Chapter 4
Mr. Leslie Colton came home that night at eleven o'clock to find his wife dreaming at the piano, her fingers instinctively working out intricate minor melodies, delicate and haunting. A single darting glance at her and he was carried back to the day of their first meeting. How ravishingly lovely she suddenly appeared! -so womanly, so sexy. He saluted her with a fervent kiss, which greatly surprised her, but which she did not echo. He was so entranced by the miracle of her beauty that he decided that he would have a fucking tournament with her that night. But it takes two to make a fucking match; one only produces a jack-off party.
"You are so beautiful tonight," he cooed, as his arm stole about her waist. "What do you say we go to bed together?" His hand moved down to her soft and enticing buttocks.
She slid away from him along the bench, visably annoyed, and began to bang a jazzy air, filled with the clang and clatter of unemotional machinery.
"What's the matter, Dearie?" he asked. "Sick?"
"I'm not feeling well tonight. Please don't bother me. I'll sleep alone."
He felt as though he were a stranger to her, so careless and indifferent was her voice. Shrugging his shoulders, he thought:
"Women are funny. I never can make them out." Aloud he remarked, "You look all right, sweetheart. Never saw you better."
"I'm not at all well," she said coldly. "Please let me alone." And the pounding on the instrument reflected her irritation.
"Well, if you want me, I'll be in my room," he murmured insinuatingly. "All you have to do is call."
"Let me alone, will you!" she cried. She felt herself beginning to hate him.
"Oh, all right," he growled in an injured tone. "You don't have to get all huffed up over it. I'm your husband, ain't I?" As he left the room she glared at the portiers through which he had passed.
Later safe in bed with her door locked, she lay anticipating the next day's program. Her satisfying thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the panel.
"Myra!" in a husky voice.
She did not answer.
"Honey! are you awake?"
Again, no answer.
"All right then," he snarled, losing his temper through frustrated desire. As he moved away from her room he muttered: "Hell's bells. I'll bet she heard something about me running after the boys. That must be tt."
Alone in his room, he swore savagely.
"Damn that cheating punk!"
He was thinking of a handsome twentyyear-old Bowery lad he had picked up the day before. He had bought the boy clothes and meals and the shrewd youngster had sneeringly refused his affections.
"What a sap I was," he thought, "I should have fucked him first and fed him on promises. He certainly made a sucker out of me."
Meanwhile, he was sitting in his dressing gown with a painful hard-on. What to do? What to do? He thought of his wife's maid, Sadie. He got up, determined to make her. Then he would be able to laugh at his indifferent spouse.
Sadie, the maid, and Rosie, the cook, each had a room, opposite each other, in a secluded wing of the house. Colton got there noiselessly and tapped noiselessly at the maid's door.
"Who's there," sharply.
"Sadie! -The Mrs. is sick."
In a moment the key turned in the lock and the door opened a little. Sadie, dishevelled and in a wrapper, peeped out.
"What's the matter?"
He put his leg inside the door and forced it wider. "Don't be afraid, Sadie. I won't hurt you. Look what I got for you. He pulled out his cock, a good seven inches, standing straight up, as stiff as a pick-handle. She stared at it as if hypnotized.
"Oh, Mr. Colton. Don't. Please go away. I'll scream."
She tried to push him out of the room, while he tried to seize her around the waist. She was fierce in her fear that she succeeded in shoving him into the corridor. There, he was surprised to find the stout cook standing outside her door. Rose eyed his proud and generous member with undisguised admiration and said breathlessly:
"You can come into my room, Mr. Colton."
Sadie had not slammed shut her door. As Colton was about to enter the cook's room, the maid said jealously:
"All right, Mr. Colton, you can come in. I'm not afraid."
Colton looked from one to the other, then at his sturdy prick, and laughed.
"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do," he decided. "I'll take Sadie on first, and then you, Rose. Don't be jealous, Rose!-you'll get the best of it. The second time takes longer."
An hour or so later Colton was back in his room, smirking with vanity at two jobs well done, for his cock, so proud a short while ago, was now very humble. He concluded that Rose, though not good-looking as the maid, had really been the better fuck. But, of course, compared to a rosy-cheeked lad, both were of little consequence. Women weren't much, he decided. What the devil could a man talk about to them? A boy was different, -a real companion. And then his thoughts turned to his wife, and he snickered in good humor.
"I suppose she thinks if a fellow doesn't get any screwing from his wife, he don't get any at all. Well, she's all wrong."