Chapter 12
Time passed and it was if the sea had swallowed the house in Riverdale and all in it. At any rate, there were no repercussions as far as Rod was concerned. It was a miracle, but he was in the clear.
During this time much had occurred. Jean's husband had finally seen the logic of giving her a divorce and she would soon be legally free. Rod had filmed the T.V. special "Murder Off Broadway". It had received only average reviews, but it was proving the springboard to a career for Rod. Another producer had given him a call and he was busily at. work on a pilot film for a weekly T.V. series. It was a science fiction drama and if it clicked he'd really be in the T.V. big time.
But of all these good things, the most important was that, as he returned to his new apartment this particular evening after a seemingly endless day on the lot, Jean had preceded him; she was waiting for him with big, round eyes, her smile welcoming, openly betraying her reasons for coming. She wanted his prick to fuck her.
They weren't married as yet, but it was only a matter of months before the waiting period was over. And in place of good, old, rockbound, respectable American marriage at the moment, there was the charming and perfectly acceptable stopgap known as "sleeping together" or fucking one's wife to be. It seemed to Rod that Jean was at his apartment more than at her own.
Especially since, every time they fucked each other, it seemed better, their love for each other feeding on mutual self-sacrifice, growing great and respectable. It was a giant no one would ever dare even to take a tiny potshot at.
"Not you again?" he joked. "Didn't I catch you hanging around here just last night?"
She accepted the mood gaily, played the game. "Yes. And tomorrow night, too."
"But I had a rising young starlet invited over here tonight. We were going to read some lines together and screw."
She kissed him, darting her cunning little mouth against his, pressing her pointing titties to his chest at the same time. "Oh, no," she smiled. "No starlets. I'm all the starlet you'll ever need. That's why I keep your sperm at such low level, baby. So you'll never even look at another woman."
- She nuzzled him with her nose. "Ummm, I've missed you, darling. Seems I miss you more now than I ever did. I'll be so happy when everything's all legal and nice. When I can take you to some ranch and have your prick branded all my very own. 'Property of Jean Bradley' it'll say."
"You sadistic wench," he chuckled, clenching her ass, driving her body against his.
A motion she answered with a twisting and bunting characteristically her own. "A fucking wench, too."
"You're right to the point tonight, aren't you?"
"Not yet," she quipped. "But hold cocky out and I will be."
"Even before dinner?"
"Even before dinner. Do you want to come help me get ready for my lover's prick? Or do you want to relax out here with a nice martini? I've mixed some already."
"You go ahead," he sighed, settling in a chair. 'That martini sounds fine."
"Party pooper," she spouted prettily. Then she ran toward the bedroom, her gorgeous legs twinkling seductively as she went. "I'll call you when I'm ready. Bring the martini along. We'll finish our cocktail hour in there."
Rod sat back, sighed again, thought for the thousandth time, how fortunate a man he was. Thought how far removed from his former apartment his present, lavish digs were. How far his whole life, in fact, was removed from a past that went back only six months.
Had that house ever existed? Had it played a major role in transfiguring his life?
There was no doubt that it had existed-still existed. He'd driven in Riverdale only a month ago, had seen one of the Cadillacs, bearing a trio of women, sweeping up that drive. There'd been no flap at all. The murder at the house had never reached the newspaper's front pages. The syndicate took care of its own. The house's existence had never become public knowledge. In fact he'd recently heard a rumor that it was currently being run by a "Mr. Kenneth", which tickled Rod. Imagine Kenny affecting a title like that.
He sipped his martini reflectively. The days following his escape had been hectic. He'd moved immediately, had gone underground for three weeks. Again there'd been no rumble of trouble, no thugs had come calling on him in the middle of the night. His past, assured when he'd personally burned the papers in his file, one by one, was dead and buried. He'd been given a new lease-second chance.
Discreetly Kenny had never attempted to contact him since that fateful day. It was an act of true friendship Rod would never forget. Especially since his name and face had been so prominently displayed on certain marquees for a while now.
But now his reverie was interrupted. And he heard Jean calling from the bedroom. He rose and started toward her. Then he retraced his steps, brought the cocktail things.
"You're beautiful," he breathed, surveying the muted, alabaster figure, his eyes taking in the symmetrical beauty of her huge, pointed breasts, the smooth, luscious line of her waist and legs, her beautiful pussy. "It seems you get more beautiful every day."
"I'll bet you say that to all the girls," Jean smiled and then clung to him, her lips searching his as her breasts flattened against his chest and her thighs did a grind against his legs.
Rod's hands began to explore her ass and thighs and then crept up to each titty in turn. Holding and playing delicately with the nipples, he alternately sucked them into hardness. Quivering with pleasure, Jean broke away from him and flung herself on the bed, flinging off in a moment her panties.
"Come on star prick boy, give me the three hundred dollar super-special," she gasped.
"Anything to oblige a customer," Rod laughed as he seized her on the bed and lunged into her yearning cunt with a ramming she soon matched.
"There's nothing like a professional," she breathed into his ear a moment before they both moaned and half-screamed together in love's mutual come.