Chapter 10
Billy Jack Sanders would have been bored stiff by the report of Silas Grimshaw, the home office actuary, were it not for the fact that Monica was sitting next to him.
He smelled two things very distinctly: her heady perfume and sex. The girl looked like sex; she moved like liquid sex and she smelled like sex. She had literally smote him with a sultry look as they were introduced. Now his hand was under the table, resting on her knee.
Nobody could see what he was doing and he smiled pleasantly and nodded as he heard Grimshaw's monotone drone statistics which might as well have been Chinese cooky futures. He didn't give a diddly-squat about lapse rates. He liked laps. And he was slowly moving his hand up into Monica's. She was trying to brush his hand away without making a fuss, but he merely smiled and nodded at Ed Stevenson and then at Silas Grimshaw. Grimshaw looked exactly like a sixty-year-old hippy, with the wild and shaggy fringe of hair around the shiny skull, the rimless glasses and the weird clothes.
It was eighty-six degrees out and Grimshaw was wearing a herringbone tweed coat with a belt in the back. He was really hip!
And Billy Jack smiled as he gained Monica's hip. She was wearing only bikini nylons under her miniskirt and he was into them and up beyond. He'd purposely avoided touching her little mound, since he wanted to tease her. He looked over at her. She was annoyed, all right, and her hands were now fidgeting on the table. Billy Jack noticed that old Stevenson was eying them kind of funny and he wondered if the two had something going. She'd just been introduced as a "new member of the great team" and that was all. Except for her name. Monica something. French sounding.
Well, Monica, Billy Jack was thinking, you sure are something! His hand was feeling the smoothness of her hip and leg and he smiled broadly. It looked like good old Monica was going to fit right in. But he wondered what she was going to be doing. He'd sure like to have her at the Biloxi office!
And his mind turned to thoughts of Norma Jean.
What a stupid bitch she was! Hollywood producer, indeed! Billy Jack scowled. Damned sex fiend should be thrown in jail or a mental hospital, because he sure enough was mental, and a criminal to boot! Imagine, feeding dumb, innocent, barefoot pilgrims that old shit about being in pictures! It was too much. God, why didn't I think of something like that? he thought, and laughed.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Sanders," Grimshaw said. "Was there a particularly humorous note in the revised mortality rate?"
"Sorry, Grim," Billy Jack laughed. "I was plum asleep and must have been dreamin' a funny dream! That actuary crap will put a guy to sleep quicker than an overdose of sleeping pills."
Loxley Martinez added to the merriment with his comment. "And it's a damned sight deadlier, too!"
Everybody laughed except Stevenson, Grimshaw and Monica. She tried to remove Billy Jack's hand from inside her panties during the commotion. She was angry because she thought Billy Jack had found something funny with her belly. She couldn't imagine what it could have been!
Billy Jack struggled with her for a while and won. Her hands went back onto the top of the table and he resumed his thoughts about the Hollywood producer. Well, by damn, he thought, what if the bugger is a Hollywood producer! Now, wouldn't that be something-old Norma Jean in the movies and her name up on the marquee in big bright lights'? Earning a million a year? The bitch wouldn't even talk to me, probably.
But she was certainly okay last night. She'd helped out with old Stevenson's wife, then did some fair-to-middlin' screwing herself. Yep, he said to himself, Norma Jean ain't the brightest little child to come down the road, but she sure knows what a pussy is for! And it was always so much fun to make up. Especially when there was another broad involved. Then it was twice as much fun!
Just as the meeting was being adjourned, an Oriental couple walked in. Stevenson was dispensing another of his infamous pep-talks, and everybody welcomed the intrusion. It was Taiiko Okata and his wife Ikuni. Billy Jack and Loxley both sized her up as Stevenson smiled and waved them to a chair. Billy Jack was so awed by the young, short Japanese girl that his mouth fell open. She couldn't have been more than four-foot-six and her eyes were glistening black.
And one other thing. She was wearing a dress which was open in a magic slit all the way down to her navel. The navel and the sides of her tits by the cleavage barely showed and Billy Jack's lazy erection sprang to life.
Ikuni Okata spied it and she also noticed his hand up the young girl's dress as she walked behind them to her chair. She nudged her husband and motioned down with her head. Taiiko leered like a Cheshire cat. He dug it.
Stevenson intercepted the unspoken message and frowned. Was Billy Jack handling Monica under the table? Then he smiled again and asked the suave Japanese man if he would like to say a few words on mass merchandising.
Everybody flinched, and the room was filled with an audible sigh when he politely declined. He hadn't brought his graphs.
But he smilled at Billy Jack, that old inscrutable Japanese smile. Billy Jack smiled and wondered if what he'd heard about Japanese broads was right. He'd sure like to find out with that one!
The meeting adjourned and Billy Jack watched as Taiiko and Ed Stevenson left the room. I'd sure enough like to go off with that little Oriental gal, he thought, and approached her. Monica was both pleased and unhappy when he left. They hadn't so much as said a word to each other the whole time. Monica thought he was crazy. And she knew the Latin-looking character with the wavy hair, pointed nose and thin mustache was crazy. She'd seen him last night.
"Mrs. Okata ... would you like a drink?" Billy Jack asked.
"Love one, John. Your room or mine?"
The hair stood straight up on Billy Jack's head. What a fox! he said to himself. He was going to find out if what they said about Japanese women was true!
He knew that Norma Jean was out with her Hollywood producer friend for the morning so he invited Mrs. Okata to his room.
Taiiko was discussing a reverse-pitch advertising layout with Stevenson when he saw them walk through the lobby and go into the elevator. Then he watched as the lights above the door blinked. He noted the floor number and smiled enigmatically.
"This Sanders," he said, "good man?"
"One of our best managers and a producer-but he's a bit flaky and I think he's something of a sex enthusiast. Why?"
"Just wondering. He's the one with the scrawny blonde wife with the tits, no?"
"Norma Jean? Yeah, that's his wife."
"Norma Jean? Jesus H. Christ, what a blasty handle! Norma Jean! Good God and pressed ducks!"
Stevenson repressed a chuckle at the salty aphorisms and turned to the ad layout.
And Taiiko made a mental note to check on Norma Jean. He also wondered how Sandy was. He hadn't been in her for months. She was a pretty sexy chick ... for an old bag. She was one mean cocksucker, and no lie! Taiiko's monster prick twitched as he thought about her.
"Say, Ed," he smiled, "speaking of wives, how's Sandy? I haven't had a chance to see her for months."
"She's around. Maybe up in the room. By God, there she goes now! Should I call her over?"
Sandy was striding out of the lobby without looking one way or the other. She looked really sharp in a miniskirt and see-through blouse.
Taiiko's eyes were black slits as he moved casually over and watched her sit, butt first, in the passenger's seat of an old red E-Jag. "I don't think she'll hear if you do," he observed cryptically. It was too bad-all the chicks were running out and none were coming in.
Nothing escaped Taiiko's attention and he had a black belt in sex. He knew all the tricks. He'd learned many of them from Japanese pornographic movies he'd seen at an Art House on the Upper West Side in New York. One of the movies, The Monster Suck, was almost too much for him and he commented to his wife what a bunch of crazy fuckers the Japanese must be. Then they'd gone home and practiced the new moves they'd seen. He started by ripping her clothes off and raping her in the front hallway.
He'd always wanted to go to Japan but he couldn't get the hang of the language. All the words looked and sounded alike to him and he thought it would be pretty odd to walk around the various pavilions at Expo 70 and not be able to tell a geisha from a honcho. No, New York and Miami were just fine. Lots of wild chicks-especially in New York. But then, Des Moines was okay except for two things: all the streets were one way-the wrong way, and every last chick in town had a run in her stockings. Taiiko would always say, "Show me a girl from Des Moines and I'll show you a girl with a run in her stocking." He had to be careful not to waste this pithy bit of sage Oriental observation by saying it twice to the same person. If he ever did he knew it would lose all its P-zzazz.
Taiiko managed to get through the presentation without thinking too much about what he was saying. He wondered what Ikuni was doing to poor Sanders upstairs. Ikuni was bad in bed, very nasty indeed. The things she could do with her tongue! The only daughter of a very old and rich San Francisco family, Ikuni was a fine wife. Although she couldn't cook in the kitchen, her performances on the sheets were enough to kill the average man. They'd been kicked out of over a dozen clubs in New York as being dangerous.
He smiled. Dangerous? Hell, they were all a bunch of sissies. One group, the Consortium, was absolutely the best. Taiiko almost laughed when he thought about it. Everybody was standing around nude, like a bunch of dummies at a cocktail party. And they all just gawked at each other. The women were sizing up the various tools and the men were checking boobs out.
And all the women stared open-mouthed at him. So did some of the men, and this gave him the willies. He didn't mind his wife being dinged by guys but he didn't want to have any part of that crap! But pretty soon things got into gear and he grabbed himself a skinny redhead with absolutely beautiful tits. She had green eyes and freckles all over her body. And she couldn't have weighed over a hundred pounds.
The thought of jamming his mammoth cock into that little woman's red-haired gear was very stimulating. She couldn't possibly take him all the way in but he was going to give it the old college try. They started out with a session of sixty-nine right there on the living-room floor and she tried vailantly to take him all the way in. But, of course, she couldn't come close to it. The huge bulb almost filled her mouth and she had to masturbate him with both hands as she sucked. The members stood and watched, horrified as the gigantic cock continued to fill with blood. Finally, when it had reached its maximum size, everybody gasped. Everybody, that is, except for the redhead and Ikuni.
Ikuni was smiling broadly at the scene. Her husband was on top of the smooth little redhead, his belly crushing her to the floor. The woman's pitiful attempt to eat her husband was enough to make her laugh, but she watched with light amusement. And she watched the people gaze down in horror.
Taiiko was amused by the scene but he learned then not to let his cock get too big in front of a group before he put it into somebody. The word spread. He couldn't find one taker in the crowd so he and Ikuni had to fuck each other. It was much better anyway. They fit each other very well.
Upstairs Billy Jack and Ikuni were having their drink, and his eyes were fastened on the opening of her dress. She was eying his bulge and they were making small talk.
"Golly, Mrs. Okata, you're the first Japanese girl I've ever met!" Billy Jack was very excited as he looked at her.
"Yes, well you're the first person from Biloxi I've ever met."
She wasn't excited like Billy Jack but she was stimulated. He was a live one, she was sure. But he was pretty slow. So she decided to advance on him. She edged around on the bed, giving him a fair look at her shapely legs.
Billy Jack noticed the move and knew he was going to have himself one fine old time. "Mighty fine legs you have there, Mrs. Okata!" He knew the direct approach with women was always the best.
"Why, thank you," she purred. She then exposed a bit more of her thigh as she leaned back for her cigarettes. She knew he wouldn't miss a trick.
Billy Jack looked at her and said to himself, now or never. He reached out and put his hand on her thigh, surprised to notice that she flinched. He hadn't expected that-he thought she was ready. Was it going to be messy?
Ikuni was going to play the frightened victim as long as she could. Nothing drove men to wilder excesses of debauchery than the thought they were actually raping somebody. She wouldn't go so far as to scratch and scream, but she would struggle. A nice little wrestling match always whets the appetite. She was prepared to tussle.
The touch and look evoked no reaction from Billy Jack except surprise. He was just making his mind up to do something when he heard a small whimper. Lordy, he thought, a crying woman. Using every bit of skill and finesse he could summon, Billy Jack tried to soothe and calm the Japanese girl, but it was obvious she was panicked and frightened to death. Each time he'd reach for her to try to comfort her and explain, she'd squirm out of his grasp and regard him with fear-wide eyes and more whimpers. He didn't mind at all, for every time she moved she'd either show him quite a bit of leg or else two beautiful tits-for she was wearing no bra under the risque dress.
"Aw, come on, lady," Billy Jack said, "I'm not gonna hurt you."
That was answered by a look of stark terror and another cry.
Billy Jack finally lunged at her and grabbed her around the waist.
She answered this by flipping her body around quickly and taking his neck in a head-scissors lock between her two legs-hard!
Golly damn, Billy Jack thought, she's not wearing panties, either. He was being treated to a first-class view of Ikuni's twat since his chin was being firmly held in the crack of her ass and his eyes were right next to the girl's cunt. He knew there was nothing he could do so he idly stuck his tongue out, spearing the nice little cunt as his hands managed to find the opening of her black dress and settle on the two rock-hard tits.
They struggled in the middle of the bed like two sexy snakes as their hands and legs writhed slowly, trying to gain better positions. Billy Jack could feel his cock steadily expanding in his pants as the girl rubbed the inside of his leg.
Balls, is she a hot one!
Then it happened-she pulled down the zipper of his fly. After she opened it, she fished inside until her small but expert hands found his cock and balls. Then the fireworks began-she really started to show Billy Jack what female sexpertise was all about.
She didn't release his head even though he was struggling like a lunatic. He couldn't believe what she was doing with his cock and balls-it was driving him right out of his skin. Every time she touched him it was like feather-fire-a tickling and burning sensation which made him reach immediate orgasm. He didn't know what she'd done to him or with his cum because he couldn't see anything but the smooth lips of the girl's cunt, covered by the sparse pubic hairs. He had to concentrate on the cunt to keep from losing his mind altogether. What she was doing to him he couldn't understand.
Billy Jack had never felt anything like it!
About fifteen minutes later Billy Jack was verging on unconsciousness and Ikuni released him. He looked at her with a dazed expression on his face, his prick as limp as an old dishrag.
Well, he thought, shee-it fire! What we gonna do now? He'd never been on such a ride in his life and he looked at the smiling Oriental beauty lying on the bed with him. He knew he couldn't have another erection for at least a week.
As if she were reading his mind, Ikuni bent forward, covering his cock with her mouth and, as if by magic, his tired and bruised prick leaped to immediate life. Then, reviving his cock to her own standards of size and rigidity, she sprang lightly to the floor and whisked her dress off. She was stark naked under it.
Twenty seconds later Billy Jack was also naked-Ikuni's hands literally flew over him as she peeled him. Now they were both stripped for battle. Billy Jack wasn't frightened, but he was very cautious. He couldn't imagine a woman like Ikuni-she could sure teach Norma Jean a trick or two.
And Norma Jean was teaching Irv a trick or two in his suite not two hundred feet from her own room. They'd invented several new positions, all of which impressed Irv so much he was beginning to wish he actually were a Hollywood producer.
Now they lay on the bed, side-by-side, completely exhausted.
Irv grunted and Norma Jean opened her eyes and looked over at him.
He certainly looks like a Hollywood producer, she thought, but Billy Jack may be right. She had to know for sure, though, and she was going to quiz him. "Who produced Gone With The Wind, Irving?"
"Nate Talon," came the ready reply. Norma Jean was impressed.