Chapter 9
"What's with Grant Tyson these days?" Neil Bennett dropped his briefcase onto the table in the kitchen, then stomped towards his liquor cabinet to fix himself a drink. His voice came faintly to Harriette from the distance. "Saw him downtown. Asked him what was new, and he just gave me a silly grin and didn't answer."
Harriette heard Neil shutting the door of the cabinet in the living room; then he came back to the kitchen with a glass in his hand. "Don't ask me," Harriette seemed to drawl the words. She was sitting with a mirror propped on the table, doodling on her eyelids with a bright-colored pencil.
Neil stared at her, frowned. "Don't you know?"
Harriette licked her lips, examined them in the mirror, then licked them again before she resumed her task on her eyelids. "Haven't a clue," she murmured. "Ask Barbara."
Neil drained his drink, put the glass down and stared intently at Harriette. She seemed different these days. Less tense and nervy, not as sharp-tongued as usual. Nothing seemed to disturb her anymore. "You all right?" he asked.
She stopped doodling for a moment. "Why, yes!" She blinked her eyelashes at him. They looked longer, darker. "Why do you ask?" her voice was almost formal.
Neil stared at his empty glass. "You seem different!" He twisted his empty glass. "Why?"
Harriette raised her eyebrows, blinked her lashes. "Haven't a clue!" She repeated.
"That's the second time you've said that since I came in." He got up from the table, feeling angry without knowing exactly why, "That's what I mean about you being different." He went into the living room again, glass in hand, and replenished it. "You talk different." He stared at his wife, then sipped at his drink. "Haven't a clue," he repeated. "Sounds more like Barbara than you!" Suddenly, he banged his glass down. "And you're dressin' more like her! Miniskirts!" he said, as though it was a dirty word.
"I thought you liked them," said Harriette mildly. "You always said how sweet Barbara looked."
"Barbara's not forty," said Neil brutally.
"Neither am I." Harriette was still unruffled. "Thirty-nine, to be precise... if you have to be precise."
Neil was silent, breathing deeply.
"Engineers are supposed to be precise, aren't they, Neil?" asked Harriette, with innocence.
He didn't answer her question; instead, he spoke broodingly, more to himself than to Harriette. "It's since that friend of yours-that Gladys came to the Coast that you've changed. What kind of a woman is she, anyway?"- "Very nice," said Harriette, completing her face, "very quiet." She got up from the table, took her mirror and her make-up kit, moved into the living room.
Neil followed her. "Why don't you bring her over here?"
"Shy," explained Harriette, "she's very shy."
Neil suddenly changed the subject. "What's for supper?"
"There's all kinds of things in the fridge," said Harriette. "I'm meeting Gladys at the Women's Press Club for supper. She started towards the stairs before Neil's voice stopped her.
"Tonight!" he shouted loudly. "You're seeing Gladys tonight?"
"Why, yes." Harriette paused. "What's wrong with that?"
Neil seemed to breathe with difficulty. "You've seen her three times already-and it's only a week since she came out here!"
"Old friends-long time, no see." Harriette smiled at her husband.
"How come I never heard of this old friend until just this past week?" Neil asked with suspicion lining his voice.
"She was back East-you remember I told you that!" Harriette came close to losing her cool, something she did not want to do.
Neil's shoulders seemed to droop. "Oh, well, guess I'll wait for Barbara and eat," he said morosely.
Harriette paused with a foot on the stairs. "Barbara won't be home. She phoned."
"Oh!" Neil sounded surprised. "She eatin' out with Grant?"
"No, she's working late-so she said."
Neil frowned, puzzled. "What about Grant?"
"What about him?" Harriette's voice sounded more like it usually did: sharp.
"Won't he be comin' over? I mean, it's Friday and they usually go out every Friday night."
"Haven't a clue," murmured Harriette, moving up the stairs.
"Funny," Neil muttered, "haven't seen Grant at our house since-" he frowned-"since before I took Barbara to the water ballet!" He stared up at the stairs, but Harriette was already out of sight. "Gin and lime," said Harriette. "More gin than lime," she added with a giggle.
The waiter smiled, took her companion's order, then moved away into the darkness.
"Why do you always order gin?"
"Like it," said Harriette.
"Not any other drink-I mean, like bourbon, vodka, or anything?"
Harriette laughed wetly. "Gin makes me feel sexy," she whispered.
He drew in his breath, "Let's dance," he said quietly.
She leaned against him and he held her too tightly. They weren't dancing, barely moving -just feeling each other, making themselves more and more aware of each other.
"You're a wonderful dancer, Harriette," he said, feeling her breasts, braless, outthrust, piercing into his chest.
"You, too," she murmured, pressing her pelvis forward, and making the head of his penis, already enlarged, swell a little more.
"I mean, it's fun," he explained.
"That's what I always thought," she said.
It was so dark that they didn't know there were other couples on the tiny floor until they squashed against an occasional pair.
His hand had slipped onto her buttocks, He squeezed gently, exploring her flesh with his fingers. She was naked beneath the short skirt; he already knew that. "I like your dress," he whispered.
"Goody."
He was silent, drawing his breath in sharply.
"What?" asked Harriette, her mouth close to his ear. "I say somethin' wrong?"
"No," he said. "Just that sounds more like Barbara then you!"
They swayed together in silence.
"I'm naked underneath." It was a throaty whisper.
He laughed softly. "That sounds more like you!"
Harriette's pelvis seemed to rotate slowly against his penis as she spoke. "You know what you're gettin' into, don't you, Grant?" She felt him shake his head in the darkness. "What d'you want?" she asked.
He jerked his penis forward. "You!" he said.
"Not more'n that?"
"Just wanna get into you."
"Just that?"
He hesitated, then admitted: "Right now- yeah-just that. That's all!"
She moved rhythmically, slowly. "You're growing up, Grant."
He laughed; it was a low sound that could have been either sad or bewildered. "In the last week, I've grown-maybe."
"Yes," Harriette's voice was thoughtful, "that's right-you've grown some."
She moved her head, caught the lobe of his ear between her teeth. "Got a place?" she asked.
He put his mouth on hers, kissed her, thrusting his tongue in as deep as he could. "Yeah," he answered when he'd recovered his breath.
"Abbey Motel. Booked in an hour ago."
She laughed, and he felt her body vibrating against his in the blackness. "You musta booked it right after I called you back!"
"That's right, that's just what I did!"
"So?" she asked.
He took a deep breath. "Well, like they say -wanna come, baby?"
"Condition," said Harriette, "one condition. That you screw me," she whispered into his ear, "screw me, and screw me until-" "Until you come," he promised.
She gave a dry giggle.
"How did you know?"
"You told me before."
She spoke thoughtfully. "So I did, come to think of it." She laughed, happily this time. Harriette could feel his heart thudding against her body. "What're we waitin' for?" she asked.
He stopped their sluggish weaving, steered her back to their table. Their drinks, untouched, were waiting. Harriette picked up her glass, drained it. "Like I told you," she said, "gin makes me sexy."
He laughed. "You're always sexy."
"Come on." She pulled his arm, "what're we waitin' for?"
"The check," he told her, trying to get their waiter's attention, "I gotta pay the check!"
She was quiet, thinking, for a long moment, then: "You're lucky," she said. "Some guys have to pay the woman just for screwing her!"
He placed his lips close to her ear. "You oughta pay me!" Even in the darkness, Grant was aware of the way her whole body stiffened.
The waiter arrived and Grant paid him. Then they moved out of the club and into his car.
"You'll pay for that crack!" said Harriette.
He laughed, not noticing the change in her tone of voice.
She moved herself closer to him, sliding her buttocks along the car seat until their bodies were touching. "Wait," she said as he was inserting the key in the ignition. She placed her arms around his neck, kissed him, then slid her hand inside his shirt, stroked his chest gently.
His mouth became hungry, urgent. "Let's go," he said. "I don't wanna wait."
"Wait," she said again.
She turned forward, turned on the radio, then slid her hand inside his shirt again. "I told you you'd pay," she said.
"For what?"
Grant half turned in the seat. Her fingernails raked a bloody path through the skin on his chest. The music from the radio drowned the scream of agony that burst from his lips. She slid to the far side of the seat; waited a moment then turned the volume of sound down when he stopped screaming. "You bitch!" he said. "You vicious, rotten bitch!"
She laughed. "Still wanna screw me?"
"Yeah," he grated, starting the motor. "I'll screw you until your damned pussy bursts!"
And the car jerked forward as though it shared his anger.
"That's the way I like it," said Harriette with satisfaction. "That's what I want!"
"You'll get more'n you want!" Grant promised her venomously.
"Don't get too mad, Grant," said Harriette, calmly and coolly. "Someone's always gotta pay!"
The car's tires screamed as they turned into the entrance of the Abbey Motel.
In the dark motel room, Harriette got more than she had bargained for. Grant took his face from Harriette's cunt and made her straddle his legs. He pulled her down on his cock. Groaning, Harriette wound her legs behind his back. His penetration was deep and she screamed out with joy. "Not so fast, baby, you're hurting me," she whispered.
"Shut up, bitch!" Grant growled.
Grant made her stand and turn so her back was facing him, then ran his big hands roughly up and down her body. She noticed that the way his hands moved, it was as if he now owned her.
Grant cupped her breasts and pulled her back against his chest-her ass jammed up against his palpitating cock. He fondled her tits and gave them painful squeezes, his fingers tingling as her big-nippled tits grew hard under his crude strokes. One hand gripped tightly at her bosom while the other roamed down her stomach. Then he pushed her head forward hard, and looked down at her almost luminous ass. With two fingers he spread the cheeks of her backside, and, grabbing his cock, he zeroed in on that opening, forcing unmercifully the head of his stubborn prick into the resisting cavity with one stabbing thrust, causing Harriette to let out a startled grunt.
"Oh, no!" she screamed, but then she had to hold her breath as he forced it up higher and higher. He plugged it into her again and again, keeping her bent over. To his surprise, he found that she was now struggling and squirming closer to him, clamping his bursting cock in her rectum. She had spread her legs as wide as they would go, and he could feel the hot, moist flesh closing around him, its thousand, membranous fingers clutching him. "Oh, fuck me, fuck me!" she screamed.
Grant was transported, hurled into a dimension which was pure sensation. The delirium that was swirling around in his body was becoming all but full-fledged insanity. And he knew Harriette was making the trip with him. His powerful young body, driven by sheer lust, all beyond his control, thrust his swollen organ almost to the hilt in the gleaming white body as the pressure of his orgasm shot the fluid into her, some of it escaping around the stretched hole.
With one foot he kicked her away from him, thus releasing his cock. When Harriette turned around, he grasped her by the hair of her head and forced her to her knees in front of him. "Now lick it clean, bitch," he demanded. And Harriette did.