Chapter 4
From that Sunday night a new life started for Martin and Jean Buller. Alongside their new-sexual relationship were all the new experiences due to her acceptance of the Committee's offer to run the Youth Club. Members of the Committee, prominent amongst them being Mr.. Huxtable, were constantly in the house at all hours discussing the new organization. It was agreed that Jean should have several helpers and a program of activities was drawn up. The Treasurer wrote cheques for sorts of apparatus, in eluding a tennis table and a record player. Second-hand canteen equipment was installed and then a printed leaflet circulated in the neighborhood inviting young people to join the new club.
Response was good and Jean found she had a constant stream of callers. Parents, schoolteachers, newspaper reporters, people who wanted to help and other Youth Club organizers crowded into her home and she rarely seemed to have a moment to herself. Martin and she had long since given up having their orgies in the sitting-room and now confined their sex-life to the bedroom where they had a larger electric fire installed so the place was really cozy. It became their only refuge.
After a month, the hurly-burly died down and the real hard work of running the club and keeping it going began to devolve upon Jean's shoulders. She was an expert organizer and her enthusiasm for the venture infected other people, especially a bachelor girl called Jacqueline Summers who lived in a small furnished flat a few houses away. It was this girl whom she chose to be her second in command. She was a tall athletic type who had been Head Girl at her school and still kept up various activities connected with sport. She was about nineteen, with short black hair beautifully groomed always trimly dressed in short-skirted suits and low-heeled shoes. There was a vigorous, healthy, straightforward air about her which appealed to the teenagers and they got along famously with her. Towards Jean she was respectful and admiring and Jean could not help feeling the girl's attitude somewhat resembled a perfect towards a schoolmistress. But never by the blink of an eyelid was there the slightest suspicion of sexual attraction towards Jean, who was glad of it, since she had become fond of Jacky.
Jean found she enjoyed her work at the Youth Club enormously. She was popular with the teenagers because she wasn't too strict and didn't lecture them about their short skirts, hairdos or the secret smoking she knew went on in the toilets. Soon she found she had a little following of about six girls who admired her and copied her to such an extent they became nicknamed 'Jean Brigade'. She didn't mind, in fact she liked it, but she was very careful not to show favoritism and to keep the emotional temperature down and did not encourage any hanging onto her arm or anything which might stimulate a young girl's sexuality. She knew only too well how that could happen and although she wasn't unhappy any longer with her secret knowledge of herself, nevertheless she could see it would be a pity if normal girls were waylaid into relationships at an impressionable age.
With the young boys in the Club Jean had little to do. She delegated the administration of their affairs to a male helper and only came in contact with them when they shared their activities with the girls. She was popular with them too, because of her beauty and elegance, but she had to be somewhat aloof, realising that if she interested any of them sexually it might be even more embarrassing than amongst the girls.
Martin was witness to all this activity and viewed it with a somewhat sceptical eye. His sex life was now completely satisfying and he found Jean's preoccupation with the Youth Club could be annoying. But he was sensible enongh to see that it diverted her from brooding over her inversion, or the question of divorce, or even their somewhat unusual sex life. He noticed she was infinitely more cheerful, and bright, out-giving and it was now a pleasure to return to the house after a long day at work and find a smiling face and plenty of news awaiting him.
After a while he began to distinguish some of the teenagers who frequently called at the house on one errand or another. The club had elected its own Member's Committee to organize games and amusements and the girls and boys who had obtained office often needed to consult with Jean. He was delighted to find that all his previous misgivings now seemed unfounded and his dreams had completely disappeared. Nevertheless he was quite capable of casting an appreciative eye at a girlish leg or the pert bulge of a youthful breast through a tight sweater. He told himself this was quite normal in any man and refused to allow it to upset him. Jean dressed up for him every other night or so and he had his very own schoolgirl-wife to watch and enjoy. He felt he had nothing to complain about and everything was under control.
Then that fateful day arrived when Tracy was elected on to the Youth Club Committee to replace a girl who had taken ill and gone into hospital for a long stay.
Tracy was fourteen. She had not left school, but she had all the signs of teenage sophistication which usually comes when girls are at work. Her parents allowed her to dress in extremely brief mini-skirts and brightly colored stockings. Her sweaters were skin tight and her long blonde hair hung down in two straight lines down the sides of her sprightly knowing little face. She had beautiful eyes and when she was not at school she made the most of them with mascara and shadow and fantastic jeweled false eyelashes which made her look like a startled but far from innocent, fawn.
Martin came home from work one day to find Jean deep in conversation with this teenage apparition. They were talking about a record concert which was to be put on that evening, the major contribution to which was to be made from Tracy's own collection of discs. When Jean went to find the key to the club record player for Tracy, Martin found himself being eyed speculatively under those provocative eyelashes. He felt uncomfortable and tried to make time-passing conversation, but Tracy wasn't very responsive and hurried away busily when Jean returned.
He sat down to his dinner with the uneasy feeling that the girl had got under his skin, and he resented it. Surely he was invulnerable now? But the girl's expressive eyes kept coming back into his memory until he had to make a real effort to suppress them. After the dishes had been washed and put away Jean went off to the Youth Club to supervise a table tennis tournament and Martin settled down with a glass of whiskey to do some accounts he had brought home from the office.
At eight o'clock there was a ring on the bell.
It was Tracy.
"I'm terribly sorry, Mr.. Buller, but I left my handbag here earlier on. Can I have it please?"
"Are you sure Tracy?" I haven't seen it."
"Oh yes, I'm sure. I know where I left it."
He ushered her into the sitting room and she went immediately to the chair in the far corner from behind which she produced the handbag. It was quite obvious to Martin that it had been deliberately placed there and he knew the girl had planned to return when Jean had gone. He was flabbergasted. The cunning of the child the impertinence! And yet he was flattered. The little devil, he thought, the scheming little minx!
She was watching him under those fluttering eyelashes, perfectly aware of the effect she produced and also aware he knew she had deliberately hidden her handbag.
She glanced at the open cocktail cabinet.
"Oooh! You've got that new soft drink I saw on the television the other night do let me sample it, Mr.. Buller, please."
Helpless before her blatant effrontery he walked over to the cabinet, removed the cap from a bottle and poured the sparkling pink liquid into a pretty Venetian glass. She took it daintily and he enjoyed a whiff of expensive perfume as he bent to give her the glass. She had seated herself without invitation and now nonchalantly produced a tiny cigarette case and helped herself to one and a jeweled lighter soon applied the light.
"Surely," he protested, "You're too young to be smoking?"
"Oh everyone smokes nowadays. And I don't do it often. But I like to look grown up because you see I am grown up in many ways, although I'm only fourteen."
He digested this information and decided not to argue, after all she was his guest.
"And how grown-up do you think you are, Tracy?" he asked jocularly, "Seventeen eighteen?"
"Oh no! Much older than that. Sometimes I feel all of thirty!"
"Goodness!" he laughed, that's almost ready for the old age pension to someone of fourteen!"
She pouted: "I wish people wouldn't keep emphasizing my age. Why can't they just take me as a person and let me be?"
"It takes some of us a long time to get used to schoolgirls who look like their mothers, that's why," he said, somewhat petulantly.
"You mean I ought still to be wearing those ugly gymslips and black swollen stockings?"
His heart gave a terrible jolt at her words for he had been secretly wondering what she would look like dressed in those clothes hidden away in a drawer upstairs.
"I don't see why not. Schoolgirls have an awful long time of adulthood ahead of them they ought to enjoy their schooldays as long as they can."
"But Mr.. Buller, I enjoy my schooldays thoroughly. I don't have to wear ugly clothes to make them any better. But you know I've come to a conclusion about school uniforms and I've never told anyone else about it."
"Well . . . what is it?"
"I think it attracts men . . . I don't know exactly why, but I know it does. I still have to wear a gymslip sometimes you know, we don't have shorts for games at school, and I've noticed how the men look at me when I go home in the afternoons. Sometimes they look at me more than when I wear my mini-skirt."
Martin had a lump in his chest and found it extremely difficult to breathe normally. There was a vivid impression in his mind of Tracy with her long legs in black stockings gracefully bending over to pick up a hockey ball and her short gymslip revealing navy blue panties and a tiny white crack of flesh between her panties and her stocking tops . . . he found he was trembling.
"I sometimes see you on Fridays," she said confidentially. It was apparent she did not expect any reply from him on the provocative nature of gymslips, "We stay late to play hockey and then I go to a dance class, so I'm very late going home. You get on the bus opposite our school you know in Springfield Road, near the Common."
"er . . . yes . . . I know," he muttered with difficultly.
She had finished her drink now and stood up, "Oh well, I'd better be going. You're awfully sweet really Mr.. Buller all the girls in the Youth Club think you're just like a TV star," she simpered.
"Me?" he was outraged. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Oh you're just handsome in a nice rugged way, that's all. Please don't take offense. Well thanks for the drink. Goodbye."
As he saw her to the door she spoke inaudibly and he was not quite sure he heard her rightly, "See you Friday," was what he thought she said but surely he was mistaken?
She gave him a ravishing farewell smile, fully aware that she had made quite an impression on him, but in her innocence she could not possible have known the devastation she left behind her. He leant against the front door, sick with relief. So he was vulnerable to teenagers still . . . it came as a heavy blow.
He went back to the sitting room and poured himself a stiff drink. Friday indeed! The audacity of the child! Of course he would not see her . . .
When Jean returned home later that night she could see he had been drinking heavily and was preoccupied and worried.
"What's up Martin? I feel something's the matter."
He told her about Tracy's visit.
"Oh my God, Martin, the little Devil! Were you . . . were you attracted by her?"
"Damn it, Jean of course I was she's a pretty, naughty little thing. Oh Jean, let's go to bed straight away.
"I think what you really need is someone to make love to properly. This isn't very easy to say, darling . . . but if you want to . . . er . . . go with another woman . . . I won't mind, so long as you do it discreetly!"
He looked up at her quickly and then glanced away in embarrassment
"Perhaps I will," he muttered.
He looked broodingly into the fire. "It's been fine up till now. But I suppose it's only a compromise when you look at it baldly. Basically we've still got the same problems we had before. It might be your turn next Jean to be tempted. You're damn lucky teenagers don't attract you that way but you never know . . . "
She shivered apprehensively: "What do we do get drunk, like we did before?" she asked, smiling painfully in spite of the strain and worry on her face.
"No that doesn't solve anything really. Let's go to bed and have an orgy come on!"
And husband and wife went rather morosely to bed. The orgy was not a success for either of them. In fact it fell flat and they both felt silly and uncomfortable for the first time. Their self-deception had come to an end.
The next day Martin was back to his old mood of black frustration. The fantasy he had built up with Jean had come tumbling down at the first temptation and now he had to admit to himself that he was absolutely dying to go to bed with a woman and have a proper and satisfying fuck. Maybe if he did that he would get out of his mind the tantalizing thought of Tracy in a gym slip. He tried to think whom he could invite to bed. Martin was an attractive man and there was usually someone around whom he knew would need little persuading to hop between the sheets with him. He had been sorely tempted during those sexless years with Jean. Now he had the go-ahead, so to speak.
There was his secretary for instance. But he decided not to mix business with pleasure, reluctantly though; Miss Greenlees was very attractive. What about the receptionist at Goddard and Price? No she was too thin. The waitress at the restaurant where he went to lunch? No too fat. He was annoyed to find that just when he wanted a bed worthy woman there was none in the offing.
The idea of a prostitute came into his head and then the remembered a friend of theirs, Phillip Church, who often came round with his wife for a drink, although they hadn't seen much of them recently. Last time they came Phillip had mentioned a girl to Martin while their wives were in the kitchen making sandwiches. What was it he'd said ? He couldn't remember half of it being more than a little pickled at the time. She charged high prices and kept herself exclusively for just a few men. She didn't hustle you in and out but made a semi-social occasion of it . . . she was an accomplished pianist and an intelligent, educated woman. He remembered thinking at the time she must be something exceptional but hadn't taken Phil up on it.
He telephoned Church at his office from a booth during his lunch time. Phillip said he would try to arrange it by personally recommending him, but it might take time. She was choosy, apparently. Martin put on pressure to make Phillip arrange it as soon as possible. His friend sounded surprised, but since he owed Martin several favors he took his request seriously and must have taken the afternoon off from work to visit the girl, because he phoned back at four o'clock and told Martin it was all arranged for that evening. Her name was Anna Celestini-que and he gave her address.
With genuine gratitude Martin thanked him and then rang Jean and tactfully told her he was staying in town for dinner and a show. She understood immediately and cheerfully wished him a pleasant evening.
The discreet luxury of Anna's flat in Bond Street impressed Martin as he entered the leather lined one-man lift which took him directly up to her suite. But when she open the door he received a tremendous shock. Standing before him was a most beautiful colored woman! She was the living embodiment of the tragic Dorothy Dandridge and for a few moments he stood entranced, mouth open.
Recovering he asked tentatively: "Miss Anna?"
"Yes: please come in Mr.. Buller, I see my appearance has surprised you. I take it you did not expect me to be colored?"
"Well . . . er . . . no . . . I . . . "
"That's alright Mr. Buller, but if you feel you cannot go on with the arrangement made by Mr.. Church please go, I do not want either of us to be embarrassed."
"Certainly not! I should be delighted to stay," he said, gallantly, meaning it.
She flashed a magnificent smile at him, her eyes sparkling at his compliment.
"Let's have a drink on that, Mr.. Buller."
"Martin, please."
"What will you have, Martin whiskey."
"Please straight."
Her apartment was expensively furnished but the luxuary was unobtrusive. He saw one valuable painting on the wall and two Ming bronzes of exquisite patina but they were not placed with ostentatious prominence.
He took the drink she offered in a crystal glass, exquisitely cut and delicate. He appreciated the informed love of beauty with which she surrounded herself and he was soon delighted with the ease of her manner. She was a practiced courtesan of intellect and refinement, yet she had not subdued the animal magnetism which exuded from every sinuous movement of her beautiful body. She was that ideal synthesis of sense and sensuality so rarely met and yet so ardently wished for by men of discernment.
She made him feel like a Greek patrician imaginative, cultured, master of the situation. He was aware of her subtle flattery and ad mired her skill and beauty.
"Phillip told me you sing rather well; would you sing for me, Anna, please?"
"Of course," she responded immediately "a pleasure. Now, what would you like . . . something operatic? A folk song? Or a naughty song?"
She went over to an elegant grand piano, painted pale green and decorated with pink roses in the French style. It stood centrally in the crescent of an enormous bay window, now shrouded in heavy dark green curtains. A crystal pendant lamp was the only illumination at that end of the room. He watched as she sat on the long piano stood and noticed that the shimmering floor length grown she wore was slit from ankle to thigh, revealing a ravishing length of golden brown leg.
"Ah, here's something. I'm a collector of erotic folksongs and this one . . . "
He listen to her singing as she accompanied herself on the piano. Her voice was low, velvety and of exquisite caressing tone. He felt himself getting warm at the very sound of her, let alone the sight, which was devastating enough. He wished fervently he could remember more of what Phillip had told him about her. What was it?
Like a panther . . . something primitive . . . Her hair was jet black and had never been frizzy. It was coiled in great loose loops on top of her head, emphasizing the classic curve of her cheekbone and the lustrous black eyes. Her nose was straight, finely molded, and her head was poised delicately on a long, graceful neck. Her shoulders were rather bony, but not inelegant. Her breasts were truly magnificent not too large but generously proportioned and holding themselves in such a natural manner that he was sure she wore no brassiere beneath the scanty gown, which was split down to the waist back and front, leaving two glittering bands to swathe her breasts. Altogether a ravishing creature.
The song was certainly erotic, but amusing also. He laughed heartily at its cheerful obscenity and came to sit down on the piano stool beside her. He put his arm casually around her waist and she moved sensuously against him, sending a thrill of delight up his spine. He played a little ditty with one hand and sang a song which matched her own for obscenity and she laughed throatily, capping it with another even more obscene and they continued singing and playing for several minutes until he suddenly caught her in his arms, almost roughly, pressing his eager lips on hers. Her arms closed around him willingly and he knew she had taken to him and was genuinely attracted, or else a superb actress it didn't really matter which.
After the first kiss he held her at arm's length and studied her with curiosity. Somehow, although he had only known her about half an hour he felt quite at home and that was not because of the nature of the songs they had been singing but from some spark in her character which had struck a spark of affinity in him. The sort of thing you recognize only once or twice with a stranger in a lifetime. That he should feel this towards a colored woman filled him with amazement he had not even met one before, let alone kissed one or planned to hump one!
She smiled under his scrutiny, turning her head from side to side, balancing the exquisitely coiffured head on the dark column of her neck in a provocative mocking gesture.
"You are very beautiful," he said, running his white hand gently down the smooth velvet of her neck.
"You're not too bad yourself!" she said in a low crooning voice.
"My friend called you a panther . . . " he said grinning and wondering how she would react.
"Phillip? Ah yes and he's like a big white bear!" she gurgled and Martin laughed. Yes Phillip with his mane of fair hair, fresh complexion and enormous shoulders yes, very apt.
"And what would you call me?" he asked challengingly.
"I hardly know you yet but I've got a feeling you're a male panther!"
The black eyes were eating him up, searching into his innermost thoughts . . . he was drowning as he looked into them . . . his face came down slowly, his lips searching as his eyes drank in the primitive promise in those hot dark depth. His tongue came out hesitatingly and was immediately sucked into the vortex of her mouth. The erotic symbolism of this intimate action sent his mind in a mad whirl and his arms tightened savagely. She reacted vigorously, her body writhing against him, a vivid, live, human woman, all breasts, belly and thighs, a personification of primitive desire, offering herself with no selfish reservations, but demanding greedily in return. A primeval woman, pure in the innocence of her generosity and the honesty of her lust.
He was astounded at the vividness of his sensations. Every pore, vein, artery and organ within his body seemed to be pulsating with a super-consciousness . . . he was aware of his body as an entity within and without . . . his lips, pressed hard against her mouth, were inexplicably connected to his racing heart and the tingling roots of his hair, even his toes curling ecstatically in his shoes. He was electric, throbbing, alive, almost painfully aware of the aura of desire which flowed from her palpitating body into his. She ignited a primitive hungry passion that flared and ate away at his normal reserve. The barren years dissolved in an instant and left him shaken as though by some religious ecstasy.
His gyrating senses slowly returned to normal and he took his mouth away from those devouring lips to ease his panting lungs. Their arms relaxed and a soft voice whispered in his ear:
"You were gone my dear out of this world. Are you high?"
He shook his head, both to clear it and to answer in the negative.
"No," he said in a shaking voice, "But if taking drugs produces an effect like that, then no wonder people take them!"
She laughed softly while he kissed her arching neck, slowly becoming aware that they still sat on the long piano stool.
"I'm sorry if I lost control . . . I haven't been with a woman who responded for three years and it was too much for me."
"Good God. Three years?"
"Yes," he said, feeling his body taking solid shape again and his heart resuming its normal beat.
"I think you need another drink Martin," and she slipped from his loosened arms and walked sinuously to her cabinet. He stood up and then became embarrassingly aware of the stickiness inside his trousers. He wasn't surprised, but he was unaware of when it happened. It was as though the world had stood still for those few minutes and he had stepped off onto a wildly revolving planet where gravity did not exist; in fact this was an excellent description because he found the floor strangely jarring and solid beneath his feet as he walked towards her outstretched hand and took the proffered glass.
She was a woman of unusual sensitivity. After glancing keenly at him over her tall glass she gently pushed him into a comfortable chair and returned to the piano. She began to play cool, expressive music, Chopin, he guessed, and left him to recover in private.
He watched the sensuous curve of her brown back and the silhouette of her breasts against the velvet curtains. One leg, silver shoed, was revealed from ankle to thigh, the muscles tautening and slackening as her foot touched the piano pedal. Yes . . . she was a panther alright, a silent dangerous creature lurking in the undergrowths of lust, ready to show her teeth to the unwary and to stalk the willing victim to the depth of his unconscious.
Through a half open door to the right he could see a dimly lit bedroom where a large luxurious bed, covered in deep crimson velvet, crouched invitingly, backed by a huge mirror in gold frame decorated with miniature leprechauns and satyrs peeping slyly from the carved foliage. He picked up his drink and wandered in. The tenor of the sounds changed and as he undressed leisurely he felt the mounting tension of her music invoking a response from his senses. There was a climax of thunderous chords and then silence.
He lay relaxed, his eyes on the door. When she appeared she carried her glass in one hand and a half smoked cigarette in the other. She stood in the doorway watching him, admiring the male beauty of his vigorous young body, at rest yet revealing the vile tension of his slowly erecting penis, sturdy witness to her approach.
She drained her glass, doused her cigarette and, standing in the doorway, framed in the brighter light from without, she lifted a slim arm ad undid a concealed fastening at her hip. With a provocative twist of her body the scanty glittering dress slid reluctantly to the floor and revealed her golden-brown naked body.
He guessed that instead of powdering as white skinned women do she had oiled her body sufficiently to highlight the curves and indentations of her flesh so that she glowed like some incandescent vision in a sexual dream. His first reaction was to compare her to Jean and then he realize it was not possible to do so. Jean typified the Western ideal of beauty as exemplified by willowy fashion models and the influence of teenage underdeveloped womanhood. Anna's body was a mixture of Eastern voluptuousness and the primitive conception of basic femininity.
Her torso was slim waisted but her shoulders were broad and bore the weight of her magnificent breasts with dignified grace. The black cluster of hair at her pube was a mysterious shadow and her belly was a dimpled gentle mound. Her buttocks and flanks were rounded and strong and tapered to long slim legs with flexible knees and dainty ankles. Her feet were sinewy with the big toe well separated. She was the embodiment of sexual potency, the waiting seed pod for the deposit of human semen, a voluptuous delight to the eyes and a promise of sensuous pleasure to the touch.
He held out one arm in a gesture of welcome and she walked across the deep carpet and sat beside him on the bed, leaning over him, her breasts swinging free, one nipple lightly touching his chest. His hand traveled up her arm to the bony shoulder. Kneading his fingers into the nape of her neck he watched her throw her head back, eyes closed, enjoying his strong exploring fingers. He drew her down towards his searching lips and felt her breasts touch and then flatten r against him, the two dark brown nipples hard against his hairy chest. His hand traveled down the groove of her spine to the flexible bend of her waist whilst his tongue raked her moist mouth, meeting her own enquiring point.
She swung her legs up onto the bed and rolled onto her back, looking up at him with smoldering eyes, the lustrous hair tumbling in beautiful disarray about her forehead.
He cupped the smooth, oiled swell of one full breast and found he could not contain it all in one hand. His fingers were buried in the resilient dark flesh. The nipple was erect and surrounded by a brown aureole of darker skin. He bent his head and took it into a sucking mouth where he felt it lengthen and harden. He pushed his nose into the succulent fruit of her breast, quarrying in that feminine mound for the delights of smell and touch to rouse his senses.
He felt his penis lift itself from along his thigh and point lecherously to the ceiling. A warm exploring hand passed gently over his belly and clasped the root of his weapon It swelled and throbbed to the knowing fingers which did not attempt to move the foreskin down. She did not want this pillar of his tribute to be stimulated by anything except the hot luscious hole of her cunt, and divining this he threw a leg over her thighs, dragging his mouth away from hers for a moment while he adjusted himself, one knee on either side of her. Her dark thighs opened like jaws to reveal a red glistening mouth lurking in the black undergrowth between her legs. She lifted her knees high, reached up and clasped him urgently in her arms.
Once more he sunk into her, guiding his shaft to her with one hand and slipping the other round to grasp the firm flesh of her buttocks. He sunk into her in one glorious smooth gulp, coming to rest hard against her body as it surged eagerly upwards to meet his, their bellies closing with the insistence of mutual possession.
Immediately he was galvanized into frantic action. The muscles of her vagina were alive, tightening spasmodically on his throbbing prick as it thrust in and out of the well lubricated sleeve of her sex. His ravenous mouth devoured her lips or foraged madly at her breasts. They rolled and writhed in the rhythm he created which she followed with intuitive ease, responding to downward thrusts by upwards heaves and to withdrawal by controlled retreat. He felt the gathering thunder and braced himself for the approaching charge which seemed to shake every fiber of his body by the force of its ejection into her. Anna's receptive body shuddered and then he was engulfed in her circling legs and arms like the victim of a voracious female spider. The room spun lopsidedly as he felt a momentary spasm of primitive fear. Then he collapsed sideways onto the bed, panting, every taut nerve relieved and relaxed . . . his body a glow of hunger appeased and sense gratified.
He opened his eyes and turned his head. Anna was lying facing him with the satisfied smirk of a cream-fed cat.
She rose and took a black nylon negligee from the chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. He noticed there was a man's robe there also and he draped it around his shoulders and returned to bed. Not that he needed to wear it, the flat was obviously centrally heated and turned on full at that. He just felt right wearing it at that moment. She returned with a silver salver on which was the whiskey bottle, two glasses and a Dresden dish of cocktail savories. She offered him a cigarette from an alabaster box beside the bed and he chose a black Turkish one, just for devilment's sake. The evening for which he had paid was far from finished yet, but he decided that after one more hump he would leave her. She was too overwhelming to take for a whole night after his famine years. He knew instinctively she would allow him to return, there was a rapport between them which he was sure she also had felt.
They chatted amicably about this and that, but he did not commit the insensitive offence of asking her about her other clients or how she liked her life, or anything about herself at all, other than those things you would say to any strange woman you had just been to bed with. As a consequence she opened out and spoke freely on a number of subjects but discreetly avoided her profession. He was unaware of her deep appreciation of his delicacy. She was attracted to the young man far more than she would admit to herself, for it was a dangerous thing to become too involved with clients. She was in a position to pick and choose whom she took and rarely had more than six lovers at a time. Martin had been fortunate because of the death of a young baronet who had crashed his car at a race track. Phillip she liked and trusted, and had been willing to take Martin on his recommendation.
"You must come often if you can afford it," she said, quiet sincerely.
"I shall," he replied, calculating just how often he could afford her. Once a fortnight would be a squeezed at the rate she had charged for this night.
"Oh don't take any notice of my first fee," she laughed, "I always make it high, then I know the man is really eager! I like you," and she named a price one third cheaper. This delighted Martin and he smiled with such obvious pleasure she was almost tempted to reduce it still lower but prudence restrained her. There was something appealing about this young man. She guessed there was a sadness, a tragedy somewhere in his life, but she did not pry.
He knew his performance so far had not been exactly expert, but he was not dissatisfied. Considering his lack of practice he hadn't done so bad, in spite of his inadvertent emission on the piano stool. She had come at the same moment as he had and prostitutes did not normally react in that manner, whatever they pretended On the other hand, of course, she was not a common whore, nor even a call girl. It was difficult to place her in modern society, so few independent women of taste and culture are prepared to be courtesans. He lay back against the velvet cover once more. She finished her drink and turned to him. One delicate brown hand, pink tipped, traced its way across the hairs on his chest from nipple to nipple, then descended over his belly. She saw the muscles tighten at her touch and she smiled. His limp penis lay wrinkled and bent over a drop of moisture oozing from the tip. She began to stroke it gently and watched as it slowly grew, the head emerging gradually from the extending sheath.
She grasped it firmly at the base where the crisp brown hairs encircled it and lifted it from his leg. Now it was hard enough to stand straight out and she drew the foreskin back, revealing the bright skinny knob with its prominent rim. Suddenly she bent her head, but she did not put the penis in her mouth. A pointed tongue darted out and snaked around the rim where the delicate skin quivered and the cock immediately hardened and stood even straighter and more vigorous.
Her tongue tickled the little hole on top which exuded a few more drops of colorless liquid then once more she ran her tongue around the rim. Edging down the bed, she took the prick in her other hand and pushed her face into the wrinkled bag of his testicles, nuzzling and sucking and poking her tongue into them, burying her face in the scanty hairs and smelling the acrid odor of his maleness. Her tongue traced once up the trembling stalk of his weapon and this time her mouth opened and took in the great knob.
He caught his breath in sheer delight. To be sunk into that wet orifice where before his tongue had explored was tremendously exciting. He felt her create a vacuum which sucked the stretched skin of his knob and the rough surface of her tongue was a delicious abrasive which filled him with a trembling, rising passion. He flexed his loins and hardened the muscles of his belly, pushing his prick up into the soft contracting, sucking opening.
Now she was moving her head up and down as she imitated the action of the sleeve of a cunt, he saw her breast swaying and the sinuous flex of her neck.
"Turn around" he whispered, and wriggled down further in the bed so that there would be room for her legs on the pillow as she brought her rounded buttocks down towards him in a sweeping arc. Then her body turned and near his face was the enchanted thicket of her black public hair through which, at such close quarters, he could see the faint pink line of her glistening slit with his two forefingers he separated the lips of her sex and revealed the fleshy wet interior with the protuberance of her clitoris and the dark hole of her vagina. The dusky skin was darker between her thighs and the lips of her vulva were almost black. The hair was profuse on her pubes and there were many straggling hairs around her mickey, like eyelashes on a Cyclopean eye. He was amazed at the gradation of color and took it all in leisurely, whilst she gently sucked him. At her knees the skin was quite pale, becoming gradually darker on the inside of her thighs only. Her buttocks were pale in comparison. Inside, her vulva was a vivid red, shading to pink around the clitoris. He poked his finger into the rudimentary penis and remembered, irrelevantly, that the technical term for it was PENIS MULIEBRIS. It was a part of a woman's sex which always fascinated him. At what time in man's evolution, he wondered, did the mammals stop being both male and female at the same time and divide themselves, so that a man's penis grew and a woman's shrank? And was it at the same time that a man's breast shrank and a woman's developed? How many millions of years of evolution was he gazing at between these dark mysterious thighs? What a strange primitive organ it was which lurked in that primeval thicket into which he was now inserting an inquisitive tongue.
Ah! He'd touched the sensitive spot! She squirmed and wrapped her legs around his head. He closed his eyes and plunged his face down into the most intimate part of a woman her very essence. He smelt the rancid nether-saliva of her and buried his nose in the crisp damp hair lost in communion with the need to come into close contact with the target of man's desire.
He insinuated his arms around her buttocks and felt the soft protuberant cheeks. Taking a large handful in each hand he pulled her right over on top of his face so that he was smothered in public hair and cunt, a blind man wallowing in a fetid hothouse. He ran a rigid finger along he crease of her buttocks and found the tight hole. Once more she quivered against him and almost deprived him of breath as her thighs closed on him like jaws. He came up gasping for air, his whole body vibrating with lewd pleasure.
Now she was thrusting his cock into the full extent of her mouth and then gradually drawing it out under strong suction, only to release it and then start again, deliberately and rhythmically. Her breasts were constantly thrusting into his belly as her mouth went down and up the length of his penis. He felt the springy resistance and the prick of her stiff nipples into his soft flesh.
His loins began to jerk uncontrollably as he thrust his bursting weapon into her moving mouth. He lost her rhythm and she became still, receiving his simmering cock as it stirred and fermented and finally boiled into her warm receiving mouth.
As his climax came, he bit the little stalk of her clitoris and rubbed his tongue hard against it. He felt her shudder several times and then her body became fixed and rigid for a few seconds, suspended, while she relished her own climax. Then she relaxed, her body flaccid against him along the whole length of his torso.
They lay almost senseless for quite a while until she rolled sideways onto the bed, her hot panting breath warming his thigh. He reached for a cigarette with a trembling hand and, incapable of the effort, flopped back onto the bed and fell sound asleep.
He woke half an hour later to the tinkle of coffee cups and the sudden flood of light into the room. For a moment he was startled for she appeared to be standing behind the head of the bed. Collecting his wits he realized it was her reflection in the mirror. Turning his head he smiled at her.
"I'm exhausted," he said, "I think I'll go home soon, or I'll never make it."
She raised her eyebrows, "You know you can stay if you wish."
"The wish is there but the flesh is weak," he said apologetically, "I don't think I could raise anything for another twelve hours!"
"You've not done so bad if you haven't had much sexual exercise for a long time," she remarked, pouring coffee from a tall silver pot. "Cream? Milk?"
"Neither but plenty of sugar please."
"Would you like a shower before you go?"
"Yes," he said gratefully, "I feel hot and sticky," -
"You are hot and sticky," she said, "Shall I ring for a taxi?"
"No, a mini-cab would be better. I've quite a long way to go."
She swayed out of the room and he heard her on the telephone. She spoke to someone called Mike and he guessed her customers were regular users of a local firm.
"May I come again next week?" he asked, when she returned. "I've never enjoyed myself so much as I have tonight."
"A very handsome compliment, Martin. I hope I don't disappoint you now you've broken your fast."
He laughed, "You're the nicest whore I've ever met," he said, "You've got everything, including a sense of humor. I'd be satisfied with you until the day I died and then I'd come back to be your phantom lover!"
She roared with laughter, "I think I'd only be satisfied with flesh and blood," she said, "I'm pretty fundamental."
They chatted while he showered and dressed and when the bell rang to indicate the cab was waiting he took her in his arms.
"Thank you for being so fundamental," he said, and slapped her on the bottom, "You'd better be prepared I'll be ravenous next week!"
"Mmmmm . . . " she purred into his ear, "I'll be waiting."
After Martin's visit to Anna there was a tangible change in the atmosphere at the Buller house. Although it was Jean who had suggested he find sexual satisfaction elsewhere, the promptness with which he had taken her up had disconcerted her. She was extremely curious as to whom he had been with and would have liked to hear about it but he was reticent on the subject. She resented his attitude since she had been quite detailed in her description of the affair with Dorothy. This tension between them did not result in a return to the old hostilities, but by silent consent they put an end to their mutual masturbatory activities. The temporary satisfaction they had received had served its purpose as a safety valve but now it had failed, even once, they felt reluctant to continue.
One thing only was established between them; they recognized the dangerous vulnerability of each other and were prepared to offer sympathy and understanding. This was really all they had left! this, and a reluctance for changes which would solve nothing in the long run. And so they settled for what so many couples settle for the status quo. Martin took to visiting Anna drinking in the local pubs, playing golf; and Jean carried on with the Youth Club.
Her friendship with Jacqueline did not flourish. They worked very well and efficiently together, developing an understanding of each other and the inevitable problems of administration, but socially they had no contact. Jean did not regret it. Although she knew it would not be difficult to fall in love with Jacky (as she soon called her assistant) she was reluctant to form any attachment with anybody after her experience with Dorothy. The girl herself appeared to be normal, except for the significant lack of boy friends. She played hockey, netball and rounders with various women's teams and obviously enjoyed herself but she had no special attachments, either male or female, as far as Jean could observe, and lived alone self-sufficiently in her bachelor flat.
Jean's relationship with the Church Committee remained one of mutual respect, except that Jean became increasingly aware of Mr.. Huxtable's unwanted attentions. This gentleman, so used to the response of girls to his flattery, admiration and generous affluence was piqued by Jean's lack of response. He had been generous out of his own pocket (or rather his firm's!) towards extras for the Club, but felt Jean showed no appreciation of his effort and he was beginning to be resentful. Mr.. Huxtable would be a dangerous man to offend, but Jean was not aware of this, she merely avoided him as much as possible and treated him with distant politeness when forced to be in his company.
Fortunately, Mr.. Huxtable was constantly diverted by the teenage girls at the Club. They soon became aware of his interest, a fact which reminded hidden to Jean and Jacky. Most of the members were of working class origin and well able to look after themselves. They only tolerated him as a dirty old man who would pinch their bottoms behind a door if he got a chance, because he was willing to buy them innumerable cokes in the canteen and often slyly passed over a box of cigarettes or chocolates. It was his usual softening-up process, this time aimed at a whole group of victims but he still hoped to hook an interested fish.
One of the girls who continually caught his attention was Tracy. Her brash sophistication entertained him. He was unaware that for the first time in his life he had made a mistake. It was inevitable that an elderly man, reared in a far different atmosphere in understanding the freedom of expression and movement of modern girls and misinterpret it as an indication of licentious behavior in private. Mr.. Huxtable had merely been lucky (if that's the word) up until now. His conquests had been girls half-willing to experiment with anybody and he had found no difficulty in persuading them. Tracy's provocative dress and open manner convinced him she was one of them.
He was wrong. Tracy was extremely interested in sex, but not sex for its own sake. She had fallen in love with an intense juvenile passion which was making her life a misery. Martin Buller showed not the slightest interest in her since that time she had shamelessly returned to the house after Jean had left. She was sure he had shown some response that evening and she could not understand why he froze towards her afterwards. For weeks before that incident she had watched him with growing interest and she had leapt at the chance of a place on the Committee which would bring her in contact with him. But it had been a failure. Several times she had been near his bus stop on a Friday to see whether be was looking round for her, but he usually stuck his nose in the evening newspaper and showed no signs of expectation.
Right through the winter she watched him secretly and hungrily. Poor Martin was aware of this hidden regard and squirmed uncomfortably, but he resolutely turned his face away from her. Jean was also aware of Tracy's unrequited love and it did not take her long to discover that, despite the girl's appearance and sometimes daring conversation, she was innocent of any sexual experience and came of indulgent but respectable parents. She tried to distract Tracy by giving her more responsibility, but the girl visibly languished.
As the Spring approached, Mr.. Huxtable suggested to the Church Committee that it might be a good idea to organize a camp for the Youth Club, Mrs. Smythe, always looking for ways to be Lady Bountiful revealed that she owned a farm in Bedfordshire which had a fallow field beside a river suitable for erecting tents. The Chairman, the Treasurer and the Youth Club
Leader went down to inspect the site in April, traveling comfortably in Mrs. Smythe's chauffeur-driven Austin.
Mr.. Huxtable sat beside Jean in the back seat, pressing his leg against hers and feeling increasingly annoyed at her lack of response, despite the hamper, the pile of magazines and the chocolates he had provided for the journey. The proposed camp was his own brainchild and he was hoping he could wheedle himself into staying for a couple of days during the Summer. He reckoned it would be an opportunity pregnant with all sorts of possibilities for seduction either of Jean or one of the girls, preferably both!
The field turned out to be a ideal spot for any camp. There were several magnificent weeping willows along the edge of the swiftly flowing river, which was narrow but quite deep. Further up the river was a bridge, a tea house, a pub and a place to hire boats. Mrs. Smythe's tenant at the farm was a stout prosperous looking farmer with an equally stout motherly looking wife who viewed the proposed camp with tolerance. They struck a bargain with Mr.. and Mrs. Jenkins which was satisfactory to both sides, since the campers would buy milk, butter, eggs, vegetable and fruit from the farm.
On the return journey Jean delibertely man-oeuvered the voluble Mrs. Smythe into the seat beside Mr.. Huxtable and sat in the front with the elderly chauffeur.