Chapter 6
When realization finally struck, Craig's hand shook so badly that he spilled coffee on the front of the anonymous envelope postmarked El Camino, which arrived at his home in the morning mail. His first thought was that his goddamn roommate told the Southerner about the prank and now the unoriginal jerk was trying to get even. But how had he worked the El Camino postmark?
Then he took a harder look at the Polaroid photograph with the sticky preservative on the face. He wasn't going to panic. He and Kathy, in a phone conversation, had patched up their differences stemming from four nights before. She had been in bed with the flu since then and had not felt up to seeing him.
The girl in the photograph had long blonde hair like Kathy's, the same heavy full breasts with large nipples, the slender hips and firm thighs. But the face was so out of shape from the cock buried deep in the mouth. The man could have been almost anyone, his face completely hidden inside the snatch of the girl on top of him. The old sixty-niner, Craig thought to himself, admiring the Tennessee jock for his resourcefulness in selecting the pose.
Then Craig made the acid test. Rifling his desk for the magnifying glass, hoping not to find it but locating it, he moved to the better light near his bedroom window. The profile was exactly right, the sucking lips he had seen countless times working on a popsicle as she stood beside him at the polo matches, the neck and shoulders, maybe.... But what turned Craig into a roaring inferno of mindless rage was the visible right breast, partially flattened against the pale paunch of the man she was blowing. The twin beauty marks, faint to the unaided eye, were unmistakable under the enlarging glass.
He fought his violent shaking and picked up the phone. He managed to dial the number, not certain he could find the words or a human voice to speak them. The private line in her room was busy. Her father was in the city and she was there alone, in her bedroom, sprawled across the bed in her nightgown, no doubt, and talking on the phone to her lover in the photograph. She would be laughing at Craig, regaling her listener, he knew, with how she was able to heat her fiance's passions and then chill them with a word. She was mocking her pansy boyfriend, who she allowed a light kiss now and then if he was deserving, to a man she let eat her cunt while she sucked his prick. This guy gets gobbled. Craig thought, staring hard at the photograph, while I get nutaches. He felt his pecker stiffening, wishing he was the guy being eaten in the picture, and the nervous perspiration rolling down his sides.
If some busy bee's been getting into my precious flower of maidenhood, then I'm due some fucking honey too, Craig's boiling mind worked out in injured masculine logic. He dashed out of the house and vaulted into his sports car, leaving six feet of rubber on the driveway when he gunned away.
Kathy had been sleeping in the last few mornings, believing rest to be the only cure for the deadening ache all over her body. It was not several aches, in the arms, thighs, back, jaw muscles, inside her vagina, but a single all-consuming hurt that was met more than halfway by her feeling of mental depression.
Grimly, the only thought that cheered her was that of suicide. For hours on end she contemplated with lively interest the ways she could do herself in. The sleeping pills in her father's medicine cabinet, the gun in his den, the blade from her own razor. She could wade out into the ocean and keep walking, or she could perform a perfect swan dive off the rugged cliff to the jagged rocks in the water two hundred feet below. It lifted Kathy's spirits to consider the number of ways to destroy herself, hanging, carbon monoxide poisoning, hari-kari, driving into a sturdy roadside tree while doing sixty-five.
She knew this was a way to rid herself forever of the self-hate, disgust, humiliation and shame that burdened her. But more frightening was that she also had a pretty good idea of how to cure her sickness, a means of lifting her mind above mundane matters of the world and onto a cloudy, soft warm plateau of pleasure. The bruises to her body would fade, the aches in her muscles disappear, but how could she deal with the new fire scorching the insides of her womb, a fire that flickered lower only after being drenched by relief buckets of cum?
The silly rift with Craig was easily mended. She smiled to herself at how juvenile it had been, the centuries of experience she had drunk in since then. She thought about the surprise she would have for poor Craig and wondered if he would be up to it. She would have to play-act, to nurse him along, so as not to arouse any suspicions. She'd let him think that he finally convinced her she was wrong about premarital fucking.
She eagerly looked forward to the cruise to Mexico with Jean. She wanted the time it would give her to put her mental house in order, to pick up the pieces of her life. She hoped her first truly intimate meeting alone with Craig could be stalled until after the trip. She had held him off with the flu story and now departure was only two days away.
The phone rang. It was Jean.
"Guess what?" the cheerful voice opened.
"What?" Kathy played along, sincerely happy to hear from Jean for the first time since that night. The voice bore no trace of malice.
"The Red Sea is flowing."
"I don't get you."
"My period has started, dummy. It was a false alarm. I'm not P-G."
"I'll be damned," Kathy said, the unfamiliar expletive dropping out of her lips fittingly in astonishment.
"Yep," Jean chirped merrily, "I must have been so scared that my girlish insides froze up... until they were thawed out by a certain firm of plumbers you recommended."
The girls talked on and on, Kathy pouring out profuse apologies for asking Jean to sacrifice so much to protect her from Grayson's sinister intentions. Jean received Kathy's comments on the subject without any of her own, and Kathy might have considered the silence from the other end of the line threatening if it had been anyone other than her best friend. Jean's voice came through again only after the conversation shifted.
"What about Mexico?" Kathy asked.
"Hell, let's go. The tickets are paid for. We'll have a great time now that the monkey's off my back... or wherever it was."
"Good," Kathy agreed. "We'll make it a first class vacation."
Kathy heard a screeching of tires outside and climbed from her bed with the receiver in her hand to glance out the window. It was Craig's roadster. She heard the front door slam below.
"Craig's here, Jean," she said into the phone. "Just a second, Craig. I'll be right down," she shouted, reaching for her robe.
She barely recognized the growling voice.
"The hell you will. I'm coming up."
Kathy heard the feet landing heavily on the carpeted stairs as Craig cleared them three at a time.
"I'll have to call you back..." she said into the phone.
The door burst open and he stood framed in the doorway, his body looking larger and inflamed, his teeth clenched together and his lips drawn back in a fearsome snarl. Craig lunged across the room and ripped the receiver from her hand, slamming it down into the cradle, and then sweeping the phone off the bedside table to the floor, the receiver bouncing free.
Kathy drew the robe around her shoulders tightly.
"Craig, what's the matter? You look like you've swallowed an overdose of drugs."
Craig threw the picture on the bed.
"Tell me what you're swallowing here, my virtuous wife-to-be," he said, each syllable honed to a terrifying cutting edge.
Jean had curled up in the leather chair in her father's study while she talked to Kathy over the phone. She watched the ash forming on the end of her long lighted cigarette, her eyes narrowing, as Kathy pleaded for forgiveness for leading her to the gang-bang. Jean's catlike eyes flashed at the memory of the mortifying sodomy by the drunken Billy, the physical abuse from the cruel deformed Milo, the rubber prod of the old man, the total debasement of her proud femininity in front of an audience of sniggering degenerates engineered by the despicable Grayson, who was aided and abetted by Kathy, her best friend. It was over, ended and she would recover. In truth, Jean admitted to herself, it wasn't such a bad night, if only the faces and personalities of the participants had been masked. She could afford to be lenient and honest now that sue had been spared the penalty of pregnancy. She liked to screw, she had found out, and there would be nothing to prevent her from safely exercising this prerogative in the future, now that she had armed herself with a prescription for birth control pills on which she had forged her father's signature.
The true resentment she harbored toward Kathy was that her best friend had resorted to blackmail. Jean might have helped her out willingly if only she had asked. But she had threatened, and this Jean would never forgive. And so Jean had faked burning both the pictures, secretly slipping one into her handbag. She had to make Kathy pay a penalty for the callous affront to their friendship. She would do it in the way women have injured other women since the beginning of time... by stealing her man. She mailed the photograph to Craig and patiently waited to hear the fireworks. After they parted, Jean could make her play for him, willingly giving what Kathy denied him.
Jean had stiffened in the chair, listening intently, when Kathy announced Craig's arrival. A slow knowing smile played at her lips when she heard his threatening voice. Then there had been the sound of a brief struggle and a click on the phone line. But it had not disconnected. There was a cushioned crashing noise and a bouncing effect, and from the sounds Jean monitored she quickly deduced that the loose receiver was laying on the floor next to Kathy's bed. It overjoyed her to be able to eavesdrop on a scene she had masterminded.
Kathy looked at the photograph on the bed and her hands flew to her face to catch the rush of blinding tears. That filthy traitor Grayson, whose appetite for her humiliation would not be satisfied until he destroyed her totally. Kathy never wanted to pull her hands down to read the anguish in Craig's face.
A savage tearing pain at her scalp brought a piercing scream up out of her throat. Craig whipped her down to the bed by her hair, seizing the picture and thrusting it before her eyes with a trembling hand.
"You tell me to save it for our wedding night and all the time you're putting out to other guys," he hissed in hatred. "I lay in bed beating my meat while some sonovabitch is being sucked dry. You owe me, bitch, and I'm taking it out of your ass."
"Craig, you have to give me a chance to..."
He slapped her hard across the mouth and she fell back on the bed. Kathy, tasting blood, tried to struggle up to plead with him, but he overpowered her with his strength, wrestling the robe off her body. He forced her face down on the bed and swiftly slipped his fingers under her hair and into the fabric of the sheer nightgown, ripping back with such force that her breasts were lifted off the bedspread.
"No... not like this, darling..."
She cried in pain as he jerked the remains of the nightgown from beneath her body, like the magician's trick with the tablecloth under the dinner setting, the nylon scorching across the tips of her breasts and the tops of her thighs like fine grain sandpaper. He ground her face forward into the bedding to smother her protests, the other hand opening his belt and sliding it off his waist.
Naked and being forced to lay belly-down on the bed, Kathy heard the belt coming off Craig's pants and a cold fear gripped her. Craig was going to fuck her in anger. He was insane with fury and the way he held her suggested he intended to punish her with a fucking in the asshole. Kathy squirmed in dismay, the picture of Jean being raped in the tight hindquarters by the shrimpy Billy fleeting through her mind.
Kathy braced herself for the expected assault on her virgin rectum. It would be brutal with his cock unmoistened and the tight rubbery ring around her anus unstretched by fingers. Surely his driving prick would split her ass and join it to her cunt, creating one big common orifice between her legs.
She had prepared herself for the painful outrage of a throbbing thick prick nosing up her backside, but she had not foreseen the agony that came on the heels of the odd swishing sound, that of the broad leather belt biting into the firm flesh of her buttocks and then slashing into the backs of her tender young thighs. Craig was cursing like a raving lunatic and Kathy screamed into her gag of bedding.
Jean excitedly stiffened in her chair as she heard Craig's swearing, the sound of leather striking flesh with welt-raising impact, and Kathy's smothered cries. Craig had balls after all. This was to be no tongue-lashing rebuke, ending with him demanding their defiled engagement ring and storming out to sulk in silence. He was going to whale the living shit out of her. Jean pressed the receiver tightly to her ear as Craig's voice, dry and cracked and crazed, ordered, "Roll over, goddammit!" The command was followed by the sound of Kathy's cries coming through the line clearly, "No, Craig, please don't hurt me. I had to do it. I swear, they forced me to pose at gunpoint." Jean snickered softly, imagining Kathy working to achieve her look of wide-eyed innocence as she lied through her teeth.
"You fucking liar," Craig's voice snarled through the phone line. "I ought to kill you for what you've been putting me through."
Jean detected a subtle change in Kathy's voice. The hysteria was being replaced by a little girl's pouting tone striving for his sympathy.
"I swear it's true, darling. It happened the night you dropped me off after the beach. I was confused by the feelings you aroused in me. After you left I took the car and went for a drive to clear my head. I was going in circles until I finally realized that you were right all along. A car must have been following me. I didn't notice until it pulled alongside and they pushed me off the road. One of the men had the gun. He forced me into their car and then blindfolded me. They took me to a shabby room somewhere and then..." Kathy broke down in sobs, a goddamn Academy Award performance, Jean conceded grudgingly, "... then they made me do things in front of the camera." Jean pictured the tears flowing by the gallon.
"It's all bullshit," Craig shouted hoarsely, and Jean thought she heard a faint note of doubt. "You would have notified the police. You would have told me or your father."
"Don't you see, darling, I couldn't. They had the pictures. They said they would make copies and circulate them, sell them in those dirty book places, if I opened my mouth."
Jean thought she could hear the wheels spinning in Kathy's head. With her woman's mind, Jean was forming her own answers to the questions Craig would be asking Kathy. What was helping make it easy for Kathy was that Craig, the dumb bastard, wanted to believe her.
"How could they send one to me? How did they know my name and address?" he said, his voice a harsh accusation. Now he had her, and Jean imagined the whip in his upraised arm waiting to fall down across the breasts of the cowering Kathy if she answered badly.
But Kathy was smart. Christ, she had gotten foxy in a hurry.
"That was the worse part of the ordeal," Kathy said softly, and Jean envisioned those huge brown cow eyes lowering in simulated shame. "The one who... assaulted me... the dirty man who touched me where only your hands are allowed... found your letter, the one I always have with me. It's that beautiful letter on your personal stationery you wrote before we were engaged. The man was a sickening degenerate. He had his friend read the letter aloud while he... abused me. He must have remembered your name and address. He wants to hurt me more because I refused to say that he's a better man than you. He hit me, over and over, but I wouldn't say it."
"You're saying you were raped too?" Craig's distraught, funereal voice asked.
"Why do you think I invented the flu story? I couldn't bear to face you. Look at my bruises. I feel used and dirty," Kathy said, and Jean guessed the look on Craig's face must have changed dramatically to permit Kathy's new confidence and inventiveness.
"Craig," she said softly after a moment, Jean spotting the timbre as silky and seductive, knowing the clincher was on its way, "Now I know I was wrong in denying you. I've been hurt by strangers, but the greatest injury is that I'm no longer a virgin for you. Help wash away my guilt. But, please... please be gentle."
Now Jean saw it, sure as hell. Kathy was stark naked on that bed, flat on her back in front of Craig, using every moving muscle to her advantage. Her yarn would have been cut out of a B movie script, but Craig heard it from the soft lips of a lovely stripped girl who was available to him. Jean, who last saw Craig at the dance, understood his whole body was swollen with horniness for Kathy, and realized how his common sense could fail him at such a moment of raw confrontation.
"That's pretty farfetched," Craig's voice offered timidly, haltingly, as if he was viewing something sufficient to make him forget why he had sped to Kathy's home with homicidal intentions.
"Help me, sweetheart. Prove that lovemaking is beautiful, not something painful and unpleasant. I'm afraid, but I trust you. I'll do anything you tell me... anything at all you say. Show me what to do, but don't hurt me, please."
Jean wanted to scream into the phone, to make the receiver on the floor in Kathy's bedroom leap off the carpet in offense at the calculated charade. Jean's whole fucking gameplan was backfiring in her face. Kathy would screw him limp and for the rest of his life the jerk would believe he had been a good Christian gent comforting his beloved through the worst nightmare she ever suffered. She was spinning a web around Craig that was almost faultless. Jean would be shut out unless she did something quickly.
Jean gently cradled the receiver and crushed out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray by her side. Well, why not? Jean decided the best defense at a time like this is a direct offense. She would blatantly inject her presence into the middle of their tender domestic scene and plant her name first on the waiting list for Craig's ass. There was nothing Kathy could do about it. Jean realized she would be a wet blanket, all right, what with her flowing period, but she had enough on Kathy to work her boyfriend inside-out and there wasn't a fucking thing she could say or do to prevent it. Not if Kathy valued Jean's silence. Jean had all the chips in spite of the surprising developments and she was ready to cash in.
Craig couldn't think straight. His practiced mind, capable of turning the flimsiest straw into a mighty sword in the context of a law school debate, deserted him as he looked down at the girl he had loved for so long, beautifully naked and offering to fulfill his fondest dream for the price of understanding. Kathy lay flat on the bed, one knee raised slightly, her moist red mouth and tear-shedding eyes beckoning him to take her. Tenderly, but, at last, to take her. The implausible story didn't hold water. It had more potholes than a big city street. The steam building in his veins since he had seen the photograph, crumpled and discarded on the floor as evidence of little consequence now, had been pumped from his system with the effort of lashing her creamy buttocks, and his killer rage had waned, for all intents and purposes, with the sight of the angry red welts of his violence on her flesh and her impassioned pleas for mercy. She had promised him anything he asked if he would simply assuage her feelings of guilt for refusing him and then having been taken by others. Craig thought of the whore in the fraternity house. A repetition of the techniques he had craved since that night, sensations he never even hallucinated as being possible from Kathy, was his for the asking. The ramifications of Kathy's alleged abuse at the hands of unknown assailants, either real or imagined, were brushed aside for now.
Craig, standing over the bed, began stripping off his clothes. Kathy shifted around to rest her head on the pillow. She raised her knees and spread them, her hair-lined slit watering in invitation. Craig dropped his pants. His naked prick leaped out rigid and swollen. Kathy needed no encouragement. She rolled to her side and took the cock in her mouth, running an arm behind Craig's ass and pressuring the prick deeper into the moist warm-ness. Her free hand found the scrotum and gently played it like a fragile harp. Her lips and tongue toiled skillfully, intaking like a vacuum cleaner hose, and Craig feared that his sleeping nuts would awaken in a tantrum, spill their food and cancel the rest of his trip.
"Save it. I want to go around the world."
Kathy drew back from his cock and looked up like a student who had skipped that page.
"Anything. What do I do?"
Craig scooted her to one side and lay on his back on the bed. Kathy's hand stayed with his balls and he fought for the breath he needed to speak.
"Use your tongue everywhere. Last, before we fuck, stick it up my ass."
Kathy started at his head, kissing his brow and running the tongue across his salty eyelids. She wet his nose and kissed his mouth warmly, driving her pink wet tongue deeply into his throat. Craig groaned and twisted when she darted the tip into each ear, following with a thrust that pushed it far inside, taking his entire ear in her mouth. She trailed the tongue down his neck and perked up each nipple on his hair-covered chest, moving down his belly to pause and fish in his navel. She wet and sucked the prick gingerly, working down to the tight wrinkled scrotum and inhaling each testicle into her mouth. She moved down his thighs and shins to his feet, sucking each toe and cutting her tongue in between them, her tender plump breasts sliding across his ankles. Craig curled his toes and tensed his thigh muscles, his dripping cock jerking gently in pleasure. He rolled over and she started at the back of his neck, coating his shoulders with wet washing tongue kisses. She straddled his ass and squirmed there, brushing his rump with her bristly pubic hair and wetting it with the lubricant from her cunt, her heavy pointed tits teasing his back as her tongue crisscrossed slowly down his tremulous spine and her chin kneaded petrified muscles into pliancy. She backed down his thighs and slipped her hand under his loins, gripping the swollen prick crushed to one side, when her tongue reached the tailbone and the top of the crack of his ass. She inserted her tongue sideways at the beginning of the crevice and knifed downward between his buttocks, slicing the ass pie, parting and opening as if with a surgeon's scalpel. With the fingers of the free hand she split the hair-lined assfolds until his tightly-clenched anus came into view, agitated like the mouth of a toothless hag. She circled the tight puckered ring with the end of her tongue and Craig smothered his wild outcry with a pillow, both hands flying to his hair. She strained until the muscles of her tongue hurt and finally the tip forced through the resisting ring and inside the asshole.
Craig went insane, his feet flying back and the heels beating against her buttocks, the back arching to the breaking point as he stretched his face up toward the ceiling in strained silent agony. The prick tightly held in her hand fucked into her palm.
Kathy knew he was going to cum.
"Turn over. Quickly!" she said, using his penis as a handle to get his body over.
She leaped forward and slid on the twitching cock in the same motion, grinding the wet walls of her cunt against the fleshy hardness frantically in the hope of catching him. She was much too late. Craig groaned deeply in his chest and she felt the first hot splash of his cum, his loins coming around to hammer the firing prick rapidly inside her wet cuntal walls.
"Oh, Craig, you couldn't wait for me."
His body caved in with the last dying spurt. Kathy tried to take advantage of the remaining hardness of his prick with a violent effort of her own, riding her cunt up and down furiously on the lifeless cock inside her, the lips of her vagina sucking tightly to keep it from melting entirely.
Craig's face twisted with discomfort, his pale lips stretching at the sides. He dug his buttocks into the bedding to escape.
"Stop, stop! Jesus, you're killing me! Empty... all gone."
Kathy felt the prick dissolving into limp meat until it slipped out of her of its own weight. She fell to her side on his outstretched arm, wanting to cry in frustration, Craig's cum flowing from her cunt.
"My turn."
Kathy and Craig, as one, both sat upright facing the door, reaching for something to hide their nude bodies, finding nothing. Jean was in the doorway slowly unbuttoning her blouse.
"What the hell...?" Craig sputtered, covering his groin with his hands.
"Jean, what on earth...?"
Jean came closer removing her blouse and unhooking and dropping the bra. Her breasts preceded the rest of her body, the nipples standing out in anticipation. She bent to pick up the picture on the floor, smoothing it out on her skirt.
"That's not your best side, love," she said cattily, tearing the photograph to pieces and scattering them on the bed. "I'm awfully sorry, dear," her voice mocked, "but I was passing by and just had to pop in to chat with my dearest, most loyal friend. And now that I've wandered into all this, I'm a helpless victim of protocol. You remember the Eskimo etiquette where the host, or the hostess in this case, shares their mate with the guest. You are such a stickler for good manners and friendship, aren't you, sweetie?"
Kathy was speechless. Craig felt the blood rushing back to refill his cock as he studied Jean's upthrust breasts, smaller than Kathy's but erotic when-viewed in her entire conformation, with those sexy full hips surrounding a pelvis perfectly built for prick swallowing. Craig noticed that Jean had not appeared surprised at seeing the pornographic picture. Kathy must have confided the story to her. And if she would tell Jean about her so-called ravishment by gun-toting strangers, something so shameful and humiliating, there was nothing to keep Craig from suspecting she told her best friend Jean everything, every little detail of their own relationship, how he was so lily-livered that a single word from her, refusing him so much as a feel or taste, sent him home to beat off in his bed. So much for that shit! Jean was a tigery piece of tail, he'd suspected for some time. Now, by God, he'd show Kathy who ran the show, who had balls built for two, or he'd die trying. Fuck the consequences.
"Okay, baby, get out of that skirt," Craig smiled.
"Jean, I want to talk to you alone," Kathy said seriously, sliding off the bed.
"You have nothing to say to me in private that I couldn't improve on in public," Jean said, reaching down to pick up the phone receiver from the floor. "Look, your line has been open. I do wish you'd bothered to let me know about... your personal tragedy."
A frozen manikin smile came to Kathy's face. She fought the urge to laugh out loud. It was all so beautiful, so sinfully precise. As ye sow, so shall ye reap. Jean had a mind Grayson could aspire to. Kathy now was forced to share the one thing she had given up so much to protect. Her moment of truth had arrived and all Kathy wanted to do was to giggle at the difference between what you want and what you get.
Jean unzipped her miniskirt and it dropped to the floor. She stood by the bed naked, except for the panties, the outline of the straps holding her sanitary napkin in place etched against the sheer fabric.
"I'm wearing the rag. Do you mind?"
Craig responded by circling her hip with his arm and leaning up to nibble at a tit.
"A bitch in heat? All the better." He pulled her down across his thighs, his stiffening prick against her dark hair.
"I'll leave the room," Kathy said, moving toward her closet.
"Don't shove off on my account," Jean smiled, taking Craig's prick in her hand and pressing it to her lips.
"No, we're not through," Craig said, savoring his moment to get even. "Find a silk scarf and tie a line of little knots in it. While I fuck Jean you work the scarf up my asshole. When you see I'm cumming, slowly pull it out, one knot at a time. It does wonders for my virility."
"I won't do it," Kathy said, the disgust plain on her face.
"You promised me anything, remember?" Craig said, disappointed.
"Don't worry, Craig, she'll do it," Jean soothed him. She looked at Kathy. "You'll do it, won't you, you poor ravished girl?" she said with all the assurance in the world.
Kathy watched as Craig cautiously took the panties off Jean's legs and pushed the harnessed rag to one side, swiftly plugging his prick into her cunt to keep her blood from running down on the bed.
Kathy sighed and crossed the room to her bureau to search for her blue silk scarf.
Kathy and Jean sipped their after-dinner brandies, not in the least bit curious about the emergency in the engine room that had forced the captain to frown and apologize for leaving the table. The strolling mariachis, who bribed their way on board only minutes after the ship tied up in Ensenada, hoping to have first pluck at the feathers of the turistas, completed their song and looked at both girls, in anticipation of an appreciative American greenback.
The forewarned captain's valet stepped up out of nowhere.
"You bloomin' spies get a move on, hear? Don't annoy the ladies or I'll feed the whole motley lot of you to the sharks."
The musicians slouched away, feeling cheated that the obviously rich norteamericanas viewed them so lowly that they refused to volunteer a token in tribute to their talents. The faces beneath the floppy sombreros, worn only when the owners went after the Yankee dollar, promised revenge at the first opportunity for this slight.
"That number reminded me of our mutual dark Cuban friend," Jean tilted her head smiling, the effects of several brandies apparent on her placid features.
A tingle of pleasure slowly climbed Kathy's spine as she thought back. "He was humming it at one point... that night."
"That night he stuffed his gorgeous giant cock up our twats," Jean corrected, tempering her observation with an outburst of boisterous lewd laughter.
"You don't have to be so... so explicit," Kathy scolded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"Explicit, shit! You know the name of the game... cock and cunt, prick and pussy, dick and snatch...."
"Not so loudly," Kathy shushed her companion.
Jean ignored her. "And tonight we're going to ride the captain's dinghy," she sang out, her words running together. "Both of us. We do a fucking good job together. I should say a good fucking job."
Kathy gave up trying to quiet the drunken Jean. Despite the heads turning in their direction, she really didn't mind at all.
Kathy had felt the captain's knee pressuring her thigh on numerous occasions during the meal, and he twice brushed her breasts with his arm while refilling her wine glass. The privileges of rank, Kathy thought amused, visualizing the interesting tall swarthy man with the slight touch of gray at his curly dark temples.
"Goddamn Latin lover," Jean went on. "He practically poked his finger up my box during dessert. I saw him bumping your boobs too every chance he had. We're going to make his sails flap. He'll cum all over his fucking brass buttons."
Kathy felt an involuntary twinge between her legs and the sudden wetness inside the lips of her vagina. Jean's choice of language and her own longings she no longer fought to keep buried deep beneath her surface combined to pull the hair trigger that mortared the cultured and studious college coed out into the sexually-hungry creature she had become in recent weeks.
She signaled the valet. "Please ask the captain to join us in our cabin for a drink when he finds it convenient," Kathy instructed. The valet smiled and nodded, a little too knowingly, Kathy thought.
Alone in their cabin, Kathy and Jean peeled down to their undergarments and awaited the arrival of their visitor. Jean poured herself a brandy and reclined, glass in hand, on the bed opposite Kathy's.
"You know, baby, if I was lessie I might go for you myself. You're not a bad fuck from what I've seen. I'm tempted to buy one of those strap-on jobs with a rubber prick to give you a jab on lonely nights."
Kathy laughed out loud, more comfortable with Jean's drunken nonsense in the privacy of their suite. She worked her way out of her bikini panties and let the rush of cool ocean air through the porthole do the job on her clitoris. A soft wave of sensuous delight passed over her as she imagined the look on the face of the captain when he entered.
"Think we'll ever find anything to match Claudio?" Kathy asked, languidly bathing in the light touch of the breeze between her thighs.
"All we can do is keep looking," Jean replied, her voice sobering noticeably. "In the meantime, I expect Craig to be able to throw me a fuck whenever we want without any bitching from you. I like what he's got, even if he is too asshole-oriented."
Kathy felt the heavy waiting stillness from Jean's side of the room. It wasn't necessary for Jean to elucidate further. What she left unsaid made her case a winning one; she would not hesitate to reveal to Craig, in all the damning detail, how Kathy sucked and fucked to free herself from Grayson's hold.
"Jean, darling," she said coolly, scrambling to the deck at the first faint traces of knocking on the cabin door, "you know whatever I have is yours."
Kathy knew her world no longer orbited around Craig as she padded across the floor and hesitated before turning the door handle. She looked back, displaying the hungry fullness of her new face to the friend she once betrayed, in whose betrayal both of them had become acquainted with their special callings.
"The world is full of Craigs... and Claudios. It's madness to... to select before you have a better idea of what's in the marketplace."
Kathy, naked beneath her overflowing bra, flashed her most radiant smile at Jean, held it on her lips, and turned away, opening wide the cabin door.