Chapter 9
When the place to the light of the man Bohnert had pointed to was vacant, Ellen moved quickly to the bar, slid onto the stool, and carefully placed her purse in the direction of the man she knew to be Felix Wolver. Full-jowled from good living, his face was the kind that would retain handsomeness in old age, when other men would be wrinkled and stopped. He had dark, curly hair, grayed at the temples, and wore dark-rimmed glasses with wide, straight bows. He was drinking Scotch, straight, and regarded Ellen's huge, white purse a moment before he glanced up to appraise her face with quiet, brown eyes. "I looked through my wife's bag once," he mused softly. "You wouldn't believe what was in it. With what she carries I could camp-out two weeks and live like a king every minute."
Ellen opened hers and found her cigarettes. Wolver had his lighter going the moment it touched her lips. "You have to carry so much make-up," she explained courteously. "Then, there's stuff for your hair. Tissues. Spare hankies, I don't know what for. Then you've got to carry a billfold for credits cards and charge and plates. And money. Nobody can go without money these days. Some days I don't have enough room to carry everything I really should take along."
"That's what my wife says," nodded Wolver. "What amazes me is how a woman can belong to a nudist camp and get along with just a towel."
"The men are too busy noticing everything except her face, and other women are too busy seeing if they're getting noticed at all," Ellen explained demurely. "Do you belong to one?"
The bartender was hovering. Ellen said. "A Manhattan," and when he turned away, Felix Wolver said, "No, but I'd like to someday, just for atmosphere."
Ellen laughed with him. He had very white, even teeth, she noticed. He looked about the age Bohnert had mentioned. "I think it would be fun, just for kicks," she said, daringly. "I don't think I could get caught up with the movement or anything, but I've always been curious about the way people would act when they walked around without any clothes on."
Wolver had turned on his stool so he faced her more directly, and occasionally glanced above the crowd as if he were expecting someone. Ellen knew who it was, and that Reva Wolver wouldn't be along for at least a half-hour, not if Jack Bohnert had his way.
He smiled regretfully. "I was kidding when I said I'd like to, of course. Being naked is for the kids, the young people, like you. Men aren't a pretty animal to being with. And old, they're even uglier. Me walking around in the nude would by criminal."
He was heavy, and obviously aging. She put a light hand on his knee. "That's all the more reason you should do everything you possibly can, before it's too late," was her smiling counsel. "If you think you're old now, then what will you be in twenty more years?"
"Older, or dead," he smiled back. "You're very young," Wolver observed then. "Twenty-one, I'd say. Right?"
"Twenty-two," Ellen corrected.
He was looking at her hands. "You've been married, of course. You've put your rings away. No girl as lovely and out-going as you could possibly stay single until she was twenty-one. Are you divorced?" he asked, watching her closely.
"Just separated, as far as I know," Ellen replied, and picked up her drink for a sip.
Wolver took a light swallow of Scotch, looking around over the crowd at the same time. "Are you expecting someone?" Ellen asked casually.
"My wife. She was to meet me here at the bar, and I hope she does, because in her time, she was every bit as lovely as you. My wife is still a beautiful woman," he maintained proudly.
"And you love her, of course."
Slowly, Wolver nodded. "Of course. She's my wife."
"I didn't love my husband," countered Ellen. "I don't believe that just because one is married to a person has to mean he or she is in love. Otherwise, there wouldn't ever be any divorces."
"Then why did you marry him in the beginning?"
Ellen shrugged. "It's a long story. And a boring one. Let's just say I wanted to get away from home. I grew up when I was fourteen, and waiting until I was out of school was nothing but torture. I was ready for marriage long before it came along."
Wolver leaned closer. "You're hot, aren't you? What I means is, you're a fiery, responsive woman."
Ellen appeared surprised. "How can you tell?"
His face was inches from hers, his brown eyes boring into hers. "Because I smell it. You like talking to men, which means you're not afraid."
"Me, I'm an old, rich Jew and already I'm bending your ear about sex, and going naked in a nudist camp. You enjoy talking about sexy things. Old as I am, I get the idea I can talk you upstairs and into a bed. I think you'd screw an old goat like me, and I'm so damned close to making the proposition I'm scared!" Wolver was obviously excited.
"Why be sacred?" Ellen asked innocently, making her eyes big.
Wolver's mouth fell open, he was that near to panting. "You will, by God!" he breathed. "Would you believe I never have? I mean, I never have screwed out on my wife. Would you believe that?"
Ellen nodded. "Yes, but I can't imagine why not."
"Because she's beautiful and she's hot!" Wolver whispered sibilantly, so others wouldn't hear. "I'm one guy that's got every piece he ever wanted, and a few I could have done without. You might say a guy can get devoted to a wife like that, and I did. I still am, but damned if I'm not sitting here getting a hardon, wondering what it would feel like to ram it up your lovely blonde cunt!" Now, Wolver's eyes were burning hot.
"How do you know it's lovely?" she asked archly.
"Because you are! Reva's is black and rough, like a coal mine!" he said intensely. "I look at you, I think of cream and silk and satin!"
Ellen put her hand on his thigh, close to the obvious bulge of a hardening penis. "Why don't we go find out?" she whispered in a way that would have moved a granite statue off its pedestal, and Felix Wolver couldn't refuse. He got to his feet, impatiently fumbled for the money he knew he had somewhere, and when he found it, tossed a bill on the counter and took Ellen's arm. "If I see Reva I'll have to run over her," he promised thickly. "Nothing can stop me!"
"Let's hope we don't see her," Ellen said, and allowed herself to be guided through the crowd toward the elevator by a thoroughly aroused and elderly business man on the verge of his very first pre-marital experience. On the elevator, his brilliant eyes and proud lift of his head made him appear younger. Ellen offered him her lips, then her body in the soft, willing way of pressing it against him. He was shaking with excitement when they drew apart, and he must not have noticed the amusement Ellen felt inside her at thinking what his reaction might be if she demanded her conventional hundred dollars. But something told her not to explode what had developed for him a hauntingly, beautiful experience. Felix Wolver had worshipful love in his eyes. "You're incredibly lovely!" he whispered uncertainly, not at all in command of his thoughts.
Ellen moved close again, rubbed the stiff rod of penis she had already begun anticipating. Wolver was clean, he was intense, and she knew instinctively he would be a competent lover. "You're nice yourself," she whispered throatily, as the cage stopped and the door opened automatically.
Wolver's eyes widened. "My God! I punched our floor! This is the floor our room is on! Reva might still be in there, with a headache or something! We can't go to our room! Where in hell can we go?" he asked in an anguished voice.
Ellen, feeling unusually steamy, pressed a button two floors up, and opened Wolver's fly with calm boldness. "To my room, Honey," she purred smoothly, and thrilled to the touch of his hot, thick shaft. Quickly, she tugged it through his fly while Wolver shuddered with pleasure. He started once to fumble beneath her dress, but their hands were clumsily in each other's way. While Ellen looked down and jacked sensuously at her prize, Wolver kissed the top of her head again and again. Almost wrist-sized, his penis had a formidable look with the head much exaggerated by the circumcision. Inside, when her hand explored there, were huge, cumbersome balls. Wolver turned, ready to cover himself when the door opened, but there was no one in sight. Quickly, they walked to her room.
Naked, Wolver was tanned and fit, though thick in the middle and pretty well covered with dense, black hair. His prick was just as hard as when Ellen had last touched it. They stood for a last embrace, before the bed and reality. Ellen's breach caught in her throat as Wolver stooped to suck an irresistible nipple, and at the same time, glide an experienced finger up and down her already-slick genital cleft. Both were more than ready.
Wolver knew how to do it. With Ellen on the bed, he straddled her high, began with another affectionate kiss, then went to her breasts until she panted with longing. Next, he moved down to her belly, tongued expertly in long, wet trails that never quite reached her cunt, though they came very close, until she was beside herself with passion, and arched her back high, whimpering and begging for the relief he would crowd in her vagina. When it came, she was super-saturated with the agony of waiting, and came in a violent burst of grunting movements when Wolver set his heavy rod against her wetness and shoved slowly in, relishing each fraction of an inch.
The rest was a blur of unending, rapturous passion for Ellen. Never had she been in more capable hands, and never had she enjoyed sexual intercourse any more. It was as if all the other times were a training period to meet this elderly, sensual-eyed Jew on a rented bed. He made every movement count, made certain Ellen felt it in a way that thrilled her. When desire drugged them to the point of frenzy, Wolver withdrew, moved his head down and his body up so they were in oral intercourse, and Ellen's cries were muffled by the big head and shaft if her mouth. Expertly, his agile tongue brought her twice to the brink of orgasm, then let her drift away from it, although she squirmed and groaned, telling him in every possible way not to quit. But he did, then went to her rescue again, and when she was close enough, he moved his body again, seated his rod in her steaming wetness and plunged them both to a shrieking, thundering climax. Ellen cried with relief for almost five minutes.
Wolver called room-service, and they had a drink he mixed while Ellen was in the bathroom. They stretched out in naked comfort, heads propped on the pillows, and resumed a conversation that had been more a cacophonous, grunting, sometimes-obscene time of instruction by two people in the deepest possible rut, each knowing what he wanted the other doing. Ellen had just told him how the Florida sun seemed to make her hotter.
He agreed immediately. "Reva and I notice this. We live in New Jersey, you know, where it's bleak and cold this time of year. We're too old for bearskin rugs on the floor, and with snow and ice outside, we just seem to never have the same kind of fun as when we come down here. I think this is because Spring is the natural time of procreation. The animal man's instincts become strongest then. He's strong and he's eager, ready to copulate. This has to come from a climatical influence, because he doesn't feel it any other time. Marriages? June is the favorite month. May and June, the Spring, when a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of love. And if he's healthy, so do those of other men. Women too, I might add. Reva and I were married in June, and went over into Canada for our honeymoon. Once she got used to the idea, we virtually never stopped screwing the whole time. Everything we did, we did in short enough bursts we could get back to our suite and get our clothes off and start doing it again. Her vigor was even greater than mine, and I was quite a stallion in those days, believe me. Ellen!" he called sharply. "Don't go to sleep on me!"
Her head had slid over to his shoulder, the drink loose and tipping in her hand. Her mouth had gone slack. Carefully, Wolver took the drink, carried it to the bath, poured the rest down the lavatory, and ran a quantity of cold water behind it. He rinsed out the tumbler carefully, and went back to Ellen.
Cruelly, he pinched one of her flawless nipples. She didn't move. Next, he grasped pubic hair between thumb and forefinger and yanked. Ellen slept on. Wolver went to the door, opened it, and whistled softly.
When Jack Bohnert came in, big-eyed and excited, Wolver pointed to the bed. "You'd better get what you want of that now. We'll be taking her out just as soon as I get dressed."
Bohnert rubbed at his crotch, but shook his head. "I already had it when she was awake. It wouldn't be right, fuckin her while she's passed out."
Wolver, whose name was Henri Duboisson, shrugged. "So what if she is out? She's good, asleep or awake, one of the best you ever steered my way. Where was it you saw her first?"
"Down on the beach, in front of the Kalaberra."
"And you're positive she's been whoring before she came down here?"
Bohnert nodded vehemently. "That's the first thing I try to find out. When I propositioned her about settin' up a guy and his wife, she asked no questions. Later, I called her a hustler and she didn't say anything, then a little later on, she told me how she didn't need no pimp, she could run her own business. The lady is definitely a high-class whore."
"There are no high-class whores," Duboisson stated emphatically. "At heart, they're all the same. What they get out of whoring is in direct proportion to their physical ability, their appearance and figure, and the effort they put into it. I'd say Ellen Carver will do very well in Caracas. The wealthy natives will pay willingly, and for just as long as she keeps her beauty. About five years, I'd imagine. Then shell fade rapidly."
Bohnert was standing next to the bed while Duboisson dressed, looking down at Ellen's nude charms, still wondering if he shouldn't have a last free ride. "She's gonna be pretty upset when she wakes up and finds herself on her way to South America with you."
"She won't wake up enough to realize where she is until we're there," Henri said confidently. "I have the medication all prepared. She gets her first hypo in exactly four hours after the oral dose, which cas ..." he glanced at his watch " ...seven-fifty. Say eight o'clock. At midnight and every four hours thereafter, another shot. She'll be awake, but drowsy and groggy, unable to talk lucidly or think logically. It's a marvelous barbituate. Destroys all sense of reality."
Bohnert had backed away, looked at Duboisson uneasily. "What happened to Celine Disque, that redhead I put you onto your last trip?"
Expertly, the South American knotted his tie. "She's doing well. Completely resigned to her new life. In fact, she enjoys it." He laughed humorlessly. "I have four of them working for me, you know. Ellen here will make five. They all derive much hope and enjoyment from their little bank books, the kind I make look so officially accurate." He turned toward Bohnert as he slipped on his coat. "You see, Bohnert, they're doing precisely what they were born to do. A whore is a peculiarity, in that so long as she's doing the one thing she's most proficient in, and with the thought she's actually saving money, then she has a great deal of interest in her work because she needs so little incentive to be a whore in the first place." He laughed again, looking at Ellen, shaking his head. "How innocently eager she was, ready to take me for everything you told her I had. And she bought the Reva bit, lock, stock, and barrel. A remarkably naive girl. Here! Help me dress her. Get something suitable for travel out of her closet."
"When do I get my money, Duboisson?" Bohnert referred to the second half of his five-hundred dollars. The South American had given Jack half when the contact was established.
"As soon as she's safely on the boat. Don't you trust me, Bohnert," he asked sardonically.
The younger man brought a two-piece suit to the bed, and looked around for her underclothing. "As a matter of fact, I don't. Where'd she put her bra and pants?"
"You're improving with experience, Bohnert," Duboisson said approvingly. "Look behind that big chair over there. We were in big rush to get to it, and she was throwing things around a bit." He grinned again, then said, "Stupid bitch. She'll learn with time. Ah, you found them. Good! Now, while I hold her up, see if you can get those glorious orbs properly encased in the brassiere. They make it look so simple."