from the few decorations what the theme was, but there were too few details. I closed the door and continued to walk down the hallway, moving in the direction of my office. I met a girl or two on my way, but I didn't recognize them. They knew me, and they greeted me with a good morning. I wasn't sure whether they were new girls or just old girls that I had forgotten. After a while, you stopped paying attention to faces.
I opened the door to my office, and I saw Harvey. He was sitting in my seat, talking on the telephone. There was also another person in the room, a girl, and she was on her knees. Harvey's cock was pulled from his pants, and she was sucking on it while he talked into the telephone.
They jumped when I opened the door, like criminals caught in the act. When I realized what was going on, I began to close the door, leaving them to their privacy, but Harvey motioned to me with his hand, indicating for me to come in. Still, I hesitated.
"Just a second," he said into the receiver. Then, putting his hand over the mouthpiece, he said to me, "Come on in. I'll just be a second."
He made no reference to the girl between his legs. It was as though she wasn't there. Harvey went back to talking into the telephone, and she continued to suck on his cock, as though she were giving him a shoe-shine and not servicing him sexually.
I stood there, feeling awkward in my own office, and tried not to look at them. But my eyes were drawn to Harvey and that bent-over girl in front of him. It was so bizarre that I was fascinated by it.
"Okay! Very good!" Harvey said into the receiver, stretching his legs out in front of him so that the girl could get more of his cock into her mouth. "Very good! I'll be in touch. You too! Bye-bye."
He hung up the receiver, turning to me. "Be with you in a minute."
He leaned forward and tapped the girl on the shoulder. "A little later, honey. You're very good and I'd like to finish it with you later. But I'm busy now, hon. Okay?"
The girl got up, holding something blue and gauzy in front of her breasts. It was only then that I noticed that she was naked from the waist up, and she was hiding her nipples under the blue material. I recognized her. It was Patti Marshall, the new girl, the girl with the magic mouth.
Her face was flushed, embarrassment, I hoped, and she smiled uncomfortably at me. "Good morning, Mr. Caldwell," she muttered, eyes downcast.
I nodded back, not trusting my voice, and she slipped past me, heading for the door.
"Brian," Harvey said, "that girl is really fantastic. I mean Ian-tastic! What a mouth. She's going to go far, that girl. Far!"
Patti closed the door silently behind us, and I knew Harvey's speech had been for her benefit. I'd heard it too many times before to believe he was sincere. He didn't even remember her name. He referred to her as "honey" and "that girl." She wasn't even a person to him.
"Well, Brian! Where've you been?" With his silk handkerchief, the same one I watched him mop his brow with yesterday, Harvey was wiping his cock, cleaning it of Patti Marshall's saliva. He wiped his cock dry and stuffed it back in his zipper with no more self-consciousness than if he were blowing his nose. He stood up and shook my hand, transferring the handkerchief to his left hand.
I shook my head in disbelief. "Around," I answered cryptically. "Around."
Harvey laughed obscenely. "Yes! But 'around' with whom? That's the question."
I looked through the clutter on the desk, but it looked the same as when I'd left, yesterday morning. There were papers, notes, heavy reports, and Harvey's open copy of the Wall Street Journal.
"I've been staying with a friend," I finally added, hoping that this would satisfy Harvey's perverse curiosity.
Harvey laughed; really, it was more like a cackle. "A friend? Really? Is that what they call them now-a friend?"
He seemed pleased with his joke, and he cackled a few more times. All the while his eyes were leering, with the look of an emotional vulture, ready to pick to the bare bones anything I might tell him.
"How is she?" he wanted to know. "This friend of yours? Your little piece on the side? Good pussy?"
I ignored him, sitting in the chair across from him, as though our roles had suddenly changed, and I was the hired help and Harvey was the employer.
"Would you let me have a try at it someday?" he asked.
It was pathetic: Harvey had to have everything I had. He couldn't be satisfied with his own life, he had to live off mine too. He was like a sponge or a shadow or an official taster.
"No, no, Harvey. This is something special. I don't think you would like this ... person." Heather was a person, wasn't she? She wasn't just a cunt or a pussy, or even just a girl. Heather was a person.
"Why not?" Harvey asked. He looked hurt, as though Heather had somehow rejected him without his ever knowing her. "She is a cunt, isn't she?"
I was tired of Harvey's personality, so I changed the subject. "What has been happening around here since yesterday?"
Harvey was not ready to make the switch, and I saw the fight his emotions were making inside of him.
His puffy red face was like a television screen, registering everything. His lower lip twitched until he finally took control of himself. Harvey Curtis, the businessman, emerged slick and well-oiled, the obvious victor.
"Things have been going really well, Brian," he said. "The money is still rolling in from every avenue open to Xanadu. I told you how you personally stand, didn't I?"
"You mean about my being a millionaire?" The word sounded uncomfortable on my tongue, like a cruse or an obscenity. "Yes, you told me."
"I made the selections of next month's orgies." He tried to hand me a single typed sheet, but I ignored him. "I came up with some pretty original things. I worked on it with Diane."
They were certainly a team, I thought. My two most loyal and dedicated employees. Between them there was enough greed to last a lifetime, even if I never saw them again. They pretended that they were my friends, but all they cared about was money and power. If they ever married each other, they would spend the rest of their lives watching the other, afraid to turn around, afraid of the inevitable knife in the back that would come the moment their insurance policies grew too large. Diane and Harvey: the dynamic duo.
Harvey flapped the theme paper in my face. "Don't you want to look at it?"
I shook my head. "No. I'm sure Diane and you must have come up with something. It's not necessary for me to check on it." I paused purposely. "I trust your judgment, Harvey, you know that."
He accepted it at face value because there was no reason for him to suspect that I meant it in any other way. The change that had come over me (There was a change, wasn't there? It was the first time I had admitted it to myself) was something that had become much more serious since I met Heather. It was like a tear in my life. It was as though I had become a different person.
He smiled, obviously pleased with himself. "Thank you, Brian."
"How are things going with Prentiss?" I asked. I got up from my chair and walked around the office. I didn't want to look at Harvey any longer than was necessary.
"He's here, you know. Prentiss, I mean."
"Yes, I know. What's he doing here?"
Harvey smiled and sat back in my chair. He was very pleased with himself. "I invited him."
"Why? I thought he was willing to go along with us on the bill."
"He is. But I just wanted to have a little extra. An ace in the hole, if you will."
I didn't quite grasp the subtleties of Harvey's metaphor, but I was sure he meant it to be appreciated obscenely. "What do you have in mind?"
"I gave Prentiss one of the special rooms. The private suites. I have everything on tape, in living color, with sound to match. And I'll tell you one thing, that Prentiss is wasting himself in politics. He should go in for acrobatics. What that man can do ... And not just with boys, either. Our Senator Prentiss is a very versatile man."
Harvey's laugh made my stomach feel queasy. He was about to go into details when I cut him off.
"Where do you have the tapes?"
"I locked them in the safe. Why?"
"Who else has seen them?"
Harvey's stare grew hard and guarded. "Just Diane. Why; is there something wrong?"
I shook my head. "I'm not so sure we're going about this in the right way..."
"What?"
"Let me finish, Harvey!" I said the words firmly, reasserting my old role. For a moment, I was in command.
Harvey buckled with the pressure, and his face looked like a deflating balloon. "Sure."
"As I said, I think we might be going around this in the wrong way. A State Senator is a powerful man with a lot of powerful friends. I'm not so sure that blackmail is the way to get something out of him."
The bitterness was clear in Harvey's voice. "Which way do you suggest?"
I thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. I haven't decided. But until I do, I don't want you making any more tapes of Prentiss or his friends. And the tapes you do have, I want them locked away in my safe. No one, under any circumstances, is to be allowed to see them. Is that understood, Harvey?"
Harvey glared at me, but I knew he was too afraid to do anything more than that. In Harvey's own terms, he knew where his bread was buttered.
"Sure, Brian," he said, but the words were empty of conviction. "Anything you say."
For some obscure reason, it made me feel good to exercise my authority over Harvey, and I savored the pleasure the feeling gave me.
I had changed, hadn't I? Two weeks ago, Harvey and I thought alike. Now, I was almost gleeful because I had cut him down. What was happening to me, and where would it end?
Since I had made the one move, and I felt confident, I decided to make another. A clean break.
"I also want to tell you that I've decided to take a vacation after all. I'll probably be gone for a week or two. I want you to hold things down for me while I'm gone. All right?"
Harvey's voice broke, and that mercenary, gleeful glint came back to his eyes. I had given him the one salve, the one balm, to soothe his injured feelings. It was like asking a man who was dying of thirst if he wanted a cold drink. Harvey would drink. He would drink until his belly burst.
"Sure, Brian," he said. He looked numb, like a kid at Christmas who really did get a pony. "If you think I can handle it."
"I'm sure you can, Harvey. Who but you knows all about this business? I know that you'll handle Xanadu as if it was your own. As well as I. Better even."
I could almost see his head swelling. Well, let it. For now I needed Harvey. I had to get away from this place. I had to get back to Heather so that I could breathe again. So, if that meant that Harvey had to run things for a while, let it be. Money was all that mattered to Harvey. Money and power. It was a fair exchange. Harvey got what he wanted and I got what I wanted.
The shock finally broke, and Harvey came back to life. His feet touched ground again. "Do you want to leave a number where I can reach you? In case of an emergency?"
I considered this for a moment. "No. No number. I'm on vacation. Period."
This time Harvey did protest. "But what if something happens? Be reasonable, Brian."
I was being reasonable, I wanted to tell him. More reasonable than I've ever been in my entire life. What Harvey really meant was: be practical. Don't do anything that might jeopardize your money.
"All right," I conceded a small point. "I'll call you. Every couple of days. How's that?"
He wasn't pleased, but it would have to do. Besides, he had no choice. "I guess that will be all right."
"Thank you, Harvey." I turned to leave, then turned back to leave him with some parting suggestions. "And remember what I said about Prentiss. No more tapes. I know you're only trying to do what you think is best for the company, but I have to do what I think is best, too."
Harvey smiled and stood up, extending his pudgy, thick-fingered hand across the desk. The palm of his hand was wet.
"Whatever you say, Brian," he said, shaking my arm off. "You're the boss. You're the boss."
Yes, I was, I thought. I was the boss.
I pulled my hand free. "Take it easy, Harvey. I'll keep in touch."
Harvey stumbled around the side of my desk, walking me to the door. He was trembling with ecstasy, as though he were experiencing something sexual. He pulled the door open for me, but blocked my exit.
"Just one thing, Brian," he said. "Before you go on vacation." He stumbled over the last word.
I waited for him to continue, and he did.
"I assume that you'll be staying with this friend of yours. Am I right?"
I nodded. "Yes."
He shook his head in admiration. "She really must be fantastic," he remarked, using the same adjective he had used to describe Patti Marshall. "I mean for you to leave all of this! All these beautiful cunts you have here! This girl must be really fantastic."
I couldn't help but laugh. "She is, Harvey. Fantastic is what she is."
I pushed past him, and he closed the door behind me. I could almost hear him clicking his heels in joy once the door was closed. Today was a big day in Harvey Curtis's life. Today he reached the top.
I walked down the hallway to my rooms. The door was closed, and I pushed it open, preparing myself for the confrontation with all my puppet-like reflections.
But the room was crowded with carpenters, and the walls were stripped bare. All of the gaudy decorations were ripped down, and stark white walls stared back at me.
The redecoration, I told myself. I'd forgotten about it.
"Everyone out," I yelled, holding up my hands. I wanted to pack in privacy. "I'm going to need the room for a few moments. You can all come back when I'm finished."
I waited patiently at the door for the workmen to file out. There was also one or two girls, Diane Miller included, in the room, but I chased them out with the carpenters. They said hello and good-bye to me at the door. When the room was finally empty, I closed the door, and began to pack my suitcase.
I took just the barest minimum, sensing that I wouldn't need very many external things to fit into Heather's life-style. A few shirts, a pair of jeans, and a couple of changes in underwear. Everything was reduced to fundamentals, I thought, remembering the food. All natural, organic needs.
It was odd, yet I felt a thrill of excitement running through my veins while I packed. I was really excited. I was looking forward to being with Heather again. I couldn't remember when I'd looked forward to something so much. I was so excited that I felt a knot of anxiety tightening my muscles, and all I could think of was that something was going to happen to prevent me from going. What was it? I wondered. What was it that made me feel so excited? So happy?
But that was easy. It was Heather.
"Where did everyone go?"
I turned around. There was a tall, breathtakingly beautiful redhead standing in the middle of the room, looking lost. She had on a hot pants set, in blue, and it was striking against her pale flesh. Her breasts were pert and firm even though it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra.
"Where did everyone go?" she repeated, coming towards me. Her body glided from side to side, as though she were carrying something explosive, and was afraid to juggle it.
"I sent them all away."
She stared at me for a moment. "I know you! You're Mr. Caldwell."
"Do you work for me?" I didn't remember her.
"Sure! Well, I mean, you probably don't know me. I'm sort of new..."
Weren't they all new? "What's your name?"
"Violet. But you can call me Vi. What are you doing?"
She was close to me now, almost leaning on my arm with her nearly naked breasts. She was trying to be seductive, as all good Xanadu-girls are trained to be.
"I'm packing, Vi," I said, trying to ignore her. "Can I help?" The tip of her breast brushed against my arm. Purposely.
"No. Thank you though."
I could feel her breath on my neck, and the musky, sensual odor of her perfume tickled at my nose.
"Are you going away?"
"Yes. I'll be gone a week or two."
She pouted, puckering her thick red lips, and blew me an imaginary kiss. "But I just met you. Now you're going away. That's not nice."
The feeling of anxiety that I had experienced moments before came back in strong, gripping waves. Could this new girl possibly have anything to do with the way I felt?
"Please. I'm in a kind of hurry..."
But Vi wasn't the meek type. She enjoyed playing the seductress, and wasn't about to take no for an answer.
"But how about a good-bye ... kiss, then?" She ran the moist tip of her tongue across her top lip as she slid her hands down over her hips.
I turned away from her, feeling almost panic. There was a challenge in this, wasn't there. A challenge that I was afraid to face.
"Some other time," I told her, fighting to control my voice.
She tickled my ear with her long fingernail, running it up and down the back of my neck so that it bristled my hair. A shiver went through my body.
"What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't you like me?"
I wanted her to be out of here. She was disturbing me, and I couldn't think.
"Don't you like me?" she persisted. "Or are you afraid of your sweet Violet?"
Was that it? I wondered. Was I afraid? Afraid of her, and what she'd do to the way I felt about Heather? Was I afraid to take a close look at that very frail thing I had shared with Heather? Was it too delicate? Would it not withstand a comparison?
"Why should I be afraid of you?" I said, laughing off the idea.
But I saw now I was afraid. Afraid of losing that special moment, that communion of minds, that I had experienced with Heather. I was afraid to test it; afraid to see if it would crumble. All of a sudden, I had something to lose.
Fighting back my fear, I laughed again. Bravely.
"All right, Vi," I said. "You win. Take your clothing off."
She stared at me, wide-eyed.
"I'm going to fuck you."
CHAPTER EIGHT
Vi responded to my request with a smile and a nod of her head. She responded the way any of my girls might, for that was their job, and they were always willing-always had to be willing-to give me exactly what I wanted. They were not there to ask questions or to put me off until they were in a better mood or when they felt like making love. No, their job was to respond: to give me what I wanted, whenever I wanted it.
They were like prostitutes, I saw suddenly, seeing an aspect of my life that I was never aware of before this moment. They were beautiful and refined and they were called by another name, but they were prostitutes nonetheless. They were paid for the use of their bodies, and nothing less. And I, I realized, was their John.
The blue hot pants outfit that Vi was wearing buttoned down the front, and her fingers moved slowly down each button, lingering, drawing out the thrill of anticipation for as long as she could. She was dealing in fantasy, dispensing it to me, like a pornographic film unreeling before my eyes, only there to titillate and excite me.
Yet, despite my realization of what was happening, I found myself growing aroused. A thrill went through my crotch, and I watched, in fascination, the way you can be drawn to something and be repulsed by it in the same moment, as she worked her nimble fingers down the front of her clothing, parting it for me so that I could grow excited by the supple loveliness of her naked flesh. My mouth grew dry, and my palms began to sweat. There was a hardness in my cock now, a growing stiffness that did not consider my mind or my feelings; a stiffness that did not know who Heather was, nor did it care. All my body could remember was that I had wanted sex this morning, and I had been denied it. I wasn't used to being put off; Xanadu had spoiled me, and the thrill of knowing that I could take what I wanted, from whomever I wished, came back to me as a very real benefit, and I could not put that idea out of my mind. I wanted Vi now-my body wanted herl-as much as I had wanted Heather the night before. And, perhaps, even more than I had wanted Heather.
"You like what you see, don't you?" Vi said. Her lips were red and wet, and her eyes were narrow, sensual slits through which her burning, ice-cold blue eyes smoldered. "I can see that you like me. Your cock is big already. It's standing up for me."
I stood there, frozen by her words, hating my body for responding, yet aching to indulge in the sexual fantasy that Vi was weaving for me. My cock throbbed, pushing against the fabric of my pants, like a prisoner trying to escape, longing to be free and naked in front of her.
The top of her hot pants set was completely parted, like a shirt buttoning down the front, and I could see the pale whiteness of her naked body. It was stark against the blue material, like a naked canvass inside of an azure frame. I could see the firm rise of her breasts, pushing out the material, lifting it away from her body like twin mountains of pink flesh. The flap of the top was draped across her nipple, just covering it, and Vi pulled it back slowly, revealing the nipple for me to see. It was a very sensual move, a very erotic move, and it excited me very much.
"Do you like my titties, Mr. Caldwell?" she asked, tickling the nipple with her long red fingernail. The flesh was puckered and stiff, like a pouting mouth, and I could hear the scrape of the nail across the flesh.
She lifted the tit in her hand, cupping it as though it were an apple, and she pulled the breast up toward her mouth. She bent her face down, looking at me through the slant of her eyes, and her long red tongue slid wetly from her lips. The tongue stretched, then touched, and she began to lick the stiff nipple back and forth, pushing the breast upward with her hand until the flesh was all white from the pressure of her pinching fingers.
"Do you like that?" she asked, letting a single dribble of saliva roll from her tongue so that it dripped directly on the nipple. I watched, breathlessly, as the ball of wetness rolled across the mound of her breast, like a river or a stream cutting across a hill. "Would you like to do that to my titties, Mr. Caldwell? Would you like to put them in your mouth and suck on them? I'll bet you do! It makes your cock hard to just think about it, doesn't it, Mr. Caldwell?"
She was teasing me and enjoying it because she knew that it was exciting me. As all the rest, she knew the right words and the proper approach: stimulating me was a science that had been perfected by all the generations of Xanadu women. Vi was just the most recent in the long, sexual evolution of this company. She was practicing her arts on me, and I, of course, was reacting to her every movement.
She dropped her breast and moved her hand to the side of her hot pants. She snapped the button open with a flick of her fingers, then began to work on the zipper. She pulled it down slowly.
"I bet you're wondering," Vi said. "I bet you're wondering whether I'm wearing any panties. Can you see? Can you see down the front of my pants?"
Without really wanting to, I found myself staring at her crotch, trying to look over the waistband of her pants to see just how she was dressed. But the pants were too tight, even though the zipper was almost open, and all I could see was the creamy whiteness of her perfect, unmarred belly.
"Well, I'm not," she said, releasing her hold on the pants. "I never wear panties. Never! They're too restricting. They get in the way when I'm in the mood to fuck. And I'm in the mood to fuck right now."
The hot pants fell from her legs with the aid of her slow, grinding hip movements. I watched, still frozen in my excitement, as the moving material slid slowly down, revealing more and more of her pure white belly. Then there was a fluffy patch of redness, her pubic hair, and it looked like fire curling up around the curve of her cunt. The hair was flaming red, shockingly so against the paleness of her flesh, like a cap covering the tip of her cunt.
"Pussy, pussy, pussy," Vi said, touching her cunt once the pants were completely down. She stepped out of them and shrugged out of her blue top. She stood completely naked in front of me. "Do you like my red-hot pussy, Mr. Caldwell?"
Involuntarily, my voice croaked, "Yes."
"Good," she crooned, touching it for my benefit. She opened her legs and tilted her hips forward, toward me, so that I could see under her body. The hair was just as red underneath, although less dense, and I could see freckles on the lips of her cunt.
Heather was gone from my mind, but I was too excited to feel any guilt or any sense of loss. All I was aware of was that fiery red cunt of hers, and the knowledge that very soon it would be all over my body.
She parted the lips of her cunt with her thumb and index fingers. The slit glistened wetly, and I could see the swollen button of her clitoris, jutting out between the lips, like a burning ember in the forest of her hair. Her cunt made a sticky, wet noise as she parted the lips, and I could see the inner lips, like a thin mouth, already coated with a film of her discharge.
Vi touched her middle finger to her cunt, parting the inner flap of the lips with the long red nail. "Ooooh! I'm all wet, Mr. Caldwell. My pussy is all wet for your cock." She slid the finger all the way in, so far that it couldn't go any further, and she made a moaning, sighing sound as the fist of her hand pushed against her cunt.
She pulled the wet finger out and held it up in front of my face. It was shiny with dampness, and I could smell the strongly sexual odor of her cunt. She pursed her lips and slid the wet finger in and out of her mouth, sucking it clean, as though it were a cock.
"How would you like me to do that to your cock, Mr. Caldwell?" Vi asked. "Take it out. Pull your hot cock out of your pants and let me suck it. My mouth is aching for it-take it out!"
I seemed dazed, my senses dulled, and I couldn't react quickly enough. My hand came up to my zipper, but I felt torn, as though there was something warring deep inside of me, holding back my hand.
But, again, Vi was not to be put off. "Let me do it, then," she said, and her hand, still wet from her mouth and cunt, moved to my zipper, pushing my hand aside, and she opened my pants.
"Oooh, you're hot! I can feel the heat right through your pants. And hard." She squeezed in with her fingers. "Your cock is very hard, Mr. Caldwell."
Deftly, she slipped her hand into my shorts, circled the shaft of my cock, and she pulled it out, making sure to pull free the whole sac of my balls. They hung heavily down the front of my pants, scraping against the open zipper.
"You're big, sir. It's the biggest cock I've ever seen in my life," she lied. She stroked it with her curled fist, starting at the base and ending at the tip, pulling it towards her with her warm hand.
"Let me suck it for you," she said, and before I could say anything, Vi dropped to her knees in front of me, as though she were praying, and she swallowed the shaft of my cock between her wet lips.
Her mouth was hot, and she sucked up very hard so that my cock had to scrape erotically past her lips, between her teeth, and against her tongue. She lifted me with her tongue, pressing me against the wet roof of her mouth, and hollowed her cheeks, bringing them into play, pressing them against the trembling sides of my cock. It was as though I were buried in a warm, wet envelope of flesh-like a cunt!
-and it was rubbing up and down against me with a sucking, wet friction.
Through the intensity of the pleasure, a thought came to me: Vi was using her mouth on me! They always had to use their mouth, as though their cunt was unimportant, or they didn't trust it to excite me. But the mouth was a sure thing: you had to be dead not to be excited with a licking, wet mouth.
Yet Heather, Heather, I realized, excited and sensing something, had not used her mouth on me!
The revelation did something to me: it touched my mood in a certain way. I felt confident again, and sure of myself. It was as though I were drawing from some untapped well of strength I never knew I had.
I watched, excited now, as Vi sunk her lips to the base of my belly, drawing the full length of my cock into her mouth. She slid her head from side to side, and I felt my cock gliding across her tongue. The head of my organ was pressed against the opening of her throat, and I could feel it opening and closing, like a valve, as she sucked in her hot breath to keep from smothering.
I made my first move then. I dropped my hands to the top of her head and tangled my fingers in her bright red hair. I pulled her face to me, sliding the pounding thickness of my cock in and out of her mouth. I was using her now. I was in command.
I could feel the wetness of her saliva all over my cock, wetting it down, making it slippery so that it would slide effortlessly in and out of her pursed lips. Her cheeks flushed, then hollowed as I pulled her tightly into me, and I watched wetness dribble from the corners of her mouth as the hunching thickness of my cock pulled her lips apart. I could feel it dribbling on my balls, making them stick to her chin every time I thrust forward into the sucking mouth of her wetness.
I hunched my hips and pulled her head up by the hair so that the direction of my cock had changed. Now I was thrusting up into her mouth, battering the head of my cock against the back of her throat. She gagged once, and had to open her lips to breathe, but it didn't slow me, and I continued to thrust mercilessly into her.
After all, I said to myself, isn't that what I paid her for?
Vi gobbled my cock as though it were an air-hose and she were drowning. She glued her lips to it, tightening them around the head of my cock anytime my thrusts became too wild that it threatened to disengage me. I felt her tongue curl up, pushing stiffly at the underside of my cock, pressing the swollen head against the roof of her month to increase the friction. She tightened her hands on my hips, snarling them in my trousers, and she began to pull back at me, matching my upward strokes with equally forceful downward plunges of her lips. She worked her head like a machine, a pump, sliding up and down, taking in the whole length of my cock with each thrust until her features became a blur, and her head was like a moving red streak across my belly.
"Suck it, you bitch!" I yelled, using her so that I didn't have to feel used. "Suck it out you pussy! You cunt! You cocksucking mouth!"
My back was straining, and my legs ached from supporting her leaning weight. Sweat was running down my body, making my clothing stick to me. I looked down and observed her from my standing height: I watched as her pert tits flapped, like a flag in the breeze, as each one of my thrusts into her made her body shake.
"Enough!" I said. I pushed her away from me roughly, and she fell back hard on her ass. I felt her teeth scraping across the stiff tip of my cock as she lost balance, and the pain hurt and excited me.
Vi's face was disordered. Her eyes were clouded with either passion or anger, and her lips were wet and slobbery. Her lipstick was smeared orange all over her chin, and her hair was wild and tossed from my handling. Sweat streaked through her makeup, and it made her skin look greasy. She was gasping for breath.
"My clothes are too heavy," I said. "They're smothering me. I'm going to take them off."
Vi's chest was heaving fitfully, the bright pink tips of her nipples bobbing like corks in a rough sea. Her lips trembled as she forced herself to speak.
"Do you want me to help you?"
I looked down at her. "No. I'll do it myself. You get over on the bed and watch me. And play with yourself while you're watching. Play with your cunt."
Violet walked to the bed and sat down, facing me. She leaned back, spreading her thighs. Her cunt was very wet, and it was open. I could see the ring of pink muscles screwing open and closed, as though it too was trying to catch its breath. She put her hand on her cunt and began to masturbate, using her index and middle fingers. Her hand rolled swiftly, touching the spot just above her clitoris, and it was evident that she was giving herself pleasure. I saw her thigh quiver once, and her body stiffened as she pressed her cunt forward, obviously experiencing a sudden swell of intense excitement.
"Good," I said, and I began to undress. "Talk to me while you're doing it. Tell me how it feels."
"It feels ... good," she began, her voice colored with emotion. "Hot and wet. Very wet. My fingers keep on slipping on the clitoris. Oh! ... that felt good. It was a wave of pleasure. I'm close to coming. I can feel it building in my cunt. ... Oh Jesus! ... I'm going to come if you don't hurry. Please."
I was naked now, and my cock felt hot and swollen. It was still very wet from Vi's mouth, and the cool air tickled against it, and made it tingle sensually.
I walked over to the bed. I could hear the wet movement of Vi's hand as she worked on her cunt. It was a gummy swishing sound.
"Turn over," I said. "Get on your hands and knees."
Apprehension worked into the look on her face, but she obeyed, turning over, elevating her ass. She leaned forward and cushioned herself in her folded arms so that her back sloped down on a decline.
I put my hands between her thighs. "Spread your legs more and move back towards me so that your ass hangs over the edge of the bed."
She did as I asked, but lifted her head and turned back toward me. "Are you going to fuck me?"
"Yes," I said slowly. "I'm going to fuck you right up your tight little ass."
I thought I saw her body tremble, but I couldn't be sure that it wasn't a shudder of excitement. And, with little more consideration, I bent forward, taking her ass cheeks in my hands, and I began to lick my tongue up and down the crack of her ass.
"Oh my God!" Vi moaned the moment my tongue touched her flash. This time I knew she trembled because I felt it. A violent, almost uncontrollable quaking of her muscles.
I held her ass cheeks in my hands, pulling them apart with my straining fingers. I watched as the tight brown circle of her anus stretched under the pressure of my hands, pulling the mouth open so that at the center was a tiny black hole. I slid my tongue into the hole, prodding it with the wet tip, trying to stuff it up inside of her with my thrusts.
"Oh Jesus!" she cried, screwing her ass back in my face. "Eat it! Oh, please, God-Eat it!"
I could smell the musky odor of her dripping cunt as I brought my face close to her ass. My chin rubbed against the uppermost tip as my tongue sank into her, and I could feel its slimy wetness rubbing against me. My cheeks touched the straining muscles of her ass, and my lips were pressed wetly around the puckered mouth of her anus.
Vi began to rock back and forth on her knees, banging her ass into my face almost as if she were trying to impale herself on my tongue. She screwed her hips around in a tight circle, as if she were fucking with me, and she were trying for a deeper penetration.
"Stick it in me!" she screamed, trying to knock me down with the punching thrusts of her ass. "Oh God! You're driving me crazy! It's like a fire inside of me! Stick it in harder!"
I tried to accommodate her wish: I pulled at the cheeks of her ass with all my might, spreading it as far as I could, and I stiffened my tongue. I jabbed it forward, into her, and felt the clutching spasm of her sphincter as it tried to close around my tongue.
"Ohhhhh!" she cried.
I could feel the tight walls of her anal canal pressing against the thrusting wedge of my tongue as I slid it wetly in and out of her, lubricating the passageway. My chin was pressed flat against her crotch, with my nose pushed painfully flat so that I could penetrate her as deeply as I could. I wiggled the tongue around inside of her, and she danced in pleasure, responding to the flicks of my tongue as if it were a whip, and I were beating her with it.
The canal was as wet as I could make it, and I quickly withdrew my tongue. Her ass followed my movement, trying to recapture the flitting sting of my tongue, but I moved too quickly. I turned my head, wetting my index finger in my mouth, and I thrust the finger into the open hole of Vi's ass-hole.
"Oh, it hurts!" she moaned, moving her ass away. Oh!"
But I followed her withdrawal, thrusting hard, almost viciously, until my finger was enclosed in the warm grip of her ass, pushed down to the curl of my fist. Her muscles clenched shut, trying to expel me in a spasm of downward pressure. But I held fast.
"Oh my God!" she moaned, her legs trembling. "It feels like you're in my stomach. You're in so deep!"
I began to rotate the finger, turning it slowly to the right, then to the left. The muscles tightened, then relaxed, and the movement of my finger became easy and free, as though I had reamed out a tunnel inside of her ass. I began to push in and out again, pulling my finger almost out of her ass, then thrusting it in again until the finger had returned to its original position.
"Fuck me, please," Violet begged. Her cunt lips were quivering, and she was trying to rub her swollen clitoris against my dangling fingers. "Fuck me, Mr. Caldwell. Before I explode."
I pulled the finger out, and it made a wet, popping sound. I thought her body was going to collapse. I put both my hands under the moons of her ass, shoring it up so that it was high and spread widely open for my penetration. The twin cheeks were covered with a film of perspiration, and rivers of sweat were running down the valley just below her ass, trickling between the lips of her wet, open cunt.
My cock was still wet from her mouth, but I spit in my hands and rubbed the spittle over the shaft of my cock, wetting again, with one finger, the tight ring of her anus. Once wet, I moved in closer, and the tip of my organ was pressed against the small brown hole. I gripped the cheeks of her ass tightly in my fingers, and with one motion, I pulled them apart and thrust in simultaneously.
"Oh God!" Vi screamed. "Ohmigod! You're killing me! You're too big!"
But I was in. Just the tip of my cock, but I was in her ass. I had to lean forward, pressing my weight into her, to keep her from expelling me. Her anal muscles screwed down, crushing the tip of my blunt cock, trying to squeeze it to death. Certainly, my pain had to be as intense as hers at the moment.
"Loosen up!" I grunted. "Relax! You'll kill us both!"
But the grip of her muscles was vise-like, and she began to press her legs together. There was only one way to overcome it, I saw, and that was to thrust forward into her. Once the pleasure of fucking began, she would loosen naturally.
I leaned forward and wrapped my hands around Vi's thighs. My fingers dug into her flesh, and I propelled my hips forward, thrusting as hard as I could. Vi screamed in agony, but I felt something give, and I slid into her.
"Aaggggghh!" she moaned. "Oh, please! It hurts! It hurts!"
She was still crushing down with her anal muscles, but I was completely inside of her. I began to move slowly in and out, rocking back and forth as my cock tunneled up into her ass. She squeezed and ground her hips, but I continued to thrust, and soon her cries of pain had become pleas for continuement.
"Oh, it hurts!" she moaned. "But don't stop! It feels so good! It hurts so good. Oh Jesus! It's like my insides are on fire! You're so deep! So thick and hard!"
She was pressing back to meet me now, rocking on her knees like a dog in heat. Her anal canal was tight, tighter than any cunt I'd ever felt, but it was greased and slippery, and my cock sawed in and out with an insistent rhythm. My balls were swinging like dead-weights, banging into her wet cunt like clappers from some silent bell.
My back was straining to keep up my tempo, and my cock felt as though it were on fire. She tightened her muscles and rolled her ass, rotating my cock as though it were a crank, and she were winding it. She screwed her cunt against the hard muscles of my thighs, trying to rub out the fire that had turned her body into raw nerve endings.
I let go of her thighs, and I stood more erect. I put my hands on the top of her back, bending my knees, and I pushed my cock in and out of her ass, feeling my orgasm beginning to mount. My balls felt as though they were filling with hot water, and they began to expand, getting ready to explode. I thrust with all my might, watching as the thick staff of my cock disappeared into the tiny opening between Violet's ass.
"Oh Jesus!" she screamed, surprised. "I'm coming! Oh, God, I'm coming. Fuck me hard! Fuck me hard!"
like a chain-reaction, Vi's orgasm set off mine. I felt my cock rupture inside of her ass, as though the head had come off inside of her. My sperm gushed out, under pressure, spewing into the constricted tunnel of her throbbing rectum. like a stream of pressurized water, my sperm spit from the hole of my cock, splattering like hot oil inside of her ass. My balls ached from keeping up with the steady flow of swirling, hot blobs of the sticky white substance, and Vi screwed her ass back, swallowing my cock again, trying to suck from it even more of the flow.
My hips pounded against her ass, and the slapping sound of sweaty flesh filled the air. I felt my cock deflating inside of the tight canal, but that didn't slacken her enthusiasm, and she tightened the passageway even more in compensation. She rolled and rocked and ground her hips, trying to take my cock off inside of her.
"Fuck me!" she screamed, incoherent in the ecstasy of her orgasm. "Fuck my ass!"
I tried, but my cock felt as though it were broken. But she continued to squeeze it, massaging it almost, until it felt wet and pulpy. It slipped out of the hole, wide and gaping now, and a milky white ooze leaked out, like blood from an open wound.
Violet fell forward on the bed, face down and spread-eagled. I staggered back, weakened, and surveyed my handiwork. It was then that I noticed that she had buried two fingers in her cunt. Sperm trickled down from her ass, and it slid like gelatin around her finger-engorged cunt.
I sat on the bed next to her. My cock ached and it was completely flaccid. More than that, for it seemed shrunken and deflated. My whole crotch was stained with my sperm, cold now, dripping on my balls.
I put my hand on her ass and patted it. It was good. But it was not as good. Something was missing.
"How was it, Vi?" I asked. My throat felt constricted, and the knot, like a swallowed basketball, had returned to twist my stomach into something hard.
She grunted. "I-I've never felt anything..."
Her voice trailed off into a broken mumble.
But I didn't need her words. I knew what I wanted to learn. My experiment had been successful. What had happened with Heather, had not happened with Vi. And, even though Vi was a professional, something was missing.
I felt good; jovial almost. I put my hand back on her ass, and I slapped it with a stinging blow.
"Can I ask you a question?" I said.
"What?" she croaked.
"How much do you get paid to work here?"
"Three hundred dollars a week," she answered. "Plus expenses."
She thought for a moment, then turned towards me. "Why?"
"Nothing," I answered. "I was just curious."
CHAPTER NINE
I was waiting for Heather when she got home from her classes, and the first thing I did was kiss her wetly on her mouth. She responded immediately, as I had hoped she would, and I carried her to her bed. I laid her on the bed, never taking my mouth from hers for a second, and I began to undress her while I kissed her. After a moment or two, she was naked, and we really got down to making love.
And it was strange, too, because I had only made love (no! not made love-ass fucked!) to Violet a few hours before, and I remember how exhausted it made me feel. But I felt none of that exhaustion now; none of the sensation dulling numbness that I would have expected from two sexual encounters spaced so closely together. I found myself aroused-intensely aroused-as though it had been years and not hours since my last sexual act. My cock was hard and rigid, as though a steel rod were running down its center, and when I came this second time, the pleasure was so powerfully exciting, that it seemed as if my balls had turned into generators, and I was spitting out bolts of electricity and not blobs of sperm.
There was, however, one very interesting highlight from our lovemaking. Although it was different from anything that had happened before, it merely confirmed my previous feelings about Heather. This time, she did use her mouth on me, and yet I experienced no disappointment in the act, nor did I feel in any way cheated by easy tactics. The difference between the way Heather used her mouth on me, and the way one of my Xanadu girls used her mouth was a qualitative difference. There was no gimmick about what she was doing: it was no means through which she were attempting to elicit a certain sexual end-my orgasm. She was not trying to trick me into getting hot enough to come. Rather, when Heather used her mouth, it was a natural, responsive act that was performed because it was pleasurable and exciting for the both of us. There was a spontaneity in her moves that was so far removed from the way in which one of my paid women performed the same job, that it almost could have been an entirely different sexual act. Heather used her mouth and lips out of a compassion, out of a sexual empathy, that was a very real and very natural expression of how we felt about one another at that moment. Heather did it because she wanted to do it, and that, really, was the difference.
And when I came, the feeling was like nothing I've ever experienced before-except for that one other time with Heather. It was a multileveled orgasm, gripping me first on a physical level, but also, and perhaps more important, on an emotional, spiritual and psychological level as well. It was a total body experience, touching every single aspect of my being, as though I had taken some kind of crazy acid, and my body and mind were locked together in a wildly pleasurable sexual-trip. My body experienced the coming-my fingers, my muscles, my stomach, my brain as well as my groin. It was as though I had become the orgasm and not just an extension of its pleasure.
My cock pumped and throbbed inside of Heather, and I kept on going higher and higher, reaching and touching levels of experience I never knew were possible to obtain. It continued to get better and better and better until my body felt hollow, and I thought I had nothing left to give. Yet, oddly, in this moment of exhaustion, rather than feel empty, I felt full and contented, as though I had not given, but received.
I fell asleep when we were finished, and even this was unusual. I never slept after sex in the day; I was usually too excited, too tense, as though all my nerves had been rubbed raw, and were exposed. Yet this time I slept, soundly and contentedly, naked under the single sheet, until it was dark, and
Heather had to wake me for the second time that day.
"It's dinnertime," she said, smiling down at me. She was naked from the waist up, wearing still her tightly fitting faded jeans. As she leaned forward, her large breasts swung forward, almost in my face.
I grabbed the one closest to me, and pulled the firm, fleshy orb down to my lips. I pinched the tit together, making the nipple swell, and I began to lick it.
"Are we having dessert first?" I asked, feeling my cock stirring to life again. By all rights, it should have been dead by now.
"That's very distracting," Heather said, laughing. "Don't you ever get enough?"
"Of you? Never!"
Heather slipped her hand under the sheet. Her fingers felt cool and light against my nakedness, and she slipped her grip around the erect shaft of my cock. She squeezed me and shook it back and forth with her hand.
"My God!" she mocked. "You are definitely the horniest man I've ever known. I thought I took care of this a little while ago?"
I spread my kisses to her other tit, licking both nipples until they were both wet and equally aroused. I could smell the musky warm odor of Heather's body, and it excited me.
"I guess you'll just have to take care of it again," I suggested, hopefully.
"I guess so."
Heather flipped back the sheets and exposed my erect cock. It looked stiff and red against the brown softness of her hand, with the dark tangle of my pubic hair like an angry cloud circling about my crotch. The circumcised head was swollen and thick, and I could see a bubble of moisture oozing from the slit on top.
"That looks good," Heather said, and she pulled her breasts away from me. I could feel them sliding across my chest and stomach as she moved her mouth down towards my body.
A stab of wetness went through me as I watched Heather part her lips and take my cock into her mouth. Her mouth was hot and wet, and she sank her lips down to the base of my belly, taking the full distended length of my cock inside her. She rolled her tongue in an undulating way, pressing it flatly against the underside of my cock, and I knew I could have come right then and there, from that small sexual caress. That was all I needed.
I don't know whether she sensed I could have come, or whether she had other reasons, but Heather let her mouth slide up the length of my cock. She lapped at the head twice, running her tongue over it in a slow, swirling stroke, and she pulled her lips away.
"Enough." She said it firmly, finally. I thrust my hips up, pressing my cock against her cheek. "Do it again, please?"
"After dinner. Remember, I'm a vegetarian. You don't want to ruin my meal by stuffing meat in my mouth, do you?"
From her joke, I sensed that the mood had changed. No amount of coaxing could have gotten Heather to alter her decision. So I rearranged my priorities, and tried to put my sexual needs out of my mind. Besides, feeling the way I did about Heather, we would probably be spending all our time in bed if she gave in every time I wanted to have sex with her. I could never seem to get enough of her. I was obsessed with her-her body, her mind, her moods, her personality. I was like a child with her, and each thing she did was like magic, and filled with wonderment.
"What's for dinner?" I asked, wiping the moisture of her mouth from my cock with the sheet. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and I sat up.
"Well, I'm having eggs and carrots and grapes. Probably some cheese and fruit too. But I can make you a hamburger."
I shook my head. "No, I'll have what you're having. It sounds good. Something different for a change."
Heather smiled. "I'll turn you into a vegetarian yet if you don't watch out."
I stood up and stretched. "Do I have time for a shower?"
"Sure. The only thing I have to cook is the eggs. We eat all the rest raw. Would you like some bread with your meal?"
"The bread you made?"
"It's the only bread in the house."
"Good. Then I'll have some. It's the best bread I've ever had."
Heather smiled, accepting the compliment with warm pride. She turned her back on me and walked towards the kitchen.
I started for the bathroom. "And would you do me a favor? Would you put something on? I can't eat when I'm distracted."
Heather smiled and blushed. "All right, Steve."
I showered quickly, and dried myself with a large, soft bath towel while I stood shivering on the worn red bathroom rug. I brushed my teeth, dried my hair and brushed it into place, and I dressed. I put on a pair of jeans that I'd brought with me, and an old, comfortable sweater shirt. I didn't bother with underwear, and I felt very comfortable and relaxed and very much at home.
The meal was delicious, and I found I was ravenously hungry. Instead of eating in the kitchen, we brought the food into the living room, and ate there. Heather sat on the floor, her legs crossed Indian-fashion, with her back leaning against the studio couch. I sat on the studio couch, or leaned rather, laying down, and ate in a very relaxed fashion. Heather put some records on, and we listened to the music as we ate, by the light of a flickering candle.
I had two eggs and probably half a loaf of the bread. After the eggs I had some sliced raw carrots and chunks of some hard kind of cheese. The cheese was tangy and it stung the roof of my mouth, but it was excellent. Then we had fruit and nuts: Heather had some grapes and I had two oranges. I finished the meal with black coffee while Heather sipped from a glass of cold milk.
I lay back on the couch and felt bloated. I was full and satisfied. I could not remember having had a better meal, unless it was the simple one we had for breakfast. All my values seemed to have changed, and something as basic as eating had taken on new dimensions of experience.
Heather suggested that we do some of her hash, and I agreed. She didn't have a hash pipe, so she made one from the cardboard tube of a wire coat hanger. She covered one end with tin foil, and chipped off a small chunk of the hash. She was right: with three tokes we were stoned. And after the whole piece was gone, I felt as though I were floating on the air. I felt so relaxed and comfortable; as though I hadn't a care in the world, and wouldn't have worried if I had, I was just going to suggest going to bed to make love, when Heather held her hand up and told me there was someone knocking at the door. I heard the knock-it sounded so far away and distant land I remembered suddenly that I had heard a car drive up moments before.
With no sense of anxiety, Heather pulled herself up and walked to the door. "Who is it?" she asked.
Someone answered, but I couldn't understand the reply. Heather apparently had, and she threw the door open, her face beaming with joy.
"Sara!" she shouted. "Sara!" Wow. Come on in!"
I watched, still dazed from the potency of the hash, as Heather led into the room a tall, rather attractive looking girl. She was truly statuesque, probably five-foot-eight or nine, with soft brown hair that hung very long, down past her high, broad shoulders. Her face was a clean-looking pink, speckled with freckles around her nose and cheeks, and she had large moist gray-hazel eyes.
"Hi!" she said, smiling.
"This is Sara, Steve," Heather said to me, excitement bubbling in her voice. "Sara is my friend."
I had just gotten up from my reclining position, and it was quite an effort, when someone else entered the doorway. This person was a man, although he was young-looking, and he had shoulder-length dark brown hair, and a thick, bushy beard.
"You must be Lenny," Heather said to him. She threw her arms around him and hugged him enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about you from Sara's letters."
"Hi," he said back. "I've heard about you too."
Heather led her friends into the living room to introduce them to me. I was standing now, a little more steadily, with a smile on my face.
"Steve," Heather said, making it a formal introduction, "this is Sara, my friend, and this is Lenny, her boyfriend. He's more than a boyfriend, really.
They've been living together for almost three years now."
I smiled and said "Hi!" to Sara. Lenny held out his hand and I shook it. "Hi, Steve," he said.
"Steve is a ... friend of mine," Heather added after a moment, searching for the appropriate word but settling for "friend." It was as good as any word, I guess.
We stood awkwardly for a moment or two, like all new strangers, but only Heather seemed oblivious to it. Her excitement bubbled over again, and she threw her arms around Sara and hugged her tightly, kissing her on the cheek.
"How did you get here?" she asked. "Oh God, I'm so happy to see you!"
"We drove," Sara explained. "Lenny bought a VW bus, and we drove all the way in."
"They live in Pennsylvania," Heather told me. Then, turning her attention back to her friend, she said, "But why didn't you write?"
Sara shrugged her shoulders, smiling wordlessly. "We didn't know we were going to come. We started off to a movie, and we ended up driving to California."
"We never did get to see the movie," Lenny added. "It just seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, I like to travel. It's good to get away from things when they begin to hassle you too much."
For a split-second I felt a twinge of envy about their sense of freedom. I longed often, as most people do, to just cut loose and go, but always responsibility and practicality had held me back. I had my business to think of.
Still, it was only a momentary flutter of jealousy, and it was quickly forgotten in the contagious excitement of the long-parted friends meeting again. There was such happiness in the air, that it seemed to fill the room, and I could not be anything but happy for them and happy with them even though I had only met them.
Heather led them in, and Lenny closed the door behind him. Heather was hugging Sara and beaming at Lenny.
"Are you hungry?" Heather asked. "I'm so surprised that I can't think straight. Would you like an orange or some carrots?"
"No, no thanks," Lenny said. "We just finished eating a little while ago. Thanks though."
"Are you sure?" Heather pressed. "Are you positive?"
"Yes, yes, we're sure."
We were still standing, talking back and forth, and Heather realized this and told everyone to sit down. "You have to be comfortable in my house," she said. "And then you must write something on my wall."
I sat down, feeling just a little uncomfortable because I didn't know them, and Lenny sat down next to me, sitting on the other end of the studio couch. He, too, looked a little ill at ease. Sara was relaxed, and she sat on the floor, facing us, crossing her legs in a yoga position. Only Heather was too excited to sit, and she walked around in a widening frantic circle.
"Would you like to do some hash?" she continued, desperately trying to be a perfect hostess. "Steve and I were just doing some."
"I thought I smelled something," Sara said, smiling knowingly.
"Actually," Lenny added, "we brought you something. A little house gift." From the top pocket of his shirt, he took a small brown bottle. It looked like a medicine bottle, only it was filled with a fine-looking grainy substance. I took it for what it was-about an ounce of very clean marijuana.
"Oh, we can't take that," Heather said, and I was pleased to hear that she had included me in her "we."
"You're our guests! I should be giving it to you."
Sara frowned, but not a frown of anger; one of firmness. "Nonsense! this is our gift, and you can't deny us that pleasure. Besides, we'll be using it too, so it won't be just a gift for you."
"We insist you take it," Lenny added. "Or you'll hurt our feelings."
Heather knew when to give in. She smiled and looked honestly touched by the gift. "Thank you," she said softly. "From someone who knows how expensive this can be, I can really appreciate this. It's one of the nicest gifts you can give someone."
She bent down and kissed Sara on the cheek, then went to the couch and kissed Lenny. He blushed slightly, and made a feeble attempt to kiss her back on the cheek.
"Are you sure there isn't anything you want?" Heather insisted. "Oh, I wish I had some wine to offer."
Sara laughed for a minute. "Well, there is one thing..."
"What? Name it!"
"Can I use your bathroom? I'm going to pee on your rug."
Heather said of course and pointed to the bathroom. Sara got up, and Lenny said he had to go too.
"Why don't you roll some joints until I'm finished," Sara suggested.
He agreed and said he would need a table and a piece of paper. Heather led him into the kitchen, asked him again if he wanted anything, then came back inside with me while he rolled and Sara peed.
We were alone in the living room for the first time since they came.
"I used to work with Sara," Heather told me. "You didn't know I used to work, did you? Well I did. We used to work in a computer office. Just the two of us and our ex-Nazi boss, Mr. Grouder. He was really a Nazi during the war. He had a German Cross and everything. He brought it in to show us once..."
Heather was reminiscing, running her mind warmly over the past again, recapturing its glow. And I felt jealous once more because it had been part of her life before me, and I could not share in those experiences. It was foolish, yet I felt hurt.
"How did Sara meet Lenny?" I asked, purposely breaking into her memories.
"I don't know," she said. "She met him in Pennsylvania. She quit work one day. It just got too much for Sara and she sold her furniture, packed a few clothes, called up work and told Mr. Grouder to go fuck himself, and she took off for New York. She walked to the freeway from her house and began to hitch."
I shook my head. "You mean just like that? No goodbyes, no planning? She just took off?"
Heather nodded, and there was a wistful gleam in her eye. "Just like that. Jeez, I wish I could be like that. That free. That secure. That sure of yourself that you have the confidence to change your whole life because it needs to be changed."
Her words made me feel doubly disconcerted, because Heather had always seemed so free to me. I couldn't believe that there could be someone whose lifestyle was even more independent than hers. What did that make me then if Heather was a conservative compared to Sara and Lenny? Did that make me a reactionary, or a fascist?
Sara came out of the bathroom finally, and Lenny went in. He had about four joints rolled, and Sara took up where he left off. By the time he came out of the bathroom, there were about ten joints all together, with less than half of the bottle gone.
The girls sat on the floor and talked again of old times, while Lenny sat on the couch with me, not really saying too much, but seeming more and more relaxed. He lit the first joint, sucked hard on it, and passed it to Sara. She drew on it and passed it to Heather, who did-likewise. I was the last to get it, and the smoke was very hot and harsh. I sucked on it and passed it back to Lenny. The circle began again.
It continued that way for three more joints. By this time I was totally zonked. The grass was tremendously powerful, and it worked subtly on the groundwork previously laid by the hash. After a while, I didn't know what was happening, nor did I care.
Somehow, someone put records on, and I heard myself listening to the Woodstock album, all six sides. We spent a great deal of time laughing and breaking up over silly, but insanely funny things that we said and did. Sara said something about the birds and the bees that I didn't understand, so I added something about vultures to it. Neither one of us knew what either of us was talking about, nor about what we were talking about for that matter, but it sounded so hilarious that we were rolling on the floor together for what seemed like ten minutes. I remember I almost wet my pants I laughed so hard.
Through the fog of grass, I realized I liked Sara and Lenny. They were warm and friendly, and we were sharing something together. Perhaps it was the effects of the grass that made me feel close to them, but I'd rather think not. I'd rather believe it was them, as people, that made me feel good. For they cared about people! People more than anything else-more than money, more than power, more than acquiring things. In a lot of ways, Sara and Lenny were a great deal like Heather. They had the same style of life, and they believed in the same goals and values. They were "yes-sayers," and after men like Harvey Curtis and women like Diane Miller, it was a refreshing experience.
So, considering this, I found it particularly disconcerting when the topic of conversation somehow turned to sex, and Heather came out and boldly proclaimed that she was horny for Lenny. And I was even more disconcerted when Sara proclaimed his sexual prowess, and invited her girlfriend to "try," in her words, "my man and see what you think of him."
The fog suddenly cleared, and I watched, with my heart sinking in my chest, as Heather-my Heather-got up from the floor, and stumbled, with Lenny in hand, towards the bedroom. And I was left alone with Sara.
CHAPTER TEN
The silence that followed their departure was, for me at least, awkward and strained. Sara didn't seem too disturbed; in fact, she seemed more interested in finding matches for the joint she had in her mouth. She found a book, but it was empty, and she discarded it. Then she found a second book, and she took elaborate pains to open it, tear a match loose, then light the twisted end of her joint. She sucked hard on it, with her mouth open, and the ember glowed redly in the dimness of the dark room. The only other light came from the flickering candle, and it was on top of a bookcase, above eye level. It made the shadows look strange and distorted, as though they were dancing about the room.
Sara held the joint out for me. "You want?"
I shook my head. "No thanks."
She shrugged her shoulders, and returned her attention to smoking.
I had enough to smoke for one night, I knew. And the sinking feeling I had in the pit of my stomach was enough to bring me down very rapidly. I felt betrayed even though I knew I had no right to the feeling. Heather was a friend to me only; nothing more. I did not own her, nor had I any rights over her behavior. Still, I felt wounded and hurt, and I couldn't believe that she could be so cruel and thoughtless. Didn't she care that I had feelings? Or was I deluding myself about her and her virtues? Perhaps what I felt for her, I only thought she felt for me? Perhaps my need was so great that it distorted my senses?
I tried to push the ugly thought from my mind, but I could feel myself crashing rapidly. The room seemed to be swirling around me, flickering like that candle, and I had to grab onto the couch to keep from falling off.
"Are you sure you don't want any?" Sara asked again. The joint was half gone.
I was afraid to test my voice, so I shook my head again.
She smiled, then nodded, as though she understood.
The bedroom was only a few feet away, and I could hear Heather and Lenny as they made love. The bed was squeaking under their bouncing weight, and I could hear the strained, moaning cries of pleasure coming from Heather as her sexual excitement heightened. I had heard those same cries only hours before, and now she was under another man, and she was reacting to his touch. It was so unfair that I was angry enough to cry.
"Do you feel like making it?" Sara asked.
I turned in surprise. "What?"
"Do you feel like making it?" she asked again. "You know-fuck together. Do you want to?"
I didn't know what to say. Before this moment, I had not even considered the prospect. It seemed so remote: I didn't even know how I felt about Sara as a person; moreover, I knew even less about how I felt about making love to her. No sensible answer would come to my mind.
Somehow, the idea shocked me. And this, my own reaction, surprised me more than anything. Could it be that I, Brian Caldwell, America's greatest living hedonist, was under the thin veneer of a libertine, nothing more than a prude and a closet-Victorian? The man who has done more things sexual-more outrageous things sexually than most people fantasize about in a lifetime, could it be that my sensibilities were bent out of shape? I was shocked by my sense of shock.
Yet I couldn't convince myself that there wasn't something abnormal about what was happening. How could Sara, who professed to love Lenny, sit there so calmly and not give it a second thought that her best friend and the man she loved were only a few feet away, naked, and fucking like animals in heat? Didn't she care? Or didn't she love him?
In the flickering candlelight, I gave Sara a very hard long look. The grass had heightened my senses, and I saw her in intimate detail, seeing things about her that I hadn't seen before.
Sara was quite attractive physically: she was tall and big, and that seemed even more impressive now. She was wearing a faded purple sweatshirt with nothing under it. Her breasts were enormous, much larger than Heather's, and they hung slightly from their ponderous weight. I could see that she was aroused, because the nipples made an imprint against the tight material, and they were large and round. She was wearing also, a pair of tight-fitting jeans, with patches sewn in various areas where the original material had frayed. She kept her legs folded, and I could see the broad curve of her cunt as it pushed the taut material, and made it swell. Her cunt looked large and very wide, and just under, pressed by her sitting weight, I could see the firm hills of her buttocks. Her legs were long and well-shaped, like a dancer's, and they tapered down to her large, naked feet.
I saw this all in a split-second, my sense of observation marajuana-acute. From her first question, no more than the blink of an eye's time had passed, yet I knew; I saw.
"I'm not trying to be pushy," Sara added, perhaps feeling defensive over my silence. "And I have no intentions of seducing you."
I stared at her, still silent, listening to the sounds from the bedroom. "Then why do you want to fuck with me?" I chose the word purposely, for its blunt effect on her, but it didn't seem to have any.
"Well, I think you're a groovy-looking guy," she explained. "I feel attracted to you physically. You look as though you'd make a damn good fuck."
I was curious now. "What makes you think that?"
"You have a big cock," she said, pointing with no self-consciousness to my lap. The long thick outline of my erection was pushing up the tight material of my jeans.
I was surprised by the hard-on: I wasn't aware that I had it. What was it from? I wondered. Was I excited by Sara's proposition, or did it have something to do with Heather?
"Having a big cock doesn't mean you'll be good sexually," she continued, "but it means if your not, I can at least help you. At least you'll be big, and that's better than being small and no good. I'm a big woman, and I have a need for a big cock."
Just then, a loud moan came from the bedroom, and I heard Heather cry, "Harder ... push it in harder!"
The words went through me like a knife, wounding me, exciting me.
"Look," Sara continued. "If you'd rather not do it, that's all right with me. I'd love to fuck you, but you have to be willing too. It's no good unless we both want it."
Heather's cry of pleasure rattled in my skull like an echo. I felt it touch my anger, my pride, and I could feel an unwanted jealousy bubbling up like bile. It left a bitter taste.
"YesI" I said loudly. So loudly that it would drown out any more of Heather's squeals of passion. "Yes! I want to fuck you."
Sara smiled. "Groovy."
Sara unfolded her legs from the yoga position, and stood up. Sitting down on the couch, I was very aware of how tall she really was. She stood for a moment like that, an unmoving statue in the center of a darkened room, and then she hooked her fingers in the hem of her sweatshirt, and she pulled it over her head.
Her breasts were magnificent. They were heavy and pendulous, hanging low on her chest. But not sagging because of loose flesh; no the flesh was firm and settled. Rather, they were so low because they were so massive and heavy. Her nipples were erect, and they were very long and fat, giving the tip of each breast an upward curving tilt. In all, her tits were quite pointy, unusual because of their heaviness, with the underside curving all the way up and around so that the nipples were pointed up and not down. The color of her flesh was bright pink, even in the dark, and the nipples were wide and round, coloring the tip of each breast in salmon-like circles.
My eyes must have widened when I saw them, for Sara made a small laughing noise with her mouth, and she cupped them sensuously with her widely spread fingers. I saw her catch the nipple between two fingers as she squeezed into the flesh, and the nipple jutted out long and stiffly. It was hard and erect, standing at sexual attention.
She let go of her tits, leaving white marks on the pink skin where her hands had squeezed, and she slid her fingers down her flat stomach. Deftly, she opened the snap on her jeans, and unzipped the zipper. After a second, the pants were off, and Sara stood naked before me.
My breath sucked in at the sight. Her legs were long and tapered, parted slightly, and her crotch was full and covered with what looked like a rug of hair. The color was brown-blonde, and it was flaxen-like, with little curl or crimp so that it hung straight down between her legs, making a small beard-like point. Her clitoris was very prominent, as it sometimes is in large women, and it parted the frontal mound with an indentation between the lips just at the curving tip of her body. The face of the mound was broad, like a fat vee between her parted thighs, and the hair-line was ragged and high, trailing up her belly to her navel in a fine, thin line.
I heard another sound coming from the bedroom, but I pushed it out of my mind in my excitement. "You're beautiful," I said to Sara, meaning every word of it.
"Thank you," she answered. She cupped her cunt with one hand, and her tit with the other. She began to work both hands against her flesh. "But I can't see any of you. Take your clothing off for me."
I stood, excited by her loveliness, and I was more than willing to accommodate her request. For the moment, my cock obsessed my brain, and Heather was forgotten. I found my hands were actually trembling as I pulled off my sweater, and I had to work at my belt buckle to make it come open.
I dropped my pants and stepped out of them, allowing Sara to take in my nakedness. It was very erotic, two nude people, standing and facing each other in a dark room, several feet from each other's nakedness.
"You have a big cock," Sara said simply. "It's longer and wider than Lenny's. Come here and let me touch it."
I stepped toward her, and she reached out and touched me. Her hand was warm, and it circled the shaft of my cock. She caressed it delicately, surprisingly so for her size, running her loosely held fingers up and down the sides of the organ. She closed her fist over the head of my cock, and squeezed in. A throb of pleasure coursed down my cock from the pressure of her hand.
"You're very hot," she told me. "It's burning hot."
As though the formalities were over, our bodies came together, with us still standing. I felt my cock slip between her thighs, just under the warm swell of her cunt, and she closed her legs around it, trapping it against her. She pressed down with her weight, and I could feel the dampness and heat of her cunt against my cock. Our bellies were pressed together, crotch against crotch, hair against hair, and I could feel the long flat hardness of her belly and thighs pushing back against me. Her breasts were flattened against my chest as my arms went around her. The nipples were hot, and they scraped against the hair on my chest. Sara opened her mouth, and I placed my lips on top of hers in a long, hot kiss.
Her tongue was long, and she shoved it into my mouth. I could taste the harsh aftertaste of the grass smoke on her breath as my own tongue explored the wet cavern inside her mouth. I ran my tongue over her tongue, touching her teeth and lips, exploring the pockets of wetness in her cheeks, and the slippery hollow at the roof of her mouth.
Sara ground down with her hips, pressing her thighs even more tightly against mine, and I returned the pressure, and began to pump in and out between her legs. My cockhead was swollen with my excitement, and I could feel it rub against the large lump of her clitoris each time I drew back and thrust in again. Her cunt lips were wet, and I could feel the moisture oozing down around the staff of my cock, wetting it, making it slippery with her juices.
Sara dropped her hands from my back and grabbed my ass cheeks in her hands. She squeezed into the muscles, digging her fingernails into my flesh, and tried to pull me even closer to her body. She dropped her body lower by bending her knees, and she rocked in and out against me, moaning in the wetness of my open mouth each time the horn-like crown of my cock rubbed against her clit.
I could feel the inner head of her cunt now, and the stiffness of my rigid cock parted the delicate, wet folds of her cunt lips. My sawing in and out, and her pressing down, had opened her up to me, and my cock was rubbing directly against the wetness of her cunt hole. Her sexual juices were pouring down now, and I could her my cock as it made slucing splash noises as it rubbed against her sticky flesh.
Sara broke her lips away from my mouth, and stabbed the wet spear of her tongue into my ear. "Stick it in me," she asked. "Please. I'm ready for it."
I started to move away from her to lay back on the couch, but she stopped me, pulling desperately to keep my body tightly against hers.
"No!" she whispered harshly. "Fuck me here! Standing up! Fuck me standing up!"
She parted her legs, releasing her leg's hold on my cock. She spread her legs around my thighs, as though she were mounting me. She stood on her tiptoes, lifting herself as high as she could, and the stiffness of my cock pointed up against her cunt, as if it was following her. Her breathing was heavy, and she was panting with anticipation.
"Lift me," she urged. "Put your hands under my ass and thighs and lift me."
I hooked my hands just under the curve of her ass, and I took a firm hold of her thighs. I bent my knees, then straightened them, lifting Sara from the ground. She wrapped her thighs around my hips, locking them by my ass, then pushed her arm down between our bodies.
"Let me put it in!" she said, taking my cock in her hand. It was standing, pressed against one of her ass cheeks, and she pulled it down the slit of her cunt, pressing it up into her open hole. "Push up!" she instructed.
I did, and I felt my cock enter her body. It was hot and wet, and her body trembled at the penetration.
"Oohhhh!" she moaned, excited. She pushed down with her cunt, thrusting me even further up the wet canal. "Push it in harder. Harder!"
I had to bend my knees and arch my back to support the full press of her weight, but in doing so, I positioned my cock so that it was standing straight up. Her cunt was directly on top of it, and I found myself buried, with the full length of my cock, deeply inside of her.
"Oh, My God!" she moaned. "You're big. My cunt feels stretched around you. Oh!"
Sara began to rock her hips in small, downward hunches, thrusting her cunt against my cock. There wasn't much in and out movement, but her cunt was very hot and wet, and the slight jiggling of friction was intensely pleasurable. I could feel the swollen bud of her clitoris, and it was rubbing back and forth against the base of my cock. It Seemed very hot and trembled with her excitement each time it came in contact with my cock. She moaned at regular intervals, each time she thrust down, and she tightened her legs around my hips.
"Lift me!" she suggested. "Lift me higher so I can ride up and down on your cock. Let me ride you."
I strained to lift her, raising her wet crotch out of my lap. My fingers were under her thighs, touching her ass and cunt, and I could feel the considerable wetness of her excitement all over my fingers. She was sloppy-wet, and for a moment I thought she had wet herself.
As she rose, I could feel my cock sliding down the canal of her cunt until it was at the edge of her tightening cuntal mouth. The ring of muscles gripped the head of my cock as though they had teeth, biting into the rigid column of flesh to prevent me from disengaging. My cock was bent and straining against her wet flesh because of the awkward and unnatural position, but in straining, the level of pleasure was extremely high, and my knees were going weak from my excitement.
"Lower my cunt onto your cock," she said. "Lower me down with your hands, then lift me again. like a merry-go-round: up and down, up and down! Do it slow so I can feel your cock sliding into me."
I did as she asked, lowering her body back down around my cock. Her cunt was soft and wet, and my cock slid into her with the same ease that a hot knife cuts through butter. I felt the clinging pulpy grip of her channel flowing over the head of my cock as it stabbed into her body. Soon she had reswallowed my cock, and it was encased in the wet sleeve of her cunt. My balls were pressed against the bunched tightness of her ass, and I could feel my fingers holding her up.
"Do it more! Do it more! Oh God! You're so big!" My back ached from holding her up, and my thighs were quivering from the downward press of her weight. I found myself breathing hard, sweat pouring down my body as I worked myself in and out of her. It was an effort, hard work, but it was well worth it. Her cunt clung to my cock with a fierce sexual desperation, and the urgency of her excitement was no sham. She was enjoying it fully!
"Fuck me, baby I" she moaned. Sara's eyes were closed, and she was rolling her head from side to side as I raised and lowered her on my cock. "Fuck me with your beautiful cock! Fuck my pussy!"
The muscles of my arms felt as though they had a fire burning in them from the groaning effort they were making as I pumped Sara up and down on me. But my cock, too, was on fire-the fire of raw sexual pleasure-and it burned hotter and more intensely than the pain. Up and down they lifted her, sliding her wet warm cunt against my cock. It was as though I were masturbating, using Sara's cunt in place of my hand. My cock was throbbing and trembling and I could hear the wet slap of her thighs as they smacked against my tensed, shaking legs.
"Harder!" she urged, bouncing herself in my hands. There was a new drive in her thrusting, a desperation that made her lips quiver as she spit the words out.
"Fuck me harder!" she cried, almost screaming. "I'm going to come soon! Fuck me harder!"
I could feel the burning pressure building inside of me too, and I knew I would come equally soon if my legs and back held out. I thrust her up and down a few more times, feeling my pleasure growing, but knowing at last that I could not hold out this way.
Sara was oblivious to my agony, as the intensity of her pleasure was almost blinding. She rocked and bounced her body against my cock, driving it further and further into her, as if there was something inside of her cunt that she wanted me to reach and touch. Her cunt was oozing sweat and juices all over my hands and thighs, and my balls were sticky with the overflow. I could feel my cock swelling inside of her, building to explode.
I couldn't stand it any longer-my back was ready to give out and my thighs were trembling so badly I couldn't hold her weight any more. I lifted her body with the last remaining strength in my arms, and I felt her cunt sliding down my cock. It stopped just at my cockhead, and that part of my body remained inside of her.
I walked backwards, holding her up, until I banged my back and naked ass into a wall. The wall between the bathroom and the living room. The moment my back felt the added support of the wall pressing against its agonized muscles, I jackknifed my hips, and I drove my throbbing hot cock back into the swirling fires of Sara's cunt, thrusting it the full length in so that my balls were crushed against the dripping lining of her pussy.
"Oh God!" Sara screamed from the vicious pleasure of my hunch into her. "Oh God! I'm coming!"
She squeezed her thighs together, and tried to stretch her legs stiffly out in front of her, mindless of my presence between them. Her cuntal muscles gripped me like a velvet vise, and I could hear her toenails scraping against the wall on either side of me. My arms were stretched out in front of me to hold her against me and keep her from slipping because her body was stiff with her orgasm, and she was leaning away from me-with her cunt pressed against me-as though my cock and her cunt were fused together.
"My God!" she moaned. "It's so bigl It's so bigl I'm coming! It's all the way in my pussy!"
I could hold my orgasm back no longer, and I loosed it inside of her. I could feel it moving up the staff of my cock, like a bubbling river flowing uphill, and it exploded out in thick, pressurized gushes that ripped a scream of pleasure from my lips.
"Oh Jesus!" I screamed because the level of my pleasure was so intense that I had to scream or burst from the strain. "It's so good!"
And it was good-so good that I had to express it, when my usual reaction to pleasure was closed, stoic lips and a silent, non-communicated excitement. I never screamed; I was too sophisticated for that.
But this time I screamed; screamed because there was too much of the orgasm, and it couldn't escape fast enough from my cock. I had to let it out in another way.
My cock throbbed and exploded, gushing ooze and sperm, belching it into her hot, clutching pussy. I could feel my legs draining from the effort, as though my balls had not produced enough substance, and it was forced to call upon the rest of my body to match my needs.
"Ohmigod!" Sara screamed. "I'm coming again!"
I didn't need to come again. I was still coming from the first time. My cock swelled up until it seemed to be twice as big as when it first went into her cunt. It throbbed angrily and bucked like a wild animal inside of her, spitting out hot, swirling blobs of sperm until it had nothing left to give. And still k throbbed, much like the spasms of a dry, retching stomach, heaving fitfully, but producing nothing.
As I slid down the wall, buried still inside of Sara's iridescent cunt, I felt touched by the cold hand of fear and confusion. The orgasm-my orgasm-had been as intense and as powerful as the few I had with Heather. This orgasm had touched me as profoundly, and at as many levels as the others. This was no mechanical orgasm brought on by Xanadu whores; this was a peak emotional experience.
And it happened a second time. Sara disengaged and swung her body around. She pressed her cunt in my face, and took my cock in her mouth. She began to suck on it furiously, crushing her sloppy box against my lips. I stabbed her with my tongue, eating out my own sperm from her cunt, when I came a second time, in her mouth. She swallowed the sperm, as though replenishing the deposit I was taking back from her cunt; as though she were completing some mystical sexual circle that was just beyond the grasp of my understanding.
Something was happening to me. Something profound and fundamental that it would alter whole life.
And I didn't know what it was.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Heather and Lenny came into the living room after a while, and Sara and I were still on the floor, resting. like us, they were both naked, but it didn't seem to bother them. They walked in casually, Lenny with his arm slung around Heather's shoulders. The evidence of their fucking was quite apparent. For some reason, Lenny must have pulled out of her cunt just as he came, and came instead on her belly. I could see the blob-like streaks of his sperm where Heather had failed to clean herself. It reminded me of tiny gobs of clear glue.
Although we were all naked, I seemed to be the only one bothered by it, and I slipped on my jeans. In front of Lenny (or was it Heather?) I felt embarrassed for them to know that I had fucked Sara. Why should I feel that way? Didn't they do the same thing as I?
Lenny bent down and kissed Sara on the cheek. "How was it for you?"
"It was fantastic," Sara told him. "How was it for you?"
He shook his head and smiled, letting her know how fatigued he was. "Heather was everything you said she was. She is some fuck."
My head was spinning at the words. It was all so bizarre!
"Did you like Sara?" Heather asked me, sitting down next to me on the couch. She seemed truly concerned.
I didn't know what to say. I mumbled something about her being very good, but I don't think it came across very intelligibly. I think she was waiting for me to ask her if she enjoyed Lenny, but I'd be damned if I were going to ask her that! I really didn't want to know.
We sat around for a while longer, and smoked two more joints. It was as though nothing had happened. The only evidence, in fact, to suggest that this part of the night had been any different from what went on earlier, rested in the fact that three of the four people in the room were stark naked. And they didn't act naked; there was no self-consciousness, no embarrassment. It was as though they were fully clothed, and at complete ease.
Sara began to yawn, and Heather said she was tired. We decided to go to sleep. Lenny and Sara slept on the living room floor in sleeping bags, and Heather and I marched into the bedroom. The sheet was stained with sperm on my side of the bed, and I cleaned it off with my handkerchief. It was cold against my naked flesh, and I had to force myself to lay in it. Heather climbed into the bed and snuggled against me. For a moment I thought she wanted more sex, but she kissed me and said "good night." She was understandably exhausted. We fell asleep, arm in arm, almost immediately.
Sara and Lenny left the afternoon of the following day. They had other friends to visit, and promised they would stop back on their way home. Although I wasn't jealous (or so I told myself), I was glad to see them leave. I couldn't adjust to their presence; certainly not after what happened last night.
After they had gone, the house was fairly silent, as if it too was exhausted. Heather had cut classes, so decided now to work on a paper due for the end of the semester. She worked in the kitchen on the table, while I sat on the living room couch sulking moodily and trying to pass time by reading. First I looked through some books, then I found a pile of underground newspapers. I turned to the Personal Column in the back, and I found one of my own advertisements for Xanadu. Finding it made my day perfect. Just perfect.
"What's the matter, Steve?" Heather asked. She sat down on the couch next to me. "You've been so quiet all day. Is something bothering you?"
I pretended to be fascinated by the newspaper, burying my eyes behind the page. "Nothing's wrong. Why do you ask?"
Heather shrugged. "I can sense it. Something is eating at you."
I must be transparent, I thought. First Harvey and now Heather. I can't hide anything any more. Everyone can see right through me
"You're crazy," I said, making a stab at laughing it off.
Heather's voice was quiet and serious. "Don't lie to me, Steve. If we can't have an honest relationship, then I'd rather end it here and now."
The threat was there even if she had said the words softly. She meant what she was saying.
"What makes you think I'm lying?"
"I can feel it. When people are dishonest with each other, it's the easiest thing to know."
I considered telling her the truth, but I felt ashamed and embarrassed. How could I tell her I was jealous?
I guess she sensed my conflict, so she added, in the same quiet tone, "If you feel you must lie to me, then that's your decision. I can't force you to tell the truth. I can only take myself away from those lies."
I struggled with that. "It's difficult for me to..."
"Is it about last night? With Lenny?"
I nodded. "Yes."
"What about last night. Put it in words and tell me so I can know how you feel. I care how you feel, Steve. I won't laugh at you or get mad."
I thought for a moment, thinking of all the things
I wanted to say. But I knew none of them would come out as I planned them, and I got angry.
"But damn it!" I said, putting down the newspaper. "Why did you have to do that? Didn't you care how I felt?"
Heather looked confused, as though she hadn't even considered what I was talking about. "Are you jealous?"
My anger cooled in guilt. "No. Not in so many words. But hurt ... a little. I thought we had something, you and I? Something special. Some kind of communication between us. I felt it. I thought you did too."
Heather's face was serious, soft and interested. "I did feel what you're talking about. I still feel it. You're a very special person to me, Steve. Very special."
"Then how could you do that! Fuck with him so cold bloodily!"
Heather thought for a moment, enlightenment slowly dawning on her features. It was as though she suddenly understood what I was talking about.
"I think our problem is one of communication," Heather said finally. "It's a philosophical gap between us."
Now I was lost. "I don't follow you."
"It's a difference in philosophy and life-style," she explained. "You're older than I, and I guess that's probably part of the problem. I think we see sex as two different things."
"Go on."
"I think you're confusing sex and love, and that's fine, if that's your thing. But you can't see everyone else through your values always. It gives you a lopsided view of what's happening."
I didn't like being lectured about sex, and I resented it. If she knew who I really was, I'm sure her opinion would be different. Why I've fucked more women...
"I can separate love and sex," I said. "I've been doing it all my life."
"I'm sure you can, with people who don't mean anything to you. But can you separate it with someone you love?"
Why did she say that? Why did she use love? Did she think I loved her? Did I love her?
Heather thought for a moment. "You see, Steve. I can separate love from sex, even with someone I feel very strongly about. To me, sex is a physical, pleasurable experience that should be enjoyed. You would no more turn down a delicious meal offered to you by a stranger, than I could turn down an invitation to make love with that same stranger. I can view sexuality the same way you can view eating as a sensual, amoral, physical experience. I suffer no guilt when I fuck just as you suffer no guilt when you eat."
I could agree with her philosophically, for wasn't that what my life at Xanadu has been about? But in practice-applying it to people, people I cared for-I wasn't so sure it would work for me. It seemed wrong. It seemed immoral. Just as I sensed how wrong it was when Sara and I were sitting on the floor together while Lenny and Heather were making love, and she didn't seem to care-this seemed equally wrong. But they didn't caret They walked around naked in front of each other, and they just didn't give a fuck!
"Sex," Heather continued, "should be free and honest and shared whenever and with whomever you feel the desire. It should never be a possessive thing, for that's what destroys love. It's like a cancer, eating at a relationship, until it turns something beautiful into something ugly and malignant."
She was wrong. I knew she was wrong. "But people who care for one another," I said, "owe something to each other."
"You make love sound like a debt that has to be paid back with interest. It's not. You don't buy it, you give it. Freely, with no strings attached. Sex that is used to "buy" something, even love, is corrupt."
It was as though she knew me; knew who I actually was. I'd spent my whole life "buying" things. I thought of Xanadu, and Harvey and Diane and the redhead who got paid three hundred dollars a week plus expenses to get fucked up the ass. I had even tried to buy Heather's glass flowers. For me, buying was a way of life. Perhaps that's why I couldn't understand.
"I come from a different generation," Heather said, reaching across the gulf that separated us by touching the side of my face with her gentle hand. "For us, the world is a very cold and killing place."
"You're not the first ones to see it that way," I pointed out.
"No, but we're the first ones who tried to change it in kind. Always before there had been despair and people grew cold and cynical. They returned coldness for coldness, killing for killing because there was no other way.
"But we found a way. We returned love for coldness and compassion for killing. We rediscovered human beings. We touched one another. We communicated through our love. And sex was our language. It was our symbolism for touching another human being. If I stopped making love, it would mean that I stopped loving. It would mean that I didn't care. And I do care. I care enough to "touch" people and be touched back by them. All people. People I feel for. It's the only way I know I'm alive."
"It seems to me that it's you now who is having difficulty separating sex and love," I remarked.
"No, I'm not. Because the sex and the love I'm talking about are different from the things you're talking about. You're talking about physical sex and possessive love. In my world, those terms cancel out one another. Love that knows limits or centers itself in one receptacle is not love. Love that is jealous is not love either."
"I thought sex is like eating a feast for you?"
"Only in that I experience no more guilt doing one than you would doing the other. I can accept sex as a part of my life-like eating. I can know how very important it is, like eating, again, but not be overwhelmed by its significance each time I practice it."
"But don't you see what you're doing?" I said, feeling my frustration return. I struggled to convince her. "You are trying to turn sex into something mystical. Something spiritual. And it's not!"
Heather listened carefully to my words. "Perhaps I am. Perhaps it is a mystical thing. But, in another way, in a way of acceptance, I'm trying to make sex more humanistic. Fucking should always be an open, honest act of physical pleasure. More than anything else, it should be that."
I didn't understand it, so I attacked her. "And that's why you fucked with Lenny?" I asked, cruelly.
"Partially," Heather answered.
"And what's the other part?"
"I fucked with him because I wanted to," she said, returning my cruelty.
That hurt, and I retreated to lick my wounded ego.
"You're wrong," I said after a moment. "You're whole attitude is wrong. It's a rationalization for promiscuity. A fucking license."
Heather smiled softly, with no malice, just interest. "And I think you're wrong, Steve. You have a very old-fashioned attitude about sex."
I struggled to compose myself. How could she say such a thing? To me especially? If she knew that I was the owner of a sexual estate, where I did nothing but fuck promiscuously, she would not think me so old-fashioned! I was a swingerl I wallowed in sex!
I made my living from sex! How could she be so naive?
I thought of the newspaper I had just put down.
"And I know what your trouble is," I said, picking up the newspaper and flipping to the page with my ad. "You're naive and idealistic and blind to a man's real nature. He's a beast, I say, an animal. Not a god."
Before she could respond, I held the ad in front of her face. "And what about this?" I asked, triumphantly. "Is sex like this honest and open?"
She pulled her head back so that she could see. "What is this that you're talking about?"
"It's an advertisement for a club," I explained. "A sex club, called Club Xanadu. But what it really is is an orgy house. A place where perverse men and women go, paying one hundred dollars a year, so they can fuck in peace. Weekend orgies for a price. Is this sex noble? Is this open and honest?"
Heather read the advertisement. "Sure," she said. "Why not? People have a right to enjoy what they want as long as they don't force it on others. If these people want an orgy, and are willing to pay for it, I say why not? It's healthy and pleasurable, even if it is slightly commercial."
"You're crazy!" I countered angrily. She didn't know anything about it. It was my club! "It's a dive! A dump! A high-classed whorehouse!"
Heather shook her head. "You really are a prude, do you know that, Steve?"
I sputtered, unable to get my words out.
"Sex," Heather added, "is what you bring to it. And not what a club or a society forces onto it."
"No, you're wrong. A club like Xanadu capitalizes on man's basest drives. It sells for a profit something that society prohibits, just like a junk dealer makes a profit by selling heroin. And it's just as immoral, for while these poor fools who pay their money are searching for ecstasy in fucking, the owner of this club is raking in money and power. It's a con. It's a..." I searched for the strongest word I could think of. "It's a business!"
Heather shook her head firmly. "You're wrong, Steve," she said simply.
"I'm not wrong, and I'll prove it to you," I answered, sensing that I was fighting for much more than our disagreement. My whole life seemed to be suddenly at stake.
"How can you prove it?" she asked.
"We'll join this Club Xanadu!" I said. "We'll go to one of the orgies, and we'll test our theories. And then we'll see who is correct."
"What about the money? I thought you said it cost a hundred dollars?"
I stilled her. "I have the money."
Heather gave me a long, probing stare, but she didn't ask how or why I had so much money.
"Agreed," she said finally.
The moment we agreed to go through with it, I was gripped by a gnawing thread of anxiety. I couldn't shake the feeling, and it stayed with me night and day, right up to when the time came to test our beliefs. Right up to the night I returned to Xanadu.
CHAPTER TWELVE
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," our hostess said. "Welcome to the Club Xanadu."
She was a new girl, dressed in the same see-through jumpsuit that all Xanadu hostesses wear, and I didn't recognize her. I guess Harvey must have hired her in my absence. It's been almost two weeks now since I left on my vacation, and that was more than enough time for there to be any number of changes. I wondered what her specialty was-blow jobs, ass fucks, bestiality? It had to be something along those lines or she would never have gotten the job. Harvey was very careful about who he hired; the girl had to have references of a very special nature. And I'm sure that her interview must have been a memorable one.
I wonder how Harvey was doing in my absence? I asked myself. I'd tricked him by promising to call every few days, but I'd broken the promise, and hadn't called in all that time. Today was the first day I'd been back home since I had Violet help me pack. And it was curious, but in all that time, I hadn't once cared what was happening here. I didn't care that Harvey was stealing me blind; I'd expected that. I didn't even care whether Xanadu was here when I arrived. I'd lost interest in the company, and not just in building it up so that it would prosper, but lost interest in it completely. I just didn't care any more.
But, in another way, the weeks had been profitable. I'd gotten to know Heather much better, and the emotional ties between us were growing into chains. I liked and I needed her, and I could tell she felt the same way about me. I don't think I understood her still, and that worried me. I was afraid of how what happens here between us will effect us. I knew that this would be the beginning of some kind of change between us, and I was afraid she might not be there in the end, when it was over. Yet we had to go through with it. Too much depended on it.
I was apprehensive at first, returning here as Mr. Steven Brooks, that someone on my staff might recognize me, and give away my real identity. But so far I had been fortunate. Harvey and Diane, of course, would not be here. They never attended the orgies, nor did I, for that matter, when I was still here. Compared to the way we live, the weekend orgies were like social gatherings. The only people who might have recognized me were my Xanadu girls and Billy, the parking attendant.
I had circumnavigated Billy by letting Heather park her Volkswagen while I told her I would meet her inside. I said I had to go to the bathroom. I waited for her at the door, and we entered together, in the middle of the crowd of new Xanadu members. The new members always arrived an hour or two before the orgy began for a kind of orientation. A few hostesses would be on hand to take the new people on tour of the estate, pointing out some of the more subtle benefits of membership.
That had been my only difficulty: the hostess. But, since they work on a seniority basis, newest girls working the weekends, the chances of my meeting one who knew me intimately were slim. And I had taken the precaution of letting my beard grow during the past two weeks, and while it wasn't by any means full, it might tend to disguise me from a nervous girl who may have only seen me once or not at all. Again, I had been lucky, and our hostess was a girl I'd never seen before.
"My name is Denise," the girl continued, "and I'm your Xanadu hostess. I'd like to take this time to extend the warmest personal greetings from Mr. Brian Caldwell, Club Xanadu's owner and founder. As you know, Mr. Caldwell's courageous belief in every man's personal and sexual freedom has made all of this possible."
Such bullshit, I thought. Well, I should know. I wrote the speech myself.
From the back of the crowd, someone shouted out in a mock-serious voice, "I thought it was my hundred bucks that made this all possible!"
The crowd laughed, and I silently applauded the man. I looked over at Heather, and held up one finger, indicating that that was one for me.
The crowd settled down, and Denise was set to begin her tour.
"Now, if there are any questions?" she asked.
"Yeah. I got one." It was the same voice that had called out before. "Are you gonna join us later at the orgy?"
There was a little tittering, but Denise handled the question easily.
"No, I'm sorry, sir. Xanadu hostesses are not permitted to take part in the festivities. We're only here as guides and for assistance."
Yes, I thought cynically. Guides and assistance. Guides to what and assistance in doing what? Even though the Xanadu hostesses were hired for my personal pleasure-my private stock, if you will-they had a habit of making themselves sexually available to club members if the member was willing to pay her price. I wouldn't be surprised at all to see our hostess take that man to the side before the tour was over, and do a little negotiating for herself. Still, it didn't bother me; like Harvey skimming a bit of the cream off the top, I expected it.
The voice was persistent. "It's a shame. You're a sweet piece of pussy."
The crowd's reaction to his vulgarity was interesting. Some laughed and applauded it, while others muttered and seemed embarrassed by it. It made me wonder why they were here.
But Denise remained cool. "Thank you, sir, but I'm truly sorry. Under strict orders from Mr. Caldwell, we are not permitted to accept."
The voice was silent, and Denise took command. "I think we can begin our tour now. Please try and stay in a group, and if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask."
The crowd started to move, and I found myself watching Denise. The voice calling out had been correct: she was a sweet piece of pussy. like all my girls, that was the least she was allowed to be.
Of course, Denise's beauty had a great deal to do with her costume. It was a sleeveless, tight-fitting jumpsuit that came down in one piece to a wide, Hairing bell. The material was transparent from the top of her breasts, to the middle of her thighs, front and back. As a result, the wearer was completely exposed. I felt this was an ice-breaker, and had a tendency to get the newer members in a more relaxed frame of mind. Most of them were self-conscious and nervous, and the hostesses nudity reinforced the reason for their being here: for sex and sex alone.
Still, Denise filled out her uniform admirably well. Her breasts were full and high, with wide brown pointy nipples rubbing against the material of her costume. Her tits were heavy, and of course, they did not sag.
She had a narrow waist that looked flat and hard, and it swelled out like an hourglass at her hips. The curve of her cuntal mound was broad and high, and interestingly enough, her cunt was shaved. It looked strangely naked between her thighs, as though there was something missing. The indentation where the lips came together was visible from the front, like a small pouting mouth. If you stared hard enough you could catch a fleeting glimpse of her clitoris as she walked. The crotch-piece of her uniform looked tight as it curved around the hairless cunt, cutting into the flesh so that she had to pull at it discreetly whenever it was binding.
Her thighs were full and round, like twin columns of nut-brown trees, and the mark where her suntan ended and the whiter flesh that had been hidden under her bathing suit was visible, like boundary lines on a map. Noticing this, I looked at her breasts again, but those light-dark telltale patches were not there. It could mean only one thing: Denise was used to sunbathing without a top.
When she turned, I took a nice long gaze at her ass. It was broad and high, with thickly muscled cheeks that might almost have been fat if they weren't so firm. There were no stretch marks on her ass, as there sometimes is when a woman has a big ass, and when she walked around, the tight ripples that rolled up and down the cheeks indicated well-toned, exercised flesh.
Denise guided the tour out towards the swimming pool. There was another tour just leaving, and its hostess was Violet, my last sexual contact with Xanadu women. Night was falling around us, and in the twilight of the ending day, her flaming red hair looked like sunlight misplaced. As her tour passed by, I stood in the middle of our crowd, with my back turned to her.
"Here, ladies and gentlemen," Denise began, "we have Xanadu's private swimming pool. And I do mean private. Of course, when the weather gets chilly, its heated, so it can be used most year round. It measures forty-feet in length, and it is available all weekend long for swimming or any other water sports that may come to mind. Bathing suits are available for rental, but I should like to point out that in the two years Xanadu has been open, no bathing suit has yet been rented. You may interpret that as you will."
This produced another laugh from the crowd. A smaller, but more relaxed laughter.
"A little further down," Denise continued, pointing, "is Xanadu's parking lot. I'm sure most of you are familiar with it since you parked your car there, but for some of our visitors from other states, I should like to point it out. And for those who did come to visit us from other states, as you know, transportation has been provided by bus and private limousine for your convenience."
At a slightly additional cost, I added. Just enough for me to rake in a little more money and get a kickback from the bus companies.
Turning her back on the pool and parking lot, Denise began to walk toward the large white house.
"And now," she said dramatically, "we will see Xanadu itself. The stately pleasure-dome."
And I guess that makes me Kubla Khan, I thought, entering my strange home.
"Oh, I should have mentioned," Denise added, "that around back we have an open area for sunbathing, and a small grove of woods for our Nature lovers. As you may recall as you drove up, there are no fences around Xanadu, so if you walk around outside in the nude, you stand the chance of being observed by passersby. Of course, some of our members thrive on that kind of attention, so they can be found most times outdoors. In fact, some of these members have managed to entertain these passersby with some very original and entertaining exhibitions."
We were standing in Xanadu's front hall, and Denise brought our attention to the ceiling. It was covered with an enormous fresco of men and women in the nude, fucking, sucking, and making love in every possible position and manner. The work was a masterpiece of erotica, and had taken three artists almost one full year to complete. It was a breathtaking sight, almost three dimensional, and the figures seemed to leap from the ceiling down upon you in their various sexual embraces.
"This work of art was inspired by the Sistine Chapel, in Rome," I heard Denise mention.
The walls of the front hall were decorated, complimenting the ceiling. Only these were erotic photographs, some in black and white, some in color, of actual men and women engaging in sexual play. The photos were strikingly erotic, without being tasteless and unaesthetic. like the painting, the photographs were a major work of erotic art.
Denise led us down the long hallway that divided Xanadu down the middle. The first door she came to on the right, led to the finished basement.
"The basement," Denise explained, "if for our more athletic members. It is equipped with a full gymnasium of weights and bodybuilding equipment. There is also a sauna room for steam baths. Naturally, the gym is equipped with many, many foam rubber mats, and they are quite comfortable. The gym area is most frequented by some of our gay male members, but many curious women can also be found there at any time, watching the men exercising their various muscles."
A titter went through the crowd, and Heather squeezed my hand. I could tell that the idea excited her. There is something about two men making love that is very exciting to women. It repulses and fascinates them at the same time.
Denise turned and faced the crowd. "Oh, in case any of you has to use the bathroom facilities, there is a bathroom in the two orgy rooms, one on either side of the hall. But I must explain that these are unisexual bathrooms, for obvious reasons, used by male and female members alike. If you object to this arrangement, there are segregated bathrooms upstairs, at the end of the hall."
She turned, then turned back, almost as an afterthought; but it wasn't, and it was done for effect.
"Oh, I should mention for any urolagnists in the crowd, you'll be especially pleased to see the urinals in our unisexual bathrooms. They are in the form of trenches that men face and women squat over. And the trenches are quite wide. Wide enough for a person to..."
She left the obscenity unsaid, but not unimagined.
Heather turned to me, and her face was slightly drawn and pale. She squeezed my hand again.
"This isn't just a high-priced whorehouse," she whispered to me. "It's a pervert's view of heaven. This place has something for everyone."
"That's democracy in action," I quipped back. "You know the old maxim: if you want something bad enough, there will always be someone there willing to sell it to you."
We finally came to the orgy rooms. They were two double doors, facing each other on either side of the hallway. They were high doors, painted white, with gilding running along the inner panels in an ornate scrollwork pattern. The doorknobs were golden also, and were tooled and worked until the design was so ornate it was lost in the maze of detail. Denise gripped the doorknobs in her hand and threw the double doors open dramatically.
"Here," she said, "we have our first Orgy Room. This is our theme room, and for those of you who are still not familiar with the way Xanadu works, I'll explain.
"Every week, Xanadu will run a special orgy, with a central theme running through it. Usually the theme will run for two weeks at a stretch, but popular response has held certain themes over for as long as one month. The purpose of running a theme is to enable our members to fantasize as a group. It allows us to all play the same sexual game. In the past, some of the themes we have run have been a Cock-Tail party, a Roman Orgy, and "Pet Night." This week's theme is a Costume Party, and members have been advised to use their imagination in choosing their costumes. There is only one qualification, and it is fitting for Xanadu's overall theme. No costume can cover any sexual area. This includes mouths also."
Denise let that sink in for a moment, then continued." Next week's theme is a return of a very popular idea, The Black Mass. This has been an old standard here in Southern California, so if you choose to come, make your reservations early."
Heather turned to me, shaking her head. "Jesus!" she expelled. "It's like trying to get tickets to a Broadway musical!"
Denise walked across the hall, and opened the second set of gold and white doors. This room was just as large, but it was set in a comfortable, contemporary fashion. There were many, many couches and comfortable-looking chairs, and the floor was carpeted with a soft, thick rug. There was a bar over in one corner, and the overall effect of the room was to suggest a dance hall.
"This is our second Orgy Room," Denise explained. "As you can see, there is only one theme in this room, and it is sexual. This is for our members who want to get down to serious business right away. You'll notice there are lockers in the far room for clothing, rented on a first-come basis. I'd suggest you go to the lockers first, because members rarely wear any clothing in this room."
There was another set of doors further down the hallway, and Denise led us to them. She opened the door on the right, and we walked in. It was a fairly small room, and the wall facing the Orgy Room was partitioned into small cubicles with closed doors.
"This is our Voyeur Room, for our peeping-Tom and peeping-Jane members. As you can see, the cubicles face the Orgy rooms, with the same arrangement made on the other side of the hallway. Each cubical locks from the inside, and is equipped with a two-way mirror that affords an unobstructed view of the orgy floor. For our member's comfort, the room has a chair in it, facing the mirror, so that members can sit and relax and still not miss any of the action. There is also a loud speaker in each cubical, and it brings clearly in, the sounds and noises of the next room. Towels will also be supplied for a small additional charge."
The mood of the tour was changing, as everyone was getting more and more into the mood of Xanadu. Many men had hard-ons but they made no effort to hide or disguise them, and many played and rubbed them with their hands in their pockets. The women were reacting too, and many of them draped themselves against the men they were with. Some were fondling their breasts and cunts openly, and one woman had slipped her hand down the front of a man's pants, thinking no one was watching her, and she was rubbing his erect cock vigorously.
Heather gripped my hand tightly, aroused by all this open sexuality, and her hand was wet with perspiration. Once or twice she tickled the palm of my hand with her index finger, the universal sign of her intention, and she whispered to me in a voice only I could hear: "I want to fuck."
I smiled back at her. "Patience."
After the Voyeur Room, the hallway was roped off, but Denise made no mention of what rooms lay beyond the barricade. I, of course, knew, but I wasn't about to divulge anything. It was my office, and my suite of rooms.
Denise moved us back down the long central hallway, back to the front hall. There, on either side of the room, were staircases spiraling upward to the second floor of the estate. We took the stairway on the left, trudging silently up, and we waited for Denise on the second landing.
The second floor was laid out much in the same way the lower floor was: that is, with one central hallway running the length of the house. Of course the ceiling was lower, and the hallway was narrower, and there was an almost austere, functional undertone to the decor.
"These are for the most part," Denise began once we were all assembled together, "Xanadu's private bedrooms. like the lockers downstairs, they are here on a first-come basis. It is possible to reserve a room in advance, however, with a small additional deposit."
Harvey, Harvey, Harvey, I thought. Good old Harvey, always finding some way to turn greed into money. I wonder how much extra money all these 'small additional deposits' net me during the year? I'm sure Harvey would know. Right to the penny.
Denise opened a door to one of the bedrooms, and we all looked in. It was small and functional, barely large enough to fit the full-size bed, and the chair at the foot of the mattress.
"As you can see, the bedrooms are rather functional. A bed and a chair and some towels. By making the rooms narrow, it enables us to utilize as much space as possible, and thereby provide as many beds as we can to fill the demand in this area.
"Every door is equipped with a lock," she continued, "but locking of the doors is optional. You do whatever you want. Some of our members purposely leave their doors unlocked. The excitement of getting caught in the act can be very stimulating, as I have been told by members so inclined.
"And, last but not least, every room is fixed with three peek holes, one on each wall. This way, if you get bored, you can always look to your neighbors for inspiration."
The rest of the second floor was devoted to bedrooms, except at the very end of the hall, where the corner rooms were bathrooms: the men's on the right, the women's on the left. Denise also mentioned that there were peek holes in the walls of the rooms adjacent to the bathrooms. But, she added, these rooms are very popular to come by, and there is a three month waiting list for them.
The hallway broke into a double L, with rooms down either side. At the end of one of the sides, there was a third stairway, and we climbed it slowly, Denise in the lead.
The third floor was much like the other two. Its only difference was that there seemed to be fewer doors, and they were set very far apart from each other.
"This is our specialty floor," Denise explained. "The rooms here cater to our members with more esoteric tastes and interests."
That, even I felt, was masterful understatement.
The first room was a library. It was a fairly large room, with shelves of books running around the perimeter of the rooms. The shelves were wooden, and stained walnut, and there were markers above the bookcases indicating the type of books contained below. We were too far away to read them, but I knew them by heart: Erotic Novels, Photo Essays, Old Masters, Erotic Art, and Pornography Through the Ages, to name just a few.
"This is Club Xanadu's prize collection of Erotica, and it is one of the largest collections of pornographic books in the world. There are almost fifteen thousand volumes, many of them rare first editions by well-know authors down through history. This collection is insured, and is valued at over three-quarters of a million dollars."
A stir of approval went through the crowd. Money always impressed people.
"For those of you who are not interested in reading, many of the books are quite graphically illustrated. And, you'll notice, that instead of being equipped with chairs and tables, Xanadu's library of Pornography is equipped with bed, sofas and large, comfortable chairs."
"How do you take books out?" someone asked Denise. It was the first question I could remember except for those few asked very early in the tour.
"I'm sorry, sir," she answered, "but books can not be taken from this room. They are very rare and valuable. A guard will be stationed at all times on the door, and as an additional precaution, no member will be allowed in the Library unless he or she is nude. I'm sure you can understand the reasoning behind this."
But somehow, I added, to myself, they still manage to steal the books. How they get them out is beyond me, unless they have some very peculiar hiding places on naked bodies.
The next room was the Bondage Room, or as some members called it, the Leather Room. That was because the walls and the floor were covered with a thick, leather-like material. The decor was early torture-chamber, and there were chains and whips, and other instruments of punishment and sadism. There were pinchers for gripping penises and testicles, and large probes that could be heated and inserted into cunts or ass-holes. There were paddles on the walls in cases, and a counter that sold all types of leather and rubber clothing and articles. Handcuffs could also be rented.
"You will notice," Denise pointed out, "that there are also private small rooms off to the side, for our members who desire privacy. And, for the convenience of all, the room is soundproofed."
The next room, on the other side of the hallway, was the Porno Theater. It seated fewer than one hundred people, but the films were run continually. They were top-quality pornography from California and Sweden, many of them with sound, and occasionally some in 3-D
"We have been trying an experiment with our Porno Theater," Denise began. "We have run shows with a theme on occasion, and it has met with favorable results. Once we ran a set called: "Film Pornography: Silents to Now," and in it we traced the evolution of the blue film. Many of the sequences shown were very old and very rare, never before seen in America. The theme of this week's film fare is "Pornography in Hollywood," and it stars many well-known and famous stars of the silver screen. Much of these films come from private collections, and are receiving their first public showing ever."
That, too, created a reaction in members of our tour, and Denise added to their interest.
"And just a small private opinion," she said, conspiratorially, taking us all into her confidence. "I saw these films last night, and believe me, they are truly something. You'll be shocked to see who is actually in them. I won't mention any names because I don't want to ruin the surprise, but I'll tell you this: you will recognize them, even without their clothing. There are stars from the early silent days, through the thirties and forties, right up to now. There's even some television stars, and one or two Academy Award winners."
Next to the Porno theater, there was another room, and it was very similar to the one we had just left. It was about the same general size, and the only difference seemed to be that this room had a stage where the other had a movie screen.
"On this stage," Denise explained, "Club Xanadu will present our own live sex-show. The show times will be at seven, nine, eleven and one o'clock, generally, for sometimes it's hard to judge the length of the live shows. It sometimes takes longer than other times."
There was a snicker in her voice, and I wondered if she wasn't scheduled to appear in one of the shows. Sometimes the girls did that to pick up some extra money.
"It will be a mixed show," she continued, "with groups of men and women ranging from just one, right up to five participants. Most sets are straight men and women, but some are gay acts, with men and men, and women and women."
She paused to let her words sink into our minds, before she added her final comment:
"And, of course, any member who feels moved to join our act, even on the stage, is urged to do so. So you can keep that in mind while you're watching."
The last room, was at the end of the hallway, and it was a very new addition to our Club. So new, in fact, that this was the first time I was inside it. While I had been still here, the room was under construction, and had only been finished last week. Still, I had seen plans of it, and I was thoroughly familiar with its function.
"This is our Telephone Room," Denise said. "It is Xanadu's latest addition in assisting our members with their various pleasures and interests."
It was a square room, consisting of telephone booths all around the walls. There were perhaps forty of them, and they were all made of metal and glass.
Denise walked over to one and slid the door open. There was a comfortable chair inside, and a box of tissues just under the wall phone.
"The purpose of this room," she said, "is really for members, men and women, who like to make and receive obscene telephone calls. These phones are for internal use only, and they connect with another room where Xanadu staff members are waiting to respond to the calls placed from here. All you have to do is dial F-U-C-K-M, if you're a male and you want to speak to a woman, or dial F-U-C-K-W, if you're a woman, and you want to speak to a man. Does anyone want me to repeat the numbers?" There was laughter now from the crowd.
"I didn't think you would have any difficulty remembering them. I'd like to further mention that Xanadu staff-members who respond to your calls are specially trained to provide exactly what you want. They will not leave you unsatisfied."
More laughter from the crowd.
"There is just one more thing I'd like to point out about this room," she said, entering the booth and sitting in the chair, "and then I think we can go downstairs and begin to use all of these facilities at your disposal."
Denise closed the door, and hid herself from view. Then she reopened the door.
"As you can see," she explained, "this door is covered with an especially treated coating for your privacy. Once the door is closed, no one can see in, even if he puts his face right up to the glass. And the chair, you notice, swivels completely around." She spun the chair.
"But," she added, closing the door. Her voice sounded muffled as it came through to us. "For those of our members who don't want privacy, all you have to do is switch on the overhead light, and..."
Denise had switched on the overhead light, and the narrow telephone booth was flooded with light. Denise became visible, as though the door were transparent. A cry of surprise came from the crowd.
While the door had been closed, Denise had removed her jumpsuit, and now she was naked. She had turned the chair around so that it was facing the door, and she was sitting in it. Her legs were up, widely spread and pressed against the door, and she had her hand between her legs. You could see her cunt very clearly, like a wide open slash of pink, and she had her finger between her lips, and was pushing it in and out of her cunt. The unexpectedness of seeing that was deeply erotic, and I felt myself stiffen even though I was expecting it.
"And," she concluded, "for those of you who want to be seen, just turn on the light."
She closed the light again, and a moment after, she opened the door. She was still naked, and Heather gripped my hand so tightly, my fingers were tingling. The effect of the last demonstration must have gotten to her.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Denise said. "You have been very courteous and patient. The formal tour is now over, and I'd like to add my own personal good wishes to those previously extended. I hope you enjoy your visit at Xanadu, and come as often as you like."
Her final, parting joke.
"The festivities will be beginning shortly, so I'll let you go down now. I'm sure you will find your way, it's down the hallway and down the stairs. I'd like to come with you," she paused, "but I have a very important telephone call to make."
Denise smiled broadly, then winked.
The rest of the tour filed from the Telephone room, with Heather and I following. The tension that I had felt all week was suddenly back, and I felt something very close to fear.
There was no turning back now. The orgy was about to begin.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Life is very often like a cycle: it begins at one point, goes out from there moving very fast in a straight, new direction, but turns somewhere, and comes back upon itself. That's what happened to me with my return to Xanadu. It's as though I were caught up in some great swell of history, being carried along by forces I would never understand, but could only feel. I sensed myself rushing towards something, but what it was, what it meant, I had no way of knowing. But it was significant: there could be no doubting that. And it was drawing to a close.
It was like a circle, I saw suddenly. A circle that was about to close, with its two opposite ends meeting at the point from which the journey began. The end and the beginning, all growing from that same spot, so that it was impossible to tell one from the other.
Xanadu, was that point, and I was the circle.
"My God!" Heather exclaimed, breaking into my train of thought. She was excited, very sexually excited. "This is unbelievable!"
We were standing towards the back of the second, less specialized Orgy Room. The room was quite crowded, filled with hundreds of people, many of them already naked. Heather and I were still fully dressed, perhaps being self-conscious at the newness of what was happening, but we were watching their behavior with intense curiosity. More than just curiosity, for we had taken the precaution of securing a locker for our clothing. Now all we really were doing was waiting for the mood of the orgy to catch up with us enough to permit us to act.
"Is this the first orgy you've been to?" I asked, speaking loud so that she could hear me over the deafening din of the noisy room. Men and women were laughing and shouting, and a loud, blaring music covered over even that, as though its function was to fill in any lapses of silence.
"I guess so," she answered. "This is the first time I've been to an orgy like this. I've been to a couple of pot parties that turned sexual, but never with anywhere as many people as this. And never with strangers."
There was a man and woman on a sofa directly in front of us, and they were kissing quite passionately. Actually, they were doing much more than just kissing, and their activities were attracting a crowd of voyeurs, Heather and I included. We pushed in closely to watch them.
Heather's eyes widened, and a glaze of excitement colored her cheeks.
"How do you feel about all of this?" I asked.
Heather was distracted by my question, and she impatiently allowed her eyes to travel back and forth between my face and the couple in front of us.
"What? Oh. I feel all right, I guess."
I looked at the couple, recognizing them for what they were. In carnivals, there are people who are known as shills: people planted in the audience to get the action rolling. In an orgy, there is a similar need to break down self-consciousness. Everyone wants to do it, but no one wants to be the first. The man and women in front of us were shills, employees of Xanadu, who used their passion as a catalyst to precipitate a similar response from those around them. And even though their passion was bought and paid for, it looked real, and it was contagious.
"Are you nervous?" I asked, needing to know.
Heather's eyes were riveted on the moaning, squirming man and woman, and for a moment I could tell she resented my interruptions.
"Nervous?" she answered. "What do I have to be nervous about? A little self-conscious, maybe. And a whole lot horny."
I could tell I wasn't going to get much more out of her; she was too preoccupied with what was happening. She was like a child in a toy factory: she didn't know which way to look first. She was working on a different level from me, and any of the answers I needed, I knew I could not get from her. It was my problem and I would have to struggle with it myself. I would have to find my own answers.
I resigned myself to watching the couple; perhaps in the falseness of their act, there might be some grain of the truth I needed.
The woman was blonde, and she was wearing a blouse and a miniskirt. The man had his hand under her blouse, and he was squeezing her breasts as he kissed her. You couldn't see her tits, only his hand as he moved it under the material of the blouse, sliding it back and forth until it reminded me of a gopher burrowing his tunnel just under the surface of the earth. His hand moved frantically, from one tit to another, squeezing, pinching, and rubbing.
The couples around us began to react. The men drew their women closer to them, touching them secretly or kissing them on their necks as they looked down on the sexual display. One or two of the braver ones had slid their hands up the sweaters or blouses of the women they were with, and they were squeezing their breasts, as though answering the action they were watching. And one man had his woman pressed against him, with his erection against her ass, and he had his hand on her cunt, masturbating her as they watched.
Heather gripped my hand and pressed her body against mine. I could feel the soft swell of her tits through the material of her blouse, and I caught the rhythm of her breath. It was harsh and jerky, as though she was trying to suck in air to cool the fire that was burning between her legs.
"Wow," she said. "Jesus Christ."
The man on the sofa had opened the front of the blonde's blouse, and you could see her tits. She didn't have a bra on, and her nipples were stiff and pink in the center of all that naked flesh. Her complexion had a peaches and cream kind of color, and it looked erotically striking against the red silky softness of her blouse material. The man's fingers were pinching the nipple of her right tit, and she was squirming as though she were in agony. I could hear the muffled cries of her moaning, blocked by the open press of her companion's mouth.
"She's got nice tits," someone said. It was a woman's voice.
I looked over at her out of curiosity. She was standing almost directly across from me, staring down. She had short black hair, and a slim boyish figure. There was a man standing behind her, and he had his hand under her blouse, cupping her tit. There was just the smallest trace of envy and admiration on her pale, attractive face.
"Steve, look!" Heather said excitedly, jarring me with her elbow.
The man had broken his kiss from her lips, and transplanted it to her tit. I looked just in time to see his mouth close around the stiff pink ridge of her nipple when his cheeks hollowed, and he sucked it up into his mouth. A small trickle of his saliva dribbled from his lips, and it made a trail down her large, swollen breast.
"Oh, suck it, Roy!" the blonde woman moaned, stuffing the softness of her own tit into his open mouth. "Suck it and lick it for me!"
Heather was standing sideways next to me, and she opened her thighs and pressed her cunt against the side of my leg. She pressed her thighs in, locking them around me, and I wondered whether it was an unconscious reaction to her excitement, or a boldly sexual hint. I didn't decide on either explaination, and remained silent even when she began to hump her cunt up and down against my thigh.
Roy, the man on the couch, pulled his lips away from the blonde's tit. The nipple was almost red from the suction of his mouth. He pulled his face just far enough away from it to allow everyone to see it and react to it.
"Ooohhh!" someone moaned. "Look at that!"
"Suck it more!" someone else urged, whispering aloud in a voice that was unaware that it had spoken. "Suck it some more!"
The reactions were more than just vocal. The small gathering of watchers were moving from observation to participation.
The slim woman with the short black hair across from me had her legs spread widely apart, and she was arching back against the man behind her. The man had his hand down the front of her black slacks, and he was cupping her cunt. She was rolling with the movement of his hand, rolling her straight, boy-like hips in a slow, sensual circle.
Another woman, a big, buxomy blonde with frizzy hair and bright red lipstick, was touching the man next to her, rubbing his cock through the material of his pants. His erection was long and thick, and it made the front of his pants stick out like a small tent.
Even Heather was excited, squeezing her legs and cunt against me, trying to rub the hardness of my leg into the swollen bud of her clitoris. She was also stroking my ass, running her flat, open palm unseen, up and down my backside, cupping my ass cheek whenever a spasm of excitement ripped through her cunt.
The excited reactions of his audience seemed to stimulate Roy, and he began to elaborate on the big-titted blonde. His long fat tongue slid from his open mouth, and he used it to batter the blonde's nipple. It flicked stiffly back and forth, bathing the nipple in a dribbling flood of saliva, darting his head from side to side, alternating his attention from one tit to the other.
"Oh, you're driving me crazy!" the blonde moaned. Her eyes were closed, and she was rolling her head from side to side on the back of the sofa, splashing her blonde hair all over. "Play with my titties! Suck my boobies!"
The crowd was warming rapidly. The fondling was no longer furtive, and I could see bared breasts on many of the women, and a man across to my right had a woman's skirt lifted and tucked into her waistband. Her thighs were spread, and he had his hand in her panties. I could see a hair or two of her curling black pubic hair spiraling out from under the leg-band of the panties, and it was apparent that his finger was pushed deeply inside of her cunt.
"Look!" Heather whispered. Her voice was hoarse with excitement. "Over there!"
She directed my attention to the big blonde woman with the frizzled hair. She was no longer rubbing the man's cock through his pants-she had it out!
"Look at that!" someone else whispered, pointing to the exposed cock. "He's so big!"
And he was. The man's organ was enormous. One of the largest and thickest I've ever seen in my life. The blonde woman had a smile of undisguised pride on her face as her long, fat fingers ran up and down the swollen thickness of her man's cock.
"How big is he?" Heather asked. She had moved her hand, and she was no longer rubbing it up and down my ass. Now it was the other hand, and she was rubbing it up and down the front of my pants, touching my cock. "How many inches?"
It was hard to judge, he seemed so huge. "About nine inches, I guess. Maybe more."
"Nine inches!" Heather's voice was filled with admiration. Her hand tightened around the shaft of my cock, and she squeezed it.
As if in competition, the other blonde, the shill on the sofa, moaned loudly, drawing all our attention back to her.
"Oh do my cunt!" she cried. "Do it, please!"
Roy, her lover, had her miniskirt flipped back, exposing her thighs and panties. Her panties were a silky white, almost transparent, and you could see the hair line of her cunt across the bottom third of her cuntal mound. The crotchpiece of the panties was stained and wet.
"Play with my pussy!" she urged. "Finger me!"
The crowd watched in morbid fascination as Roy began to work on her panties. First he slid his hand down them and cupped her cunt. She hunched it against his hand, trying to impale herself with one of his fingers.
But Roy had another idea, and he pulled down with his hand, still clutching at her cunt, pulling at the panties. The panties stretched, with the material caught on the wide curves of the blonde's hips and open, spread thighs. His hand tugged, and at last, the panties ripped, exposing her cunt.
As one, the crowd reacted in a wet, sucking intake of breath. There were a few oooh's and aahhh's, but mostly the response was one of shock and surprise and latent excitement. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, like static electricity.
Roy continued to pull at the panties, until they ripped all the way down, completely exposing the blonde's wet, luscious cunt. The panties were shredded, like a piece of old white cloth or a flag of surrender. They hung down from one leg, swaying under her widely spread thighs.
"Ohhh!" the blonde moaned. "Oh! Oh! Oh!"
Heather tightened her grip on my cock, squeezing it with all her might. "Ohl" she said, echoing the blonde's cry.
Roy's hand moved to her cunt, and he stabbed it with his middle finger. Her soft wet cunt gobbled it up, until his hand was pressed against the hairy, broad curve of her bottom.
"Oh!" she screamed. "Finger my cunt! Finger it, Roy! Finger it!"
Roy slid his finger in and out, and I could see the wet lips clinging to the sides of his finger. Her cunt was like a mouth, running up and down, swallowing and regurgitating, as she humped herself against his punching fist. I could hear him pushing in and out of her, parting her body and opening her with his finger.
The excitement spread like fire. I saw more than one cock now, and many, many cunts. People were discarding their clothing all around the circle of watchers, and some were already naked.
The slim black-haired woman across from me had her black slacks down in a puddle at her feet. Her panties were a little higher, and they were stretched in a thin line across her small, straight thighs. I could see her cunt, and it was covered with a black, fuzz-like growth of tight, curling hair. Just below the curve of her cunt, between her slender thighs, I could see the swollen red head of a cock-the cock of the man behind her. He was holding onto her tits for support, as though they were handles.
"Help me, someone!" Roy, the man on the couch, suddenly said. He pulled his finger from the blonde's cunt, and it was glistening with her wetness. "Someone help me I Somebody work on her cunt while I get at her tits!"
Heather's fingernails were cutting into the flesh of my cock, even through my jeans. "What?" she said, incredulously.
As if in answer, Roy shouted his request again: "Someone work on her cunt! I'll do her tits!"
No one moved, and perhaps they were all frozen by the unexpected, bizarrely exciting request.
"Come on!" Roy demanded. He pointed his finger-the same wet, dripping finger that had been in the blonde's cunt-at a man off to my right. "You! Do Lanie's cunt! Come on before she cools off!"
The man Roy pointed to was with a small brown-haired woman with sloppy big tits. He was squeezing them with both his hands, while she was jerking him off. Roy's command took him by surprise, and it was so inflexible, that the man began to move towards Lanie, the blonde, before Roy had completed his demand.
The brown-haired woman tried to stop him, but he was galvanized by excitement and intimidation. His face was a mask of his anguish: torn between lust and loyalty. Lust won out.
The man kneeled before Lanie, between her thighs, and he touched her cunt gingerly with his hand. He ran his fingers up and down the wet line of her slit, parting the lips so that her cunt hole was visible.
"Finger me!" Lanie instructed. "Finger me or fuck me, but do something!"
While Roy was working on Lanie's blouse, pulling it from her arms so that she was completely naked, the new man, perhaps inspired by her animal-like passion, decided to innovate. And rather than finger or fuck her, he bent forward, holding himself up on his hands and knees, and he began to lick her cunt.
"Jesus!" Heather moaned. Her eyes were bugged out of her skull and her mouth hung loose. I could see her nipples through her shirt, stiff and taut, scratching against the coarse material. "Jesus!"
Caution was gone now, and she worked on my belt and zipper. My jeans parted and fell, and Heather stroked my cock with warm, even caresses of her hands. My own hand was busy against her, down the front of her jeans, and I was fingering her cunt. Her box was very wet and hot, and she lifted herself up and down, and fucked herself with my finger.
The man between Lanie's thighs was warming to his task, and he slid forward, pressing his face fully against her cunt. He curled his arms around her ass and thighs, pulling her even closer to him, and he bobbed his head up and down, sliding his tongue between her cunt lips. I could hear him eating her, even from where I was standing.
While Heather was stroking my cock with her curled fingers, and I was jabbing in and out of her cunt, I tried to notice some of the other people around us.
The big blonde woman was down on her knees, and she was sucking on the gigantic staff of her partner's cock. The sight was almost ridiculous, for more of his cock was outside of her mouth than was in it. But that didn't deter her for a moment. She rolled her head from side to side, stretching her lips into a thin red line, and she ate at the head of his cock as though it were a piece of obscene candy. She moved her head back and forth, as though she were trying to screw her mouth down the shaft of his cock, and she stroked him with her hands and fingered his balls.
The slender woman with black hair hadn't altered her position much. She had stepped from her pants, and her panties were gone also. Her legs were spread wide, and she was leaning the top-half of her body back. The man behind her was no longer between her legs; he was inside of her cunt. I could see the thick base of his cock between her parted thighs, pushing up inside of her, parting the delicate fold-like lips of her fuzzy-haired cunt. His hands were on her hips now, holding her in place, and I could see her tits. They were small, very small, barely tiny hills on her chest, with tiny, pert nipples in their centers.
"Look!" Heather told me. "Over there!"
I looked back at Roy and Lanie, and the man who was eating between her legs. The brown-haired woman with the sagging large tits had joined them on the sofa, and she was down between her partner's legs, sucking on his cock, while he sucked on Lanie's clit. It was a wild chain of naked bodies, strung against each other, and it was hard to tell where one started and another ended.
Roy compounded the confusion by standing and shucking his clothing until he was naked, and he mounted Lanie's shoulders. His cock was very long and slender, growing out of a cloud of bushy black hair that covered his legs and ass as well as his crotch. He sat on her chest, flattening the soft pink cushions of her breasts under his ass, and he thrust his cock between Lanie's open, waiting mouth. She arced her neck and bent her face towards him, and I watched her cheeks hollowing as she sucked him. He rocked back and forth, and she bobbed her head, and his cock slid in and out of her cunt.
"Let me get undressed I" Heather asked, pulling my hand away from her cunt. She began to work on the laces of her jeans. The locker we had rented for our clothing was forgotten as her clothing went flying from her firm, exciting body. I wondered as I watched her undress, casting her shirt off, whether we would find all our clothing later, when it was time to leave.
"You too!" she told me. "Take your clothing off. Get naked!"
My pants were down, and I stepped out of them. I was wearing sandals, so I didn't have to worry about shoes or socks. Heather helped me with my shirt, and after a moment, we were both naked.
"Fuck me!" Heather told me. "Fuck me now!"
We were very near the sofa now, looking down on Roy and Lanie, the man between her legs, and the big-titted woman sucking on his cock. It was like looking down on a sexual panorama: as far as I could see, there was nothing but naked bodies in front of us.
Heather leaned forward, leaning down on the back of the sofa. I was standing behind her, and she parted her legs. Over her shoulder, I could see Roy, who was facing us, and under him, Lanie, and the top of her blonde head as she sucked on Roy's cock.
"Fuck me!" Heather said. "Fuck me like this so I can watch!"
I did as she asked. I came toward her, pressing my erect cock between the cheeks of her ass. I was too high to slide directly into her cunt, so I asked her to push her ass up higher and stand on her tiptoes. She did as I requested, and I felt the tip of my cock slid from her ass until it was pressed against the warm wet slit of her cunt. I parted the lips with my fingers, bent my knees to lower me even more, and I thrust in, sliding my cock between the lips of her cunt.
"Gooood!" Heather moaned. She arched her back upward, cocking her head back, and squeezing down with her cuntal muscles as I entered her. Just beyond her, I could see Roy's face, and it was screwed up in a look of tense pleasure. His body was rocking back and forth.
I grunted and held onto Heather's hips as I pushed myself fully into her cunt. I felt my cock sliding up, and soon my thighs were pressed against the soft roundness of her ass. I was all the way in her.
"Fuck me, Steve!" Heather grunted, leaning forward over the back of the sofa. "Fuck your cock in and out of me! In and out of my cunt!"
I held her down with my hands so that she couldn't move about too much, and I rocked back with my hips, pulling out. Then, before I dislodged, I pushed in again, and Heather moaned in pleasure. I pulled out again, then in. In and out, in and out, thrusting the full-length of my cock into the sweaty, swirling depths of Heather's cunt. In and out, in and out, sawing my cock, feeling my balls bouncing against the back of her ass and thighs. In and out, spearing out a wet tunnel between the lips of her cunt; a tunnel that pressed down around the shaft of my cock like a wet caress from a hot, licking mouth. My fingers dug into her flesh, and I arched my back, thrusting into Heather's clutching, gripping, grasping, clawing, holding, squeezing cunt.
"Fuck me!" she screamed. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!"
Heather's back was shiny with perspiration, as I looked out across it. First I could see Roy: his eyes were still closed, and he was rocking in and out of Lanie's mouth. Then, beyond him, over his shoulder, I could see the other blonde, and she was still on her knees, sucking the tree trunk that grew out of her lover's belly. Only now there was another woman who had joined them, and she was on her knees behind the man, licking his ass-hole and holding the part of his cock that was outside of the blonde woman's mouth.
"Fuck harder!" Heather urged. "I'm going to come!"
I thrust in mercilessly, buffeting her cunt with the jabs and hunches of my hips. My cock was like a swollen knife, stabbing her cunt until she bled with pleasure.
Over her shoulder, I could see the dark-haired woman in front of me. Her partner was no longer behind her. He had dropped down, and was under her, leaning up between her legs. She was still standing, and he was eating her cunt as she stood there. I could see sperm running from her cunt, smeared all over his lips, but his tongue continued to jerk in and out of her sloppy pussy just as his cock had.
There was another couple to the right of the dark-haired woman. It was two women, and their bodies were intertwined around each other. Lips were pressed into cunts, blonde and brown hair, and their tongues were lapping up the drool of their mutual excitement. There was a third member of their party, a male, and he was standing above them, masturbating with one hand and fingering the ass of another woman who was being fucked off to his left. All of a sudden his cock opened, and he spilled his sperm all over the backs of the two sixty-nining women. His face was contorted in pleasure as his hand turned into a blur against his pink, spouting cock.
"I'm coming!" Heather screamed, tightening her cunt around my thick cock. "I'm coming!"
I wasn't ready to come yet, so I thrust into Heather's cunt with all my might. I felt no real passion, no burning need to come, so I fucked in and out of her with no thought of my own pleasure, and worked furiously to bring on hers. My fingers dug into her flesh, and I lifted her ass and cunt until her legs were off the floor. I held her up like that, open and quivering, and I plowed into her, moving mechanically, dispassionately, unselfishly, as I tried to fuck the shit out of her.
She screamed as her orgasm exploded. Her hand's reached forward, whether unconsciously or by design, and Heather touched Roy, the man kneeling before her on the other side of the sofa. Heather slid her hands down his sweaty body, tangling her fingers in his thick black pubic hair, and she grabbed his cock. It was wet and slippery from Lanie's saliva, and Heather pulled the organ from the other woman's lips. She stroked it hard as she was coming, pulling the long slender shaft of his cock with her wet fingers.
Roy began to come from her hand, and he moaned as his thick hot sperm plopped from his cockhead, splashed between Heather's finger, and splattered into Lanie's open, empty mouth.
"Oh God'. " Heather screamed. "I'm coming!"
Her cunt tightened, and then it began to quake, as if it were caught in the throws of some terrible palsy. I could feel the wetness of her orgasm, a spreading heat and slipperiness that made her cunt feel as if it were greased, and I were sliding through a puddle. Her pussy lips shook around the thick base of my cock, like a mouth trying to speak, but gagged by the bluntness of my thrusts. Her cunt was throbbing, and I pulled myself out, then quickly thrust myself in, out and then in, out and in, out and in, out and in, until Heather screamed from the pleasure, and begged me to stop.
I pulled out, my cock still stiff and weapon-like, and Heather slumped over the back of the sofa. Her cunt was dripping like an open wound. She lay like that for a long while, with her legs dangling down slackly, as if she were dead, and I wondered if she had passed out from all her pleasure.
But I didn't have time to wonder, I told myself, for I had my own task to perform. I left Heather there, slumped over the back of the sofa, and I moved out into the orgy, seeking whatever it was I was looking for.
I stepped away from our small group all crowded around the sofa, and I took in the whole sweep of the orgy in a single, expansive gaze. The passion had spread, and almost everyone was naked and fucking. Hundreds of naked, fucking, sucking, screaming, coming, moaning men and women, and I moved out among them, a stranger in my own home.
All across the room, people were coming together: men and women, men and men, women and women, and multiples and variations of the couplings. There were cocks in cunts, in mouths, in asses, between breasts and legs, and cocks pressed against cocks and balls. In one place there was three men working on one woman; in another, three women fucking with one man. There was a man fucking another man up the ass, while both of them sucked on the cocks of two other men. There was a woman on a sofa, and she was stuffing a cock down her throat while one man fucked her and a third was greasing his cock to slip it into her ass. Two other men were sucking her tits, and a third was coming all over the group as he pulled himself to orgasm. A little further away, there was a woman with an enormous dildo, and she was thrusting it viciously in and out of another woman's cunt while she was being fucked doggie-fashion by a big black man with a huge cock, and the woman being dildoed was licking the cunt of a woman sitting on a chair.
I moved again, walking, searching-for what? I didn't know. But I was close to discovery; very close. I would know it when it came upon me.
There was a tenseness in my stomach, and a growing feeling that I recognized as the same feeling I had experienced when I was with Heather and the time I had been with Sara. What was that feeling?
I stopped to watch again: There was a man sitting on a chair, and there was a woman sitting on his lap. His cock was in her cunt, and there was a second woman, down on her hands and knees, between his legs. The second woman was licking the man's balls and cock, and as the other woman slid down, she licked her cunt as well.
My eyes moved again. There was a man sitting in an overstuffed arm chair, and there was a woman with him. She had her cunt in his face, and she was resting her knees on the stuffed arms of the chair. Her head was bent forward, and while he was licking her cunt, she was sucking his cock As I watched, he began to come, and she pulled her mouth away, and his wet, red cock spouted white sperm all over her face and lips.
I turned to look again, but I was stopped. A very fat woman about forty got down on her knees and took my cock into her mouth. Her lips were big and puffy, and her tongue felt like hot mush against my cock. She squeezed her tits and sucked me, while a thin young man with a short stubby cock fucked her up her ass. The young man came, and she came, and she let go of my cock and thanked me.
I moved again, away from them, towards the door that led to the hallway. I felt as if I were on a voyage of discovery, about to learn what it was that's been happening to me these past few weeks. I sensed I was about to find out why I had changed, why I had felt so depressed and dissatisfied with my life. I was about to learn the truth.
And there was truth in the air: I could feel it. It was in the people. There was an honesty about their passion: they were open and free, and they took and gave sex with no questions and no strings. They were warm and human-human beings!-sharing and fully enjoying their mutual sexual pleasures together! That was the key word: together!
I saw that now, and I moved among them, around them, stepped over them, and waited for them. They were together: honest and open and real. There was no false note in this whole symphony of naked bodies; no phony, fawning, slavish obsequiousness of men and women paid for their pleasure, just as there had been none with either Heather or Sara. These were real people I
"Fuck me!" a woman screamed to me. "Fuck me!"
She was laying on the floor, her legs widely spread, and there was a puddle of sperm staining the rug under her ass. Thick white blobs of sperm dribbled from her open cunt, and she was fingering herself and rubbing her clit.
"Fuck with me!" she begged. "So I can come again!"
Her need was so real it was almost painful to me. I got down on my knees, leaned forward, and mounted her. Her spermy fingers pulled my cock between her swollen cunt lips, and she began to hunch up and down against me. Her cunt squished with sperm, and I wondered how many men had already fucked her.
"Oh fuck!" she screamed. "I'm comingggg!"
She stiffened her legs and stuck them straight up in the air, one on either side of me, pointing her toes at the ceiling. Her cunt tightened down around my cock, and she squeezed her tits with her white-knuckled, gnarled hands, as if she were trying to squeeze the orgasm out of her body; as if it had lodged itself in her tits and she were trying to push it down to her cunt.
"God-fuck!" she screamed, rolling her head from side to side on the rug. She repeated the strange joining of words: "God-fuck! I'm coming!"
Her cunt mouth ate at my cock until it was stuffed and she pushed me out of her. Her body was greasy with sweat and sperm, and she was panting uncontrollably. Her eyes were glazed and far, very far away.
I stood and thought and looked down at her. And, as I was walking away, she screamed again, to another man who had stumbled upon her.
"Fuck me! Please! Fuck with me so I can come again!"
The man mounted her, as I had, and he put his erect cock in the puddle of my still-warm sperm. I watched for a moment, then turned, to look further.
I was close now. Very close. Closer than I have ever been. Truth was still in the air, and it rained down upon me until I understood one more facet of the whole, grandiose scheme.
There was a oneness in the room, I saw. like a machine with all its parts working in harmony. All the men and women in attendance were here for one thing and one thing only: sexual orgasm! As best they could make it, as frequently as they could do it, and as creatively as it was possible. In a very real sense, all the men and women in this room-no! In this house!-were united: spiritually united! Our mutual sexuality had made us one!
"Mister! Mister!" someone called urgently.
I turned toward the voice. It was a balding fat man, about forty years old, and he was wearing black, horned-rimmed glasses, shoes and knee-high black socks. He had a large, fat belly, and under it, I could see the small stub of his cock. It was about four inches long.
"Mister!" he called to me, tugging at my arm. I stared at him, sensing something. "Yes."
"Come with me."
I could see the reflection of my own face in his eye glasses. "Why should I come with you?"
"I want you to fuck my wife."
I stared at him as if I hadn't heard him. "But why?"
It was his turn to stare, and his eyes seemed incapable of understanding the necessity of my question. "She finds you attractive," he explained reasonably. "She saw you and she-likes you. So she wants to make love with you."
He led me to his wife. She was younger than he: about half his age. She had long blonde hair that was almost white. Her body was hard and erect with pert tits and firm steady thighs. Her skin was tanned to a deep brown, and it was striking against the platinum kink of her pubic triangle.
"I brought him, Connie," the short, fat, balding man told his tall, svelte blonde-haired wife.
She smiled at me, and her eyes seemed to smolder. "I want to fuck you," she said. "I like the size of your cock."
She didn't wait for my answer, as though she knew what my answer would be. Her husband held her arm and helped her down as she laid on the floor.
I stood above her, with my cock throbbing.
"Well, come on!" the husband said. "Don't keep Connie waiting."
I got down between her legs. She drew her legs up and parted them. Her cunt was already wet, and the inner lips pulled apart so that I could see her cunt hole. It was dilating, making a wet, squishy sound.
Connie's hand went around my cock and she pulled me into her. Her cunt was very hot and tight, and I had to push with my knees against the rug until I was all the way in. She moaned, and lifted her ass, crushing her cunt against me. Her legs closed around my ass.
"He's in me, Arthur," Connie said, turning her face away from me so that she was talking to her husband. He was on the floor next to her, holding her hand.
"Is he big?" Arthur asked, his voice trembling.
"Oh, yes!" she hissed. "Very big. He's filling my cunt until it feels as though he's going to break me open."
Her cunt was very tight, and I found myself very excited. I began to push myself in and out of her, feeling the tight grip of her cuntal canal massaging the shaft of my cock, like a hand on an udder, trying to milk me.
Connie moaned as I moved in and out, and her nipples stiffened.
"Does it feel ... good?" Arthur asked, breathless.
Connie's eyes were closed and I could tell she was concentrating on her pleasure. "Oh, yes, lover!" she said. "It feels very good. The best in a long time!"
They were using me, I suddenly realized. Using me, Brian Caldwell I Connie and Arthur were using me!
"Ohhh!" Connie groaned. She squeezed her husband's hand and he squeezed it back. "Oh, soon, baby! It will be soon. Are you ready?"
Arthur's voice cracked and broke with passion. "Yes. I'm ready. I'll wait."
My cock was like a piston, sliding in and out of her, and her cunt seemed to be throbbing around it. She was so wet and soft, so excitingly warm, caressing my whole cock until I felt my balls tightening, and a tingling across the swollen head of my cock.
"Sooooon, baby!" Connie told her lover. A vein stood out on her slender, tanned neck, throbbing like a pulse. Her legs were locked around me, and I could feel the lips of her cunt riding up and down the shaft of my plunging cock. Her cunt was molten under me.
"Get ready, baby!" Connie warned. Her cunt climbed around me as though it were alive.
"Yes ... yes!" he answered.
"Oh, Arthur!" Connie screamed. "I'm coming!"
Connie moaned and thrashed her head from side to side as I slid in and out of her. Then Arthur moaned, and the color drained from his face. She squeezed his hand, as if transferring her orgasm, and he began to come, his stubby little cock exploding like a geyser, showering the three of us with his sperm.
"I'm coming ... too!" he grunted, with no more contact with her body than the interlocking of their fingers. "I'm coming, Connie! I'm coming!"
His sperm felt like hot water splashing on my leg and ass as I fucked myself in and out of Connie's clutching, quivering cunt. I could feel my own orgasm building wildly in the depths of my bowels. I grunted and slapped my thighs against her cunt, but she paid no attention to me. All Connie could see was Arthur.
My cock began to throb and grow harder, moving swiftly in and out of her orgasm. Her eyes were open and staring, and she had a soft, moist smile on her lips, as though she knew the answer to some very private joke.
They were sharing something, I suddenly saw. Perhaps sharing in a perverse way, but sharing nonetheless. And in a very odd way, what they were doing was an act of love.
I moaned out loud and began to come inside of Connie's cunt. And in that moment of orgasm, at last, I understood the truth.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Dazed by my orgasm and the blinding revelation, I pulled my cock out of Connie's tight, sticky cunt. She offered no resistance, and barely noticed my departure. She had turned herself around in her orgasm, and she was holding her husband with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He was kissing her, softly, on her passion-stained cheek.
My knees were weak, and I stumbled back, almost falling. I had to sit somewhere and relax and sort through all the new fragments of my discovery. My head was spinning and I was drunk with excitement.
I found a sofa and sat down. There was a great deal of sperm on the cushion, and it felt cold and slimy under my naked ass. But I was only marginally aware of it, just as I was only vaguely concerned about the couple at the other end of the sofa. A man and a woman were fucking, she facing him, with her legs around his hips, sitting on his cock. His bouncing thrusts into her made the sofa move up and down, as if it were a partner in their sexual act, and I were along for the ride. I could hear their voices, and her moans and cries of excitement.
"Jab me, baby!" she groaned. "Jab me, Reuben."
His answer was a grunt.
Again I pushed them out of my mind, and returned to my problem. Slowly, like pieces of a puzzle, everything fell into place.
I knew suddenly, as if I'd always known, what was wrong with my life; I knew why I'd felt depressed and been so dissatisfied with all I'd accomplished. Because I'd accomplished nothing, and my life was empty and meaningless! My sex life here at Xanadu-no, more than just my sex-life, my whole life, in fact!-had been a sterile one: without any contact with real, emotionally giving people; people willing to make any emotional commitment to my life.
I saw that now as clearly and as vividly as if I could reach out and touch it. Before Heather, all the women in my harem were like Diane Miller and Patti Marshall. They were never people to me, human beings with flesh and blood and feelings and problems-no, not ever. They were things to me. Sex objects! Unfeeling, uncaring sexual machines that dispensed orgasms like sticks of gum: after the money had been deposited in the slot.
In all that fucking, there never was a single ounce of real passion or feeling. They all wanted to be models or actresses, but in reality they were all manikin-cold players, acting out a sexual commercial, with me as their sponsor. They were actresses every one of them, and poor ones at that. Never had one of them conveyed feeling, as Connie had for Arthur in that strange pantomime a moment ago. And as for passion-not one of them could come close to the real excitement of sharing passion with another person. I listened to the couple next to me on the sofa:
"Oh, Reuben!" she screamed. "Fuck me!"
Her legs were straight up, on either side of the sitting man, pressed against the back of the sofa. She was leaning back, away from him with the top part of her body, and her long black hair was hanging almost straight down. Her fingers were locked behind his neck, and his hands were on her thighs, pulling her up and down. I could see the thick base of his cock, sliding in and out of her cunt, as she moved up and down around it. His legs were straight out in front of him, stiff with excitement.
"Fuck me, baby! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me good, baby!" she chanted, closed-eyes and tits flapping. "Fuck me!"
This was real passion, I saw. These were real people.
I had to come to my own orgy to see the difference between truth and illusion; just as I had to leave the fantasy-world of Xanadu and live in a real world, with Heather and Sara and Lenny. The world I built wasn't even a good imitation: it rung hollow from top to bottom. No wonder Spring seemed so striking: it was the first time in all these years that the real world could worm its way down Xanadu's long twisting corridors and mirrored bedrooms. It was the first breath of fresh air in all this decay and corruption.
"Soon, baby!" the fucking man grunted, pumping his cock into her. "Soon, baby!"
like Heather, like Sara, Connie and Arthur had wanted me for their lovemaking! Me, Steven Brooks, or whomever they thought I was. They weren't sucking up to Brian Caldwell for what they could get out of him. I wasn't an employer to them, or a John or a sex symbol or a rich and powerful man. I was just a man-accepted for the first time as a human being, for whatever worth or value I had as a person.
Connie and Arthur had used me! Me-the user. Certainly that had to be the ultimate irony in my whole sordid life. Use the user.
"Oh, Jesus, Reuben!" she screamed. Her nipples were stiff and swollen and pointing at heaven. "Soon, baby! Soon! Keep fucking!"
It was me-the real me!-that Sara and Heather had made love to. They didn't care what they could get if they pleased me; they didn't know they could get anything. And when we made love, they gave me their sexuality and passion. They didn't use it or sell it to me. We shared it together, just as Heather had shared it and Sara and Lenny had shared it, and even Arthur and Connie had shared it in their own strange way.
This was how sex should be-this was how life should be-with human contact; with warm, giving, honest men and women. This was how life had to be for it to be worth living.
I knew what I had to do.
I pushed myself up from the sofa and gave the couple at the other end a last long look. Their bodies were wet with sweat and they were straining together towards some very real goal. I didn't have to wait any longer. I didn't have to watch them and hear their orgasm. I knew they would get what they wanted.
I had to find Heather.
I looked across the room, and I saw her. She was on the other side of the room, near the sofa where it all began. Slowly, through the press of the crowd, I made my way back to her. It was as it should be: I was returning. Heather was the fixed point.
As I came closer to her, I saw that Heather was being made love to by a man. I didn't recognize the man at first, but after a moment, I saw who he was. It was the same man the heavy blonde woman with the wild, frizzy hair had made love to. The man with the enormous cock. The man with the nine inches.
Heather was underneath him, and he was between her legs. I could see the thick battering-ram of his cock punching at her cunt. His thrusts were furious, but her cunt absorbed them, and swallowed the full-length of his angry throbbing cock.
"Heather!" I called to her. "Heather!"
But she didn't hear me. She could hear nothing but the straining grunts of her new lover, and the swift stinging slap of his thighs against her cunt. Her eyes were closed and her ankles were locked, just above his ass. With each downward thrust his hips made, Heather gave an equally desperate upward push of her hips, and after a moment, her whole ass was lifted off the rug, and Heather was suspended on the end of his cock.
"I must tell you something!" I shouted, but I knew it was useless. I would have to wait to tell her; wait until her pleasure was finished, and she had that orgasm that she was obviously building towards.
I will tell her, I thought, watching her cunt sheath that mighty cock. I will tell her who I really am. I can accept being Brian Caldwell again. I no longer need to hide behind the mask of Steven Brooks. I will tell Heather who I really am, and why I lied to her. And, if she can accept me, and not hate me, I will ask her to come and live with me in Xanadu. And if she says yes to all of this, then maybe someday I will ask her an even more important question.
But that is in the future, and it was good to have a future again. The past is a very lonely place to live.
I moved closer to Heather and the man fucking her, and for a moment I wanted to lay down next to her, and hold her hand as Arthur had for his wife. But I decided not to. I had to find my own way. I was tired of doing what others did and wanted me to do. I had to do it my way.
So I stood there, next to Heather, listening and watching her excitement. I could see the man's cock now as his strokes grew longer and deeper, and he pulled his organ almost out of her cunt with each backpull of his hips. The organ was thick and swollen, slippery red, coated completely with the wet excitement of Heather's cunt. I could even see a pale dribble or two of sperm trickling from the overstuffed hole of her cunt, and for a moment I thought he had come already. But then I realized that it wasn't his sperm, it was mine, left from earlier, when I had fucked Heather the first time. He was moving in and out of my orgasm.
"Yes!" Heather cried, answering her pleasure, but answering me in another way. "Yes!"
All of them will have to go, I vowed. Every one of my Xanadu women: Diane, Patti, Violet, even Denise-all of them, my whole harem of paid-for-lovers will have to go. And in their place, I will substitute real women; women like Heather and Sara and Connie or even that nameless woman I watched fucking on the sofa. I will replace the false with the real, the plastic with the warm, the illusion with the reality.
"Oh!" Heather moaned. "Oh, oh!"
Sweat was pouring down her face, oozing out from under her armpits, dripping over the fleshy ridges of her heaving cunt. I could smell her excitement, and the musky, heady animal-like odor of the man on top of her.
I will get rid of all the phoniness, all the sham, all the twisted columns and gilded mirrors. And first, first of all, I would get rid of my business manager, Harvey Curtis.
"Yes!" Heather groaned, answering again my thoughts. "Yes! Now!" She began to come.
As I watched Heather, I thought of Harvey. Harvey, with all his mercenary greed for money and power, had become a symbol of all that was sick and corrupt in my life. Well, the time for sickness was over; Spring had come again. It was time to begin anew.
I watched Heather coming, and I felt my own passion rekindling. My balls stirred, and I felt my cock grow long and hard. After coming so soon, I was ready to come again. like the phoenix, my needs were rising up from the ashes of my life.
As if in answer, a woman stepped up to me and touched my arm. "Sir."
I turned and looked at her. It was the woman who had been directly across from me when the orgy had begun. The slender, boy-like woman with the short black hair and the tiny bumps for breasts.
"Yes?" I asked.
"I remember you," she said. "I saw you before. You were watching me. Why? Why did you do that?"
I studied her eyes before I answered. They were deep and black, like an ocean. I said: "You reminded me of someone."
"Oh."
Up close, I could see she was much older than I first thought. I guessed that she was over forty, and the lines of her pretty face showed it. Her makeup was smeared, as if she had been crying.
"Would you make love to me?" she asked suddenly.
Her breasts were small, like the first buds of adolescence, with tiny little brown nipples all stiff and at attention. She was painfully skinny, and I could see her ribs under her gaunt flesh. She had no hips, and thighs as straight as a ruler. Even her cunt hair was sparse and patchy, like immature fuzz. She was a far, far cry from the perfection of one of my Xanadu women.
I said, "Yes."
She smiled, and I saw that her face was pitted with the scars of an acne long gone. She laid down on the rug and opened her legs. I entered her, and we began to make love.
Her body was hot and eager and real under me, and I began to come almost immediately. It was a deep and powerful orgasm, and better than any I have ever known. And as I opened myself to this strange, mystical orgasm, opening myself the way a flower opens to the sunlight, I had a sudden vision:
I saw a city that I would build one day-a city peopled with men and women who were real and honest, and appreciated and enjoyed their human sexuality. A city called Xanadu.
