Chapter 10
The next day Rod was really sick. He was wondering if he had the D.T.'s. He seemed to be in the throes of a waking nightmare-dozens of nude women surrounded him, mauling him, pulling at his limbs, fucking him in the most obscene ways... He tossed in his bed and prayed for unconsciousness, and then mercifully, sleep finally came and the nightmare left.
Three days more passed. Three days during which Rod didn't move from his apartment except for his meals. Three days spent in the depths of self-evaluation.
He couldn't read, he had no stomach for his regime of calisthenics. The television blared, but he saw none of it. But despite the torments he suffered, it was time well spent. For each hour stayed away from the Riverdale address served to strengthen his resolve, to consolidate what small gains he'd made.
For he was determined, no matter what, never to return to that house again. At least not to indulge in any fuck games Olga might have lined up for him. There must be a showdown, he must confront Olga, beg or buy his freedom from her. Somehow he must see to it that she was never able to use the damming evidence in her file against him.
But to return to fuck one of Olga's prize cows-Never.
He was uncertain what his future might be, bleak and entirely without hope. But it would never again seem so dismal that bed willingly return to that house of fuck-hungry women. The two episodes-with Vivian Gabriel-the corker with Trudy Shaw-had been a turning point. He couldn't go back. There could be no backsliding now.
He had his money from Olga, the plain envelope had awaited his awakening that Sunday, he had grubstake of sorts. Even if the Manny Willman deal fizzled, he'd still find a way out of this filthy existence. He'd forget his boyish dreams of glory, look for some other kind of work, pick and shovel if it had to be.
Brave words, but inwardly he was paralyzed with fear every time he thought of the time when his vow would be put to the test.
For since that fateful Saturday night Olga hadn't called. And the big question still remained: when she did call, would he be man enough to tell her to go to hell? Or were his bold dreams just dreams and merely that? Nothing more?
On Wednesday afternoon, as he sat in his room, staring unseeing at the pages of "Murder Off Broadway", he was given the big scare. He jerked upright, froze as the telephone rang.
He stood, blocked his shoulders, screwed up his determination. This is it, he thought, am I up to it? Then he took the receiver. "Yes, Rod Bradley here."
And felt a swamping wave of relief as he heard not Olga's, but Jean Schuyler's voice. "Rod?" she said wistfully, "it's me, Jean. Can you come this afternoon? I'm alone; Charles won't be home until after nine. We'll have the house all to ourselves."
Rod found the Sand Point address easily, drove past the conservative yet expensive mansion, parked two blocks away, walked back. Wondering, as he walked, about the jittery excitement that filled him. Like a teenager on his first date, he thought. Reaching the house, he had only a brief time to appraise the structure. It was much less pretentious than Rita Vanoff's house. But then, Charles Schuyler was just climbing. Give him time; with luck, with no breath of scandal to stop him, he'd one day be a top man.
As Jean had instructed, he made a sharp right, approached by the front door, the maneuver getting him out of sight behind a long line of bushes should there be any snoopy neighbors at large.
Jean had been watching for him, and he'd barely started across the flagstone terrace when the door mysteriously slipped open.
Then he was inside, he was holding the lovely woman in his arms, hugging her as though he hadn't seen her in a long, long time. Then they kissed, their bodies fighting to snuggle closer, and he was sure an eternity had passed since he'd last held her. That they'd both crossed an invisible bridge of love and that their lives would never be the same again.
"Rod," she sighed when finally he allowed their lips to unlock. "I've missed you. I can't tell you..."
"I've missed you, baby. It seems like I'm coming home after being away for years."
"That's very pretty, Rod," she said softly. "But it's all part of the routine, isn't it?"
His voice was grave, the sincerity in his tones surprising even him. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, dear."
She fell silent, submissively let him pull her into his arms. They kissed again, and beneath his hands Rod felt her body start to tremble. He felt something else, too. Pure, unadulterated Jean. She was naked underneath her negligee. His hands caressed more frantically, nylon sliding nylon, nylon sliding on bare, creamy flesh.
For the first time he had eyes for something else beside Jean's lovely face. And he saw that she wore a very pink, very transparent nylon nightie and negligee. A gown that complimented her red hair and peaches-and-cream complexion. A gown also splendidly transparent, that gave hazy silhouette of her naked body beneath.
"You look just like a little girl on Christmas morning. All gift-wrapped, coming down to see what Santa brought you."
She smiled impishly. "And what did Santa bring me?"
"You'll have to wait and see. But I'd give you a hint. It's something for your pussy-cat."
She laughed. "I'll just bet."
"You are lovely," he said. "One of the most beautiful women in New York. I love that get-up."
"I thought you would. I thought since I was entertaining in my own house, I'd give things a real domestic flavor."
"Any more domestic and we won't make it up to that bedroom."
"That's entirely up to you," she grinned. "But I'm no woman to be trifled with. Once pussy starts acting up!"
Rod was filled with a mounting warmth as he thought how much fun it was to be with Jean, to be indulging in this nervous, cover-up banter. It seemed, despite the fact that they were both "cheating", wholesome and normal; almost as if they were in reality, married. And here was Jean dressed in an intimate ensemble, greeting her husband at the door, brazenly inviting him upstairs to try a little "home cooking". After the things that had happened to him lately, after the misgivings he'd had about his future, it was not a bad feeling at all.
"You're sure it's safe?" he double-checked.
"Positive. Charles is in conference all afternoon. He promised me it'd be nine before he'd be home." She wrinkled her nose at Rod. "He's never disappointed me yet."
"You mean he only disappointed you once, don't you?"
"Let's not talk about that, Rod. Why spoil things?" She whirled, posed in a saucy caricature of seductiveness. "Shall we go up, darling?"
"Just like that?"
"Yes, Rod," she gave him a yearning stare. "Just like that. Unless you want a drink first."
"No, nothing, thanks. I want to fuck just like the other day. When we both knew what was going on every minute."
"Mmmm. I was hoping you'd say that."
"Well? Lead on, Jean."
As he followed her, Rod was struck further by her sensual beauty. They climbed a long, curving staircase, and from time to time glints of light struck her, subtly illuminated her body beneath the pale pink nylon, made her nipples, her shadowed ass glow with a golden sheen. It was all he could do to keep from reaching for her, squeezing and fondling her asscheeks and tits.
"In here, Rod," she said at last, a strange, frozen cast making itself known on her features. 'This is my room. Ever since our wedding night. No man but you has ever been in here. I mean, to fuck me... "
"It's all right, darling. I understand." A stab of pride went through him; his ego was nourished. "I'm glad. Corny as it sounds, I'm honored."
"Not half as honored as I am." She turned solemnly as they entered the room, fitted herself into his arms. "Dearest, if you only knew how I've dreamed of having you here. You've been in my thoughts night and day."
The sudden warmth was there again, gathering into a tight ball in his throat, threatening to choke him. Rod held Jean very tightly.
"It's a gorgeous room," he said, looking over her head, taking in the period furniture, the fluffy curtains at the window, the pink coverlet on her bed, the pink carpeting on the floor. It was a fussy, silly room and complimented Jean's femininity to a tee. There was a fresh, clean perfume in the air. "Smells nice too."
She giggled musically. "You silly, that's me." She turned her head and held her ear toward him. "Sniff here."
Rod did. "Mmm, wonderful." And then, as suddenly as that, the brittle, superficial mood was shattered. All hesitance and uncertainty was suddenly put behind them. For now Rod buried his lips into the soft whiteness of her throat just beneath her tiny ear.
"Oh, Rod," she breathed. "Let's not act like this. Let's be honest. Darling, I want you so. Come... take me to bed and let's fuck." Her body arched, she strained passionately against him. "Rod," her voice broke. "I-I love you."
"No, Jean," he said. "You don't know what you're saying. You're all mixed up letting gratitude substitute for love. You haven't had a man fuck you before, a real man that is. Then I come along and screw you and you're willing to trust me completely, to get your feelings mixed up with love."
"No, Rod. It's not that at all. I've known. Ever since last week, when I came to that place to see you. I thought it was just so much animal need at first, too. But afterward, when I couldn't forget you, I knew there was more to it. I love you. I don't care what you say, I do love you."
"You can't," Rod said, his voice snagging, giving out beneath the weight of his own emotions. "I won't let you. I'm not worthy. I'm available at a fee in one of the rottenest houses in town. No Jean. Forget it. Find someone else. Someone worthy of your beautiful love."
Now Jean pulled his head up, looked at him, her eyes glazed with tears, her lips trembling. "If my love is beautiful at all, sweetheart, it's because you taught me what love is. You transformed me, taught me what it means to be a woman. A whole woman."
She held him closer. "Let me love you, Rod. On any terms whatsoever. Stay at that house, anything. Only let me love you. I'll be your mistress, anything you ask. And if you would ever want me to marry you..."
"Marry me? But that's impossible. You told me yourself your husband would make your life hell on Earth if you even tried such a thing."
She smiled wryly. "That was before I met you, Rod. Before I got some purpose breathed back into my life. I've been doing a little something about that too." She pulled away. "Come here, look at this."
Jean led him toward a closet, opened the door, slid aside a layer of clothing. Underneath was an expensive tape recorder, feeder lines going out in every direction, a fresh reel of tape lying at ready on its sprockets. "Sometimes Charles even brings these men here. Into his own bedroom. Or into the guest room."
"What are you getting at?"
"Charles thinks he's got me buffaloed, that I can't do anything about the situation. Well he did. At least until I met you. Don't you see, dearest? I've got those rooms bugged, I've already got a couple of juicy tapes made. I monitor from right here."
"Tapes won't stand up in court. You know that."
"I know, Rod. But here's something else. Charles is up for a big promotion soon. He's counting on it like mad. Suppose this tape made the rounds of certain offices at his company? Where would my perverted husband be then?"
She laughed, exhibiting another, more vicious side of her character. "Hell give me a healthy settlement. When he hears this tape. Would you like to take a listen?"
"No, thanks. I know what it would be like. I don't need any guided tours." He stared into space. "I think you've overlooked one thing."
"Have I? What's that?"
"What is Charles going to do to you when you play him that tape. You're in for a rough time."
"I know, Rod. That's held me back until now. But now that I've found you. If you'll help me... "
"Is that the only reason you're promoting this love bit? Just so you'll have a muscle boy behind you?" He could have cut off his tongue the minute the words were out.
"Rod!" she gasped, the hurt in her eyes a heartbreaking thing. "Please, you can't mean that. No. I couldn't-you couldn't be that low and mean..."
"I'm sorry, baby," he soothed, gathering her trembling body into his arms. "I didn't mean it. It just slipped out. Damn me and my suspicious mind. Blame it on the rotten company I've been keeping."
"Oh, please, darling," she sniffled, "believe in me. If I didn't have you I'd never try to break out of this living death. I merely exist. Like a vegetable."
"I do, baby, I believe in you." Hatred for Charles swirled, merged with self-hatred in his brain.
It became a fiery ball of flame. "And I will help you. No matter what. I swear."
"You'll never regret it, Rod. Anything you want from me. I'll live with you if you want; you won't have to marry me. I'll walk the streets and become a prostitute for you. That's how much I love you."
A spear of pain sliced Rod's heart. "Don't, darling. Don't talk like that. If I have you in any way, shape or form, it'll be as my wife, you can bank on that."
"Rod, you don't mean that you really..."
"I don't know what I mean," he said, his eyes anguished. 'This is all coming so fast. I never dreamed when I came here today that before the afternoon was out I'd be telling some girl I loved her."
"And are you telling me, Rod?" She clung to him. "Dearest, even if you're not certain..."
It seemed the answer had been there all along. If only he hadn't been such a fool, he'd have seen it long before now. For what else could have triggered the anticipation he'd felt on his way here today? Why else the soul stunning release that other afternoon with Jean? It was so; he knew it now.
He'd been cut off too long; he'd needed to involve his life-really involve it-in someone else's for too long. He'd needed to walk among the living again, to borrow and to lend strength, to share honest, pure love. And now-
"Yes," he whispered, kissing her wet eyes, letting his lips slide to her hot, moist mouth. "I'm telling you. I love you, Jean. I truly do."
It seemed their bodies fused as they stood there, a totally new rapture enveloping Rod. It seemed a miraculous strength was passed between them, a courage that would allow them to face the world totally unafraid. With Jean beside him... God, nobody could stand in his way!
He never quite knew how he got undressed, how he got into the bed. But there he was, naked, on the fresh, satin sheets, the warm sun was beating down on his body. And there Jean was, lying blissful as he undid the ties of her negligee, then of her nightgown. She smiled a total surrender as he pulled her arms from the wispy nylon, let it flower about her in gossamer folds. His breath caught in his throat as he saw how lovely her body was when it was unmarked by the red welts from her underthings.
And reverently he slid his hand over the silky yet firm flesh, he stroked and caressed her from head to toe, his hands playing upon her with practiced expertness, causing her to tingle to the depths of her being. Then he was letting his lips suck her, on her breasts, her waist, her legs, and finally her cunt.
It was proof that love did make a terrifying difference. For the act of twat-sucking, which he had found so vile a few days ago, was suddenly transformed into a testament of adoration and undying love. It was a beautiful, humbling, dedicatory symbol... to suck Jean's cunt!
Jean protested at first, but finally, realizing the significance of the love her lover meant to communicate, she gave herself to the love rite, savored it to the limits of her passion and endurance as he heartily and fully tasted her beautiful twat.
But finally, as it seemed knives were ripping the linings of her cunt as her desire to be fucked increased, she could tolerate it no more. She moaned in ecstasy, bore a last final cunt suck, then pulled her lover up.
"Rod, precious, fuck me now. Don't make me wait any longer. I'm dying to have you fuck me. Come to me, quick. Oh, God, please."
They showed each other the gentle face of love that afternoon. There was none of the greedy impatience of those other times, for as they made love, as they both sighed their delight, at presence and containment, a change came over them. It was as though, they had been screwing each other all their lives, their every movement precise and perfect, the ecstatic sensations they had more beautiful than anything each had ever known.
On and on they went, fuck after fuck each driving the other to the brink of delirium and back, Rod calling on every ounce of technique he knew to withhold his sperm, to bring his beloved to orgasm. And still their rhythm was slow and studied, a miraculous gliding that was a symphony of motion.
Until at the end, Jean began to sob again, her delight so sublime and glorious. Then Rod could wait no longer.
Gently and rhythmically he moved with practiced skill between her willing, undulating thighs. Hands beneath her asscheeks, he brought her as close to him as possible.
Small moans began to escape Jean as the sensation of his steady prick lunges filled her with unbearably joyous sensations. Suddenly she stiffened, and her legs threshing wildly, she half-screamed, "I love you, Rod-fuck me like a man!"
Then he let loose ramming his hard prick deep into her cunt, harder and harder-in and out-like a piston. Until she screamed with an ecstasy of come he had never heard in all his experiences at Olga's cunt farm.
He stiffened as her final come triggered a sweet, fiery sensation from his loins and he shot his sperm into her in love's mindless bliss.