Chapter 6

In their Lido hotel, bedroom doors opened wide to the balm of the morning Adriatic breeze, Istvan awoke early, still in the bed of the delectable Althea, asleep, breathing easily and softly, next to him.

He grinned, conscious of the fact that he was stark naked--and that Althea's body was equally nude.

He'd had every intention of returning to his room, the night before. Only one tumble on the bed with her -that had been his promise to himself.

And then she had undressed, and at the sight of the nude sculptured loveliness of her ample body, he'd succumbed... And here he was, the next morning, still lying where he had collapsed at God knows what hour the previous evening.

Oh, well, he reflected, stretching luxuriously in the stiil-warm sheets-one less bed for the hotel staff to have to make up. Whatever happened somebody was sure to benefit.

As he swung his legs gently over the side of the bed and got up to relieve his bladder Althea stirred. She rolled over on one side, her bountiful tits squelching deliciously together. Lithely, Istvan bent to kiss their nipples.

Althea awoke.

Drowsily she reached up for his head, drawing his lips to hers.

Long moments later, they drew apart. "All very well," said Istvan. "But if I don't piss, right now, I'll burst a bladder on you!" "Come!" she said urgently. "Quickly, Istvan. I've an idea."

Istvan followed her into the bathroom. Althea ignored the water-closet and stepped over the rim of the bath. Naked, she lay against the cool pink porcelain, her knees up in die bath and spread so that the gash of her cunt opened deliciously beneath its mat of curling, jet-blue black hairs.

"Now you stand up there," she commanded. "On the sides of the bath-right up! Put one foot on each rim. That's right."

Standing as she had bid him, Istvan knew suddenly what was wanted of him. Holding his prick to aim the jet of his piss right into the gash of her cunt, he let go. At the same instant, Althea allowed her own piss to escape and a stream of straw-coloured urine splashed upwards to meet the descending, fountain of Istvan's cascade.

The two jets merged, deliciously, at body-heat, directly upon the clitoris of the recumbent girl. She thrilled to the sudden delight. Afraid to move, in case she would lose contact with the stream of piss, she lay back and luxuriated in the delicious sensation she had so perversely provoked.

Istvan grinned down at her. What a woman, he thought, admiring the inventiveness of her sensuality. Together only three days, now-and already, thisl And why not-if it brought her pleasure? Had not the two of them become, overnight, two libertines?

Over coffee, Istvan asked: "What do you make of the crew we picked up here last night? Quite a party, I'd say.

Althea, nude and statuesque as she relaxed into an easy chair, replied: "It's building up, isn't it?"

"I'll say it is. My God, but there was no doubt about Reginaldo and that fellow Leslie I I'd forgotten that faggots like that still exist!"

"They're certainly a pair of fairies. Hut you know, Istvan, there's just something about those two in particular that fails to disgust me. Most times, men like that send a shudder up my back. But these two? Funny, I just don't seem to mind them."

"Come to think of it-you're right, hon. Me too-I must confess they nauseate me, these pansy fellows. But

I never once actively disliked either Reginaldo, or Leslie, all last night."

"Maybe it's because they have such charm. Perfect manners-both of them, I thought. Poor buggers-1 don't know whether to pity them or to envy them."

"That's just what I've always thought. Pity-or envy? Ill tell you what, though-Heine struck me as showing rather more interest than I would have expected. That bloody baroness-she's up to something, throwing those two at Heine. Hell, 1 thought it was she who was for Heine."

"She's deep, all right."

"Well, the party certainly thickens. Me, 1 could ride with this mob for a year and not get tired of them. Never a dull moment-with them, or with you either."

"You say the nicest things. I always did want a guy who appreciated me."

"You're nice to say nice things to."

Althea bowed in mock acknowledgement. Istvan uncoiled his length from a chair and, naked, crossed to refill his second cup of coffee.

An Olympic statue in his flatguited, muscled, tigerlike litheness, Althea thrilled to the glorious iiv¯ht of him.

"And those other two?" he continued, sitting down again. "What'd you make of them? An impressive dolly, that Anaka-Lec number. Polynesian, wasn't she? And her pal-Dr. Shane McGarrity. My God, what a name!"

"What I saw, I liked. The doctor seems to have scads of money. And I liked the way that Polynesian dish walks. Easy. Fluent. Bit like you-only less like. No, Istvan-what I saw, I liked."

"You mean-you'll defer a final judgment?"

"Like the man said. But-you want a long shot? litis, then, and mark my words: that Polynesian wench's going to turn out to be one of those nympho jobs you hear about." "What makes you say that?"

"1 don't know. Nothing. Nothing in particular. Just flying by the seal of my pants. I'm a girl-and girls know these things. Anyway, that's how I'm tipping it."

"You basing it on her? Or on him?"

"Both-I suppose. Ask yourself-why would a fellow like the doc latch on to a woman like that? They're oceans apart, really. He's a medic-and she's still a raw native, underneath whatever polish he's given her. Ask yourself that, hey?"

"Well, the baroness did tell us that he'd spent twenty years in the islands..."

"So? Wouldn't you think a fellow*d get tired looking at all those niggers, out there in the South Seas? Be only too glad to latch on to white girls, once he got back among them again?"

"Oh, I don't know. There's something fascinating about a black skin-even a golden-yeller. Any man goes for such stuff. Besides, they don't wear bras, if you recall -remember Bali?"

"Never been to Bali. And, from where I sit right now, I don't care if I never go, either. You'll do-till the boys from Bah move in, brother I"

Istvan grinned.

"Besides," Althea went on, "she isn't bad-looking, either-especially in the bust, bosom and belly department, is she? And what a lovely name-Anaka-Lee!"

"Nice name-I'll concede that. And I was watching that figure. Real sinuous..."

"You like them sinuous?" Althea cocked up an eyebrow.

Istvan pistolled his finger, and pointed it at Althea. "I like 'cm that way-your way. Suits me finer than anything else I've ever seen."

He stood up.

"Anyway, let's get dressed. The hell with the queers, with Shane McGarrity-or Anaka-Lee. Let me get dressed, anyway. You needn't worry, of course. You never wear anything. Why some Latin cop hasn't locked you up long ago for public indecency I wouldn't know."

The party lazed all day on the sands, soaking up the Venetian sunshine and chatting idly among themselves. The baroness was content. They were getting to know each other. Occasionally, one or two of them would venture out into the Adriatic, then return and allow the sun to dry the salty water from their bodies.

Their attitude towards sunbathing was in itself indicative of their natures. Tabulated, it was something to this effect:

Anaka-Lee: Tall, sinuous and honey-brown already, she rolled through a full circle of 360 degrees, packing as much tan as possible on to a supple, muscular body that was covered by the barest minimum of bikini. No amount of sunshine would ever worry her.

Dr. Shane McGarrity: wealthy cosmopolite and veteran of the tropics. Much the same as his Polynesian woman, he burned the rosy glow that turned, overnight, to brown. He had an athletic, well-preserved figure of the tall, string-bean variety.

Heine Gorlitz: Soaked up all the sun that the Mediterranean could give him. Lean and beautifully lithemuscled, his was a superbly-kept figure, carrying not an ounce of fat. No winter could ever pallorisc the previous summer's sun for him.

Istvan and Althea: The very nature of their work ensured an all-year-round evenness of tan. Tourists "followed the sun." They, catering for tourists, followed the sun with their busloads of passengers. There was no risk of sunburn with these two.

Lillian, Baroness de Bierli: She wore a full-torso swimsuit, probably out of deference to her matronly spread, acquired over many years of pampered, easy living. Still magnificent, she was, nevertheless, careful-spending much time in the shade of the parasol, and tanning only in short "takes."

Theophilus Kanii: Black and glistening with health, he frolicked gleefully for hours in the water. Came out into the sunshine simply to dry the salt into white flecks over his vast body-then was off, once more, into the waves. A man of inexhaustible energy, Berenice Kandi: Since it was equally impossible for the sun to have any effect on her, she lay and revelled in the nakedness permitted by the vivid orange bikini she wore-its bare minimum of covering strained to something utterly ludicrous as it strove to contain the amplitude of her vast body.

Reginaldo Baretti and his friend, Leslie Haines: The epitome of male grace and an almost-feminine daintiness, these two took no more than ten minutes' exposure to the sun's direct rays in any hour. Their conversation: "Reggie hates me to tan. And really, for Reggie I'd do anything, but anything. Wouldn't I, Reggie, my love ?"

"Am I so demanding then, dah-ling? You should scold me if I am, really you should."

" Ah, but you know I couldn't. I couldn't ever. You're always so gentle with me."

"Oh, I do hope so-you're such a pet, you know."

"And besides sun-tanning, I always think, looks so awful-on certain people, that is."

"I've always said exactly the same. I see no aesthetic sense to it-you always lose it in the winter, anyway..."