Chapter 3
Horse Play
The gray light of dawn streamed in through the grimy skylight and I woke up ... mad. I felt like shit warmed over. I was laying on my back on the damp, cold concrete, my clothes in tatters, spent sperm and pussy juice caked everywhere. My whole body throbbed and ached and I was so stiff I could barely get to my feet.
The two dykes were nowhere in sight, having left me for dead after orgasm number ... nine? Ten? It hurt too much to try and remember.
I found some old coveralls in a corner of the warehouse and managed to stumble back to the Cougar without being busted for a flasher. After a blistering hot, thirty minute shower in my apartment, the kinks in my back and legs began to fade away. The face that looked back at me from the mirror as I toweled off was no uglier than usual: the lantern jaw and heavy cheekbones were unmarked and the bend in my nose hadn't changed much, but behind the gray eyes there was exhaustion.
Below the collar line I'd acquired some whopping bruises from those wooden clodhoppers. My ass was really in sad shape. What I needed was about two days sleep to recuperate, but first, I had to see a greaseball about a pay raise.
The Lorelei Building was thirty-five stories tall, smack dab in the middle of downtown. It was one of those "earthquake proof" high-rises, all anodized steel and copper-tinted glass, that the environmentalists made such a stink about. Not that all their protests and lawsuits had kept it from being built. Cosimo Hidalgo had far too much political clout for that.
I parked the Cougar in the underground garage, checked in at the Security desk, got my plastic "Visitor's I.D." card, and took the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor.
Since the original deal with Hidalgo didn't include my getting beat to hell. I figured I had a legitimate beef with the oil magnate. I acted accordingly. I didn't let the lush reception room, ruby carpet, mahogany paneling, ultra-modern chrome furnishings or the beautiful but severe receptionist cow me.
She'd pushed her glasses down her button nose, so she could glare at me over them and there was color rising in her cheeks as she said, "I'm sorry, sir, but without an appointment..."
I barged right by her and stormed into Hidalgo's inner suite of offices ... and there, was instantly cowed.
First of all. Hidalgo's hiring policy must've been "hire the pre-pubescent" because all the "secretaries" were very young, very foxy chicks. And all this tight quim was walking about in string bikinis and high heels, as if it was normal office dress. Second, the place was done up like a set from "Sea Hunt." The few walls that were flat were painted a deep aquamarine blue. The rest of the walls were made out of sculptured stucco and shaped like undersea grottoes, coral outcrops. Set in the lava-like excrescence of painted plaster were scads of salt water aquariums ... the largest being eight feet long and housing a small leopard shark among other denizens of the deep. Also displayed on the walls were stuffed fish, sharks, sailfish, sting rays, as well as racks of assorted deep sea gear ... harpoon guns, spears, diving masks, black rubber wet suits and the like. The carpet was a soft sand color and the office's "plants" were trees of bright, sharp coral protruding from giant clam shells. Third, there were cops.
"Well, well, look what the tide washed up," Detective Peebles of Robbery Squad quipped as he recognized me. His right hand darted inside his coat and came out with a mammoth, blue steel automatic. He drew back the hammer with his thumb and shoved the muzzle in my gut. "Frisk the bastard, Joe," he said to his partner.
"Officers," Cosimo protested, rising from his seat behind a huge desk made of teak wood. "It's perfectly alright. Mr. Grue is working for me."
"That's not a thing to brag about, Mr. Hidalgo," Peebles said, boring the thick barrel in my stomach. "This bastard is no good. A burn artist." He eased off the safety with his thumb. "Where were you last night, Bascom?" he snapped.
"Wait, Officer," Cosimo said, reaching out and taking hold of Peebles' gun hand. I want you to forget the whole thing. As I told you nothing of value was taken."
"Sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Hidalgo," Peebles said, his eyes full of disappointment. He put away the gun and pushed his cheesy snap brim hat back on his head. "Mr. Hidalgo, sir, this was an inside job. Someone working for you did it. This creep works for you..."
"Thank you for your concern, Officer. I assure you I will take precautions so something like this does not happen again," Cosimo said, smiling.
After the cops left, Hidalgo shooed the bikini brigade out of the office. "The police don't seem to like you very much," he said, sitting down in his out-sized, high-backed, diamond-tufted, throne of a chair.
"They have their reasons," I said, smirking. "You have something already?" he asked eagerly.
"Yeah, I got a lot already," I said. I put a hip up on his desk top, sitting close enough to him to be downright intimidating. "A lot of bruises from your wife's lesbian playmates..."
The greaseball broke out in a broad grin that showed more gold than teeth.
" ... Getting my ass kicked wasn't in the contract, Hidalgo. You should've warned me about those goddam dykes..."
"Whatever else my wife is, Mr. Grue, she is not stupid," Hidalgo said seriously. "You're absolutely right. I should have told you about her bodyguards. I am sorry. Will another five hundred dollars help with the bruises?"
"Just the medicine I need," I said, holding out my hand.
"I trust you'll be more careful in the future," Hidalgo said, giving me the twenty-four-carat grin.
You're goddam right I was careful. I didn't want another go 'round with the butch sisters for at least a week. I figured that the maid must've put them onto me after seeing me plant the bug. Cena sent her out for "groceries" and while out, she made two phone calls. One to Mr. X, telling him to call Cena and make the phony date. The other to the lesbos, telling them where to jump me.
I wouldn't give 'em the chance this time. No bugs, no line-of-sight tail. I used a Homer, a miniature transmitter that sends light and sound signals to a receiver in the Cougar. It's magnetized, so all I had to do was ease by the big white Maserati and stick it in under a wheel well. Then I walked back to the Cougar and waited.
About ten p.m. the Maserati started moving. I followed about a quarter mile behind, using the electronic bleep as a guide. When Cena's car stopped, I moved in quickly, closing the gap.
I found the Maserati parked in front of the office of the "Deep Sleep" Motel, a thirty unit, two-story, fuchsia colored joint, ten years old, built to last five. The whole neighborhood was going to seed, half heavy industry, half disintegrating prefab stuccis. It was the kind of a place a broad like Cena Hidalgo could come and never worry about being seen by her Jet Set friends.
It cost me a twenty to get the motel room number and another fifty to get the adjoining room. I took my gear up with me, and after a quick check of the crummy bathroom for dykes, I locked and chained the front door.
All the apartments were mirror images of each other, so Cena's bedroom abutted mine. I removed the dusty print..."Harvest in Vermont"...$2.98 with frame ... from the wall and went to work with rubber mallet and razor sharp chisel. In nine minutes I had everything set up: a hole on my side of the wall large enough to handle my Super 8 mm movie camera loaded with infra red, a hole through Cena's wall and her copy of "Harvest in Vermont" large enough for the camera lens to record the goings-on on the king size bed.
As it turned out, I didn't need the special film. Cena and her friend liked it better with the lights on. A bit chancier for me if the overhead light caught in the camera lens, but better for overall film quality. I pulled up a chair, turned on the camera and took a peep at the action.
What I saw set my heart pounding and dick twitching. Cena was wearing a pair of thigh-high, spiked heel boots. And that was all! Her tits were firm, uptilted beauties, capped by soft domes of pale pink. They were real close together on her chest, so even when they were naked they had fine, deep cleavage. She was very high-waisted and her waist was almost impossibly small compared to her jutting tits and the round, full contours of her hips. Her mound was a well-upholstered hummock, decorated by wispy curls of platinum blonde hair, made easily accessible by slim thighs set wide apart on her pelvis. I could just catch a hint of hot pink where her mound turned under. She was strutting about the small room impatiently, her tits jostling, her heart-shaped ass swinging above the high boots.
"Come on!" she said, putting hands on hips and addressing the bathroom. Her voice was only slightly muffled through the thin wall. "Goddamit! What are you doing, Rodney?" She reached into a small travel bag and drew out a two-foot long, braided leather riding crop.
"Rodney?" she said in a threatening tone, swishing the crop, making it sing. "Alright, you asked for it..." She stormed off camera in the direction of the bathroom, all her marvelous parts jiggling.
"Whooooo-WHOCK!" the crop first sang, then cracked.
"OWWWW!" came an agonized male reply.
Cena marched back into the bedroom. Before her, rubbing a rapidly swelling welt on his hairy thigh, was Rodney, the elusive lover.
I couldn't believe my eyes. He was a young, muscular dude with longish blonde hair. Tall and handsome, like the kind of super clean, tough-but-dimpled actors you see in those Walt Disney animal movies. But he was wearing ... long, black satin gloves, a black padded bra, garter belt and stockings and black stiletto heels. His cock, a thick golden-pink fire hose, hung limply from a nest of golden pubes, and his balls, more pink than golden, sagged even lower.
Her face contorted by pent-up rage, Cena lashed out with her boot, kicking Rodney in the ass, sending him sprawling across the bed. "That's better," she said, sitting on the bed beside him. "You're not going to give me any more trouble, are you, honey?"
Rodney closed his eyes and shook his head.
"That's the wrong answer," Cena hissed, pressing the crop across his windpipe and lowering her head. Her long red tongue flipped out and she tickled his lips with it, teasing him. "Open up," she said, putting some weight into the crop.
Rodney opened his mouth and Cena fell on it like a hungry wolf. She thrust her tongue down his throat and ground her full lips on his, pausing to chew at his lips, his tongue. Rodney's heels dug into the carpet, twisting and turning, as her tongue darted between his lips.
"You are a hot little piece of ass, Rodney baby," Cena said, coming up for air. Her hand groped the black bra, squeezing the padded cups. "Such tasty tits..."
Rodney closed his eyes. Was the fellow shamed? Humiliated by the domineering woman? His cock answered, pulsing as it did, growing an inch in girth and length.
"Ummmm!" she hummed. "Your clit is getting hard, baby." Her hand slid down from the lacy bra, over his flat, hairy washboard of a stomach, over the black garter belt and down into his crisp pubes. She took hold of his cock and flipped it up and down a couple of times. It flapped limply against his thigh.
She yanked and pulled at it roughly, stretching it far from his body, the fat cap in her fist a strangulated purple. "Not enough foreplay for you, huh?" she hissed, letting his abused cock snap back. "I'll give you foreplay!! ! "
The statuesque blonde rolled the unresisting man on his stomach. His muscular ass-cheeks, covered as they were by a layer of dense golden fuzz, were doubly outlandish as they protruded from the tight, satin garter belt and black nylons. He put his face to the coverlet, gripping it tightly in both hands.
"This'll get your pussy wet!" Cena said, swinging the crop down on his upturned buttocks. WHOCK! WHOCK! WHOCK!" the whip chanted into the hard flesh of his ass. It turned the twin mounds into shivering jell-o.
Rodney sank his teeth into the coverlet to keep from screaming out loud, and Cena kept whipping him, her arm a blur, her lovely face flushed with an all-consuming passion. His ass-cheeks glowed red-hot from the torrent of blows. From the tight top of his crack to the place where butt met thigh, his rear was scourged. And still Cena would not stop.
"So good ... UNN!" she grunted, laying the whip strokes side by side on his cheeks.
Whoooo-WHOCK-Whoooo-WHOCK-Whooo-
Rodney's toes bored into the carpet and he sniveled pathetically while opening his thighs.
SLUT!! ! " Cena cried, "You cheap little tramp!" Incensed even further by his plea for more, and lower punishment, she raised the crop in both hands and brought the thick leather tip to bear most violently against his puckered brown ass-hole.
SSSSWHOCK! SSSSWHOCK!
Rodney writhed in perverted joy as she lashed his bunghole with screaming, two-handed blows. The coverlet slipped from his teeth and his eyes rolled up in his head, as a million-dollar smile lit his face.
SSSSWHOCK! SSSSWHOCK! until Cena could beat him no more, until her arms simply gave out. His entire backside, clear to the base of his balls was one great welt.
"Let's see the clit," she puffed, rolling the limp man on his back.
Grotesque as it may seem, Rodney had sprung a huge hard-on. The swollen tube of meat arched up toward his bra, the head a drooling, pulsing toadstool. As flurries of excitement raced up the hulking cock, sinews and ligaments tightened, making it bob up and down frantically.
"Little bitch is hot now, I bet," Cena said, stroking the underside of the jerking prick with her crop.
Rodney sat propped up on his gloved forearms, smiling esctatically while she caressed his cock with her whip, smiling as she ran the braided pizzle down over his uptight balls. The nut sack was stretched balloon tight about the bloated orbs so that every follicle, every pulsing vein, every swollen tube and gland stuck out in high relief.
She nuzzled the whip tip under his nuts, grabbing a nylon clad knee and jerking his thighs apart. Rodney let it happen, his mouth hanging open, tongue lolling.
"My-my, what a tight little box we have here!" Cena exclaimed, doing her damndest to corkscrew the crop top into Rodney's puffy pore.
Rodney groaned and raised his legs, putting the heels into the bed frame, spreading his thighs further apart for her.
The whip buckled and refused to do Cena's bidding. No matter how she twisted and jabbed, it would not slip up Rodney's ass. "Not stiff enough," she said, her eyes lighting up. "What you need is something much, much harder..."
Rodney's eyes opened wide.
"It's horsey-time, baby...." Cena said, leering at his swollen parts and out-flung thighs.
Rodney said, "NO!" It was not a mincing negative, but a resounding masculine refusal. He was up off the bed and heading for the door and freedom, mindless of his rather distinctive costume, before Cena could raise her whip.
But then she had it raised. Her power instantly replenished, adrenalin flooding her system, at the effrontery of the young blonde wimp. She had it raised and lowered ... raised and lowered, up and down, a swishing singsong underscored by the hollw WHOCK! of leather smacking flesh. She literally beat the fellow to his knees with a rain of bone-jarring blows to the head and shoulders.
He tried to cover his face with his hands but the furious woman was relentless. She walloped his shielding hands, thrashing them bloodless, thrashing them until they were so numb they just fell out of the way. Then she stepped forward and gave the weeping bastard hell.
The whip sizzled across Rodney's unprotected face; his cheek exploded in pain. Again and again, like a dreadful machine, she hit him, his head jerking about in time to the shrieking whip lashes.
Then she stopped, panting. She reached down and took a handful of his hair, twisting his face up. Tears gushed down his reddened face.
Something else was gushing, too. I could see a glistening trickle of lubricant running down the inside of her thighs and into the tops of her tall boots. No longer was just a hint of hot pink visible ... her whole cunt hung wide open, the lips bright red and swollen.
She dragged a crawling Rodney back to the bed, her thighs brushing each other and spreading the unctuous goo in a broad, slick patch over the inside of both of them.
"UP!" she commanded and the beaten man hopped to the bed on all fours. She put a boot up on the bed beside him, parting her thighs right in his face. He looked into the angry vortex, the swirl of dewy hairs, the hot pit of her pussy, and there was despair in his eyes. His cock, however, was, if anything, twice as congested as it had been before.
"TONGUE!" she ordered, dragging his face into her maw.
The humiliated man obeyed and the squishy sounds of a hog at trough filled the room as he guzzled her slick nectar as he slipped his tongue into her pussy as the stinging juice ran over his much abused face.
"Easy, girl," Cena said, patting him on the broad back. "Now we're going to see what a tight, hot little filly like you can do." With that she went to the travel bag and took out two handfuls of paraphernalia.
Rodney's pain-ravaged face flinched when he saw her strap a great black vinyl dildo on her round hips. Complete with pendulous scrotal sack and nest of coarse woolly sporan, it hung in a leather harness.
Cena quickly untangled the other handful ... a horse's bit, bridle and reins. "Easy, girl," she said huskily, black dick bobbing, as she forced his jaws apart and the cruel metal bit over his tongue.
Slowly, she circled the bed, holding the reins in one hand while reaching between her legs and gathering some of her own juice to smear on the wide ebony prick head. She spoke in low tones to the trembling man, a confusing mixture of horse talk and sexual oaths. Then she was behind him and her right hand held the reins tight, twisting his head up and to the side, the metal bit distorting his features as it dug into his mouth. "That's a girl ... good li'l fuck..."
"National Velvet" it was not.
Cena's hand slid over his hip, and then, in a blur of movement, she was up on the bed behind him, ramming the black tool up his ass.
Rodney reared, snorting through his nose, trying to throw the lovely rider. But she would not be thrown. She slid every inch of the gruesome load to him in a single ass-splitting lunge.
He could not yell out his agony because of the bit. He could only whine pitifully through his nose. It sounded like a whinny.
"GO! GO! GO!" Cena ranted at the man writhing beneath her, jerking back hard on the reins and flipping her hips into his ass. The black pud sped in and out of his pore and the force of the thrusts sent her fine tits jouncing.
"GOOOOO! UHHHHHHHH!" Cena wailed, the constant bumping of dildo harness against her clit, the scent of ravaged man, the sheer extent of her POWER playing havoc with her libido. She leaned way over Rodney's sweating back and hissed, "Such a sweet PUSSY..."
His bunghole sucked at the plunging dildo and his neighing was a long moaning sound as Cena ground the coarse pubes into his ass, rotating the black dick deep inside him. Somewhere, somehow, the dickhead touched off his orgasm and, clawing at the bedspread, he began flipping his ass back into her lunges.
"ATTA GIRL!! ! " Cena hollered, hot goo rushing once more into her boots. She reached under his heaving belly and gripped his stiff cock. Once! Twice! She slid it through her hot fist.
"OH! Ohhhhhhhhhhh...." Rodney groaned, his ass-hole clenching the dildo, his balls sending hot sperm spewing every which way.
"YESSSS!! ! " Cena yelled, her own skull coming unglued. She tore the dildo free of his pore and reached down to grip the hollow plastic scrotum. Even as his hot come flopped to the spread, she sent a gusher of synthetic semen spurting over his hairy ass.