Chapter 13
Saturday Night Orgy
And so it arrived! Saturday night! Time for "neighborly love". Orgy time! Rebecca time] But I, for some obscure psychological reason, felt as nervous and doubtful as a brain-surgeon with the palsy. By the time the hour they were supposed to be over rolled around I was damned near hysterical; so, put of desperation, I had Charles mix me a double martini, which I gulped down hastily and which helped me a great deal. A great deal indeed!
They arrived promptly at eight thirty and I received a diminutive shock when they walked in. They were all in costume! And what costumes! John was wearing a skin-tight Devil's outfit that was made of some kind of loose mesh; you could see through it vaguely and it certainly wasn't binding in certain places. In place of a spear he was brandishing an ominous looking you-know-what, and its knobby end matched the vivid red of his costume. Janet, as soon as the front door was closed, threw off the robe she was wearing ... and I gasped, utterly astonished. Except for a pair of black high-heels and black elbow high gloves ... she was nude.
"What are you supposed to be?" Charles asked her, looking her up and down leeringly.
Janet smiled, held both arms above her head, stood with her feet wide apart, and said, "I'm the five of spades. I need to be dealt with."
But Rebecca! Her costume (if it could be called a "costume") looked like something from the cover of one of those sexy paperbacks! It looked as if it were made of thin black rubber. It molded the contours of her body marvelously and it lent her an aura of the lewd-if certainly enigmatic-sexuality. I particularly liked the rather old-fashioned, lace-up-the-side booties she had on; they were extremely high heeled and were of a soft dull black leather. They looked as if they were lined with some kind of fur. They fit the curves of her ankle and calves lasciviously, and all-in-all were the most provocative part of her apparel. Her hair she'd drawn back into a severe, archaic bun; it hardened her features a bit, but I approved of it because it exposed her delightful little ears. So pink and delicate!
Charles, who was in the process of mixing us an enormous batch of martinis, stood there and rather gaped at Rebecca. He'd met her very briefly one night during that hectic three day sight-seeing tour, but I don't believe he'd seen her since.
"Charles, you're staring," I nudged him and laughed. (A forced laugh, though. I found myself in the utterly ridiculous position of being jealous of my own husband's obvious approval of Rebecca-but for the perverse reason that I wanted the lion's share of her for myself.)
"Oh, sorry," Charles turned and gave me a rather sheepish smile. (But not at all apologetic.)
Despite the costumes and our plans and the seemingly expectant mood of coming fireworks, things progressed kind of slowly. Everyone listened politely and attentively to whomever was speaking; we all laughed the light sort of spontaneous laughter that is usually prevalent when something gay or dangerous or unusual is in the offing. But for an hour and a half that's about as far as it went. Had anyone been just outside a window, listening and watching us, they would've never dreamed that a veritable sexual bedlam was about to commence. Janet, for obvious reasons, had slipped back into her robe; Rebecca and John, in spite of their suggestive regalia, were sitting there as demurely as devout parishioners. We looked for all the world like five friends having an informal evening of discussion (discounting the costumes, that is).
I'm afraid, though, that I contributed precious little to the conversation. Outside of politely nodding and saying yes or no at the proper time, I was too disturbed mentally to manage an articulate conversation. Why disturbed? Because of Rebecca, as usual. But Rebecca-more than usual-because of her outfit: those high-laced boots, that rubber vest and tights, that old-fashioned hairdo that displayed those delicate (but rather arrogantly set) little ears. And then there was always her mouth! I couldn't be around her without staring at that perfect, full-lipped rose-bud of a mouth! I was as influenced by its sensual mobility, and by those occasional glimpses of her tongue, as a willing subject is influenced by a hypnotist's eyes.
She seemed full of energy and good spirits. Her laughter kept tugging at my groin when it bubbled forth with that husky, slurring contralto, and the way she'd throw her hands about to drive home a point was enough to make me cross and uncross my knees restlessly. I remember one of her points quite vividly because I'd agreed with it so completely. John had made some joking comment about how even a lawyer had to watch his P's and Q's nowadays and not say anything to rile up his corporation higher-ups.
"That's nonsense, John, and you know it!" Rebecca began. "If you hold back your true thoughts and opinions because you're afraid they'll be unpopular with your boss, then you'd better either change your opinions or get yourself a new boss. Every good idea that a man swallows out of fear is going to rot still-born in his belly, and if he does it often enough or long enough he'll begin to fester."
"Maybe so," John had grinned at her a little patronizingly, "but at least he'll eat well. If a lawyer doesn't butter up the boss a little, he'll soon have no bread to spread any on. A corporation lawyer anyway," he shrugged and looked at Charles for confirmation.
"I see," Rebecca nodded soberly. "I suppose you think of it as a form of diplomatic compromise, eh? That it, John?"
"Well ... yes ... I suppose so," John looked a bit annoyed now. And a bit uncertain. It was out of big corporation character for him to be bandying words with an opinionated slip of a girl-be she ever so ravishing.
"Hasn't it occurred to you, John, that constant compromise will sap you of your individuality? Your 'yes man', may, like you say, eat well ... but does he sleep well and dream well and love well? I don't think so, John. I'm especially sure he doesn't love well. How can he; He's castrated himself by giving his superiors all those condescending little half-truths."
"Oh, please, John, don't do that," Janet had broken in with her snorting laugh to clear the air.
And then they'd lapsed off on some other tangent and I'd said yes and no and nodded a few times while I'd continued to steal surreptitious glances at Rebecca.
(Her words had warmed her. She was holding a martini high and sipping it with a haughty air but I noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly. Her eyes were wide and very bright and intent. Her drinks had not glassed them yet. Her forehead was furrowed; you could tell she was either thinking deeply or becoming anxious about something. That luscious lower lip was drooping a little more than usual; it looked moist and tantalizing; I wanted so to suck it and chew on it. She had her knees crossed and her hanging foot was moving slightly with her heartbeat and she was describing slow little circles with the toe of that boot. The fingers of her free hand were curled in her lap; when someone would say something she evidently thought relevant she'd straighten those fingers for a moment and then they'd slowly curl again. I longed to feel the touch of that hand; I wanted it to caress every inch of me. When she turned to listen to Charles the light from a lamp behind her made one of those pink little ears almost transparent. I wet my lips repeatedly and imagined my tongue to be exploring the delicate dividers of that delightful auditory organ. I was entranced. I rose from my chair, walked over to her, knelt down, caught hold of one of those booties in both hands, lifted it a bit and began nuzzling it and biting it and kissing it did repeating the whole while, "Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca". I vaguely heard Charles say, "Doris, what's come over you?" but I paid him no heed; I heard Rebecca's ironic chuckle, and then, for I don't know how long, it seemed to me that I was falling into a wet, dark abyss composed of rubber and hair and mouths and thighs and the rancid oils of sexuality.)
When my mind cleared I saw that our party had obviously been under way for a considerable time. Looking around as one coming out of a deep sleep, I saw Rebecca smiling down at me. She was sprawled in front of me on the sofa. Her rubber suit was off; she was, except for those boots, quite naked. Her expression was soft, loving, appreciative-and definitely post-coital. I too was without clothes.
Hearing a commotion behind me I twisted around and looked. There they were. My husband. Janet. And John. And they'd built, so to speak, an infernal triangle. Janet was sandwiched between them and all three of them wore the expectant looks of persons on the verge of winning some hard-fought game. John was still wearing the top half of his Devil's suit; Charles was nude except for his socks; Janet was still wearing those heels and long black gloves. Suddenly I felt a strange stirring; I looked back up at Rebecca and said, "Would you get Janet's gloves and put them on, Rebecca? Please. I want you to ... touch me with them."
She nodded, ever so slightly, and rose. I watched her avidly as she peeled them off Janet's arms and hands. She was bent slightly, and the sight of her dimpled bottom made my temples pound. She slipped the gloves on as she walked back to me. She was smiling strangely. down, Rebecca. I'll stand here in front of you. I want you to touch me all over with those gloves. Don't ask me why. Suddenly I just got the idea that it would feel awfully nice."
"You needn't explain, Doris. I'll do anything you want. After what you did to me ... I owe you everything."
But what the dickens had I done? I wondered. Had it been some act of worship? Some masochistic debasement? I smacked my lips then and swallowed ... (and there was one scene I knew I'd played). But then I caught my breath as Rebecca began to lightly caress my calves-and my mind whirled to the present-the past was obliterated. Everything was now!
It was the most delicious sensation imaginable! And yet it was sheer agony! There was something about those long velveteen gloves clinging to the succulent fullness of Rebecca's forearm that disturbed me deeply. And as her fingers sort of palpitated up and down my thighs and around to my bottom and then up to my breasts and neck and face ... the stroking provided a tickling that was nearly unbearable. Waves of goose flesh chilled over my entire body, and whenever she'd touch my lower stomach the muscles there would twitch and threaten to cramp. She cupped my bottom tenderly once and pulled me towards her while she ran that wet slippery tongue of hers in and around my navel. I couldn't stand that; I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, and she looked up at me and winked wickedly and then loosed peal after peal of ironic laughter. I shuddered. She bent then and began to kiss me ... elsewhere.
My hands on her shoulders, I rolled my head back and moaned softly-and as I did so I looked in the mirror and caught sight of the fevered trio behind me.
Janet was kneeling. Charles was standing facing her and, like me, he had his hands on her shoulders. My eyes opened wide with astonishment when I saw the enormous quantity of him she was hungrily hiding. John was behind Charles; always the ambitious lawyer he was driving his point home brilliantly and decisively. Janet's eyes were crossed-evidently from the strain of her heroic absorptions. Charles was muttering something beneath his breath and a thin trickle of spittle was drooling down his chin. John's mouth was agape and his tongue was lolling like a rutting dog's; indeed with that top half of his Devil's costume still on and his hairy buttocks bobbing brutally he reminded me of those dogs one sees wearing a red vest on cold days.
I looked down at Rebecca and at the sight of her sweet face dipping so lovingly a profound feeling of tenderness overwhelmed me. I lifted my hands from her shoulders and poked a forefinger in each of her ears. She liked that, I could tell. She moved forward with a muffled groan and her gloved fingers dug into my bottom and squeezed as if she were kneading dough.
"Oh, Rebecca, Rebecca! I love you! I really do!" I whispered eagerly.
"Uh ... huh!" her muted reply was the dearest sound I've ever heard. It went straight to my brain! I nearly swooned with joy, and the soft, voluptuous raptures of culmination began their corybantic climb; soon I was caterwauling loudly and when Rebecca gave me an impudent and capricious prod with one gloved finger I plunged over the precipice and dove headlong into the limbo-land of love and lust. I dallied there long and leisurely; too long, perhaps. For, like a drowning swimmer, I went down for the third time ... and I was certain then that nothing short of a miracle could save me ... from Rebecca.