The phone rang for the fifth time, and Rick Morgan knew he had to answer it. He fought off the dregs of sleep and lifted the receiver.
"Lo."
"Rick? Graham."
Rick yawned. "What's up?"
"Carol. The cops brought her home last night."
"Again?" Rick was wide awake now.
"They caught her tearing up the freeway doing eighty ... drunk."
"Christ, that's all we need. If it gets in the papers ... "
"It won't get in the papers. The cops and I came to an understanding. Look, I've had enough of this crap. You better have a talk with her."
"Now wait a minute, Charley. You're her father. Don't you think you should ... "
"Come off it, Rick. You know damn well I've been trying to keep her in line for years. All she cares about is jazzin' around ... on my money. It's got to stop. That girls not going to ruin me in this town."
Rick hesitated. He didn't like it one bit. What am I anyway, he thought, a public relations consultant or a baby-sitter? But he had no choice. The Graham Realty Corporation account was too valuable to lose.
"All right, Charley. I'll talk to her. But I can't put her on a leash."
"Any way you handle it," Graham rasped.
Rick cradled the phone and reached for a pack of cigarettes. He lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, exhaled slowly and watched smoke curl toward the ceiling.
Charles P. Graham, he mused. What kind of bastard turns over the training of his child to a public relations man? What sort of joker makes a killing in real estate and fails so dismally as a father?
Rick picked up the phone again and dialed his office. Louise Stuart, his secretary, answered.
"Mr. Graham called," she said. "I told him you didn't get to the office until ten. He insisted I give him your home number."
"He just called me. I have to talk to his daughter, maybe give her a spanking. Cancel my appointments."
Louise gave him a run-down of the other calls he had received, and briefed him on the contents of the morning mail. He told her he would check with her later and hung up.
He squashed his cigarette in an ashtray and got out of bed. He took a shower, dressed, had his coffee, and left his bachelor apartment.
It was a hazy, late-August morning. The air was still and stale, and torpid fingers of sunlight were beginning to peel away the overcast. The oaks of Oak Street and the elms of Elm Street seemed listless. Rick drove with the top down as he pushed his Thunderbird toward the suburbs of Valley Ridge.
Rick's mood was still sour. Taking care of Charles Graham's domestic problems really annoyed him. But the over-all outlook for Rick was pretty bright. He had made a smart move when he opened his PR firm. There was only one other PR firm in Valley Ridge. The town was growing fast and, Rick had decided, there was too much business around to let one outfit enjoy a monopoly. So he had moved in and cut himself a piece of the action. So far he hadn't been able to land any of the old, well-established companies as clients, but some of those companies had made it known that they had their eyes on him and were watching to see how he handled public relations for the younger outfits that had already thrown him their business. The Graham Realty Corporation was the big- gest client Rick had acquired. Charles Graham, president and founder of the firm, was a sharp, aggressive real estate operator. He had come to Valley Ridge shortly after the Korean War ended, and he had made a killing in low cost housing. But the cheap houses he had built, and his free-wheeling, hard-driving business tactics had offended Valley Ridge's old guard and turned them against him. And now Graham wanted to sell houses to that same old guard. He wanted to move up to building and trading luxury homes. He had committed a sizeable portion of his corporation's funds to building a luxury development called Kimberly Manor. But the old guard was not bitting. The houses in Kimberly Manor were not selling. They were beautifully designed houses, individual in character and constructed from the best materials. But the people who could afford to buy them did not trust Charles Graham. They believed it was impossible for a man who had spent his life building cheap houses for low income families to turn around and build fine, luxurious houses for the rich. How could he understand their needs? How could he grasp what a home meant to them? Nothing in his background made it possible. Best he stick to providing houses for low income families ... whoever they were. The old guard was accustomed to shopping else- where, and the old guard hated to relinquish its customs.
It was where Rick Morgan came in. His job was to change Graham's image ... make him acceptable to the people who could afford luxury housing ... and break down their resistance to Kimberly Manor. It was a tough assignment, but Rick felt he could handle it if Carol, Graham's daughter, didn't screw things up. So far she seemed hell-bent on undermining her father's aspirations, and determined to defeat Rick's efforts to polish Graham's image. The girl actually seemed to be conducting a campaign to ruin her father. A campaign designed to kill his chances of making it really big in Valley Ridge. Rick wondered why the kid had it in for her old man.
He chuckled sardonically. Three hundred dollar a week baby-sitter, he thought. He still didn't like it, but he wasn't nearly as angry as he had been when Graham called him. But how would he handle Carol? he wondered. What could he say to the girl that would influence her to mend her ways?
Rick shrugged and lit a cigarette with the dashboard lighter. He'd figure an angle. He had to.
He strummed the steering wheel with his fingertips as he waited for the light to turn green.
Chapter Two
It was shortly before noon when Rick Morgan swung his Thunderbird into the long, brick-laid driveway leading to the front door of Charles Graham's fourteen-room Tudor house. He climbed out of the car, casually mounted three steps leading to the portico and rang the bell. The maid showed him in.
"Hi, Ellie. Carol around?"
"Miss Graham got in late last night. She's still asleep."
"Well, it's time she got up, isn't it?" Rick said, heading for the stairway.
"But ... "
"It's all right, Ellie. I'll handle it."
Ellie stood there surprised, watching him climb the stairs. Then she shrugged and marched into the kitchen.
Carol's bedroom was at the far end of the heavily carpeted hall. Rick knocked on the door. No answer. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.
Carol Graham, twenty-three years old, the only child of Charles and Lillian Graham, was asleep all right. She was sprawled across an oversized bed. A blue sheet had worked its way down to her waist, and her red-orange hair fell in marvelous disarray around her shoulders. Her back was smooth and tan. A beautifully tapered leg had uncovered itself.
Any ivay you handle it, Graham's words echoed in Rick's mind. He grinned. No, he mused, the old man couldn't have meant that.
Rick crossed the room and drew open the curtains. Sunlight swept into the room. Carol stirred, murmured softly, and opened her eyes. She twisted around and saw Rick. Surprise, then anger, flashed in her gray-green eyes. "Hey! What is this?" she demanded. "Sorry for the intrusion." Carol pulled the sheet up over her shoulders. "Christ, there's more privacy in a dormitory." "Can we talk?" "Now?"
"If you don't mind." "Daddy sent you, didn't he?" Rick nodded, found a chair and sat down. "I hear you had quite a time last night."
"Why Rick, what big ears you have. What else do you hear?"
Rick leaned forward in the chair. "Only that little girls who break the law don't always beat the rap so easily."
Carol's eyes widened in mock surprise. "Oh. What happens to them?" she asked. "You ought to know, you get around."
"They land in jail, some of them. The ones whose fathers don't have the money to pay for their mistakes."
Carol's lips tightened. "Who pays for the fathers' mistakes?"
Rick fished a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and offered one to Carol.
"Thanks," she said.
He got up, lit both their cigarettes, then sat down again.
"I don't get it," he said. "Your father's worked hard. He's given you the best. Clothes, cars, private schools, travel. There're thousands of girls who'd be happy to change places with you. Thousands of girls who'd be happy to have a father like yours. Yet you refuse to show him any appreciation. And now that he has a chance to get on top of the heap, you refuse to help. In fact, you're doing everything you can to hurt him."
Rick paused and took a drag from his cigarette. He wondered if he was getting through to Carol. He couldn't tell. Her face was rigid, expressionless.
"Your father can become a big man," Rick continued. "He can become one of the outstand- ing men in this state. He'll get to know people who are really important ... politicians, artists, financiers. Don't you want to see him get on top? Wouldn't it make you proud?"
Rick flicked the ashes from his cigarette. Carol's expression was still an unrevealing deadpan.
"Don't you have any feelings for your father?" he said. "Don't you love him?"
Rick finished speaking and a heavy silence hung in the room. Carol ground out her cigarette in an ashtray, then gazed contemptuously at Rick.
"Love him?" She laughed bitterly. "He's always interfered in my life. It's been Carol do this, Carol do that ... ever since I was a kid. He's never approved of my friends, won't let me take a job, he's even critical of the way I dress." She paused and looked accusingly at Rick. "And he always has people spying on me."
Rick started to speak, but Carol hadn't finished.
"Do you know what he's done to Mother?" Her voice broke. "Look at her, Rick. Open your eyes, and take a good look at her."
Carol began to cry. Rick sat there watching tears stream down her cheeks. She dabbed at her eyes with a corner of the sheet.
"Love him?" she repeated. "Why should I love him, Rick? He's never loved me. He's never wanted me."
Rick ground out his cigarette. He gazed directly into Carol's eyes. She was a beautiful girl. Her face was streaked with tears, but still she was beautiful. He decided to take a different tack. He moved to the bed.
"I'm sorry, kitten," he said gently. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She pulled away as though afraid he might hurt her. Then immediately she seemed embarrassed by her reaction.
"I'm all mixed up," she sobbed. "It's so weird ... I-I'm twenty-three years- old," she stammered. "He's made me afraid of ... of men. Oh. what's the use? You wouldn't understand in a million years."
Rick shook his head, amazed. "I-I never realized. I thought ... a pretty girl like you ... I thought. .. lots of fellows...."
She blushed and looked away and shook her head. "See how wrong you can be," she said softly.
He tilted her chin upward and blotted her tears with his handkerchief. There was a youthful, innocent quality about her face that excited him. - He bent and kissed her on the mouth.
"No .. .no!" she said. "Please don't."
He brushed his hand through her hair. "Why not?" he whispered. "You can't... can't save it forever. It's unhealthy." He grinned. "And no fun at all," he added.
Her lips parted in a slight smile. Fear went out of her eyes and tension eased from her body.
"Let me be the first," he said softly.
Now her eyes were soft, seductive, penetrating. As he drew her close, the blue sheet fell away. Her body was a sweet vision of sun-kissed flesh, smooth, symmetrical, eager. His lips covered her mouth, and his tongue ignited her. She melted in his arms, responding to the urgency of his warm probing tongue.
"Show me," she whispered. "Be the first."
She shuddered as his lips moved from her neck into the valley between the taut fullness of her breasts. She gasped as his mouth enveloped a nipple and transformed it into a ruby knot. She moaned as his fingers explored her thighs, methodically, like divining rods seeking new areas of response. Impatiently, she dug her nails into his clothing.
"Easy, kitten," he breathed.
She watched, fascinated, as he undressed. Her eyes widened at the sight of his big, stiff cock standing at attention. She sucked in her breath, half in fear and half in anticipation. She felt butterflies fluttering in her stomach as he moved toward her. She had a fleeting fantasy of being impaled on his cock and sawed in half like the girl in the box in a magician's act. With his big, strong looking cock, she thought, it won't just be an illusion.
"Be gentle, Rick," she pleaded. "Don't hurt me."
"Relax, kitten."
He stretched out beside her and drew her into his arms. He kissed her and she responded hungrily. He fondled her breast stroking the nipple in a firm but gentle circular motion until it became hard and erect. Her breasts were voluptuous mounds that rode high and taut, youthful and challenging. He inserted her nipple between his lips, moistening and caressing the hard little rosebud with the tip of his tongue.
"Oh, baby," she sighed.
He sucked one nipple and played with the other until it too was firm and erect. His lips moved to her other breast and the hand that had been caressing it descended to the warm wet cove between her thighs.
A man running can't catch a rabbit in both fists, the oriental proverb echoed in Rick's mind. He took his time. He trailed his fingers lightly through the soft, tangled forest that led to her sweet untested pussy. His cock was painfully hard but he knew too much to rush the act. He knew his passion cramps were nothing compared to the pain that would electrify her pussy if he tried to enter it and rupture the hymen before all the juices were flowing. He wanted all her juices flowing before he plunged his cock into her; he wanted her pussy to sit up and beg, steaming and quivering, dripping and drooling like a dog at dinnertime.
Rick's fingers stroked the slit of her pussy, moving upward in search of the clitoris. His finger made contact, found her clit resting like a pearl in an oyster and as hard as a b.b. It was an electrifying discovery; she went wild in his arms, writhing and moaning.
"Oooh, goddamnit," she muttered twisting her fiery buttocks, drawing up her legs, trying simultaneously to escape and receive the excruciating ecstasy that rose from her loins and spread through her body. "My cunt's on fire," she confessed.
Rick knew it, knew her pussy was blazing and her ass was as hot as brimstone. He slid between her thighs, reached down and guided the head of his dripping cock into the deep smoldering well.
A split second of pain jolted her, thrusting her aloft, higher and higher, into an atmosphere where pain was forgotten, where only the sweet weightlessness of pleasure surrounded her and she dared to breathe again.
"All right?" he asked.
"M-m-mm ... And you?"
"Fantastic," he said.
Rick took his time, grinding gently, using only the head of his cock. He worked that way until her pussy was all wet and slimy, until she was arching her loins in her own effort to draw the full length of his prick within her. Then Rick humped forward, penetrating her deeply, ripping the taut membrane that shielded her virgin cunt. She yelped in pain like a wounded animal and tried to pull away. He held her tightly, grabbing her buttocks and drawing her closer. He stroked hard, feeling his cock bounce against the back wall of her pussy, urged on and aroused by her cries of pain.
The fact that she was a virgin ... that his cock was the first and only one that had ever entered her sweet ripe pussy ... really turned Rick on. He dug deeper and deeper trying to ream out every crevice of her juicy, tight little cunt. No matter how many studs she has later, he thought, no matter how much she spreads this pussy around, she's going to remember this fucking.
The pain Carol had felt when Rick inserted the full length of his prick in her cunt and ruptured her hymen began to subside. The walls of her cunt were expanding to accommodate Rick's prick and accept it as the joy rod it was quickly becoming. Soft waves of pleasure were lapping at her consciousness quickly replacing the stabbing pains she had felt. And she was responding. Learning how to fuck with a capital F! Tossing her tight cunt in frenzied motions to meet the hot prick that was thrusting inside of her, sending myriad sensations through her burning flesh.
This must be heaven, she thought. Or hell. "O-h-h, Rick," she sighed. "I never knew ... I never dreamed...."
"Poor little rich girl."
"Am I drunk?"
"In a way."
"And crazy?"
"Like a nut on a bolt."
"In love?"
"Hush!"
"Why?"
"You'll miss the end of the picture."
The dialogue ended and they communicated in silence, fucking hard, letting out all the stops. He slid his arms beneath her sleek, tawny thighs, raising them high, supporting them with his broad shoulders. His thrusting prick reached new depths within the inferno of her pussy. She blew her top, wailing and cursing, clawing and biting, clinging to him with all the mad anguish and sweet fury of her first oncoming dick-derived virgin orgasm.
The urgent, intimate moment arrived as inevitably as rain falling to earth from swollen skies. They exploded together in a wet blinding moment of sliver agony. She clung to him, shuddering in his arms, tossing her head from side to side on the pillow, frantic in the throes of passion that rose from her cum-scorched cunt.
Rick shot a walloping load of cum into her blazing little pussy, enough to douse the fires of hell and choke the devil's evil ass. He grunted hard as he unloaded, body clenched, testicles aching. He felt her cunt quaking in response to the rising tide of hot semen. They kissed and clung to each other as the long wavelike orgasm threatened to hurl them over the edge of the world. Both their bodies trembled with involuntary convulsive movements, spasms that emanated from nervous systems shocked and shattered by the long powerful orgasms they had shared.
Behind Carol's closed eyes, fireworks were exploding. She was adrift on a sea of ecstasy, feeling waves of pure pleasure ripple through her tingling flesh. Sex was all it was cracked up to-be ... all and more, she thought. Hell, she conceded, sex was dynamite. And so was Rick's prick. A stick of dynamite that had exploded in- side her cunt destroying the old Carol and creating a new one. She would never be the same again, she knew. She had lost a hell of a lot more than her virginity. Perhaps it was more accurate, she mused, to say she had gained a lot more than virginity. Her cunt had been stretched by Rick's big thrusting prick but her mind had also been expanded. She believed that from this moment on her whole lifestyle might change. She could quit being uptight with men, afraid of intercourse. A prick, she realized, was nothing to fear.
Carol felt Rick's prick becoming limp inside her and felt semen running out of her cunt, dripping, cool and sticky, down her thighs and buttocks. She opened her eyes and said:
"Rick, you're nice."
"Thanks, kitten."
"And sweet to look at."
She admired his dark eyes and sensuous mouth.
"Smile."
He smiled.
"I like it," she said.
She touseled his black hair playfully. "Nice tint," she teased.
"Only my fairy hairdresser knows for sure."
They laughed and their eyes met and they liked one another.
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Thirty."
"Rick, how come you never married?" He withdrew from her and sat up with his back against the headboard. He lit a cigarette and exhaled slowly. "The army is for single men," he answered.
"But you're not in the army." "Oh yes I am, kitten. I'm in the army of the go-getters. I'm in the front line." He paused for a moment, then his voice was low and extremely intense. "Believe me," he said. "Believe me, kitten."
Carol raised an inquisitive brow. "What are you out to get?" she asked.
Rick's eyes narrowed, and his voice was hard. "My share. The world is a great big beautiful cake. If you don't move in fast and cut yourself a fat slice, you get nothing but crumbs. And you know what cuts in this world, kitten? Power. Don't sell your daddy short. He's a powerful man. When he barks, a lot of people jump. And when he gets on top of the heap, I'm going to help him bark."
He put down his cigarette, brushed a lock of hair from Carol's forehead, and added with a smile: "So you see, kitten, life can be sweet if you've got the sugar. All you have to do is be patient. Cool it. Lay off the bottle and easy on the gas, yToiow?" He kissed the tip of her nose. "We could have ourselves a time in the room at the top," he said With a wink. "You ... and me."
Carol remained silent. The army of the go-getters, she thought. I've know the general for a long time. Now I've met the lieutenant.
"Now you going to be a good girl?" Rick asked.
Love, Carol reflected. Nothing but crumbs.
"Promise me," Rick said.
So power cuts, she recalled. All right, lieutenant ... en garde.
"C'mon, kitten," Rick whispered. "What d'ya say?"
Carol smiled. "Very well, Mr. Go-getter," she said. You're going to get it but good, she thought. "I'll do all I can."
Rick grinned. "Any way you handle it, kitten."
She reached out and caressed his limp prick, stroking it gently with her delicate fingers. As his prick grew hard she began to stroke his scrotum, sending a tremor through his groin.
He leaned over to kiss her on the neck, and when she closed her eyes, he glanced at his watch.
Chapter Three
Rick Morgan swung the Thunderbird into the parking lot behind the office building. He cut the ignition, slid from behind the wheel, and tossed the car keys to an attendant. He strode into the lobby of the building and moments later emerged from an elevator into the plush surroundings of the Graham Realty Corporation's executive offices.
"Hello, Mr. Morgan," the blonde receptionist greeted him.
Rick nodded at the girl, went down the hall, and entered Charles Graham's office. Marjorie Collins, Graham's secretary, sat at her desk opening the afternoon mail. She was a svelte, gray-eyed brunette with a sensuous mouth and a small, delicate nose with nostrils that flared when she breathed, giving her face a mixed expression of impatience and anger. Rick stopped at her desk and gazed at the ample breasts that stretched the tight sweater she wore.
"Interesting sweater," he said. "A gift from your boy friend?"
Marjorie stared at him boldly. "No," she re- plied, "my boy friend gives me perfume and lacy little underthings."
Rick shook his head in mock disapproval. "He must be an imbecile," he said. "If you were my girl you'd be too busy to put on your panties."
"Remind me never to be your girl."
"Remind me to take you to dinner some time."
"Sorry, no appetite."
"Yeah, I'll bet." Rick eyed her thoughtfully for a moment, then asked: "Is the great man in?"
"He's expecting you."
Rick opened the door marked PRIVATE and closed it behind him.
Charles Graham pivoted back and forth in a high-backed leather chair behind a huge desk that dominated his teak-paneled office. He was a stocky, broad-shouldered man of fifty. His fading red hair was streaked with gray, and his green eyes were narrow slits topped by bushy brows. Sagging jowls flanked thin, tight lips. His hands, with their stubby fingers, seemed capable of breaking things easily.
"Goddammit," he growled. "What is it with this Forbes woman?"
Rick plopped down in the chair opposite Graham's desk. "You mean Sheila Forbes? She's the gal who does those TV chats with celebrities. Valley Ridge's answer to Johnny Carson. Much prettier, though. She also does a column for the Sunday Herald."
"Hell, I know all that. I mean what's her angle? Why hasn't she ever mentioned me in her column? Why does she always turn down invitations to my parties? What does she hope to gain by snubbing me?"
Rick shrugged. "It's just a little loyal opposition, Charley. You can stand it. Some of it even makes you look good, sounds like sour grapes."
The slits that were Graham's eyes narrowed, almost closed, and his tight lips pulled back and bared his teeth as he said, "Like hell it does! It makes me look like a slumlord instead of a legitimate businessman who's made a big , contribution to this community." He lit a cigar, got up from the desk and crossed to the window. His voice was low and hard when he said, "I want to be accepted by the best old families in this town, Rick. I want to build their homes for them ... homes that are show places. I want it I more than I've ever wanted anything in my whole life. I want it so much my blood aches."
He gazed out the window and puffed the cigar. The sun was fading and sinking, and the first j approach of evening had turned the sky from bright blue to misty gray. He looked down at I the traffic on Main Street ... the stream of cars, j buses, pedestrians. Across the rooftops he could see the sweep of the town as it stretched toward the hills of the suburbs and the dark waters of the lake.
"I came up the hard way," he said. "I worked my way up from the bottom. I worked night and day to accumulate a stake. And when I finally got a good bankroll I didn't bury it in the backyard or hide it under my mattress. I risked every nickle I had to buy land that nobody wanted. I invested in the future of Valley Ridge. When the Korean War ended I led the rush to the suburbs. I introduced semi-detached houses for low income families. I built the first split-level community this town ever saw. I ... "
He turned from the window and his eyes fixed Rick with a rigid stare. "But I didn't do those things just to make money," he said. "I didn't build Kimberly Manor to have people say, 'There goes Charley Graham the real estate tycoon.' I did it because I wanted Valley Ridge to be a part of me. I wanted the life of this town to flow from me. I wanted my blood and sweat to mix with the soil and form part of the foundation of this community. I wanted to build something that would last long after I was gone."
Graham returned to his desk, sat down and flicked off a cigar ash. He sat back, silent, exhausted. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to make a speech."
Rick ground out the cigarette he had lit. He had never seen Graham so worked up, so disturbed. "Don't apologize," he said. "Sometimes it helps to blow off some steam."
Graham tugged at his collar to loosen it. "Well ... just as long as we don't get scalded by our own steam."
Rick studied Graham's face and pondered the remark for a moment, then returned to the problem at hand. "So you want me to talk to Sheila Forbes? How do you think I ought to do it, Charley?"
"Gently. Do it gently. Turn on your charm and teach her the error of her ways. Bring her into our camp. Let her know that Charley Graham is as good as they come." He grinned. "And put it all on the expense account, naturally."
"Naturally," Rick repeated. "But suppose she's immune to my charm." Rick's thoughts went back to the days at State, when he and Sheila Forbes had been on the college newspaper together. For some reason he could never quite understand, there had been this curious rivalry between them, each trying to outdo the other in class and on the paper. It became sort of a silly and personal cold war, conspicuous for the fact that each dated regularly and often, but never each other. The closest he ever got to
Sheila was the time he led a panty raid against the girl's dorm. He had bet a fraternity brother that he would get Sheila Forbes' panties ... the ones she had on. He won the bet (two witnesses vouched for him), and Sheila hated him with a vengeance after that. Even now, as he discussed Sheila Forbes with Graham, Rick felt like a Ford executive talking about General Motors. "What if she won't cooperate, Charley?"
Graham's face was impassive as he toyed with a letter opener. "I'm sure her employer would make her see the light."
"I don't follow you."
"I never renewed the lease of that TV studio," Graham said. "I'd sure hate to tear down the building for a parking lot. But the pressures of traffic congestion and urban renewal might make it necessary. The public has to be served."
Rick grinned. "That's quite a hand you've dealt yourself, Charley."
"I don't want to play a trump card unless it's absolutely necessary. Just see to it that feathers don't fly."
Rick stood up. "Anything more?" he asked.
"Give me a report as soon as you can. Let me know how it's going."
Rick headed for the door.
"By the way, how did you make out with that daughter of mine?" Graham asked. "Think you can handle her?"
Rick turned and looked at Graham. His eyes betrayed nothing as he said, "I think so, Charley. I think I brought her into our camp."
"Anything else?" Graham asked, observing that Rick stood there making no move to leave.
Rick hesitated, then launched into what he had to say. "Look, Charley ... normally it wouldn't be any of my business, but under the circumstances, your business is my business."
"Cut the oratory and get to the point."
"All right. It's this: If you're going to play around with your secretary, that's okay with me. But don't go leaving any clues."
Graham's jaw dropped in surprise.
"Oh, don't worry," Rick added reassuringly, "I doubt if anyone else knows. I just hope you don't tip your hand again."
"What was the clue?" Graham asked.
"A piece of paper ... 'from the desk of Charles P. Graham' ... with assorted jottings, among them, 'Marjorie at ten p.m."
"How in hell did you get ahold of that?"
"It was tucked away between pages three and four of that draft of the new Kimberly Manor brochure you had me look over last week."
Graham wagged his head from side to side and grinned. "Well, I guess that proves you really did your homework. That calls for a gold star.
What do I pay you, three-fifty?" Rick nodded. Graham extended his hand. "Welcome to the four-hundred club."
Rick took Graham's hand and smiled. "Have it your way," he said.
Rick left the office, said good night to Mar-jorie and took an elevator down. In the lobby he found a phone booth and called his secretary.
"How did you make out with Graham's daughter?" Louise asked. "Did you have to spank her?"
"No." Rick chuckled. "We came to an easier understanding."
Louise gave him his messages and brought him up to date on the day's activities. He told her he would see her in the morning and hung up.
Ricked looked at his watch. It was a quarter to five. Sheila Forbes' show started at six. Rick decided to catch her before she went on the air.
Marjorie Collins left her desk and went into Graham's office.
"I'm sick of that s.o.b.," she said. "Who?" Graham asked. "Rick Morgan."
"Why?"
"He's always making dirty passes."
Graham pushed his chair back from the desk. "Come here."
Marjorie went around the desk and slid into Graham's lap.
"I can't blame him. He doesn't know you belong to me," Graham lied. "If I were in his place I'd make passes at you, too."
"Would you?" Her eyes sparkled flirtatiously.
"You know damn well I would."
She kissed him and brushed her fingers through his hair. He slipped his hand under her sweater and fondled her breast.
"Why don't you come over tonight, Charley honey. I'll broil a steak and toss a salad. We'll have a nice, quiet evening. And you can make all the passes you want."
"You know I'm dining out with Lillian tonight."
Marjorie's expression turned sour, and she got up from his lap. "Lillian. Always Lillian. Whenever I want to be with you, you have to go somewhere with her."
"Well, just for the record, she is my wife. We have to appear in public together. It keeps down gossip."
"Well ... you don't sleep with her. You ha- ven't slept with her in years. Or have you been lying to me?"
"My not sleeping with her has nothing to do with it. My business associates aren't concerned with that. As long as she and I keep up a good front."
Marjorie's eyes watered and she turned her face away.
Graham frowned. "For Pete's sake, don't get all worked up," he said. He reached out and drew her close, folding his arms around her hips. "You know how I feel about you," he said.
"Remind me," she whispered.
He slipped his hand under her miniskirt, trailing his fingers up the inside of her thigh, past the stocking top, to the waistband of her panties. He reached down inside her panties and buried his fingers in the soft moss that surrounds her pussy. His fingers found the slit and gently parted the warm, tender lips. She trembled violently as his finger probed her cunt.
"Wait," she said breathlessly. She slipped out of her panties, pulled her skirt high above her hips and slid onto the desk. He swiveled in his chair and faced her cunt. Her legs were spread wide providing a panaramic view of eager pulsating pussy.
Graham's finger searched for her clitoris, found the hard little button and massaged it gently. She rotated her hips, her hands holding the edge of the desk to support her body, gasping and breathing hard in response to the fire erupting in her cunt.
"Your tongue," she panted. "Stick your tongue in me, Charley."
Graham moved closer, held her buttocks, and buried his face in her groin. His tongue parted the lips of her willing cunt, bathing in the sticky excretion that flowed from it.
Majories legs swung back and forth violently, kicking the desk. Graham's tongue was a warm shaft probing walls of her vagina, then deftly rising to lick and suck her clitoris. She leaned back and arched her body to make his entrance easier. He responded, his tongue probing deeper and deeper, triggering wild sensatcons that surged through her entire body. She muttered profanities to avoid screaming. Her lust was incredible, a massive tower that ached for Graham to devour her pussy. Ached for him to suck all the juice from her cunt, suck it bone dry, turn it inside out and lick it clean.
He tried. Tried to lick it clean, suck it dry. But the more he sucked the wetter and hotter her cunt became. He sucked hard enough to draw an orgasm out of her. A marvelous, sizzling explosion that wracked her body and forced a low scream from her lips.
"Oh, baby, baby, baby," she moaned. "So good, so good. I felt it all through me."
He sat back, licking his lips, savoring the taste of her pussy.
She leaned forward, put an arm around his shoulder and rested her head against his. Her free hand reached down and found his prick. It was brick-hard, threatening to burst through his fly.
"I want your cock," she said. "I want it in me."
"Tonight. Maybe we can get together later tonight. When Lillian and I get home I'll tell her I have to take care of some business."
Marjorie pressed his head to her bosom. "Please," she said. "Please come tonight. And forget the things I said. I didn't mean them. I love you and I'm jealous." She bent over, kissed him on the mouth, tasting her own pussy, and smiled. "After all, I'm just a woman."
"I know," he said. His hand reached out, moved slowly up the inside of her leg, past the stocking top, and caressed the soft, satin smoothness of her naked thigh. "Women are crazy. They think crazy, dress crazy, drive crazy, vote crazy." His fingers rejoiced in her warmth. Hell, he thought, they even love crazy.
Chapter Four
"Ah! Valley Ridge's answer to Helen of Troy," Rick proclaimed as he walked unannounced into Sheila Forbes' office.
A beautiful face, highlighted by stage makeup, looked up from a paper-strewn desk. "Just what I need! How the hell did you get pass the studio guard?" Sheila Forbes demanded. With air time less than thirty minutes away and last-minute script changes still to be made, she was in no mood to chat with Rick Morgan or anyone else. "Look, this is no time ... "
"Sound the trumpets for the femme fatale who provokes wars, inspires conquerors, torments the poets," Rick ranted on.
Eyes the changing blue of a twilight sky riddled him in annoyance. "Can't you see I'm busy," she snapped as her fingers shuffled nervously through the loose script on her desk. The ash blonde hair that tumbled to her shoulders bobbed and swayed as she moved. Her nose was small and high-bridged, and her mouth was soft and full. As gorgeous as Delilah, but twice as dangerous, Rick thought.
"I should have you'thrown out on your ... " "Not until I tell you why I'm here." Rick sat down in the chair opposite Sheila's desk, crossed his legs and lit a cigarette.
"I know why you're here. You want me to help Graham promote his latest real estate venture. Well, you're wasting your time. What's worse, you're wasting my time. It so happens I go on camera in twenty-five minutes. I can't sit around and listen to the woes of a public relations man."
"Tsk, tsk. That's no way to talk to someone who's about to do you a big favor."
"The only favor you can do me is get lost." Rick leaned across Sheila's desk and flicked ashes into a tray. "Look, let's be serious. We've been acting like a couple of school kids for years. What do you say we bury the hatchet? Let me take you to dinner."
"Spoken like a true PR man. Wine 'em, dine 'em and undermine 'em."
The hair on Rick's neck bristled as the old rivalry returned. "Don't forget the dessert, baby ... you have a choice: which side of the bed do you prefer to sleep on? "
"All right, you've had your little joke. Now be a good boy and run along. I happen to be busy."
"So the boys at the athletic club tell me."
Sheila stood up in defiance, her hands on her hips. "And just what is that crack supposed to mean?"
"It means you should be flattered. You come highly recommended by some of this town's finest specimens of manhood." His eyes played over the beige sheath and hugged her body, and he smiled. "They say a one-night bout in bed with you is better than four years of psychotherapy."
Her words were cased in ice. "Get out of here, Rick. Take your dirty mind and go back to the gutter where you belong."
Rick's smile was tempered by a leer. "Okay, you don't care for the dessert? Let's talk about the main course. That ought to change your mind."
"Not if my life depended on it."
"Well, maybe your life doesn't depend on it, but you can bet your job does."
Sheila started to speak, but she succeeded only in making a few awkward movements with her mouth as she groped for words that wouldn't come. Rick watched with the surging excitement of a hunter seeing his prey fall directly after the shot. Then, playing the benevolent conqueror, as if to make it seem that she still had a choice in the matter, he said: "Shall I convince you now, or would you rather wait until after the broadcast?"
Sheila silently gathered up the script from the desk, crossed the room, and switched on a portable TV. "Wait here while I do the show," she said. Then she turned and walked out of the office.
Rick shifted the chair around and lit another cigarette. On the television screen a children's program called Moppet House was winding up. The program was conducted by a character named Uncle Happy, who wore a clown's costume, and the kids in the audience responded to his pranks with screeches of joy. Rick breathed a sigh of relief when the program went off. He sat there smoking and with mounting impatience watched a plump, housewifey type demonstrate how to bake a lasagna. What was really remarkable, Rick observed, was that for the full five minutes she was on, she didn't stop smiling. Finally, the cooking lesson faded out and Sheila Forbes' show began. During the broadcast, Sheila interviewed a professional woman tennis star, then chatted with a long-haired young man who led a popular rock-'n-roll group. The banter was light and amusing and completely harmless. Sheila was a pro, Rick observed. She was adept at keeping conversation going, filling in with smooth patter, handling commercials. She was fast with a quip and just as capable of making good, intelligent comments. And she was good to look at. When the show ended, Rick got up and switched off the TV. A few minutes later Sheila, minus her TV makeup, entered the office.
"Good show," said Rick. "You're an asset to television."
Sheila acknowledged the compliment and coolly inquired where they were going to eat.
"How about the Stratford?" Rick suggested. She agreed and they left the studio.
Night had settled over Valley Ridge. The suburban hills were dotted with yellow lights and the downtown area was a blaze of neon.
"I'd rather go in my car," Sheila said.
"What's wrong with mine?" Rick asked.
"Germs," she replied.
"Be careful, you're planting ideas in my head."
She glanced at him sideways. "No, Mr. Morgan, you be careful."
She was still the same old Sheila Forbes ... proud, distant, stubborn ... Rick reflected as they crossed the street and climbed into Sheila's powder blue Chrysler convertible. Her attitude almost made him forget that it was he who was calling the shots that night ... holding the trump card, as Graham would say. During the ten-minute drive, neither of them spoke. Sheila kept her eyes on the road, and Rick kept his eyes on her. In the changing intensities of night light he studied her face, noted her erect driving posture, marveled at the perfect arrangement of the hem of her dress above her knees, and resisted a mounting desire to grab her and do it right and there without bothering to stop the car. The spell was broken as a beautifully tapered leg moved from the gas pedal to the brake, and the car rolled to a halt in a well-lit parking lot.
The Stratford restaurant was a blend of Old English decor and continental cuisine. The headwaiter escorted them to a table near the center of the main dining room, then took their orders for martinis. Rick leaned forward to light Sheila's cigarette, relaxed and studied the menu. A waiter came over and stood by unobtrusively, waiting for them to place their orders.
"I'll have the veal Milanese," Sheila said.
Rick ordered steak, medium-rare. The waiter took away the menus and returned with the martinis. Sheila took a sip and looked up from her drink. "All right, start blackmailing."
Rick fired from the hip: "Graham's staked a lot of money and prestige on Kimberly Manor. He's got to turn it into a success. Stop ignoring him in your column. Forget about his reputation, his ruthlessness. You know the old saw about nice guys, and Graham has no intention of finishing last. Write some thing good about him- Better still, give Kimberly Manor a big plug in your column. You're a bright girl and you've got a future. But you're not in orbit yet. You're still on the launching pad. Be difficult, and Graham can fix it so you never get off the ground ... not from Valley Ridge at any rate. He hasn't renewed the lease on the building that houses the TV studio. Continue to oppose him, and he'll tear down the building and convert the land into a parking lot. Of course, he only owns the building, not the station. But the station would find it rather difficult to find new quarters in Valley Ridge. In no time at all another station would be filling the gap. So play ball, and no one will stand in your way. After Kimberly Manor is the success Graham wants it to be, you'd be on your own. You could tell Charley to drop dead if you wanted to. But you'd be foolish if you tried to buck him now. Mighty foolish."
Sheila digested Rick's words and put down her drink. "Does it occur to Graham that he's the one who may be foolish? Does he really think he can force a member of the press to jump through a hoop like a trained seal? Does he think he can use that bankroll of his to stuff freedom of the press down the drain?"
"Well, now, that depends on the size of the drain, doesn't it?" Rick said. He continued, unruffled by the look of alarm on Sheila's face: "Graham has nothing against freedom of press. If the press wants to go against him, that's their freedom. But Graham's got some freedom, too ... like the freedom to convert one of his buildings into a parking lot."
Sheila was silent for a while. Finally, she said: "Suppose I'm a crusader. Suppose I kiss my TV career goodbye and really go to work on Graham in my column. I'd do such a hatchet job on him the public wouldn't know which piece of him built Kimberly Manor."
"Yes, you would," Rick said, reaching for the olive in his glass. "But you're not a crusader. And you're not ready to throw away your TV career." He finished his martini and pressed a napkin to his lips.
The waiter arrived with the food. Rick held up his glass. "Another martini?" She shook her head, and he ordered another for himself.
Sheila looked at the food in front of her as if it were poison. "Well, I guess congratulation are in order," she said.
"What for?" Rick asked.
"You've established a new dimension in sewer tactics. You've proved that it's possible to go below the nadir. You and Graham."
Rick closed one eye and peered at her skeptically. "The trouble with you, baby, is that you're a dreamer. Do you know why people in ivory towers can't see the ground?"
"Tell me."
"Because of the dust and smoke."
"Dust and smoke?"
The waiter brought Rick's drink, and Rick reached for it immediately.
"Yes, dust and smoke," he said between sips. "The dust of war. That's what life is, an endless war. Men struggling to survive and saying the hell with the next guy. Nobody can control it, and only those with wealth and power can escape it."
"You forgot about the smoke," Sheila said. "I suppose that comes from the fires set by those in power to barbecue their victims."
"Not quite. The smoke comes from the fires men set each morning to burn the laws of ethics and the rules of fair play they had printed up the night before." Rick put the martini glass to his lips.
They sat in silence, and after a while Sheila said, "I guess I'm not very hungry. I really should be getting home. Busy day tomorrow."
"Have you reached a decision? Can I count on you to help Graham?"
"Let me sleep on it. Call me tomorrow-"
Rick signalled the waiter for the check. The waiter came over, looked askance at the plates of untouched food, and politely said, "Thank you, sir," when Rick put down a twenty-dollar bill and escorted Sheila from the restaurant.
The night had become pleasantly cool, and neither of them was in the mood to discuss life further. Sheila was pensive as she drove back to town, and Rick's thoughts, primed by two martinis on an empty stomach, turned once again to matters of the flesh.
He turned to Sheila and said: "What would you do if I made a pass at you?"
Sheila continued to keep her eyes on the road. "I'd stop the car and throw you out."
"But I'm bigger and stronger than you."
"Yes. Think how silly you'd look being thrown out of a car by a woman."
Rick moved closer and put his arm on the seatback behind Sheila. "We've known each other a long time."
"Too long."
He let his hand droop on her shoulder. "And yet we really don't know each other."
"I know what I see, and I know what I hear, and that's more than enough for me."
He began to massage her shoulder. It was soft and pliant, an appetizer for the main dish. "And what do you feel?"
With one hand on the wheel, she calmly shoved him away. "Suppose you just sit back and relax and leave the driving to us."
The shove flicked a switch in the projection booth of his memory, and the graphic details of that long-ago incident with Sheila in the girls' dorm flashed across the screen of his mind: the climb to the roof above the porch ... the view through the open window of the room Sheila shared with Edie Smith ... Edie, her big boobs dangling in air through the open robe as she sat in front of a mirror combing her hair ... Sheila, lounging on the cot in her slip, her knees raised to support the book she was reading ... the shrieks of surprise as Rick swooped into the room ... and the battle Sheila had put up. She had prolonged the whole thing really. If she hadn't struggled so, he could have pulled off her panties in ten seconds, and the mission would have been accomplished. Instead, the skirmish raged for five or ten minutes as Sheila alternately raised one leg, then the other, as if riding a bicycle, in an effort to kick him away. He had had a good grip on the elastic waistband and had been able to slip the nylon briefs down to her knees. But the view he enjoyed as she threw up her legs had been too interesting for him to hurry the rest of the way. He had stood there, zooming in on her blonde beaver, awed by its beauty, aching to kiss it, probe it with his tongue, insert his stiffening cock past the blonde foliage.
Rick hadn't been content to settle for just looking. He had leaned down and stolen a kiss, smacked his lips in her soft pubic hairs. When he straightened, their eyes met and hers glinted with shock and anger and something, he had thought, strange and undefined. Whatever it was it had encourage him to touch her cunt. To insert a finger in her slit and discover, to his surprise, that it was wet and gooey. With a knowing look in his eyes, Rick had grinned at Sheila and his already stiff cock had jumped even harder. It had stood erect attracting Sheila's eyes to the bulge in his crotch.
Rick had played with her pussy for a few unforgettable moments, getting a couple of his fingers good and wet in her tight gooey box. He had tried to locate her clitoris but she had struggled hard and kept him away from the control button he sought. Despite her efforts, she had experienced sheer animal sensations of desire, Rick had realized. Her eyes had become glazed and heavy with lust and her breasts were swollen and heaving and her breath had come in short quick gasps. Her cunt had gotten sloppy wet that night, as ready for fucking as it could ever be. And a moan or two of unmistakable tone had escaped her lips. Rick had been tempted to rape her and he might have done it if someone hadn't shouted that a guard was coming. So, with her panties in his possession, he had forced himself to settle for leaning down and kissing her beaver goodbye.
The taste of Sheila's pussy had lingered in Rick's mind for years. It was the aphrodisiac that inspired almost all of his sexual dreams and fantasies. It was the ambrosia that had sweetened much of the actual lovemaking in his exceedingly promiscuous life. Sheila. The taste of her pussy. The sweet, sweet taste of her pussy.
Her panties had remained with Rick, resting in a bottom drawer in his bureau. From time to time, not as often as he once had, he would take them out, look at them and sniff them. The scent of her pussy had long ago faded from the material and he was unfortunately no longer able to conjure it up.
Now, as the reel ran out and he found himself shoved an arm's length away from Sheila in the front seat of her car, the glimmer of a smile played across his lips. "Do you still wear lace panties?" he asked.
Her face was expressionless. "You'll never know," she said coldly as she brought the car to a stop at the curb in front of the TV studio.
Then, to waste no time convincing Rick that she had no intention of letting him research the question, she added: "All out, mister. It's the end of the line."
"Too bad," he said. "Guess I'll have to board another bus." He got out of the car, and Sheila drove off without a word. He stood at the curb until the car was out of sight. Too bad, he thought.
Rick crossed the street to where his car was parked, got in and started the engine. He glanced at his watch. Nine-fifteen. Good. He fished a little black book from his pocket. "Now," he said, "let's see which buses are still running.... Mimi Ames ... Viv Bailey ... Choo-Choo Butler ... Marjorie Collins ... " A smile creased his face. He pocketed the little black book and put the car in drive. How thoughtful of Graham to be dining out with his wife tonight, Rick mused as he headed for Mar-jorie's apartment. The Thunderbird nosed around a corner, and the tires squealed with glee.
Chapter Five
Carol Graham heard the front door close behind her father and mother. Seconds later, she heard their Cadillac pull out of the driveway. Carol checked her makeup in the vanity table mirror, then left the bedroom and ran down the stairs and out of the house. She slid behind the wheel of her red Mustang convertible, switched on the radio and tuned in a rock 'n' roll program:. She lit a cigarette with the dashboard lighter, then started the engine and roared out of the driveway.
The night was pleasantly cool and the sky was crystal clear. Carol drove with the top down, silk scarf protecting her hair from the wind. She drove fast, weaving through traffic, tailgating for kicks.
Carol had a passion for speed. When she pulled away from a traffic light, she delighted in "getting rubber." Rocketing down a highway with her foot deep in the gas tank, she felt charged by sensations of freedom and power. Swooping fast around a curve, caught in that screeching moment of suspension and uncer- tainty that occurred before the road straightened and all four wheels touched back down, Carol experienced thrills.
Now, heading downtown, weaving through traffic, ignoring stop signs and racing through yellow lights, Carol exhibited total disdain for the deadly odds presented by her daredeviltry and a passion for speed that made her a menace.
Carol parked on Main Street, and entered a discotheque called The End of the World, stepping into a bizarre, psychedelic atmosphere. The discotheque's decor anticipated the long, cooling period that would take place on the planet after the holocaust. Garish lights cast their hues over crater-like walls adorned with murals and paintings that were so chaotic they made most modern art seem warm and tranquil and romantic. Mobiles shaped like monsters revolved slowly in the air. Rock 'n' rool blasted from hidden amplifiers, blending perfectly with the decor's theme of intense destruction. Go-go girls clad in scant costumes that resembled space suits gyrated wildly inside plastic bubbles that simulated space capsules.
Carol stood for a moment, watching the wild gyrations of the go-go girls and the frenzied movements of dancers on the crowded floor. Then she spotted her best friend, Jean Kent, and Jean's fiance, Larry Burns, sitting at a table, holding hands. Carol moved across the room, threading her way between tables. Jean and Larry saw her coming and made room for her at the table. They greeted one another merrily and Carol plopped into a seat beside Jean.
"You're late," Jean said. "What happened?"
"I waited until my parents left the house, so I wouldn't catch any flak from my father," Carol explained.
"Is your old man still giving you a hard time?" Larry asked. His solemn, bony face, hard gray eyes and wintry voice belied his truly sweet, jovial personality.
"He gives everyone a hard time," Carol answered. "I wish I had the guts to slip him a dose of arsenic."
Jean's brown eyes widened. "Oh, what an awful thing to say!" the pert little brunette exclaimed. "You should be ashamed, Carol. After all, no matter how badly you get along, he's still your father."
Carol grimaced. "Please don't remind me. And let's change the subject. I came out to have fun."
"Brad is looking for you," Larry said, referring to Brad Phillips, a handsome young man whom he had introduced to Carol several weeks earlier.
"Where is he?" Carol asked, glancing around.
"Over there," Jean said, nodding toward the dance floor. "Dancing with that overripe blonde," she added dryly.
Carol's eyes swept over the dance floor. "I don't see him."
"See the blonde," Jean said. "The one wearing the microskirt up around her navel."
Carol spotted the sexy-looking blonde, saw her clinging to Brad Phillips as they danced to a slow number. "I'm surprised at him," she said harshly. "I never figured him to have a taste for cheap, peroxide blondes."
"That's Mario Morris," Larry said. "She's a very nice girl. And she's a natural blonde."
Carol said, "Thanks, Larry. Thanks for boosting my spirits."
"How do you know she's a natural blonde?" Jean asked Larry. "When did you get close enough to examine her roots?"
"We grew up together," he explained. "Lived on the same street."
Jean said, "What did growing up consist of? And just what kind of street was it? The asphalt equivalent to Tobacco Road?"
"C'mon, honey, lay off," Larry pleaded.
Carol said, "Jean, let's powder our noses." She and Jean got up from the table.
Jean leaned over, kissed Larry on the cheek and said, "I forgive you, darling. And I suppose
I should be glad you've sown a ton of wild oats. It's probably why you're so anxious to settle down."
"Tell Brad I'm here," Carol told Larry. "And tell that nice girl, Mario whatsername, to pull down her skirt. Her ass is showing."
Carol and Jean headed toward the powder room, jostling their way through the crowd. The crowd had swelled since Carol arrived, and people were still pouring into the discotheque. It was mostly a young, energetic crowd, under thirty. The women were radiantly attractive in their gaily colored pants and micro and miniskirts. The men were handsome and robust. They favored mod clothes and long hair, though there were a few short hair cuts scattered among the tables and bobbing on the dance floor.
Carol and Jean entered the crowded, smoke-filled lounge, sat down close to each other on the end of a couch and lit cigarettes.
"It happened," Carol whispered.
"What happened?" Jean asked, in the same low, conspiratorial whisper.
"I got baptized."
Jean frowned, puzzled. "I thought you had some juicy gossip to tell me. Well, what do you say to someone who's just been baptized? Do you congratulate them?"
"I went to bed with a man, silly. I lost my virginity."
Jean smiled broadly. "Well, why the hell didn't you say so? Welcome to the Club." She hugged Carol. "Was it Brad? Were you scared? Tell me about it."
"No, it wasn't Brad. It was an older man. Thirty."
"Oh! That's rather old." There was a hint of disappgoval in Jean's voice. "Have you known him long?"
"I-I don't really know him. I mean, I know him in a way. You see, it just sort of happened and it's difficult to explain."
"H'm, you sound pretty confused. As though you were raped by the Invisible Man. Well hell, did you enjoy it?"
"Yes, yes," Carol said with a golden smile on her lips and a nostalgic gleam lighting her eyes. "It was wonderful. Sex really is what it's cracked up to be."
"Were you scared ? "
"At first." She smiled again. "But not for long. Rick, that's his name, just sort of put me at ease, and didn't really give me time to he anything but ... hot and bothered. He went about the whole thing with such ..." She paused, searching for an accurate description. "Savoir ... faire," she said proudly.
Jean laughed and said, "Hell, if what you say is true, I'll swap my Larry for your Rick."
"Oh, no you won't," Carol laughed. "Not after you've drained all the juice out of Larry," she teased.
"What little there was." She sighed and shrugged in mock weariness. "Well, I'll just have to marry Larry and take a lover. But what are you going to do about Brad?"
Carol smiled devilishly. "Now that I've finally overcome my fear of men, and had my first fling, I just might play the fieid. I might start with Rick and Brad and develop a stable of lovers."
Jean sucked her teeth in disbelief. "That'll be the day!" she exclaimed. "You aren't cut out for being promiscuous. You'd hate yourself. I'm surprised you aren't emotionally involved with this Rick."
"You're right," Carol admitted. "You're absolutely right. In fact, I'm worried now because Brad believes I'm a virgin. He asked me to go to bed with him and I refused. I told him I had no intention of losing my virginity simply because he felt like rolling in the hay. I told him I was determined to keep myself pure for love and marriage." She shook her head disgustedly. "I laid it on thick and heavy. Made poor Brad feel guilty for having hot rocks. Now, after what happened with Rick, it seems ... "
"What did happen with Rick? You haven't really told me anything."
Carol had to confide all the details of how Rick had fucked her. Jean even wanted to know whether Rick had a large cock.
"My heart almost stopped when I saw it," Carol admitted. "His big joint scared the shit out of me. I just knew it would tear my cunt apart."
"It'll stretch a mile before it'll tear ... "
" ... an inch. But I do believe Rick stretched mine two miles."
"But it was good?" , "To put it mildly. I know I'm a rookie, but I just can't imagine anything better."
"So Brad's work is cut out for him."
"Going to bed with Rick, I painted myself into a corner. I can't sleep with Brad because he'll discover I'm not a virgin."
Jean scoffed. "Devil take Brad!" she snapped. "These aren't the Dark Ages. No one's really interested in preserving virginity. No one's that perverted. When the time comes, Brad should consider himself lucky and concentrate on doing a good job fucking you. He better get on his knees and pray he's got the kind of equipment your Rick is blessed with." She smiled happily. "No, it's not the Dark Ages. It's the- end of the world. In these last, desperate hours, anything goes." She patted Carol's hand and said, "Let's go back to the table. I guess Larry thinks we fell in."
They left the lounge and made their way back to the table.
Brad Phillips had joined Larry. They were management trainees in the same brokerage firm. Brad was training to become an account executive and Larry a market analyst. Their conversation concerned the market, but they broke it off when the girls arrived.
"I see you finally tore yourself away from that blonde," Carol said.
"You were late," Brad retorted. "I had to amuse myself." He had thick, brown hair, deep-set, hazel eyes and chiseled features. He smiled at Carol, a smile straight out of a toothpaste ad.
"Oh, screw you," she said.
Brad chuckled. "That's what I've been suggesting," he saij.
"Let's order drinks," Larry broke in. He beckoned and the waiter cave over and took their orders.
Brad leaned close to Carol. "I've missed you," he told her. "I was tempted to call, but from your description of your father I was afraid he might answer the phone and have me horsewhipped for lusting after his beautiful daughter."
"Oh, to hell with my father," Carol answered. "Besides, the maid usually answers the phone."
Brad said, "Do you think we can steal away early? I'd like to be alone with you."
"It can be arranged," Carol smiled.
She reached under the table to hold his hand and inadvertently felt his stiff cock. She wondered whether his hardon was a tribute to her or the blonde he had been dancing with. Perhaps she would be lucky enough to find out later.
The waiter brought the drinks and when Carol and Brad had finished theirs Brad paid their half of the tab.
"How about a game of handball tomorrow? Larry asked Brad.
"Sure, right after work," Brad said.
"I'll call you tomorrow," Carol promised Jean.
Carol and Brad left The End of the World. The night air felt clean and crisp after the stale humidity of the discotheque. Brad did not have a car, so they always rode in her Mustang. As Carol wrenched the car away from the curb Brad hurriedly fastened his seat-belt and said:
"Do me a favor. Don't try to set a new land speed record."
"I'll be extra careful." She reached out to pat his thigh and her fingers trailed lightly over his prick.
They drove to Brad's place. It was a small, studio apartment and when they were inside he said:
"How about a drink?"
"No, a kiss."
"On the rocks."
"Straight up," she said her eyes on his crotch.
He sat down next to her on the sofa, took her into his arms and kissed her. It was a kiss that had his whole body behind it. A kiss that made her tingle all the way down to her cunt. His tongue explored her mouth, spreading warmth, probing gently and roughly.
As Brad's tongue probed her mouth, Carol visualized Rick's huge cock. She wondered how the dimensions of Brad's cock compared too Rick's, wondered if Brad's cock could grow as long and hot and hard as Rick's. She was dying to find out. Dying to get started making up for all those years of chastity. She responded aggressively, sucking Brad's probing tongue, thrusting her body against his., Brad slipped his hand inside her blouse, cupped her breast in his hand and stroked her nipple through the soft fabric of her bra. Then, anxious to get at her tits, he reached around and unhooked her bra. His hand discovered the satiny warmth of her firm young breasts, his fin- gers drawing slow tantalizing circles on the tips of her swollen nipples.
Carol's cunt was hot, a roaring furnace eager to be stoked by Brad's prick. She was eager to go all the way and experience the wild sensations she had experienced earlier with Rick. She was eager to make love. Eager to be fucked. Eager to have Brad's prick sliding up and down in her cunt with the same pounding fury Rick had used to drive her crazy. And the flames in her wet cunt were spreading, licking out warm her thighs and buttocks and belly, igniting her lithe curvesome body from head to toe.
Brad broke off the kiss, dropped his head to her breast and began to lick the turgid melon. His tongue traced a warm path over the mound of soft, satiny flesh, working its way toward the nipples. He blew on her nipple, then his lips enveloped it and his teeth nibbled it gently. His tongue darted over the tip of the nipple, slowly and gently at first, then, as the nipple grew more firm and extended, the movement of his tongue became quick and vigorous.
Carol lay back with her eyes closed, breathing hard, yielding up her breasts to Brad's hungry, sucking mouth, darting tongue, warm lips. She knew what she wanted and at last, she realized, she was no longer afraid to accept it. She wanted steady fucking, a man of her own, a prick that belonged to her. Someday she might even want to enter into a contract with a prick, live with it or marry it. She might want a prick to build babies in her womb, knock her up. Knock her sky-high. For now, she just wanted to fuck and suck and be fucked and sucked. She wasn't sure at all that she was a one-man-woman, wasn't sure she couldn't enjoy the hell out of having a stable of lovers. A gallery of pricks to call on whenever she felt like being fucked. Big, raw, pricks, hard as iron, with thick, hot, dripping heads. Shit, yes, she knew what the hell she wanted. Rick had taught her.
Carol opened her eyes, reached down and unzipped Brad's fly. She reached inside and caressed his thick, swollen cock, drawing it through the opening in his pants, setting it free to stand straight up.
"Good lord," she said. But she was not afraid as she had been when she first saw Rick's naked prick.
"What?" Brad murmured.
Carol smiled. "Nothing. I'm just happy to bear witness."
Brad was surprised to find her stroking his dick. She had never let him go all the way with her, had always shied away from contact with his sex organ. And she had refused to let him get near her pussy, refused to let him put his finger or his tongue in it. But tonight she was coming on strong, responding eagerly and even leading the way. He couldn't quite understand the change that had come over Carol but he was damn grateful for it. He decided to see how complete the change was, decided to find out just how far she would let him go.
Brad slipped his hand under Carol's miniskirt and his fingers found their way inside her panties. He searched the tangled web of soft pubic hair and explored until he reached the slash of her wet vagina ... the great lost continent, the marvelous magnetic region. He felt desire palpitating between his fingers, throb-bing up out of her smoldering cunt. Her cunt. At last he'd found it.
Carol was sighing and moaning and writhing in ecstasy. She held on to Brad's prick, stroking it in rhythm to the waves of pure pleasure that surged through her body like an electric current. She held Brad's prick, clutching it to keep from drowning in those waves of pleasure that threatened to engulf her. Then suddenly Brad's finger made hot contact with the center of her being, his finger found her clitoris and began too raise hell with it. Desire spurted through her body with a force and power that made her tremble and took her breath away. Desire rampaged through her flesh on a ruthless excursion eras- ng all thoughts from her brain. She became a mass of burning, heaving sensations, a creature devoid of will, pure animal in her motives and drives and instincts. Lust lifted her beyond this time and this place in to a fabulous world of pure sensation. A world that was dark and light, solid and molten, cold and fiery, brutal and civilized.
Brad Phillips controlled that world, controlled it with the tip of his finger. It was a world born on the head of a pin: the surface of Carol's hard little clit. His finger and the surface of the clit equalled a fulcrum that Brad was using to rule the grid through which Carol now journeyed and to control and manipulate her frenzied passage tb ough that world of lust and desire. He reveled in seeing her writhing on his couch, her clothes m disarray, her thighs spread wide apart. He slipped his finger deeper into her cunt, probing and thrusting, bringing Carol to the edge of an orgasm.
Carol's fingers moved spasmodically on Brad's prick. The rhythm with which she had stroked it earlier was abandoned because she was completely lost in the sensations that erupted in her body as Brad finger fucked her. She rotated her hips, agonizing against his finger, responding furiously to the bold, lusty message he was writing on the walls and in the depths of her hot, slimy cunt. His mouth returned to her breast and he sucked her nipple as he continued to finger fuck her.
A long thin scream escaped Carol's lips, signalling journey's end. A volcano erupted inside her cunt, spewing its sticky lava all over Brad's fingers. Carol's body was wracked by convulsions. She rode the long, cascading orgasm to the last sweet drop, sighing and groaning, tossing her head from side to side.
Carol had never cummed all over herself this way before. She felt blood racing through her veins. She felt thunder pounding in her ears, felt lightning crackling in her cunt. Slowly the storm that had lashed her flesh subsided and she opened her eyes. Brad leaned back, withdrawing his finger from her cunt.
"Let's get in bed," he said. "I have to pull out the sofa."
She looked down at his throbbing prick. "Don't bother," she said.
She stripped off her clothes and sprawled on the floor. Brad undressed and knelt beside her.
"Turn over," he said. "Get on all fours."
Carol looked puzzled but assumed the position. Brad moved up between her legs, close to her naked ass. With one hand he held her hip and with the other guided his cock through the rear entrance to her pussy.
Carol's ass buckled as Brad entered her. She felt the whole length of his big, tjiick dick as he pushed it deep into her cunt. For a moment she feared his red hot shaft would rip her ass in two. But it only lifted her up, raised her to a level of ecstasy she had never anticipated. And when he began to hump her dog fashion she responded, rotating her buttocks to meet his burning, thrusting cock, raising her whole ass higher so Brad could penetrate her cunt to its very depths.
Brad reached around her body and his finger found her clit and began to massage it as he continued to hump her with all his might. Carol went wild, flipped out entirely, thrusting her buttocks at Brad's ramrod dick with uncontrollable velocity. Brad fucked her and fucked her, banging her ass brutally, ramming his ruthless, battering cock all up in her tight young pussy. And all the whole he kept on fingering her clit, manipulating the swollen little pleasure pebble until she shrieked and cried in joyous agony.
"Ooooohhhh," she pleaded. "Don't stop, don't stop. Fuck me, fuck me. Fuck me forever. I love it; I love your dick. I love it deep in my cunt."
Brad increased the thrusts of his powerful strokes, his prick moving inside her like a huge piledriver. His scrotum was swinging back and forth, bouncing against her naked glistening ass. Her pussy was sucking like a bellowy, clasping his cock for all it was worth, clinging to every thick inch of hot hard meat. As he humped forward she thrusted her grinding buttocks back and up to meet him. It was a furious cunt-cock collision, a blistering encounter between the immovable and the irresistable, filled with pain and friction, love and hate, challenge and fulfillment. Brad felt himself moving towards the verge of an orgasm and knew that if they sustained the wild, frantic pace at which they were fucking he would soon shoot a hot jet-like stream of cum into her womb.
He abandoned her clit, she was bucking to hard for his finger to ride it. He clung to her gyrating hips, frantically stroking her sleek bucking ass. He hunched his bone-hard prick down to the bottom of her gooey cunt, trying to tear all the sweetness out of it, trying to rip all the joy he could from the depths of her twat.
"Oooohhh, lord," she moaned. "Oooohhh. Oooohhh. I'm cuuummmingg! I can't stop it! Can't hold it back I Brad ... "
Brad grunted, cumming with her. His aching balls exploded forth a jet stream of molten lava. His penis rose in her savagely, stretching and hardening, as the hot cum burst loose and splattered all over her cunt.
Carol was lost, swept out of this world. Cum-ming with Brad drained everything out of her. Her own orgasm was a long, loud explosion that erupted all through her body, curling her toes, making her asshole pucker, driving her clean up the wall. Brad's orgasm scalded her frothy cunt. His prick grew so incredibly big and hard she feared it would puncture her womb and almost wanted it to happen. She wanted it to tear her cunt and asshole wide open, leaving them sucking wind and cum, then saw its bone-hard route straight up through her belly and between her tits. She wanted his prick all over her, wanted it to fill her entire body, replacing the blood in her viens with his thick hot cum. She wanted to live and breathe and drink his orgasm.
Together, they cummed a river. A sea that flowed between them, soaking their genitals, dripping onto the pile carpet. They lay in the wet puddle of cum, soothed by its stickiness, inhaling its pungent odor ... two lovers enjoying their own secluded private beach and ocean.
They rested side by side, his arms around her, her head on his chest. She fondled his limp penis and said:
"My own. My very own prick."
"Yes."
"I love it. I'm so glad it's mine."
"It's not your first."
She was silent.
He said, "You've had others."
She remained silent.
"Other pricks," he said.
She was silent.
He said, "How many?"
"Brad ... "
"Did they belong to anyone I know, any friends of mine? "
"Brad, don't."
"You told me you were a virgin. I had you on a pedestal. You lied."
"I wasn't ready ... "
"Ha!"
"There's only been one. And now you."
"And it happened yesterday, I suppose. By accident. Shit, you're still lying." He moved away from her and averted his face.
Why do men make something special out of virginity? Carol wondered. Why do they attach so much importance to being first? She rose and went into the bathroom and washed herself. She came back and found Brad still lying on the floor, a gloomy expression frozen on his face. She dressed and said:
"Will I hear from you? Will you call me?"
He said, "You were a virgin like Polly Adler was a nun."
Carol let herself out quietly, went out to her car and headed home. She took the freeway to save time. The evening had left her with a stinging sense of loneliness. It had left her believing no one really understood and cared about her. Brad, she felt, had merely wanted to inflate his ego.by seducing a virgin. Rick, who had beat Brad to her cherry, only wanted to further his career. Her father wanted her to make a marriage that would advance his ambitions in Valley Ridge. Her mother was an enigma. She lived inside a shell, remote and isolated, never permitting anyone to glimpse her emotions.
Carol was jolted out of her reverie by the wail of a siren. She glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a police car on her tail, signaling her to pull over. She responded by pressing down on the gas pedal. The Mustang rocketed forward, the speedometer needle climbing quickly past eighty and eighty-five and ninety. Carol glanced in the mirror; the police car was sticking close. She moved from the middle lane to the left lane. Then she pressed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
The Mustang streaked forward. The car's vibration produced a steady metallic whine. Tires squealed agonizingly and the freeway was an onrushing blur. When Carol glanced in the mirror again the police car had dropped out of view.
She reduced speed, cut across the freeway and parked on the shoulder. She lit a cigarette and settled back, waiting for the police car to catch up. Well, Daddy, she thought, this one may not be so easy to fix. This one might drag us into court.
The police car, siren still wailing, pulled onto the shoulder and parked in front of Carol. A tall, heavy-set cop got out of the car and came slowly over. Carol smiled up at him and said:
"Hi, fuzz. I thought you'd never get here."
Chapter Six
Marjorie Collins was in bed when Graham phoned, watching a rerun of Perry Mason on the color TV Graham had given her as a Christmas present.
"Marjorie, I won't be able to make it tonight," he said.
"You promised, Charely," she protested.
"I know. But something unexpected has come up."
"What is it this time?" Marjorie's tone was one of exasperation.
"A family crisis," Graham answered vaguely. "I'll explain it tomorrow. I'm sorry, darling."
"Lillian?" Marjorie's anger mounted.
"Listen, I can't talk now. But I promise to make this up to you. Goodnight, darling."
Marjorie listened to the line go dead, then slammed the receiver back on the hook. She was furious. She felt certain Charley had decided to stay home and bed down with his wife. While I sit here twiddling my thumbs and watching TV, she told herself angrily.
She got out of bed and switched off the televi- sion, vowing to give Charley a big, ripe piece of her mind tomorrow at the office. She slipped a negligee over her short, clinging nightgown and padded into the living room. She went to the bar and mixed herself a Scotch and soda. I deserve a medal for having another affair with a married man, she thought bitterly. It should be pinned on my panties by the President in a ceremony at the White House. Mistress of the Year Award. I never get hung up on a single guy, she sighed wistfully.
Marjorie recalled how the psychiatrist she had visited a few times had explained her penchant for married men. He had attributed it to her exposure to her parents' marriage. Their marriage had been plagued by bitter quarrels that had often ended in bruising fights. As a child, Marjorie had been a reluctant, frightened little spectator to their violent battles. According to the psychiatrist the experience had inflicted a deep-seated fear of marriage upon Marjorie. This fear blocked her from becoming emotionally involved in relationships that could culimate in marriage. She attached herself to men who were already married, deriving a sense of security from the fact that such relationships did not threaten ... it was the word the psychiatrist had used ... her with marriage.
The psychiatrist had concluded his prelimi- nary psychognosis by telling Marjorie she represented a classic example of how a destructive pattern ... the terrifying, traumatic experiences of her childhood ... could give rise to an equally destructive pattern ... her frustrating, socially unacceptable relationships with married men ... thus perpetuating itself. Her objective in psychoanalysis would be to rid herself of her childhood fears. The objective would be attained by endless hours of talking, probing back over years, dredging up forgotten memories and clearing away the psychic debris of a lifetime. Finally, when Marjorie's neurosis was cured, she would be capable of seeking true fulfillment through love, marriage and motherhood.
Marjorie had made a translation of the psychiatrist's jargon: Seeing her father and mother battle each other had scared the hell out of her. She had vowed never to marry. To her marriage meant having some guy knock you down every time you opened your mouth and said something he didn't like. So, instead of having a husband, children and a home, like most women, Marjorie had a neurosis that confined her to back street relationships with married men.
It had been pretty simple and it had made a good deal of sense. And since Marjorie hadn't wanted to go through life playing the other woman in the lives of a succession of married men, she had agreed to undergo psychoanlaysis. Besides, she had read about a lot of prominent people who had undergone analysis ... movie stars, athletes, artists. If it had helped them, she had reasoned, perhaps it could be of some value to her.
Marjorie's venture into psychoanalysis had proved a disaster. On her third visit the psychiatrist, a short, plump man with beady eyes and a gleaming bald head, leered at her and announced that he was a bachelor. Then he ran his hand under her skirt and felt her thighs. Before she could get off the couch he pounced on her, pinned her beneath the weight of his body, and pressed his lips against hers.
"You are so lovely," he had panted. "But so inhibited. You must free yourself of your inhibitions. You must rid yourself of fear and anxiety. You must learn to enjoy sex."
Marjorie had felt the credibility gap widening rapidly between her and the psychiatrist because she could see no reason why being raped by him would free her of fear and anxiety. She had begged him to regain control of himself.
He had responded by slipping his hand inside her blouse and fondling her breasts. "You have a magnificent body," he had drooled. "To hoard such a treasure is not only neurotic, it's criminal. Relax. Relax, while I teach you to cast your jewel upon the water."
Marjorie had twisted a hand free and dug her nails into his soft jowl, tearing his flesh and drawing blood. He, had screamed in pain and, as though pain had increased his desire, held her in an iron grip obviously determined to assault his voluptuous patient.
"You must fuck a bachelor," he had insisted. "You must fuck a single man; it will be great therapy for you."
His plump fingers ripped off her panties and explored the warm region between her thighs. She struggled in vain and pleaded with him to stop. He ignored her, caressing the lips of her cunt. Against all her will and desire Marjorie felt the slow stirring of seductive heat rising in her loins. Her efforts to free herself subsided. "Oh, no, no," she begged. "Please don't." He pressed his lips against hers and his tongue forced its way into her mouth. He searched her oral cavity with his warm wet tongue, probing passionately. Her cunt was starting to get slick and slimy. He bathed his middle finger in her cunt and when his finger was good and wet he used it to search for her clit.
Marjorie's hope of avoiding rape had faded completely when his probing finger found her clit and made it surrounder to a sensuous mas- sage. But she was determined to deprive him of pleasure, to permit him only the rape of an inactive pussy. She vowed to hold herself inert and resist any desire to have an orgasm. Eyes closed, biting, her lips to keep from moaning, she braced herself for the oncoming assault.
He opened his pants and drew out his hard, stubby cock. He pushed her thighs roughly apart and crawled between them. He parted the lips of her cunt with one hand, then he guided the dribbling tip of his cock into the shining entrance to her reluctant pussy. He pushed his squat brutal cock as far as it would go and began pumping her cunt.
Marjorie was still and limp, refusing to respond to the hard block of meat thrashing around in her cunt, keeping the natural urge to rise to his prick under tight control.
He struggled hard to pump a response from her, stroking the walls of her cunt from a variety of angles. His sturdy little cock moved with varied rhythms, trying to improvise a stroke that would strike a spark in her idle pussy.
"C'mon," he urged, "fuck with me. Throw me some pussy. Let yourself go."
His words fell on a deaf cunt. Marjorie had her cunt under tight control, he was going to have to steal whatever satisfaction he could get because she wasn't about to give away any.
"Your therapy," he reminded her. "Shake off your fears and anxiety. Shake your ass."
Marjorie's ass remained still. She was winning the fight to keep from cumming. It was an easy victory. The psychiatrist's prick didn't really reach the sensitive depths of her pussy. The way he fucked just didn't turn her on. If she had screwed him willingly she would have been bored with his prick before it was over. His stubby little cock didn't stand a chance in hell of getting her worked up. His best bet, she thought, would be to stick his bald head inside her cunt, wiggle his ears and vomit. But to tell the truth, his sweaty, glistening bald head and his fat body only helped to build her distaste for the rapist.
The analysts effort to arouse her, strong at first, started running down. He thrashed around in her cunt because of his own urge to cum. His nuts ached to release their load, and his nuts didn't give a fuck where they released it.
"Cum with me," he muttered in an absurd refusal to accept the fact that he was only masturbating in Marjorie. An absurd refusal to acknowledge that his rape of Marjorie had been strictly a solo flight. She had not participated. The analyst's cummed alone. He shuddered and grunted as nature yanked the stream of semen out of his balls and sent it rocketing out through the swollen tip of his prick.
Marjorie felt the warm gush of spurting semen and knew her ordeal would soon be over. She felt his prick flagging as the cum drained out of him. He was breathing hard and his heart was pounding.
"Your problem is deep-seated," he panted. "Very deep-seated."
"Fuck you," said Marjorie.
She shoved him away and he moved without a struggle. Then she got up, cleaned herself as best she could, straightened her clothes and walked out of the office. She never returned for further analysis.
Now, as Marjorie sat at her bar, guzzling Scotch and stewing with resentment because Graham had phoned and broken their date, she view the encounter with the psychiatrist as bizarre and ludicrous. She wondered what the outcome would have been if her experience with psychoanalysis had been more legitimate. Even if the headshrinker hadn't tried to rape me it probably would have turned out to be a waste of time and money, she thought pessimistically. By the time I kick my fear of marriage it'll probably be too late for me to find a husband. I'll probably have passed through menopause and be ready for a hysterectomy.
The thought of a hysterectomy prompted Marjorie to pour herself a double Scotch and soda. She took a long swallow, then lit a cigarette and tried to co sole herself with the fact that Charley was a big spender. He was always buying her expensive gifts ... clothes, jewelry, perfume. He helped pay her bills, too. No, she mused, Charley's no cheapskate. He has money and he doesn't mind spending it. Except for the gifts and the bills how much of his money can we spend? she asked herself dejectedly. How much of it can we really enjoy? She reflected on the fact that she and Charley never appeared together in public. We can't even go to a movie, she lamented.
The doorbell rang.
Go away, Marjorie thought. Whatever it is, I don't want any. "Maybe it's Charley," she said hopefully. "Maybe he changed his mind and decided to surprise me." She stubbed out the cigarette hurriedly, peered at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and smoothed back her hair with her hands. She clambered off the bar stool, almost tipping it over, then dashed across the room and opened the door.
Rick Morgan stood in the doorway, smiling broadly, holding a dozen long-stemmed, red roses. He handed the roses to her and said, "I think these are much prettier than olive branches, don't you?"
Marjorie was surprised and confused. She couldn't decide whether to accept the roses and invite Rick in or hand them back to him and send him away.
"I had to drive all around to find a florist open," he said. He reached out and gently placed his forefinger at the corner of her mouth. "A smile would be a far greater reward than I deserve," he whispered smoothly, drawing his finger softly across an inch of her cheek and away.
Perhaps because she was angry and depressed and half tanked on Scotch, Marjorie went for Rick's gambit. "Come in," she smiled. "And thanks for the roses. They are lovely."
Rick stepped into the apartment and closed the door behind him. He glanced around the tastefully furnished room, taking in the bar, the stereo and the redwood credenza. "Nice place you've got here, Marjorie," he said. And I bet it didn't all come out of your secretary's salary, he thought. I bet Graham kicked in plenty.
Marjorie acknowledged the compliment, then said, "Make yourself a drink while I put these in water." She scurried off to the kitchen.
Rick moved to the bar. He eyed the half empty bottle of Scotch from which Marjorie had been drinking. He picked up her drink and sniffed it, detecting its strength. He found a bottle of bourbon on a shelf beneath the bar and ice cubes in the small freezer. He poured a finger of bourbon over ice and added a dash of soda.
Marjorie returned with the roses in a vase and placed them on the credenza. She stood back admiring them for a moment, then turned to Rick. "They are beautiful roses," she said. "But why give them to me?"
Rick looked her in the eye and smiled gently. "To furbish the next pass I make at you," he answered candidly.
"How's the weather out?" she smiled, pointedly changing the topic. She climbed back onto the bar stool and took a sip of her drink.
Rick moved from behind the bar and sat down on a stool beside her. "Have you been boozing to forget your troubles, or just for the fun of it?" he asked.
"You're a man of the world. Can't you recognize a damsel in distress?"
Rick shook his head. "It takes a knight in shining armor to pick up on a damsel in distress. Anyway, what are you distressed about?" Marjorie shrugged. "The fate of the nation. What else?" she said dryly, indicating that she didn't care to confide in Rick.
"You don't look as if you'd let the fate of the nation drive you to drink," he persisted.
"My boy friend just phoned and told me he's not coming over. Satisfied?"
Unless she plays the field, Rick thought, it was Graham who called and canceled. He realized how mistaken his assumption had been ... his assumption that Graham would be tied up with his wife and had no plans to see Marjorie this evening. He shuddered inwardly at the thought of how awkward it would have been if he and Graham had collided at Marjorie's. I would've had to do some fancy ad-libbing, he mused. Otherwise, it would've been bye, bye, rich client. Rye, bye, four hundred sweet bills a week. But his luck had held; he decided to keep pushing it. He grinned at Marjorie, raised his glass and said, "Opportunity knocks. Let's drink to it."
Marjorie gazed steadily at Rick. He's pretty brash, she thought, but he wouldn't be so bad if he'd quit making passes. She noted that Rick was tall and handsome, had a good sense of humor and a devil-may-care attitude. He seems to get a kick out of just breathing, she observed. "I'm not at all sure what we're drinking to," she said, raising her glass. "I hope it's platonic friendship."
Rick returned Marjorie's gaze. She was a hot-looking number. In her late twenties, he estimated. He wondered how she would look out of her clothes and how she responded in bed. It was terribly unfair, he mused, for Graham to monopolize her sexually. He wished he could interest Marjorie in a cooperative arrangement. He hoped they could inaugurate it tonight. "I'm drinking to your beautiful gray eyes," he said. "And your fantastic, eighth-wonder-of-the-world bust. A bust that even Hugh Hefner, poor underprivileged fellow, has never seen the like of."
Marjorie laughed inwardly. What a wild son of a bitch, she thought. He seems to say whatever the hell comes into his mind. She wondered what the devil he'd say if she actually flirted with him. She wondered how far he'd try to go if she pretended to be leading him on. "Let's just keep it down to my gray eyes," she said coyly.
Rick sighed gently. "If you insist." They clinked glasses and sipped their drinks. Rick glanced toward the stereo and said, "How about some music?"
Marjorie went to the stero, pulled out a stack of records and tumbed through Sinatra, Bennett, Basie and Ellington. She selected Getz in his bossa nova bag, switched on the stereo and placed the record on the turntable. The rich tone of Getz's tenor sax flooded the room, tracing the delicate bossa nova beat with fluid lyricism. "Well?" Marjorie said, turning back to Rick.
"I like that," he said, snapping his fingers in time to the music. "I dig Getz."
"He swings. But what the hell brings you here uninvited"!"
Rick smiled charmingly. "A wild, irrepressible urge to make love to you," he said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
Marjorie looked at him. He was unbelievable in his ego, in his bluntness. Surely he did not believe she was slut enough to go running into a man's arms simply because he beckoned. And yet, why not? What did she have to lose, after all? Her life was sordid and messy. Certainly she could not regard herself as a paragon of virtue, not after those numerous tawdry affairs with married men. And while those affairs had had their exciting moments, they had always left her with an emptiness, a miserable, frustrating sense of loneliness. Perhaps the only way to escape that sense of loneliness, she thought, is to fall for a single guy and go for the whole bit. Love, marriage, motherhood.
"You're pretty sure of yourself," she said softly.
Rick moved from the bar, drew her into his arms and led her into a slow, cheek-to-cheek dance. "I want you," he murmurmed.
"I belong to someone."
"I want to undress you with more than my eyes."
"Hush. Platonic, remember?" "I want to hold you and kiss you."
"Please hush."
"I want to feel your flesh against mine."
"No, Rick?"
"I want to kiss all the secret places on your body." "Rick."
He kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue. Most of her resistance had been lulled by Scotch. Some of it had been subdued by her anger and resentment over Graham's phone call. The rest of it melted in the warmth of Rick's kiss.
She found herself responding furiously, digging her fingers into the hard muscles that bulged beneath his jacket, straining to get as close to him as possible. "Oh, Rick," she sighed.
"Rick."
"The night is young," he whispered. "Let's relax and enjoy it."
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes." She switched off the stereo, took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. She slipped out of her negligee and pulled her gown over her head.
Rick gazed spellbound at Marjorie, his eyes playing over her shapely legs, round thighs, slender hips and narrow waist. His eyes lin- gered a long time on her magnificent, king-sized breasts. If He designed those boobs, Rick thought, God isn't dead. He's turned into a satyr. A wild, fantasy-ridden satyr. "You could cause a riot on a beach," he said. "You could get a standing ovation in a burlesque show."
"Hush, Rick. And stop staring. You're making me blush."
"Sorry, but you should be damn used to it."
Marjorie turned back the spread and climbed into bed. Rick stripped off his clothes and stretched out beside her.
"How do you like it?" she asked. "With or without the light?"
"Dealer's choice," Rick shrugged.-
"I don't need it," she said, switching off the lamp. "I always make love with my eyes closed, anyway."
"Romanticist."
"Uh huh." Before she moved into Rick's arms, Marjorie had a fleeting thought of Charley and the fact that she was about to be unfaithful to him. It serves the son of a bitch right, she decided. He shouldn't have broken our date. An, d he shouldn't lie about sleeping with his wife. "Kiss me, honey," she urged Rick.
Rick kissed her mouth. Her neck. Her shoulders. Her breasts. Her navel. He stroked her buttocks and her thighs. Then he went back and sucked her nipples while he fingered her pussy.
Her hips and buttocks were beginning to stir, grinding slowly. He was sucking her tits but it was her cunt that was getting revved up for action. And not because his finger was in it. She simply loved to fuck, loved to feel a big, stiff vibrant prick rammed all the way up her cunt. She reached down and grabbed the head of Rick's cock. It was thick and hard and throbbing in her hand. She ran her fingers along the muscular torpedo, surprised and delighted by the size and rigidity of his incredible hardon. An all night hardon, she told herself, smiling at the thought. A twenty-four hour fuck stick. She stroked his cock from head to hilt, played with his pubic hair, and stroked his cock again. His cock stood straight up, defying gravity. She cupped his scrotum in her hand, marveling at the weight of his balls.
She reached down and moved Rick's hand from her pussy. "Put it in my ass," she said. She stuck her own finger in her mouth, then used the wet finger to moisten.her asshole, paving the way for Rick to insert his finger in the puckering brown slit.
Rick's middle finger was slick with her cunt juice; he spread wide the cheeks of her ass and bared the brown eye. He stuck his slick finger in her asshole as far as the middle knuckle. He moved his finger in a fucking motion that sent sharp, stabbing waves of pleasure through Mar-jorie's big round ass. She groaned with pleasure and he responded by inserting his finger all the way.
Marjorie tripped on the sensations Rick's finger produced in her asshole. His finger was jammed tight in her asshole,' moving and thrusting in prick-like motions, sending thrills and shocks through her body that were an equal mixture of pain and ecstasy. She felt a monumental burst of desire exploding within her. Friction had made her asshole red hot and the heat of her ass had lit a flame in her cunt.
"Oh, God," she wailed, "I want you, baby. I want your prick in my cunt."
She raised her legs high so he could insert his prick in her cunt and still keep his finger in her asshole. He entered her gently, sliding his big robust dick inch by inch into her slimy welcoming snatch. She received it as though it were the prodigal prick she had long awaited. A missing portion of her own being, back from its promiscuous roamings, to pack the slit of her cunt, stuff the gaping raw wound at the heart of her soul.
Rick's dick was ferocious, whacking her cunt from every angle, spanking her pussy like there was no tomorrow. Jamming his finger in her ass- hole and his dick in her cunt with a mutual rhythm.
She loved it, loved getting banged front and rear. She loved having a strong tough cock, big and bold, tearing away at the slimy walls of her steaming pussy. And at the same time a thick finger that was almost pulling the shit out of her anus. It added up to being fucked twice at once. To having your cake and sucking it too.
She demonstrated how much she loved the double action; she responded violently, humping her cunt head on against his hardon. Riding Rick's unbridled horse-like prick, Marjorie fought back tears of joy. She hadn't been fucked this way in a long time, certainly not by Charley Graham. And because she was not emotionally involved with Rick, as she was with Charley, she could indulge herself in this pure unencumbered sexual encounter strictly for the physical delights it offered. She was ready to accept all the animal pleasures Rick's unruly prick could jam into her hot responsive pussy.
His prick was hammering her cunt all over the bed, setting her fiery tail on a welcome collision course with a big, womb-licking orgasm. His finger kept plunging the depth of her asshole making it partly to blame for the cum to come.
She said, "Your prick is a monster, baby."
"It used to work in horror movies."
"Oh."
"That's why those actresses always screamed so loud."
"Lucky bitches."
"And you?"
"Amen."
She meant it. Hell, things were happening in her pussy that had never happened before.
She said, "I never guessed my hole would fit so good around your thing."
"Dummy."
"Oh, shut up."
"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in my ass."
"Does it have to be civil."
"No, just literate."
He rose in her savagely; his finger well up her anus could feel the head of his cock thrusting against the bottom of her cunt. His finger responded to the motions of his cock through the wall of tissue that separated them. Finger and prick head were driving against each other like two opposing armies battling for the same terrain.
She clung to Rick fiercely, shrieking with ecstasy, covering his face with kisses. They moved together, bodies locked, in a furious grinding rhythm. She was caught in the hot crossfire between his finger and cock, enjoying every sizzling moment. Her pussy and asshole were sucking and puckering as though they had a will of their own. She dug her heels into his strong, punishing buttocks, bracing herself against an increasing urge to cum.
"Ooooohhhh, baby, it's so good," she wailed. I'm going to ... You're making me- ... Aaaa-ahhhheeeee! I'mcuuuummmingg!"
Her cunt exploded; her anus shuddered. A mighty orgasm bounced her whole body up and down on the mattress with whiplash effect. "Oh, cum with me," she pleaded. "Cuuummm with me! !"
She was getting off so wildly Rick had to get off too. The head of his penis grew harder and seemed to stand straight up in Marjorie's cunt, like a spear aiming itself at the bull's eye that was her womb. His heavy balls released what seemed to be an endless stream of liquid lightning. It spurted forth with a jolting force that made Rick grunt and groan and bury his painfully hard cock almost in Marjorie's belly.
Rick's orgasm exploded in Marjorie's pussy with blinding impact. The rich cream overflowing in her cunt, bursting forth from the spasmlike movements of his stabbing penis, sent her over the brink. She cried and trembled and called out to God. She quivered from the wavelike convulsions of mutiple orgasms, her flesh on fire and her pussy smoldering like a live coal. Behind her closed eyes, stars whirled. An undiscovered universe reeled into view. A kingdom ruled by Rick's massive dick. A kingdom where his dick sat on a throne crowned by the lips of Marjorie's pussy. A kingdom she hoped would last forever.
She wept joyously, tears streaming down her face. "You don't leave a girl a wrinkle," she said.
Rick kissed her salty tears. "You're no slouch yourself," he said. "You deserve a star on your bedroom door. You deserve a medal on your panties."
Marjorie smiled in the darkness, laughing inwardly. Damn, she thought, that's just what I told myself this evening.
They rested in each other's arms, basking in warm contentment. He played with a strand of her hair while she gently massaged his chest. The world seemed remote and silent and they felt as though they were voyagers who by a trick of time had landed on some distant, uncharted shore.
"I'm glad we finally fell into bed," he said. "I've been making passes at you for the last six weeks."
"You make it sound like a millennium."
"Well, for awhile I thought you'd never come across."
"A girl has to look before she leaps into bed."
"So they say. So they all say."
"It's true. And men appreciate being forced to wait, though they won't admit it."
"Marjorie, darling, if you went and kissed the Blarney stone it wouldn't give you the power to convince me."
She propped herself up on her elbow and put her face close to his. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "Because I'm glad we finally fell into bed. I'm just as glad as you are." She kissed him, darting her tongue between his lips. He held her gently, responding to her kiss. When they came up for air, he cupped hr breast in his hand and took the" nipple between his lips.
"If you keep sucking them they'll get large," she said.
He laughed.
"Larger," she corrected herself, laughing good-naturedly. "And if they get any larger," she added, "I'll need a periscope to see where I'm going."
"I'll buy you a periscope. Hell, I'll buy you a mink periscope and a mink bra to match."
"Then I promise to quit interrupting you," she said, putting her nipple back in his mouth. She felt his warm lips encompass her nipple, and felt his moist tongue darting over it. She trembled in his arms. "You're starting a five alarm fire," she warned.
Rick slipped his hand between her thighs and stroked her loins. "When I was a boy," he said, "I ran after fire engines."
She sighed gently and arched her body to meet his probing fingers. Soon she was moaning and writhing and tearing at the pillow. "I-I can't take it, Rick!" she cried. "You're driving me crazy!" She tried to escape his manipulation, twisting and turning, drawing up her legs and crossing her thighs.
He clung to her clitoris, manipulating her ruthlessly. "You promised me a five alarm fire," he said. "Ill feel letdown if it's only four."
"If you don't take your hand away ... Quit teasing me," she pleaded, "and put your dick in me."
Her thighs were spread wide to receive his bulging penis, her cunt drooling in anticipation. He slid his hands under her soft, fleshy buttocks and hoisted them in the air. She held his heavy prick, trembling in response to the awesome hardon, and inserted it into her eager snatch. Her pussy clasped his stiff, rotund prick and held on for dear life.
"Oh, fuck me," she urged. "Fuck me to death."
He stroked her with his cock as though he meant to kill her with it. As though his cock had sentenced her cunt to capital punishment and was executing the sentence. But her pussy responded to capital punishment as though it had been recalled to life.
She wrapped her sweet thighs around his strong back; her greedy cunt yanked at his dick as he drove it all up in her. They fucked together in a smooth, fluid rhythm. His cock battered the walls of her cunt with unbelievable force; she responded frantically, her hips moving like pistons driven by a sex-crazed demon. Rick's manhood was all over her, his sex was hers, plunging its qualities through her cells, imbuing her with its strength and anger. Her pussy was wrapped tightly all around his thrusting cock, yielding up its feminine perspective on their wild, no-holds-barred sexual bout.
He kissed her, pressing his lips hard against hers. Her lips parted, inviting his tongue into her mouth, her own tongue fencing delicately with his probing dart. His tongue reamed out every corner of her oral cavity, sponging up all the juices he could drain from her hot throat, sending a shower of crackling sparks shooting through both their heads.
His dick was whipping her cunt into hot, frothy submission. Teaching her pussy who was boss. A bull in a cunt shop, fucking all the big-assed whores with mean, powerful horns. Tossing their big gooey behinds on its vicious curved horns, trampling their glistening asses into sand wet with cum. Surging, churning, animal lust ... never knowing when to stop.
She yelped and yelled under the wild onslaught of an approaching orgasm. "Cuuummmm with me! Cuuummm all over my cunt!" she screamed, proclaiming to neighbors and relatives, heaven and hell, God and Satan that she had been FUCKED TO LIFE! She had had a dick do exactly what God had created it to do. So what if some of its tricks had been learned from the Devil? It had all happened in her pussy! A dick sent into the world had fulfilled its mission in her pussy.
She cummed a river. His cock had to release its load or grab a pair of oars. They soaked the sheets, splattered all over everything. His fingers were sticky with cum and it got in her hair as he ran his hands through her hair. She massaged his buttocks, using cum for lotion. It got in their mouths when their lips touched and sweetened the long, breathtaking kisses. The aroma of cum invaded their nostrils like a heady perfume so right for the occasion. They wallowed in it, deriving sensuous pleasure from tasting and smelling and feeling the sticky liquid. With her fingers, she pullad strings of shining cum from the tip of his limp dripping prick.
"I wish I could keep this," she said. "Save it in the 'fridge."
"Why?"
"Some night we could use it to grease your prick so you can fuck me in the ass."
"There's more where it came from."
"Promise?"
"Uh huh."
Later, remembering the way he had tormented her clit, she said: "I don't like being manipulated, you son of a bitch."
"Sorry, darling. Never again."
"Sometimes I like it. But not when I want your dick in my cunt. Hell, it's hard to explain."
He reached out and sent his fingers walking lightly over her belly. "I've got such great finger dexterity I thought you'd dig it," he said.
"Such what?"
"Finger dexterity." He moved his fingers in motions that imitated dance steps, tickling her belly. "Astaire or Kelly? Guess."
"Astaire," she laughed.
"Wrong. Bojangles."
She laughed heartily. "Funny," she said. "But you didn't have to go through that bit. I wasn't angry about it." She sighed rapturously. "Not after the way you made love to me, honey."
"I'm a terrible glutton. Hope I'm not wearing your little core out?"
"If it's sore tomorrow you won't catch me complaining."
"Figure on tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow."
"I take it that means I'll see you again?"
He took her face in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose. "It's a groove to have a girl who understands me," he said.
They lapsed into silence and soon fell asleep. She awoke a couple of hours later, shook him and said, "Rick."
He stretched and yawned and said, "Yes, baby."
"Don't act too friendly towards me when you come in the office."
"Why not?"
"I don't want people I work with to know you and I are ... seeing each other."
"Well put, baby. But why do you feel that way?"
"I just don't believe in revealing my private life to people I work with. And I don't want my boss to catch me socializing on company time. It isn't businesslike."
Rick grinned in the darkness. Shrewd little conniver, she's afraid I might arouse Graham's suspicion, he thought. "All right,, baby. Any way you want it," he said.
"Thanks, lover. I knew I could count on you." She sighed heavily, as though still troubled by something.
"Now what's the matter?" he asked. "I'm going to have an awful hangover in the morning. I don't mind being sore in the core, but I'm getting so hangovers really whip me."
He drew her close and kissed her. "Well, you can give up boozz, you know."
"Yes," she murmured, pressing her body against his and trailing her fingers lightly over his groin. "But that's all I can give up." Her fingers stroked his groin.
He said, "Darling, you're manipulating me." "I know. And you know the best way to stop me."
He took the cue and entered her.
Chapter Seven
As soon as Rick Moggan stepped into his sparsely furnished office, Louise Stuart, his blonde, well-groomed secretary, looked up from her desk and said, "Mr. Graham's been calling all morning. He's fit to be tied. His daughter's been on a rampage again. I thought you straightened her out yesterday?"
"So did I. I gave her a good talking to. But hell, you know how young people are today. They don't even trust anyone over thrity."
Rick told Louise to get Graham on the phone, then went on into his office. The room was small, and seemed crowded by the oak desk and the shelves holding books. He sat at the desk and thought about Carol Graham. He realized that she had conned him yesterday and that she was going to be more trouble than he had expected.
Louise had Graham on the line.
"Morning, Charley," Rick said.
"Carol got caught speeding again," Graham answered. "Doing better than a hundred. I thought you'd brought her under control."
"Charley, she gave me her word ... " "Her word!" Graham spat out a string of obscenities.
"How could I know she was putting me on?" Rick defended himself.
"I had to go downtown and spring her last night," Graham answered. "I don't know if they'll hush it this time. She may have to stand trial and take the rap. Even if it can be hushed, it's going to cost a bundle."
Rick said, "Plus Carol could get killed driving that fast." Graham didn't say anything, so Rick tried to interpret his silence. He wondered if the possibility of Carol getting killed behind the wheel of her car had ever occurred to Graham. He wondered how Graham was reacting to the idea now. He knew there was no love lost between Graham and his daughter and if death.... Rick abandoned the thought, fearful of carrying it any further, disliking the sinister possibilities it evoked. "Well, what do you want me to do, Charley?" he said.
"Go out to the house and take away her car. Make her give you the keys, then stash the car somewhere."
"Where should I stash it?"
"I don't give a damn. Stash it on the bottom of the lake if you want."
"I've got some things to clear up around here.
Soon as I'm finished, I'll pick up the car."
"And, Rick ... this is just the beginning. From now on, I'm cracking down hard on that girl. She's in solitary. She's living on bread and water. She just doesn't know it yet. Say, have you taken a crack at that Forbes woman?"
"I talked to her last night. She's thinking things over."
"Good. Keep me posted." Graham hung up.
Rick cradled the receiver, leaned back and propped his feet on the desk.
Louise Stuart came in and said, "What's happening? What's it all about?"
Rick thought for a long time. Finally he said, "Graham's daughter hates him. It's understandable." Rick swung his feet back to the floor, and turned to the pile of papers on his desk. "No Word from Edgemere Laboratories?" he asked, referring to the pharmaceutical company he was attemptpng to land as a client.
"No, apparently they're still mulling it over in the board room."
"I hope we land them. It's a well-managed, aggressive company. In five years their account could be a bonanza."
Louise went back to her desk.
Rick endorsed checks for deposit in the bank, wrote checks to pay bills and made a few phone calls. He read all the important correspond- ence, then called in Louise to take dictation. "Are you feeling all right?" he asked her. "You look pale and thin."
"I'm dieting. My two-way stretch had reached breaking point."
Rick chuckled. "Well, try to get out in the sun. And take some vitamins. Take plenty of vitamin C." He swiveled around and propped his feet on the window sill. He gazed out the window at the pale blue sky and began dictating. An hour later, he said, "I think that takes care of most of the important items. I've got to run." Louise went to her desk and began typing the letters he had dictated.
Rick stopped at her desk and regarded her. "Get out in the sun," he advised. "And take plenty of vitamin C." Then he left the office, went down to the street and hailed a taxi.
Carol Graham was taking a lukewarm shower when suddenly the shower curtain was snatched open by Rick Morgan. Carol smiled at Rick and said, "Hi, lover. Come on in. But take off your clothes first."
Rick took a towel from the rack. "You're clean enough," he said. "Dry yourself."
Carol turned off the shower angrily. "Wait outside," she snarled, taking the towel from him.
Rick stepped into the bedroom, slumped into a chair and lit a cigarette. Minutes later, Carol came out of the bathroom. The towel was wrapped around her body and her face was red with anger.
"What the hell do you want?" she snapped. "Daddy send you to talk to me again?"
Rick shook his head. "I want the keys to your car. You've been grounded."
Carol's eyes blazed with fury. "Go to hell and take Daddy with you!" "I want the keys, kitten." "That car's mine. I'm going to drive it as long as I goddamn please."
Rick squashed his cigarette in the ashtray, then held out his hand. "The keys, kitten," he repeated softly. "Uh uh."
Rick looked at her pocketbook on the vanity table. He sighed wearily and said, "If you won't give them to me, I'll have to take them."
"All right, you win." Carol went to the vanity table, opened her pocketbook and took out the car keys. She turned to Rick and held them up for him to see. She said, "Screw you, you bastard." Then she bent forward, spreading her legs wide, reaching under the towel and between her thighs. Carol inserted the keys into the most private hiding place on her body. She straight- ened up and smiled victoriously at Rick. "Tell Daddy you tried," she gloated.
Rick regarded her sullenly, then got up and moved slowly toward her.
Carol backed away. "Hey! What are you ... If you lay a hand on me...."
"The keys, kitten. Give them to me or I'll take them."
"You wouldn't. You wouldn't do that." "Bet," he said, inching closer to her. She reached behind her, picked up a bottle from the vanity table and hurled it at him. He ducked as the bottle whizzed past his ear and shattered against the wall. He crossed his arms in front of his face and charged. She winged him with a hair brush. He grabbed her and swung her away from the vanity table, away from her arsenal. She kicked at his groin and tried to bite his hand. She fought hard, kicking and scratching, but he wrestled her to the floor. The towel slipped off, leaving her nude.
"Let go of me. Let go you son of a bitch!" she cursed, rolling and twisting, trying to get away. They tumbled over the carpet, bodies intertwined, grappling ferociously with each other. At times Rick took better than he gave because he could not afford to hurt Graham's strong, well-developed daughter. But she had no qualms about hurting him, and succeeded in doing it a number of times. But somehow the pain didn't bother him. He found the combat exciting, stimulating. Her strong buttocks and thighs, firm breasts and long legs, her whole body heaving against his, aroused Rick and made him get a hardon.
Carol saw Rick's hardon jutting up in his pants and felt it press against her belly as he struggled to hold her down. She felt his muscles rippling beneath his clothes, felt his hands on her thighs and hips and buttocks. She felt his strong hands pushing her thighs apart and something wild stirred in her loins. His fingers searched between her thighs and touched her cunt. She tried to fight, swinging her arms frantically. His hard prick rubbed the inside of her thigh; his finger probed her cunt, parting its lips. Heat rose in her loins. She quit fighting; her body relaxed.
Rick reached for the keys. His thumb and forefinger slipped inside her cunt and retrieved the keys from the warm, moist vault. He climbed to his feet, dropped the keys in his pocket, then removed his jacket and tossed it on a chair. He reached down, grabbed Carol's hand and yanked her to her feet.
"Hey! Now what are you doing?" she screamed.
"I'm going to give you something that should encourage you to behave. Something I bet you've never received before."
Rick dragged her over to the bed, sat down and turned her across his knees.
"Don't, Rick. Please don't!" she begged. Rick spanked her naked buttocks, whacking them hard and bringing tears to her eyes. She moaned and cried, twisting her lovely buttocks, trying to escape his punishing hand. Her ass grew warm from pain and friction. She felt hurt yet curiously stimulated. She felt agonizing little tremors flashing through her cunt as Rick's hand rose and fell on her smarting buttocks.
He stopped spanking her, pulled her into his arms and caressed her bruised buttocks. She rested her head against his chest, sobbing heavily. Carol had never encountered anyone like Rick. She had never had a man assert himself over her the way Rick just had. She had never been spanked before. Her buttocks were still smarting. Her pride was wounded. Her emotions were all mixed up. She felt angry and hurt. She felt wildly excited.
Carol stopped sobbing and looked at Rick. "You had no right to spank me," she said.
"Blame it on the generation gap, kitten. It gives me more right to spank you that it does to make love to you. And I've already made love to you without complaint."
There was a knock at the door, followed by Ellie, the maid, calling: "Are you all right, Miss Carol? I heard a lot of fuss in there."
"Thanks, Ellie. I'm all right," Carol called back. "You certainly have," she said to Rick. "You certainly have," she repeated, smiling broadly.
"Huh, what?" He had been listening for El-lie's footsteps away from the door. Now, he looked at Carol and wondered why she had such a stupid smile plastered on her face.
She gazed into his eyes and said, "You have made love to me. Without complaint. Without any damn complaint at all, darling."
Rick saw what she was getting at. He saw it in her eyes and in the way her lips were parted. He heard it in the warm, husky tone that had crept into her voice. No, don't be a glutton, he told himself, remembering Marjorie Collins whose bed he had not long left. Don't knock yourself out. Remember, you've got work to do. "Oh, that," he said disinterestedly.
Carol shifted in his arms, snuggling closer to him. "Bet there wouldn't be any complaint if you made love to me again," she whispered, her breath warm against his face. "Fuck me again, Rick. Give me another lesson in love." She reached down and grabbed his prick, happy to discover that he was not far from another hardon.
"Yeah, but some other ... "
Her warm lips covered his mouth. Her fingers played in his hair, then unbuttoned his shirt and began loosening his tie.
"Is Ellie still out there?" he asked, "I never heard her move away from the door. Of course, the damn carpet's heavy enough to muffle an elephant's.... Hoofsteps, footsteps, which is it?"
"I don't know. Besides, who cares? If Ellie gets her kicks listening at bedroom doors, let her go right ahead. Hell, I'll buy her an ear trumpet, so she can really groove."
Rick looked at Carol and shook his head. "You're really coming out. Yesterday, a blushing virgin; today, a brazen woman." "Tomorrow?" "You tell me."
Carol stretched voluptuously. "Tomorrow," she purred, "I'll have your head on a platter."
Rick got up and started undressing. "Since my head's going on a platter tomorrow," he said, "I might as well rest it on your pillow today." When he stretched out beside Carol, she came quickly into his arms and shocked him with the urgency and passion of her kiss. "M-m-mm___You're in the mood, kitten," he said.
"Believe it," she murmured.
He did believe it because of the way she was trembling and burning with desire. And because she wanted him to do it to her without wasting time on preliminaries. As far as she was concerned they had had their preliminaries. They had had them when they were wrestling on the bedroom floor, when he removed the keys from her cunt and when he spanked her naked buttocks. Now, all she wanted and all she needed was the big end of the action: Rick's long, thick cock. That big log jutting out from between his legs.
Rick gave it to her. He gave his prick to her relentlessly, inch by glorious inch. He gave her as much as she could take.
Carol took a winner's share. She took it right down to the hilt. She took it even though it seemed to be tearing her cunt apart, making her scream and cry and curse. Took it though it made her moan and bite and claw at him wildly. Took it and went frantic in his arms. She took his hard, plunging cock and melted all over it and turned cool around it. Then suddenly she got even hotter and wilder and tried to stuff his heavy scrotum in her sizzling cunt.
She arched her loins, raising her buttocks higher and higher, and clenched him between her silky thighs. She wrapped her long legs around him and made him realize in the depth of his balls that he was into something beautiful. She drew his head down, buried his face in the heaving mounds of her breasts, stuck her hot tongue in his ear and stroked his spine. She made him grunt and shudder and pull her even closer. She inspired him to ram her hungry cunt with everything he had. She made his prick thunder inside her, impaling her pussy with brutal strokes.
She was moving beneath him like a tropical storm, tossing her tight young cunt at him from every direction. Whipping her juicy little tail all over the bed to lock his hardon in her snatch and keep it surrounded. Her pussy was making amazon demands, trying to slurp an orgasm from the depth of his balls, knowing that as far gone as she was only a load of his cum could bring peace to her piece.
His cock was right there, willing to be cornered, busting and tearing and stretching her pussy to fit its own shape. Beautifully negotiating the curves and straightaways, spinning out, spinning in.
She said, "Your dick is so good." "So is your pussy." "They get it together."Dynamite." "Ooooh, yes."
They fucked harder, harder than he had ever fucked her and harder than Brad had fucked her. Her cunt was wet and sloppy, drooling all over the place, causing his dick to make sloshing sounds as he rammed it to her.
"I'm so wet," she said.
He thought about the towel nearby but couldn't bring himself to stop just to dry off her pussy. He chose to pull her closer, hoisting her buttocks, so he could penetrate her even deeper. The head of his cock struck the bottom of her cunt. She screamed and her buttocks trembled in his arms. He kept grinding hard, striking the bottom of her cunt.
"Oh, God, oh, God," she moaned. She was in a new place, somewhere she had never been before. She was feeling sensations "she had never felt before. Her pussy was telling her things about herself that she had never known. "Oooohhh, shit!" she screamed as he struck the bottom of her cunt so hard that her asshole puckered and a fart rumbled out. "Oh, look what you do to me. Now you've got me farting."
"Better out than in."
"Farts. Not your prick."
"Or my tongue."
He kissed her and she sucked his tongue with her teeth. Soon their mouths were as wet as her pussy. Her whole body was tingling. Her nerve ends were on fire. Her pussy and her mouth were sucking and slurping and her asshole was sighing and puckering. The whole universe was narrowing right down to all the openings in her body and Rick's hot darting tongue and big, cunt-shattering prick. Then suddenly, without warning, it narrowed right down to a soft, feathery stroke against her womb. The lightness and delicacy of the stroke pulled the carpet out from under her universe. She clung to Rick with all her waning strength, screaming and crying, clenching his prick deep in her quivering pussy. "Cuuummm, cuuummm, cuuuummmm!" she urged Rick, her pussy aching to feel his orgasm splattering all over it, dousing the flames that were threatening to consume her.
He pumped hard, his balls aching as much as her pussy, savagely pounding and thrusting into her open womb.
"Cuuummm, cuuummm, cuuuummmm! !" she begged, His buttocks were thrusting and grinding with wicked vengeance, ramming the full length of his bloated dick into the fiery depths of her cunt.
"Cuuummm iii me, cuuummm in me, cuuuummmm in mmeee!" she shrieked. Her pussy was oozing its hot juices all over his cock and her asshole was blowing out loud farts.
"Oooohhhh, I'm cumming and farting!" Her tail was on fire, twisting convulsively. "Cumming and farting!"
Her snatch took a hammer lock on Rick's cock and his balls quit playing hard to get. He shuddered in the throes of a long convulsive orgasm.
"Oooohhh. baby, baby, baby," she sighed.
"Whooo, shit!"
"Rick, Rick, Rick." She farted in rhythm to the words.
"Goddamn!"
"You cummed all over the room."
"M-m-m."
"Cooled off my cunt."
"Like a big dog."
"Snap, crackle and pop."
"They call it busting your nuts."
"They call it Rice Krispies."
"Fucking."
"Fucking," she agreed.
They separated, drained, exhausted. His prick drooped, wet against his thigh. Her pussy yawned and snoozed, warm and cozy. After a while she said:
"If I kept a diary I'd enter this as the day of The Great Key Rape.' Give them back. Please, Rick."
"No, kitten."
"Please." She snuggled close to him.
"Go away. Don't try to con me."
She sat up, drew her knees up and tucked them under her chin. "It isn't fair," she pouted.
"You're better off. The way you drive, you'd probably end up getting maimed or killed. Take a taxi. They get you there. I came here in one."
Rick went into the John, came back and started dressing. Carol watched him, thinking: You can't trust older people. You can't believe a goddamn word they say. He's the same as Daddy. Beneath all the charm and good looks, he's the same as Daddy. They worship at the same altar. Pray to the same gods. Money. Power. Status.
Carol watched Rick put on his pants and shoes, thinking: Well, I have news for both of them. They can't take away my car. Not without a fight. I'm going to give Daddy hell. I'm going down to his office and make a bad scene.
Carol sprang off the bed, went over and kissed Rick on the cheek. "So long, lover," she said. "Close the door behind you when you leave."
Rick watched Carol stride into the bathroom, puzzled by the abrupt, casual way she had told him goodby. He heard the shower running and heard Carol singing. He shrugged and thought: Kooky kid. Kooky generation. Why bother to try and figure her out?
He turned to the mirror on the vanity table, combed his hair and put on his tie and jacket. Then he left the bedroom, quietly closing the door behind him.
Rick Morgan drove Carol Graham's Mustang into the garage where he parked his Thunder-bird.
"Hi'ya, Mr. Morgan," the attendant, a freckle-faced kid in his late teens, greeted Rick. "I see you've moved up to two cars."
"Temporarily. While the owner of this one is out of town." Rick climbed out of the Mustang and handed the attendant the keys. "I want to leave it here for a few days."
The youth handed him a ticket and slid behind the wheel of the car. "Sure, I'll take good care of it, "he said.
"Bring my car down and put it on the side. I'll be right back."
"Roger." He gunned the Mustang up the ramp, racing toward the upper levels of the garage.
Good care of it, Rick mused as he watched him go. I'd hate like hell to have him neglect it. He stuck the ticket in his wallet and went across the street to a drugstore. He phoned his office and Louise brought him up to date. He called the TV studio and asked for Sheila Forbes.
"Who's calling?" the switchboard operator inquired.
"Rick Morgan." He hung on. "Hello," Sheila finally said in a voice that was cold and unfriendly.
"Hello, Sheila, this is Rick Morgan, your friendly blackmailer," he said, trying to inject a little humor into a grim situation.
Sheila's silence made it obvious that she wasn't ready to find any humor in the predicament Graham had placed her in. And she probably never would be, Rick thought. Serious type, he mused. And very moral. He said, "Have you reached a decision on plugging Kimberly Manor?"
"Can you drop over to my place tonight?"
"Sure."
"Make it around eight-thirty. I'll have a decision for you then." She gave him her address, then hung up without saying goodby.
Rick stepped out of the phone booth and glanced at his watch. It was only three-thrity, yet he felt bushed. In the last twenty-four hours, he had fucked Carol Graham twice and had an all-night romp between the sheets with Marjorie Collins. You old satyr, he chided himself, you've been standing in stud for twenty-four hours. No wonder you're bushed. He decided to go home and get some sleep before calling on Sheila Forbes. He rather faintly hoped tonight's events with Sheila would make getting some sleep now prove a wise move.
He picked up his car, drove home and hit the sack. Before falling asleep, he thought: Sheila should play hell with Graham and bed down with me. She's getting too fuckicg old to be a Girl Scout.
Chapter Eight
Marjorie Collins got up from her desk and went into Charles Graham's office. "Why are you avoiding me?" she demanded.
Graham looked surprised. "I'm not avoiding you. I've been busy. You know I've had appointments all day."
"I know you've been having a hard time looking me in the eye. And you haven't given me any explanation for breaking our date last night. You've been acting like a thief caught red-handed."
Graham shook his head. "I don't know what you think I was up to last night but whatever you think, you're wrong."
"I think you were playing footsie with your dear little wife."
Graham laughed bitterly. "Don't be ridiculous! Lillian wouldn't let me come near her if I wanted to ... which I don't." He smiled gently at Marjorie and his voice softened. "Why would I have anything to do with Lillian when I have you to make love to?"
She smiled a little. "Then what were you doing last night?" she asked gently. "And why have you been acting so queer today?"
Graham went around the desk and took Marjorie by the hand. "It's easy for a man in my position to get accustomed to not having to account for his actions," he said.."But I suppose a few explanations are in order." He led her to the couch and they sat down close to each other. "I've got a lot of problems," he sighed, opening his collar and loosening his tie. "A lot of weight on my shoulders. I've got a lot of money invested in Kimberly Manor. I'm stuck with a wife and daughter who don't give a damn Whether I sink or swim."
"I wish you'd get to the point, Charley. I wish you'd tell me what you were doing last night."
"I'm getting there! Have a little patience, will'ya!"
"Don't shout at me, Charley! Don't shout at me, goddammit! !"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" He sighed wearily. "Let's calm down and stop flying off the handle." He tried to recapture his train of thought. "It's that no good daughter of mine," he said. "She got in trouble with the cops last night. This time they locked her up. I had to go down and bail her out. That's why I couldn't keep my date with you."
Marjorie knew his daughter had had a few scrapes with the police but his statement still came as a surprise. "She get in trouble with her car?" she asked.
Graham nodded.
"Is that what you were talking about on the phone with Rick Morgan?" .
He nodded again.
"What's Rick got to do with it?"
"I asked him to pick up her car and park it out of sight. I don't want her to drive anymore."
"You think taking her car away will keep her out of trouble?"
"Maybe it will, maybe it won't. I know it'll stop her from violating traffic laws."
Marjorie thought of her own lonely, neglected childhood. "When your daughter was growing up, did you give her enough attention, Charley?" she asked. "You know kids need a lot of attention."
"I gave her everything. A fine education, travel, money, clothes, cars. Everything."
"That's not what I mean. I mean love and affection."
"She's had every opportunity to make something out of herself. And now she has a golden opportunity. When Kimberly Manor is a success, I'll be the most important real estate man in Valley Ridge. I'll meet all the right people. I mean, I'll meet them socially." He paused and beamed proudly at Marjorie. "Do you know what that could do for my daughter? Do you know what it could mean to the girl?"
Everything, Marjorie thought. Or nothing. She said, "Yeah, Charley, I can imagine."
"You're damn right," he snapped. "Anyone could. Anyone with any sense can see her marrying into one of the best old families in Valley Ridge and being accepted into the right clubs and making the social register. All she has to do is stay out of trouble and keep herself decent. That's all the little bitch has to do!" He fell into a brooding silence. His expression became vacuous and a faraway look crept into his eyes.
Marjorie watched him, feeling him drift away, wondering if she should speak freely and risk offending him. She decided to risk offending him and said, "Maybe you didn't give her enough love and affection, Charley. Maybe you don't know how to express love." She hesitated, watching for some reaction on his part, wondering if she should risk going further. I've gone this far, she told herself, I might as well go all the way. "Some people aren't capable of loving," she said. "Maybe you're one of them, Charley."
Graham hadn't heard a word she had said. "She's rotten," he hissed, speaking to himself.
"She's always spelled trouble."
Marjorie shrugged and said, "So we won't talk about it." She snuggled close and draped her arm around his neck, pulling him out of his reverie. "Gee, honey, I apologize for accusing you of making love to your wife."
"Forget it." He put his face close to hers. "What did you do last night?"
"I died from loneliness and drowned in booze, then died from loneliness and drowned in booze again."
"I thought you looked pretty green about the gills this morning. I figured that after I broke our date you had gone out and made a night of it."
"Really! That's what you thought, you old fox. That's why you've been acting so funny all day." She nibbled the lobe of his ear playfully. "You don't miss a trick, do you? I did come crawling in here this morning, green about the gills, as you put it. But you're wrong about me going out. I stayed home and got plastered."
"Alone?"
"Of course, darling," she lied without batting an eyelash.
He gazed solemnly at her. She's beautiful, he thought. So goddamn beautiful. So marvel-ously young. And she does all the right things in bed. She handles me better, in the sack than anyone I can remember. He gazed rapturously at her gray eyes, delicate nose and sensuous mouth. How long can I hold her? he wondered. How long will she be content with a man old enough to be her father? It was his heart questioning his head. His head shot back answers: Until she meets someone her age. Or someone with a bankroll bigger than yours. How soon will that be? heart wept. Don't worry, head laughed. When it happens, you'll be the third to know. But suppose she loves me the way she says she does? heart protested. She's been faithful to me so far, it argued. Why. Rick Morgan made a pass at her yesterday and it made her angry. Head retorted: Forget love, old fool, it jeered. Just hump her and be happy. Hump her thirteen times a day, then double it on Sundays. Tempus fugit! Hump her while you can still raise something to hump her with.
Graham fondled Marjorie's breasts through the soft fabric of her dress. "I try not to miss a trick," he said. "Especially where you're involved. Where you're involved, I stay on the alert." He kissed her neck. "You see, I don't want to lose you."
Marjorie wondered if he was hinting at anything particular. She wondered if he suspected she'd been to bed with Rick Morgan. He'd have to be psychic, she told herself, to have the slightest inkling of what had taken place between her and Rick. Or he'd have to be spying on her. And he wouldn't spy on her. He trusted her. So all I have to do is act innocent, she reasoned. And he better not make any accusations. Not unless he's ready to cope with more anger and indignation and tears than he's ever seen before.
Instead of making accusations, Graham took her in his arms and kissed her. "I wanted to see you last night," he said. "I had something to give you?"
She looked surprised. "What, Charley?"
He took her hand and placed it on his groin.
"Oooh, Charley, you nasty boy," she smiled. "You're like a rock."
"Blame yourself."
"Why?"
"You've been parading around here all day in that short, sinful dress, showing off your beautiful legs and your sweet-looking ass. What the hell do you think a sight like that does to a man? It'd raise the poles in a monastery!"
"Gee, Charley, if I'm responsible for your having this ... passion cramp," she said, patting his groin, "I suppose I should do something too help you get rid of it."
"You're morally obligated to do all you can," he grinned.
She smiled coyly, a sly gleam in her eyes.
"Should I pour cold water on it?"
"It would turn water to steam."
"Then maybe you should sit in front of the air conditioner."
"I might catch cold."
"What else is there?"
"Think. And remember, you have a moral obligation."
She knitted her brows and rested her chin in the palm of her hand, pretending to be in deep thought. Suddenly she snapped her fingers and her face had eureka written all over it. "Unzip me," she said. "I just remembered an old home remedy for passion cramps."
"I knew I could count on you." He unzipped her dress, then went to his desk and phoned the switchboard operator. He ordered her not to put any calls through to him, then he called the receptionist and ordered her not to let anyone disturb him. He cradled the phone and turned back to Marjorie. She was stretched out on the couch, naked, waiting. He undressed and went to her.
They kissed hungrily. He caressed her thighs and hips and buttocks, rejoicing in the satin smoothness of her flesh. He cupped a big, creamy breast in his hand and inserted the pink nipple between his lips.
"I-I think passion cramps are contagious, Charley," she said, breathing hard. "I-I think I caught a bad case from you."
"Poor baby."
He sucked her nipple, her tit heaving between his lips. He loved her big boobs, loved to nurse them like a hungry baby. He cupped a boob in each hand, squeezed them together and inserted both of her nipples in his mouth ... a trick he had never accomplished with Lillian's small tits. His tongue had a field day as he sucked and licked the two distended pleasure points.
She felt her cunt getting hot and moist, reached out and ran her hand through his hair. Sometimes it bothered her that her boobs tended to upstage the rest of her body. They always got sucked off more than necessary. Her cunt could use some of that sucking. So could her asshole. A tongue in her asshole would be just what the psychiatrist didn't order. A long, hot tongue, willing to get good and shitty taking care of some nitty-gritty work. Willing to blow her bubbly farts right back up her ass.
She drew Charley away from her breasts and kissed him hard, letting her tongue stir sloppily around in his mouth. She felt his prick pressing against her thigh. He had a respectable hardon, nothing extravagant, but not bad if he could hold it. She kissed him harder, letting her tongue flutter all up and down in his mouth, trying to help his erection along. She reached down and fondled the moist tip of his cock. Her hand encircled the pole sliding up and down and her fingers fluttered across the swollen prick-head. Her work paid off: the prick stretched and hardened. She shifted Charley between her thighs, then held his hard, moist prick-head and used it to massage her clitoris.
Her snatch started drooling. The prick-clit combination was something a consumer could rely on. She had both hands on his stiff cock now, massaging her clit with it and sliding it up arid down the wet slash of her palpatating vagina. She was moving her hips in a slow steady circular motion, responding to the contact her cunt had made with his prick and the rising temperature in her womb.
He broke off kissing. "Let's try that old remedy," he panted, "let's try it right now."
She spread her thighs wider and his prick slipped easily into her drooling cunt. She wrapped her legs around him, digging her heels into his large buttocks, pulling him closer, shoving his cock all the way into the ambush of her snatch.
"Fuck me hard and. good," she Urged. She couldn't resist a device she had often used on her married lovers: "Fuck me the way you fucked Lillian on your honeymoon night."
His prick was still and quiet in her cunt.
"Quit being a bitch," he said. "Lillian's a bitch. Be a whore. Be a whore for a change."
She had paid him back for being his back-street cunt, she felt. She could be nice now. "So fuck me," she said. "Fuck me until I beg you to stop. Fuck me blind. Suck my nipples as long as you want. Suck them till they fall off. Bite them. Bite them, and if you can't get milk get blood. Just do what ... Oooohhh, Charley, Charley, honey! Oh, baby. Oh, you sneaky ... Oh, it's good!"
Graham had simply gotten tired of her voice. And he had figured if he couldn't shut a woman up when he had his dick in her, when the hell could he. And his dick was more than just in her. It was waltzing around in her pussy like Fred Astaire in one of those grand, ballroom scenes in an old MGM musical. She felt the sweetness of it, too. He could tell ... he could always tell when her cunt was in the mood for a good nostalgic fuck. Strike up the band!
She was yielding her pussy up to him in soft, undulating swells and dips. Her pussy was just nursing his prick along, building slowly. Building stroke by casual stroke, letting each sensation almost run its course before another was sent rippling along.
Gradually their fucking became more intense, more urgent. He quit waltzing around. She cut out the amateur belly dancer routine. His cock began to churn up and down in her cunt, penetrating her deeper. Her snatch stopped acting coy and faced the fact that it really wanted to be fucked hard, deep and eternally. It wanted more dick than a yardstick could measure. It wanted a tough, brave cock that would never call retreat. It had seen enough penises that would rather swish than fight.
Soon their cunt-prick union became wild and uncontrollable. All the dirty, cheap, rotten, sleazy gags, gossip, cliches, stogies and images about office romances seemed right on target. I mean, no two animals had ever behaved so obscenely during office hours. So efficiently obscene. He was ramming so much cock to her he had her twat singing. Her pussy had more fluid in it than the office cooler. Her big boobs were sweating and heaving and her face was all flushed and red. She was sobbing and moaning and begging him not to stop. Her snatch was wrestling his cock no-holds-barred, slurping and sloshing as he rose and fell in it.
"Don't cum. Please don't cum," she pleaded.
He flung himself at her, pumping faster and harder, huffing and puffing, wallowing in her pussy, trying to match the furious rhythm of her grinding ass, struggling desperately to make her cum.
"Oh, no," she moaned, "don't cum."
She was a long way from her orgasm and he was too close to his. Her pussy demanded a lot more fucking. Her pussy needed more hot. deep-thrusting cock than he was prepared to give it.
"Cum with me, baby," he groaned more to alert her than extend an invitation.
"Don't stop! Don't cum! Fuck me!"
She caressed, his scrotum and his buttocks and his asshole in a desperate effort to keep him fucking. For a while he hung in her, stroking her anguished cunt with a cock as hard as a lead pipe..Then suddenly he was overwhelmed by his own desire to cum. He shuddered convulsively, gasping and clinging to her. His dick jumped and twitched inside her pussy, shooting hot slimy fluid into her womb. She arched her loins, her snatch chasing his fading cock, agonizing in a futile effort to attain an orgasm.
He collapsed against her, exhausted, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I couldn't hold it back."
She lay there, eyes closed, tormented by the agony of not cumming. His body was dead weight resting heavily on her.
"Your cunt was so good," he said. "It got the best of me."
She prayed silently for him to have another erection. She kissed him, darting her tongue into his mouth. After all that fucking she had no doubt she was entitled to an orgasm. She felt him stir within her, felt him stiffen slightly.
"C'mon, baby," she urged, moving her hips and pulling him closer. "You can raise it. You can raise it if you try." She stuck her tongue in his ear, reached down and gently stroked his scrotum.
His cock strained to rise within her. "Feel it, baby?" he said, trembling from his efforts. "Feel it getting ... " His cock collapsed.
"Eat me," she whispered. "Put your tongue in my asshole."
"Baby...."
"Please, honey."
"I'll suck your cunt," he bargained.
"You don't care about satisfying me. You don't give a damn whether I cum or not."
Emotional blackmail, he thought, trying too decide whether to suck her asshole. He had never sucked a bitch's asshole before, wasn't even sure that Lillian had one. He pulled his limp prick out of her.
"Roll over," he said, making his decision for two reasons: he didn't want to lose her and as good as she fucked she deserved to cum.
He sat on one end of the sofa facing sideways. She got up on all fours, resting on her knees and elbows, her big round ass pointing towards heaven. He caressed the warm flesh of her satin smooth buttocks. His strong hands parted her cheeks revealing hairs, her long crack, and the brown slit that awaited his tongue. He lowered his head and kissed her brown eye, circling it gently with his tongue. His first contact made her buttocks quiver, urging him on. He spread her buttocks a little wider opening up her asshole more. The tip of his tongue penetrated the tight opening, churning around in it, spreading saliva to lubricate her sphincter muscles.
Marjorie felt his tongue gradually, determinedly, working its warm, wet way into her anus. She felt his strong hands pulling her buttocks, opening her asshole wider and wider. His tongue was probing into her clutching rectum, circling and thrusting, smacking and sucking, reaming out the crevices of the tight passageway.
She stuck her finger in her wet cunt and began to finger fuck herself in rhythm to the thrusting and thrashing of his tongue in her hot rectum. Her backstroke sucked his tongue deeper into her rectum and rubbed the low end of her wet pussy against his drooling chin. Her pussy and anus got hot together ... got so hot that she reached back with her free hand, holding her body up with her head on the couch, and helped him pull apart a cheek of her ass.
"Suck it, suck it, suck it," she muttered, thrusting her finger back and forth in her cunt. "Suck it clean, honey. Suck the shit out of it."
Graham was enjoying it. To his surprise, he was getting a kick out of humping Marjorie's rectum with his hot wet tongue. He was satisfying her and it gave him a thrill; his tongue attacked the sour walls of her rectum in an urgent quest that produced pure pleasure. And when she squealed and moaned as though approaching an orgasm his cock even got hard and stood up again.
"I'm going to cum. I'm going to cuuummmm!" she howled.
Before her pussy could explode its pent up juices the office door opened.
Graham's tongue flew out of Marjorie's rectum as his head jerked towards the door. He gazed directly into the shocked face of his daughter.
Carol Graham had arrived at her father's office to protest against his taking away her car. She had never dreamed of walking in on a scene like the one she had interrupted: her father with his tongue up his secretary's ass, both of them naked, his red cock standing at attention, the woman fingering her pussy, sawing her buttocks back and forth, squealing and moaning, on the verge of cumming. Carol felt disgusted. She stood there, fascinated by her father's clumsy effort to scramble into his pants, and his secretary's futile attempt to hide her overlarge boobs behind crossed arms, a gesture doubly absurd because it made her look as though she were cold.
Carol said, "Hello, Daddy. Sucking ass as usual."
"I-I...." Graham stammered, his face as red as a beet.
Carol turned and dashed out of the office.
Graham turned to Marjorie. "Who let her in here?" he raged. "I told that dumb receptionist not to let anyone disturb me! None of my employees would dare barge in here. Who let her in? I'm going to fire that goddamn receptionist."
Marjorie's face was gray and ashen and she seemed on the verge of tears. "I guess Flo let her through because she's your daughter," she said, referring to the receptionist. "I mean, how could Flo know what we were doing."
"She'll probably know now. By nightfall, all Valley Ridge will probably know my daughter caught me with my tongue up your asshole," he said sadly.
She got up and put on her clothes, then sat on the sofa looking worried and dejected. Graham had finished dressing; he sat down beside her.
"Perk up. Don't let this get you down," he said.
"Do you really think she'll tell anyone? Do you think she'll tell your wife?"
"I don't know what the hell she'll do." "Maybe we should stop seeing each other." "Like.hell."
"But if she tells Lillian ... " "Listen, I don't give a damn what she tells her mother. I'll deny it, and it'll be her word against mine. I'll say she's trying to get even with me for taking her car away. No, it's not her mother I'm worried about. I mean, I wouldn't want any gossip to get around town."
Marjorie was worried. Having an affair with a married man was one thing, getting involved in a scandal was another. "I don't know, Charley. I think we should stop seeing each other, cool it for a while," she said.
He grabed her hand. "Hey, you trying to use this as an excuse to get rid of me? It won't work," he grinned.
"You know I'm not. I'm all upset." She started crying. "I mean, having your daughter find out that way."
He gave her his handkerchief. "Dry your eyes. Don't panic. Let's wait and see." "Do me a favor." "Name it." "Don't fire Flo. It wasn't her fault."
"Yeah, I know. Don't worry, I won't even mention it to Flo." He sighed wearily. "It was Carol's fault. She had no business coming here."
Chapter Nine
Valley Ridge's North Side was extremely posh. Elegant town houses and gleaming high rise apartment buildings overlooked the lake. Rick parked between a Ferrari and a Jaguar, hoped his T-Bird wouldn't develop an inferiority complex, and strode toward the canopied entrance to Sheila's building. A snappily uniformed doorman announced him over the intercom.
Sheila's pad was on the twelfth floor. She stood in the doorway wearing a low-cut, emerald green halter and the hottest hot pants Rick had ever seen. She was barefoot and her deep copper suntan extended from her beautiful face right down to the pearl polish on her toenails.
Rick stood there, gaping ... wondering if she Was as hot as she looked, whether she was tan all over, what it would be like to fuck her.
Sheila smiled and said, "Close your mouth, Rick. You look stupid."
"I wasn't expecting... so much of you."
He followed Sheila into the spacious tastefully furnished living room. The room was dainty and pastel and softly lit. The Danish furniture was attractively arranged and several well-chosen abstract painting and drawings adorned the walls. Rick paused in front of a bookcase and his eyes roamed over a collection that ranged from history and philosophy to current novels and slender volumes of avante-garde poetry.
Sheila offered him a drink and he followed her to the bar.
"Whatever you're having," he said. She poured gin and tonic for both of them. He sipped his and said:
"You look beautiful tonight. I hope you make it from TV to movies. They could use you, especially since Liz is getting fat."
"Compliments. Are they intended to soften me up for the coup de grace?"
Ah, here it comes, Rick thought: the old call to arms. I knew damn well gin and tonic, soft lights and that scanty outfit weren't setting the tone for the evening. "Of course not," he smiled, wishing to avoid the kind of verbal battle he and Sheila always engaged in. "I hope they're a prelude to a warmer relationship."
Sheila sniffed skeptically. "You haven't been on the terrace. Bring your drink."
She's stalling for time, he thought, as he followed her onto the terrace. Well, if she wants to play cat and mouse I'll be the cat ... and with a paw full of trumps.
The city's night lights sparkled all around them. Stars glittered like diamonds and moonlight shimmered on the dark waters of the lake.
"It's a terrific view. A perfect setting for romance," Rick said, slipppng his arm about her waist.
"Or blackmail," she said dryly.
Rick placed his drink on the guard rail, then drew her into his arms. "Poor little idealist," he said tenderly. "Caught in the middle of a ruthless businessman's power play. Take my advice, don't be a crusader. Cooperate with Graham. You won't get hurt."
"And if I don't cooperate?"
Rick gave it to her straight: "Graham will tear down the TV studio just as sure as God tore down the walls of Jericho."
Sheila gazed up into Rick's eyes. And you will help him, she thought bitterly. She realized that she had hated Rick twice: when he stole her panties in that panty raid and now, while he was helping Graham blackmail her. "You and Graham frighten me," she said. "I'm afraid tc think how far you'll go before you stop. You know, Graham won't settle for being the biggest real estate man in town. He's too greedy for power. And as long as his star is rising, you'll do his bidding. I'm afraid that before his lust for power is satisfied, together you'll write a chapter that tomorrow's demagogues will memorize."
Rick sighed wearily. "Aw, I wish you'd spare your bleeding heart unnecessary anguish," he moaned impatiently. "Suppose Graham is a megalomaniac? So are the Mayor and the Governor and both Senators. Hell, you can go right on up the line."
Sheila decided to try the tactic that had been in the back of her mind earlier in the evening, when she had donned her lowcut halter and shorts. "I'm sorry we're on different sides," she said softly. "I'm sorry we always end up fighting each other. It'd be so much nicer if we could be ... friends."
He ran his fingers through her silky hair. "We can be friends," he said. "We can be even more." He kissed her and she responded, letting him discover the sweet fragrance of her breath and the warmth of her mouth. He reached inside her halter to fondle her breasts.
"Not so fast," she said, taking his hand out of her halter. "Sorry."
"Let's go inside," she said softly. He took his glass from the guard rail and followed her back into the living room. She led him to the sofa and as soon as he put his glass on the coffee table and turned toward her, she flung herself at him.
She clung to him ... kissing him ... darting her tongue between his lips ... stroking the nape of his neck ... nibbling the lobe of his ear ... unfastening his jacket ... unbuttoning his shirt ... caressing his chest ... kissing his navel.
"Whew," he gasped. "I dig your change of heart."
She led him on ... lifting her breasts out of the halter ... thrusting a nipple between his lips ... letting his hand slide inside her shorts ... allow ing his fingers to probe between her thighs ... permitting his fingers to make hot contact with her pussy.
"Sheila, Sheila," he panted hoarsely. "I want you, darling. I want to fuck you. I've always wanted to fuck you," he confessed.
She teased him ... unzipping his fly ... trailing her fingers over his groin ... caressing the moist, swollen tip of his prick ... wrapping her fingers all around his throbbing hardon ... blowing her warm breath on his swollen cock-head ... manipulating his big, rough joint until both it and his hot, heavy balls ached.
She said, "Let's go inside," and switched off the lights.
He followed her into the bedroom. She stretched out on the round, king-sized bed. He started to undress, anxious to mount her pussy, but she pulled him down on the bed. He looked at her in the amber light from the lamp beside the bed. She was beautiful. The most beautiful animal he had ever put his hands on. Just looking at her made his prick leap ... made it jump like a track star trying to clear a high hurdle. Everything about her excited him: her copper flesh, blonde hair, big blue eyes. He drew her close, reached into her shorts and caressed the soft swell of her buttocks.
"I want you so much my prick hurts," he said.
"Yes," she whispered, slipping out of her halter.
He sat up, kicked off his loafers and slid out of his pants.
She said, "Promise me I won't have to help Graham. Promise me you'll talk him into renewing the lease."
Her words were a steel blade plunged into his heart. He realized sadly that she wasn't sexually aroused. She was merely trying to bribe him with her body. He sat there, knowing how a skydiver feels when his chute fails to open. He picked up his trousers, reached in his pocket and drew out the panties he had torn from Sheila in that long ago panty raid. The panties were never what he had really wanted. In the youthful, hot-blooded fantasies of that wild night, Sheila's panties had symbolized her pussy and, by stealing them, he had symbolically raped her.
He looked at Sheila; she was lying on the bed naked, awaiting his answer. I've wanted this beautiful wench all these years, he thought. He finished undressing and moved toward the bed.
He slipped the panties over her feet.
Sheila said, "What ... "
"See if they still fit," he said.
"Are these ... ?"
"The same."
He helped her slide into the panties. They were still a perfect fit.
Sheila shook her head, amazed. "Man you're far out," she said. "Saving my panties all those years."
He pulled her from the bed, made her stand back and model them. "They used to hold the scent of your pussy. I could've sniffed your pussy out of a crowd."
"Rick, you're a real freak." Her tone was admiring. Something, if no more than her eg, was touched by what he had told her.
He took her in his arms kissed her and she responded. "Let's finish something that started long ago," he said.
"What about Graham? Are you going to help me?"
"I'll do all I can," he lied. They kissed again and her lips parted, admitting his tongue, sending her own tongue forward to greet his, letting his tongue know it was no longer an intruder. He carried her to bed and slowly removed the lace panties. He slipped them from her ass and down her thighs, inch by inch, kissing her warm flesh as he went, completing a ritual that had started long ago. And when she kicked the lace from her tangled feet his prick stood tall and erect.
Rick was wearing a hardon that had been building for years, a vintage erection. A huge, throbbing, blood-filled hardon. Sheila massaged it gently, feeling it pulsating in her hand.
"You should put a saddle on this beast," she said. "I shouldn't be expected to ride it bareback."
He took her nipple between his lips. Her breasts were still the breasts of a coed, as firm, and full as when she had worn sweaters to class. He sucked the taut little rosebud, tormented it with his tongue, stirred up enough friction-made heat to send sparks shooting through her brain and up and down her spine. He did both tits. Gave them equal tongue. Gave them the hot, wet nourishment that made them heave and swell, made them appear to have a life of their own. They passed the good news along to her pussy. Her tits passed the hot, headline gossip down to the hand she had wrapped around his cock. The response was quick ... gossip travels fast. Her hand began to slide up and down his pole the way she was beginning to want her pussy to. Her drawn up thighs were opening and closing, either fanning her cunt to cool it off or trying to escape the heat radiating from it.
Rick reached between her thighs; it was like sticking his hand in a furnace. It was like crossing a desert and reaching an oasis only to find it burning. And he knew it was the kind of fire that could only be put out by more fire. Her snatch knew it, too. Her snatch opened wide to receive his fingers. His fingers swam through the hot, juice in her slash and landed on the hard beachhead of her clit. The firm little knob embedded in a fold at the top of her slit yielded to his delicate touch. It yielded as he had always dreamed it would. It yielded with a bang. An explosion that blasted through her whole body.
Sheila's body was shaking. Her breath was coming in short, quick gasps. Her toes were curling. Her anus was contracting. Her ears were ringing. Her heart was pounding. Her sun-tan was threatening to peel. Her pussy was starving, tormented, like a junkie in need of a fix, by a desire to feel Rick's mammoth prick slide into it.
"Let me ride bareback. Let me ride that beast. Put it in my cunt."
He moved between her thighs.
"Hurry. Put it in. Ooooh. my cunt needs it."
He wouldn't go her route. He had to let his prick stop and say hello to her clit. He had to let its hot, wet tip kiss and massage her clit. He had to let his prick thank it for fulfilling his dreams, "Oooohhhh, goddamn you, you bastard. Don't tease me. Don't be mean to my cunt."
His prick liked the little clitoris, enjoyed kissing and caressing it. They had a nice little, separate thing going, developing a warm, friendly relationship. They started rapping. "Don't pay that noisy bitch any mind," the little clit said. "She's always trying to cut in on my scene." "I know what you mean," prick answered, looking back over its shoulder at the heavy, flapping scrotum behind it. "Some folks are so goddamn envious." "Dig it," clit said real hip like. "They can't stand to see someone else get one fuck ahead."
"Raid my cunt, Rick. Raid it the way you raided my panties. Raid my cunt with your prick. Raaaiidd it, baby!"
Clit and prick kissed goodby. Prick said, "I'd better shove off." Clit said, "You mean, shove in." "Yeah, get to work," prick said. "I don't want to blow my job. I don't belong to any union, you know." "You will when you get where you're going," clit said, sounding slightly jealous. "But I hope you'll come back and see me sometime." Prick glanced over its shoulder again, trying to see Rick, and said: "I'd like to, but I don't know. Working for this stud its mostly hit and run."
"I've got a drawer full of panties, Rick. You can have all of them. Put it in my cunt and you can have ... Ooooohhhhh, God! Oooooohhhhhh, my lord, my lord! Aaaaahhhhheeeee! ! !"
Rick's prick was back on the job. And as the little clit predicted it had joined a union ... a union whose other member was Sheila's cunt. It liked the gig; it was obeying all Rick's commands.
"I'm cuuummming! I'm cuuummming already! ! !" Sheila screamed as though she couldn't believe it.
Rick knew her pussy was as hot and anxious as any pussy he had ever fucked. He knew his cock had gone straight to the bottom of her cunt, plowing with a force that threatened to tear through the walls that stood between her cunt and her ass and her belly and her guts. He knew he had tormented her and teased her, massaging her clit with the tip of his prick, until she was frantic to be fucked, until desire was rampaging through her body, until she was freaked out with lust. Rick knew all those things and something more: he wasn't about to have an orgasm. He was going to fuck Sheila Forbes forever. He was going to use this night to compensate for all the nights he had dreamed of fucking
Sheila Thps night was going to pay for all the times he had sniffed those lace panties and tried to imagine her pussy. He was going to test a theory whose validity he had always taken for granted: A hole will always outlast a pole. Tonight he was going to turn that old rule of fucking, handed down from generation to generation, into a bull shit tip. And in the morning, when he slid off Sheila's hot ass, the dues they owed to each other and the dues they owed to themselves would be paid. However they came out of this night, whatever they brought out of it alive and well or bruised and battered or sick and bleeding or half-finished and dying, it was going to be paid for in full and they would both know the price.
"Cum all you want," he said, ramming his cock into her with swift, powerful strokes while she was in the throes of her orgasm. "Cum and cum and cum some more."
"Ooooh, yes, yes, I am, I am!"
"Cum like your mama cummed when your daddy dropped the load that made you."
"Yes, baby, yes!"
"Cum like a whore on her night off. Giving pussy away. Ripping off the pimp who kicked her ass."
"Ooooh; my cum keeps coming and coming and coming, my cum."
"Cum like a nun getting that first piece after she leaps over the wall."
"Cum with me."
"Uhuh. Pussy pussy, pussy and more pussy first."
"Cum the way your daddy cummed when your mama made him bust his nuts and drop that load that helped her make you."
"More fucking and sucking and sucking and fucking first."
"Cum like a condemned man jerking off for the last time."
"Cum for both of us. Cum my load and yours."
"Cum like a sailor on payday. Cuuummm, cuuummm, cuuuvmm! ! !"
"No ... No, God, no ... Please, please, please!" No more cuuummming, cuummmpng, euummming! ! ! No more! No more! No more! AAAHHHHEEEE!"
"You cummed and you cummed and you cummed. You cummed so hot and so beautifully. You cummed the way I always dreamed you would cum."
"Whew! Ooooh, God, I never cummed this way before. Never had so many multiple orgasms. And your beast prick is still hard. I think you're trying to kill me, make me cum myself to death."
"Cause of death: cum. Sounds unreasonable." "Shit, not to me. Not to my cunt." "To my cock. Unreasonable and premature." "Ooooh, I think your cock may be right. Just fuck me and fuck me. Fuck me forever."
Rick's big hardon was not about to go away. Not about to quit on pussy as good as Sheila's. But he had made her cum one way and now he wanted to make her cum another. He asked her to get on top. He stretched out on his back and she came astride his thighs. His prick was standing straight up. He helped her climb onto it; helped her insert the hot. wide prickhead into her cunt. Then she did the rest by just sliding down the thick pole. When she finished sliding it seemed as though his prick was so deep in her he would never be able to retrieve it without written permmssion from her snatch. And no such permission seemed forthcoming.
"I'm going to fuck you good," Sheila announced, smiling. "I'm going to make you cum."
Rick lay back, watching her. She was sitting up fairly straight, his knees drawn up behind her, supporting her warm buttocks, sliding gently up and down on his cock. Amber lamplight illuminated the ash blonde hair cascading around the copper flesh of her shoulders, it glistened on her shining face, big blue eyes and gleaming white teeth. She looked beautiful sitting up there on his cock, riding up and down on it, like a jockey warming up a thoroughbred before a big race. He marveled at the fact that he had not had an orgasm; he felt it was possible to cum just by looking at her. He thought about some of the bitches who had made him cum. Some of them had been beautiful and many of them had been pretty, but none of them had been as fantastic as Sheila. Some of them had in fact been ugly, funky, unwashed whores. When it came to copping pussy he had run the gamut. He had fucked in penthouses and shanty towns. And he had always had a sort of natural ability to bed down with a woman at night, roll out of bed in the morning and never look back. Never carry it beyond fucking. But with Sheilaihe wanted to add some new ingredient. The trouble was he didn't know what the fuck that ingredient could be.
Suddenly Sheila bursts out of the starting gate, galloping off on his cock. Riding with the wind at her back, her thighs driving hard, tossing her cunt rapidly up and down and around his cock. She was slamming her ass up and down, forcing his cock up into the deepest regions of her piledriving cunt. Her cunt was bursting with energy, a weightlifter yanking his prick high and ready to clean and jerk his balls. Ready to nail his ass to the round mattress. She was just whipping and slamming, driving and thrusting pussy as hot as hell all over his dick. Her cunt was laying siege to his enormous hardon, attacking it like a tigress defending her lair. It was combat; a battleground exploding; flares bursting all over the sky. Her thighs and hips and buttocks were churning hard, trying to grind his prick to dust.
"Is it good? Tell me it's good, Rick." "Shit, you know damn well it's good." "I want it to be good. I want it to be the best cunt you've ever had."
"You were always ambitious." He drew her head down and kissed her. In his arms she was all liquid, boiling over him like a mountain spring, lamplight sparkling on her hair. He kissed her savagely, almost devouring her tongue. She responded, sucking his probing tongue as though she wanted to swallow it. Her mouth seemed as voracious as her cunt.
Her cunt hadn't missed a stroke all evening. It was spinning all over his prick, skating all up and down the magnetic length of his hardon. His dick was jumping and leaping for joy, singing and whistling in her twat.
Rick cupped her breasts in his hands and fondled the nipples. He took a nipple between his teeth and began to suck it. His free hand slid down the warm curve of her back, caressed her buttocks and found the crack between the cheeks. His middle finger traveled the crack until it came to rest on her asshole. His finger massaged her asshole gently, slowly insinuating its way into her rectum.
He stopped sucking her breast; she leaned forward, her face against his, placing her behind at the best angle for his finger to explore her rectum. His finger had a good time thrusting and whirling around in her rectum, driving her to fuck harder than she was already fucking.
She was fucking up a storm, her face against Rick's, hair cascading into his mouth. Their buttocks were moving together in perfect rhythm driving his cock and her cunt together, grinding and thrusting deeply and powerfully, smacking prick-head and womb into violent, dick-breaking, stomach-tearing collisions.
She began to hum, to emit a strange sound. It seemed to build more from her asshole than her pussy; it seemed to rise from deep within her rectum to travel through her body and become a sound on her lips, a joyous sound that proclaimed how sweet and beautiful and loving was her anus and how greatly she enjoyed having it fucked. Still, it was a strange sound. Steady and even, never rising, never falling, with a low shrillness that was almost metallic. It was a babies cry transferred to an alien frequency. It was weirdly erotic. It made her seem completely vulnerable.
Rick had never heard a woman make a sound like this. Sheila maintained it steadily, but she had no control over it, and there was nothing contrived about it. Rick knew some of the things meant by the sound. Sheila was a loving woman with no one to love and no one who loved her. In the journey towards each others souls he and Sheila had embarked on they were a long way from and might never reach the final destination, but they had crossed a far meridian in the journey towards that destination. She was totally open to him, totally exposed. She yearned for an orgasm, not cumming as she had earlier, but cumming out of the vulnerability that was now laid bare, the vulnerability that her asshole had been astute and sensitive enough to point out, the vulnerability that her cunt was too blind and worldly and busy playing society's games to see. She yearned for an orgasm that would include her asshole and her cunt and her tits and her teeth and her pubic hair and her heels and her tonsils and her earlobes and her eyelashes and her armpits. She wanted it to start there; embracing her whole body, then transcend all that to encompass her immense spirit and all her aspirations and her deep need to love and be loved.
Rick understood all those things about Sheila, and some were related to him, because of the strange sound coming from her lips ... a weirdly erotic babies cry transferred to an alien frequency. That sound broke his heart. He knew that sound would haunt him for the rest of his life, regardless of whether or not he ever laid eyes on Sheila again. That sound would haunt him in his grave.
Her lips were not far from his ear. He was forced to monitor it closeup, overwhelmed by its eroticism. His prick picked it up, cocked its ears and howled in her moon. His finger treated her rectum with infinitely greater respect, fucking it with more style and simplicity, resisting the impulse to become heavy handed by adding con-vulutions to convulutions, extracting all the glowing thrills it knew would make her happy and send her over the brink, making friends with small farts that glided silently past and larger ones so modest they patiently waited for a more appropriate time to exit.
He understood that she wanted to cum and wanted him to cum with her. The never varying sound made the prospect of cumming irfesista-ble. They started to put it together. Her body was trembling and quivering, bouncing all over his cock. His prick had penetrated the velvet heart of her womb, jabbed and stabbed its way in like the street fighter it was deep down inside, and was lashing her tail with all the brutal anguish of a long-delayed orgasm preparing to explode. His balls were rejoicing as they readied themselves to release the blistering load of semen that had been percolating in them especially for Sheila.
Sheila's body became one long series of spasms and he knew she was cumming. His prick arched itself leaping high in her cunt and vomited forth a shattering burst of overheated, scalding semen. Her cunt tried to slurp it all up, more out of joy than greed. Rick drew his finger out of her rectum so her asshole could pucker out its little delight, catch its breath and suck some wind. He had great respect for the almost visionary little brown .siit.
Sheila kissed him, their mouths joined, stopping the strange sound. It was a tender kiss that acknowledged the beautiful way in which they had cummed together and the possibility that there might be a bond between them bigger than his prick and deeper than her cunt and more sensitive than her asshole.
"Rick, you don't have a hardon. I can't believe it."
"Don't rub it in."
"That's just what I should do."
"Where?"
"My cunt, where else?"
"Your asshole."
He knew she liked the idea, knew it was in her mind, and the very mention of it had made her quiver and tighten her anus in secret joy.
"H-m-m, it's more than a notion," she said.
"My cock, singing in your ass."
"You freak."
"Cumming and pissing, hosing down the shit in your rectum like a suburbanite hosing down his lawn."
"You crazy son of a gun," she laughed.
"Aw, baby, quit putting me on. You know we're in the same bag when it comes to fucking and sucking." He laughed and ran his hand through her hair. "Two hot-blooded motherfuckers who finally found each other."
"I never fucked my mother."
"I did."
She howled. "Oh God, Rick, you'll say anything. Or did you really fuck your mother?"
"Not mine, baby, yours. I fucked your mother."
She grabbed a pillow and started beating the arms he raised to shield himself. They both were laughing hard, enjoying clowing around.
"I only fucked her because you wouldn't give me some of your good pussy."
"You'd better say that." She dropped the pillow; her expression turned serious. "You know I've been a swinger. You've heard a lot of local gossip."
"A swinger." He smiled ruefully. "Whatever that means."
She averted her face away from his eyes and away from the lamp as though she didn't want too much light shed on what she was thinking and feeling and on the verge of saying: "It means being able to see through a lot of society's bull shit. And paying some mean, heavy dues for having the courage to see through it. Paying through your ass for owning X-ray vision. It means being as free and easy as a summer breeze. It means being young and beautiful and wild and uninhibited. So goddamn wild and uninhibited you'd eagerly trade places with Fay Wray and ball King Kong. Which, by the way, is something she should've done. It means falling in love every weekend and waking up on Monday to discover it was all just a gag you pulled on yourself to get through what otherwise would've been two unbearably lonely days. It means having a couple of abortions because you got drunk or stoned and forgot to take the pill and hadn't bothered to get the guys name and address which wouldn't have been of any use if you had since he probably had a wife somewhere or had left town or just simply wouldn't remember. It means when you're sick as a dog with menstrual cramps and all alone you're twice as miserable and unhappy as you would be if there was someone with you who cared enough to bring you a glass of water and a couple of Midol. It means having a love affair with a handsome Madison Avenue executive and spending every weekend in New York making plans for the future because you're absolutely certain you're so hopelessly in love with each other the only thing to do for it is to spend your lives together or make a suicide pact and a few weeks later it all comes crashing down so hard you end up in Spain trying to recover and wondering whether you've got enough guts or despair to do the suicide bit alone. It means growing accustomed to the fact that the two most reliable men in your life are gay. It means becoming persona non grata in eight or ten singles bars because when you walk in dressed in suede or leather or mink just the way they suggested in Harpers Bazaar you can have any man in the room but all the women want to cut your throat. It means checking out group sex to see if you dig it and discovering that you can have a guy fucking you in the ass and' a chick sucking your pussy while you're blowing someone elses cock and still end up never eumming."
She looked at Rick and shook her head. "I don't know, Rick, it means all sorts of shit. I didn't really mean to get off on it."
He took her face in his hands and saw that her beautiful eyes had turned sad. He peered into their mournful depths and thought: A baby is crying. Way, way down inside a baby is crying. Crying out its vulnerable little heart.
"I lied," he said. "I can't stop Graham. I don't have the power and I don't honestly know that I'd try to stop him if I did have it. I lied because I wanted you."
Sheila's face turned into a web of pain and anger. "Go away," she said. "Please go away."
Rick got up and put on his clothes.
Sheila said, "Let yourself out." She sprang off the bed, picked up the lace panties he had returned, and tossed them to him. "Take these with you. They evoke bad memories for me."
He left the bedroom, crossed the darkened living room and opened the door and closed it. Then he tip-toed softly back across the living room and quietly stretched out on the sofa. He sniffed the panties, missing the scent of her pussy more acutely than he had since it first faded from the lace. He dropped the panties to the floor, turned on his side and fell asleep.
Chapter Ten
The fact that her parents never slept together had always been confusing and vaguely embarrassing to Carol Graham. Now, after walking in on her father sucking his secretary's asshole, Carol felt she understood why he was not interested in fucking her mother.
There was no sense of loss attending Carol's enlightenment. There was no deep hurt. There was no feeling of having been betrayed. There was no sensation of diminishing love because her love for her father had long ago descended below zero.
There was a firing of hate. There was a kindling of hostility. There was a hardening of alienation. There was a recollection of Rick Morgan's words: "The world is a great big beautiful cake. If you don't move in fast and cut yourself a fat slice, you get nothing but crumbs." . Rick is right, she had decided. He's got this old world sized up pretty accurately. She was going to move in fast. Cut herself a fat slice. Leave the crumbs for the losers. She was going after the cake ... and the icing. And the first fat slice she had decided to cut herself was Brad Phillips.
She had tried to reach Brad at his office and had just missed him, phoned him at home and got no answer. She had phoned Jean Kent to find out if Brad was playing handball with Larry. Jean and Larry were going to a movie, he was picking her up in a few minutes.
Carol had wandered into a cocktail lounge, ordered a drink and settled herself to wait until Brad got home. After two martinis the scene she had witnessed less than two hours earlier in her father's office had been relegated to that part of one's memory bank labeled File 13. She hoped it would only be dredged up in unintelligible, unremembered dreams. She had a third martini after she had phoned Brad again and got no answer.
The third martini had knocked her back on her heels. Everything had suddenly seemed tilted and out of focus. Feeling she needed some air, she had fumbled around in her pocketbook, paid the tab, and managed to get out of the bar without stumbling into more than one table. On the street, she flagged a taxi with the intention of going home to break the news to her mother that she was going to get a job and leave home. Instead, she had given the driver Brad's address. Now, as the taxi pulled up in front of Brad's building, Carol was still feeling the effects of the gin. She had trouble reading the meter and trouble finding her money. She finally clambered out of the taxi, went up to Brad's and rang the bell. No answer; she kept ringing. Brad finally came to the door wearing pajama bottoms.
"Hey, Carol, what are you doing here?"
She brushed past him into the room. "I thought I'd ... "
The sofa bed was pulled out and the same blonde Brad had danced with at The End of the World discotheque was sitting in the middle of it wearing the pajama top that matched the bottoms Brad wore. The sweet odor of marijuana hung heavy in the room.
"Hi," the girl on the bed said. "Come on in and join the party."
Brad said, "Mario Morris, Carol Graham."
Carol looked at the girl and her liquor talked: "Are you a virgin?" she asked.
Mario Morris glanced at Brad; he shrugged. "I'll be a virgin if I can find a surgeon who can make me a virgin. A'miracle worker," she giggled.
Brad said, "Now that that's settled, how about a joint." He picked up a stick of pot, lit it and passed the cigarette to Carol.
Carol considered taking a drag or two, then leaving. Pot was not new to her; she smoked it and so did practically everyone she knew. Nor was she terribly shocked to find Brad entertaining a girl and obviously into a sex scene.
"Can I speak to you alone for a minute?" she asked Brad.
Brad led her into the tiny kitchen area. "What's on your mind?" he said.
"You."
"Why?"
"The other night."
He grinned. "It was pretty stupid."
"Is that all it was?"
"No."
"Then why haven't I heard from you?"
"I was thinking of you tonight."
"Why, isnt she good?"
"Getting a surgeon to take a tuck in it would make her better."
"Did making it with me help you decide that."
"Maybe."
"Then why don't you send her home?"
Carol had smoked most of the joint; she put out the roach in the sink. Then she moved close to Brad, pressing her body against his. He kissed her and stroked her buttocks. She reached for his cock and felt it through the pajamas.
"Wait here," he said.
He moved awy and a moment or two later
Mario Morris passed by Carol and disappeared into the bathroom. Carol joined Brad'on the bed. She smiled, happily.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
"My ego is. But the rest of me...." She felt his cock again.
"Get undressed."
"Now?"
"Why not?"
She undressed. He got rid of the pajama bottoms.
"How about another smoke?" he asked.
"Uh uh. I'm already flying. That reefer is whipping my ass."
"Good."
They melted into each other's arms. Her flesh was smooth and warm like silk fresh from an iron. Her mouth was dry and thirsty for nectar from his mouth. Her tight young cunt was full of poppy and as hot and as hot and desperate for cock as stoned cunt can be.
They heard the bathroom door open and the front door open and close.
"She didn't say goodnight," Brad said.
"No class."
"No gratitude."
"For what."
"This."
"Damn!" His fingers had glided into her cunt on a search and destroy mission aimed at her clitoris. "This."
"Brad!" Her clit was facing a firing squad.
"And this."
"No, no!" Clit was begging for the coup de grace. But tits were sucked first and mouth given its nectar. No mercy in a fascist fuck, especially when the victim is willing.
"And ... "
"Oooohhh, yes, yes, yes!" Prick finally spearheaded a liberal movement. Turned everything upside down.
"Your cunt is some hot. That reefer really is whipping your ass."
"Your prick is whipping the reefer. Keep fucking me like this and I'll have to smoke another joint."
"Smoke all you want."
"Ingrate."
"Me?"
"Mario, if you fucked her like this."
"Or even half as good. Bitch should've said goodnight."
"I'll make up for it. I'll say good morning to your prick and good afternoon and good eeeevening."
Suddenly his dick was more than she had ever dreamed her cunt would encounter. She had never dreamed it would mug her cunt and drag it up a dark alley and knock it down and take its money and kick it in its backside and stand it up against a row of garbage cans and fuck the living shit out of it. She had never dreamed his prick could do all that to her pussy and then have the audacity to whirl around and pick her pussy up and dust it off and seduce it with all the style and grace and elegant charm of the continental gigolo it had magically become and having sucked her pussy in that way proceed to make it addicted to the baroque pleasures of old-world cock planted in its depths with all the magnificent decadent wisdom of a leaning tower that remains upright for centuries in order to drain the last sou from her pussy's bank account and take the final heirloom from its safe deposit box.
But pussy loves the unanticipated. It thrives on it. It lies awake at night dreaming about it. Pussy will travel any road to find it. Young tight pussy like hers will even hitchhike to get to it. Pussy will go all the way to Reno or Mexico to divorce a prick that is not a good provider of it. Pussy will let a stern faced judge get a whiff of its juice and lie like hell in court in order to obtain it. Pussy will commit murder to have it.
When pussy receives an exquisite jolt of marvelous sensations from a cock to clever to be anticipated pussy usually .reacts in a way that is completely predictable.
"I'm cumming. Brad, I'm cuuummmming!" Pussy proves again and again that the predictable can be a mother fucker. A dick must remain alert because a predictable pussy can knock it out of bed. "Cuuummmming!"
A prick delivering the unanticipated and a cunt responding predictably will never be caught singing the blues.
Carol opened her eyes' because someone was climbing into the bed. Mario Morris hovered above her, naked, big boobs dangling like overripe luscious melons, smiling lasciviously. "Hey," Carol cried, "What the hell is ... " Brad said, "I asked Mario to stick around. I thought you'd enjoy a surprise party." Carol tried to get up but he pushed her back on the bed. "Relax. Someone else got to your cherry but I'm going to make you a swinger. With Mario's help. She'll start by sucking some of that glue out of your cunt."
"And you'll dig it," Mario said. Brad made room and Mario slid into position. "No, Brad. No. Please don't let her touch me. Please don't do this. Please. Please."
Mario was a strong, voluptuous girl who would fuck or suck anything that moved. She would put her tongue and her lips and her nose and her fingers and her toes anywhere they could go in or around or up or down. She would accept a prick or a tongue or fingers or any instrument or device that promised sexual pleasure into any opening in her body that they could be forced into. She shot her tongue into Carol's cunt like a mongoose striking a cobra. Her tongue was delighted to discover that Carol had a nice tight pussy. It raced up in her pussy, darting and slurping, thrusting and sucking, having a good old time.
Brad moved astride Carol, his prick and scrotum dangling above her mouth, facing Mario. Mario rose to her knees and gave Brad a long, vibrant kiss so he could get a good mouthful of the juices from Carol's cunt.
"Sweet tasting little pussy," she said, sliding back to Carol's cunt.
Brad smiled. "It was a very good year," he said. He lowered his head and began sucking Carol's tits.
Mario's tongue found Carol's clitoris and Brad continued sucking her nipples. Carol's ass caught fire faster than whores surrender to a conquering army. She was arching her buttocks so Mario's fiery tongue could penetrate the molten depths of her cunt. She was running her foot up and down Mario's back and pressing it against her head, grinding the voluptuous girls face into her pussy and the wet, sticky hairs that surrounded it.
"Make me cum, bitch," Carol commanded. "Suck my tight pussy. Brad, if this bitch wants some tight pussy she has to get it from another chick, right? Tell her to make me cum."
Brad said, "Suck my prick and I'll beat her ass if she doesn't make you cum."
Carol's eyes had been swaying with the pendulum that was his hard prick an inch or two within easy reach of her lips. She drew it to her, stroking it gently and darting her tongue over the thick, swollen head.
Mario turned around on Carol's cunt, giving Brad's tongue access to her asshole and the rear end of her pussy. The sucking trio's precision improved as it sucked on. Brad was sliding his tongue in and out of Mario's asshole and nibbling the end of her long deep slash. Mario's long thick tongue was greedily scorching the core of Carol's cunt. Carol was doing a number like a sword swallower on Brad's big prick. Together they were proving, despite the beliefs of most people, a committee, if it puts its mind and behinds to it, can get a hell of a lot done.
Carol was the first to cum, bathing Mario's thirsty tongue with cunt excretions. Watching the fits Carol had from the orgasm made Brad so excited he shot a load of semen into her mouth and throat. While Carol was swallowing and gagging on his cum, Brad quickly withdrew his prick from her mouth and shoved into Mario's cunt, letting her wide pussy which frowned on wastefullness enjoy the dregs of his orgasm and the last hard, thrusting strokes permitted his erection. She relished the gesture, got her own fingers in her pussy and got busy. Together she and Brad nudged a nice little low level orgasm out of her giant, economy size cunt.
The trio nicked and sucked all night. Brad dropped out once to watch the two girls suck each others cunts, a genuinely delightful unrehearsed erotic drama that evoked applause from him when it was over. When Brad fucked Mario in her asshole, tearing the big, hot blonde's burning, itching rectum every conceivable way, Carol was a great comfort sucking Mario's boobs, kissing her mouth deeply and playing with her cunt. Carol's ass hole only received Mario's finger which was regarded as the best way to prepare it to be torn wide open by one of Brad's super hardons on some future night since, at this point in time, it was far too tight.
In the morning, Carol was exhausted and her whole body ached. Her cunt was sore and flab- bergasted by its own survival. Every time she touched her asshole she expected to blot tears leaking from it.
Lying on the bed with her head on Brad's chest and a leg between Mario's thighs, Carol thought: It's the end of the world, baby. The end of my old world. She decided not to go back to her parents house, to leave everything behind. She could crash with Mario for a few days, the girl had said so. From this night on, Carol vowed to herself, I'm going to be a swinger. A hard bopping swinger.
Marjorie Collins had spent a rough night. She had spent it alone, sleepless and uptight. Too avoid spending it alone she had tried to contact Rick Morgan, phoned him all through without any answer. She had assumed he was shacked up somewhere,, at home or abroad, and that too was a letdown.
But the night hadn't been a total loss. She had reached an important decision. She was going to leave the Graham Realty Corporation and end her affair with Graham. And she was going to quit fucking married men. She was going to quit helping them stay with their wives. Quit being a patsy. Somehow, she was going to kick her habit. She started by going into Graham's office and announcing her plans to go cold turkey.
Graham didn't want to hear it. "Don't be ridiculous, honey. You're letting this thing upset you out of all proportion," he argued.
"My mind is made up, Charley. I can't cut it. Not anymore. Please try to understand."
Despite the position he was taking, Graham was feeling some strain. Carol hadn't come home at all last night. He didn't know whether she was in the lockup or somewhere plotting to strike back at him in some way for making it with Marjorie. And Rick Morgan had disappeared too; his secretary hadn't even heard from him. Now Marjorie was sitting across from him telling him their scene was all over. He wondered what the fuck was happening, everything seemed to be falling apart.
"Let's discuss it later," he said. "Tonight, over dinner. We'll examine all our options." And idea struck him. "Like a little vacation for you, a gift from me, to help you get over the way you feel now. A week or two in the Bahamas, say?"
The phone on his desk rang; he picked it up and the switchboard operator told him Sheila Forbes was on the line. He was shocked. Perhaps Rick hadn't run out on him after all, he thought. Maybe he was just working overtime. Graham chuckled inwardly, recalling that he had told Rick to turn on the charm with Sheila.
He took the call. Marjorie went back to her desk. A few minutes later Graham came out of his office looking extremely pleased with himself.
"Everything's going to be fine," he said. "I've got it by a string, baby, and I'm one son of a bitch who won't let loose. Tell you all about it after lunch." He dashed off to his luncheon date with a contractor.
Marjorie listened to his footsteps fade into the elevator. But I will let loose, she thought. When everything tells me I should.
While Grapam was out to lunch, she cleaned out her desk and split for keeps. As she stepped out of the building into the street, she had no idea which way to go. She started walking. She wasn't worried about being without a direction. She was too pleased with the thought that she was going to cover fresh, new terrain instead of traveling over the same old route.
Rick Morgan sat on the sofa in Sheila's apartment. From time to time he got up and paced back and forth, crossed to the window and gazed out, then returned to the sofa.
In the morning, when Sheila had stepped into the living room and discovered Rick on the sofa, they had looked at each other for a long, long moment but they had not spoken. Later, when she left for the studio, Sheila looked at Rick and said: "Go away, Rick. Please go away."
Rick could not go away. What she was asking amounted to asking him to go away from his life. He had to resolve his life. He had to work it out and know what the fuck it was going to be. And he had to do that here in this apartment with Sheila. When it was worked out he would know it. When it was settled he would feel it. He would feel it in his heart and his guts and his cock and his balls. His asshole would probably breathe a sigh of relief. Because, however it worked out, Rick would live it. If, when it was worked out, he had to go away he would go. If it worked out so his life would be honey he would enjoy every drop of it. If it worked out to be shit he would accept every hunk of it. But the suspense of the last ten or twelve years, the waiting and watching and hoping and praying, the sniffing of Sheila's empty panties when it was her pussy and her heart and her soul he needed, had to come to an end here and now.
He went to the window. The position of the sun made him realize it was getting late and he remembered that Sheila's program should be coming on around this time. He went over switched on the TV and returned to the sofa.
Sheila was just introducing her next guest ... Charles Graham.
"What the fuck," Rick said aloud. "What the hell is she up to?"
When Graham was settled, Sheila thanked him for coming on the show, then launched into their discussion. It was devastating. A pro who'd lured an amateur onto her own turf. It was Mu-hammed Ali, not Bobby Riggs, taking on Billie Jean King, and not on a tennis court, in a boxing ring. Sheila left Graham draped on the ropes, hearing the little birdies sing, and strutted back to her stool.
She had obviously had the show's staff compile a thorough, well-documented file on Graham's real estate operation. And he was caught totally off guard. He had come on to plug Kim-berly Manor but it was Graham who got plugged ... full of holes. Anyone watching the show probably wouldn't want to buy a dolls house built by his company. He didn't come out looking as though he had done anything illegal but he left a strong impression of having done numerous things that were unethical. The real screw Sheila twisted into him forced him to defend himself by denying any and all rumors that he was threatening to tear down the studio because its programs, particularly hers, had not promoted his latest real estate venture, Kim-berly Manor. He actually ...said, "I'm ready to renew the lease anytime."
When it was over Rick cracked up. He almost fell off the sofa laughing. Then Rick thought about the fact that Graham would no longer need his services and he would be out four hundred bills a week and laughed even harder.
Later, when Sheila walked in, Rick said: "Beautiful, baby. You did a masterful job on the s.o.b. How'd you set him up?"
"The same way you set me up. I lied. I called him and invited him to come and plug his houses."
Rick laughed again. "The look on his face. God, I wish you could rerun the tape in prime time."
"Why're you so happy? You've probably lost a client."
Rick shrugged. "Easy come, easy gone." Sheila was silent for a moment, thinking. "You did lie to me," she said. "Because I wanted you." "So why did you admit you'd lied?" . "For the same reason."
She was silent for a long time and her face was expressionless. Then she peered deeply into his eyes and said, "I want you, too." She smiled at him and winked. "And it's more than a notion," she said softly.
He said, "I love you, you smart-assed cunt. I've always loved you." He winked at her. "And it's more than a notion."
"Hungry?"
"No."
"Then let's go to bed." He stood up. "But don't leave those panties in the living room."
He picked up the panties from where he had dropped them last night. "What are we going to do with these things. I'm fast losing interest in them now that I've got ... "
She said, "Dip them in bronze."
He thought about it. "H-m-m. It's the right thing to do."
When they were in bed, he drew her into his arms both of them warm and mellow with the knowledge that they had the whole night before them. His prick could explore her whole body and she could rub her cunt all over him. They both knew he was going to bust his nuts in her asshole and bring heaven and hell down on them at once. They knew that, some of the cum from his orgasm would dribble back out of her rectum and rain into his mouth. She would make him wild and frantic when she sucked his big cock with ice cubes in her mouth make him cum and swallow her favorite cocktail ... cum on the rocks. Then she would have a boiler maker using the sweat from his balls. If she began to menstruate they would switch from being avant-garde cum vampires to old fashioned blood suckers and keep on fucking. If the gates of hell closed on his dick he would raise a hardon big enough to keep on fucking Sheila. If lightning hurled by an angry God struck her in the cunt she would chuckle with amusement at its feeble impact and cold fire compared to the galaxies of molten planets that he launched through all her veins each time he cummed.
Yes, they were going to fuck tonight and it was more than a notion.
It was a whole hell of a lot more than a notion. The works. Everything. Dreams turned into hot realities. It was a night no longer than any other, and yet it was an endless night seared forever in the memories of her asshole and his cock. Years hence, as a senior citizen sitting on a park bench in Sarasota or Santa Barbara, or perhaps even Nice or Tangiers, his eock would flutter recalling this night and reminding him of it, and he would lean close to the old chap beside him who was shuffling the cards for the next hand of rummy and whisper in his ear, laughing and cackling like a dirty old man. Across the way her asshole would wheeze, sharing with her its remembrance of a particular moment out of this night, and she would lean close to the elderly woman who sat beside her in the knitting circle and whisper behind her hand, then she would remove her shawl because suddenly the evening seemed less chilly.
