Chapter 10
Big Bill was fucking Flora again.
He was fucking her in his living room, right on the rug. She was a bareass, bareback hard-driving fuck. It seemed, more than anything else, she was meant to relieve his sexual frustrations at not getting into Angela more than the mere fact that he was into his Chicano chick and she herself was a fine fucking cunt in her own right.
He was squatting on the. rug, his legs braced straight in front of him, and she was mounted on those legs of his, her own legs wrapped around his waist and her toes tickling his backbone. His cock was jammed tightly inside her cunt; in effect, his stiff rod was supporting her as she rocked softly on her buttocks, in contact with his legs, her breasts at a level with his mouth.
She could feel his thick pubic hairs tickling her clit, which was like a baby's finger. Twitching as his hairs curled around her clit and set off sharp, electric thrills throughout her dusky Mexican body. Her long black hair was cascading down her back and over her neck and breasts, and he was sniffing at the ends of her hair as he licked her nipples, stiff and squashy, as he mouthed at her boobs, feeling her skin tingling and her tits shivering in response.
In the background, coming from Big Bill's stereo set, were the jagged, chaotic strains of Mexican mariachi music, all guitars and trumpets; sexy South of the Border sounds that seemed to turn Flora on almost as much as Big Bill's cock inside her.
One thing he really liked about Flora; she was quiet, never talked much, never even spoke that much English, he gathered. Except for her singing in Spanish, which was an exotic, erotic turn-on for him -- as she was now doing to the mariachi music, her voice almost as dusky as her dark skin -- and seemed to make his erection more than stiff enough to support her in this particular position.
She was running her hands through his hair, tousling his straight blond coiffure, rubbing her fingers around his neck and shoulders. From time-to-time, she would dip her fingers into her crotch, damp with perspiration and pussy juice, and anoint the mixture on her nipples, which he would then lick off her sweaty skin, marveling at the clean, refreshing taste of the sensuous mixture, licking his lips again to get it all down.
Her juices were flowing, her eyes were glowing, as she humped him in this odd, but strangely satisfying, position. She dug her fingernails deeper into his skin, causing him to jab and stab her in her center of gravity even more. She felt his hard cock pushed all the way back to her womb, manipulating itself so as to cover every square inch of inner skin she possessed. She was now gulping air, now placing her thick, passionate lips on the very top of his blond head. He played with her boobs like a safecracker trying for the right combination of numbers, his fingers agile and delicate, gently squeezing the base of her breasts and flicking one finger only along her nipples.
She was shuddering in the ecstasies of sex, her cunt churning wildly, her membranes wrapped around his prick like tortillas around a meat filling. He was letting her come, waiting for the right moment, wanting her to get as hot as chili cooking, to hit her right at the crest of her most impassioned orgasm. Despite the terrible twitchings of his penis, Big Bill was playing that wise, waiting game.
Finally, he felt her body surging, her vaginal muscles rippling like an ocean, his balls ready to burst loose from their scrotum and his sperm backed up like a bursting darn. This was, indeed, the time for him to come ...
His prick buckled in white heat as he fired off his heavy load, practically ripping her insides apart at the fervor and firepower of his release. She felt his sperm coursing into her in that steady, savage stream of his, and her pussy membranes responded by clasping his cock in an ever firmer, warmer grip. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, and he could feel her drawing blood. His teeth came into contact with the very tip of her nipples and bit, not hard, but enough so that she would notice the erogenous pressure on one -- rather, two -- of her most sensitive spots.
His hands, resting at the base of her breasts, were busily doing their own thing as his mouth added to her exquisite pleasure. While, of course, her feet massaging his spine were also contributing to his fucking good times.
Now, he was on the downswing, his power receding, his prick slowly softening, as he fired off the last wad of sperm. Her orgasms were, however, still functioning at top form, and, his prick still nestling in the blast-furnace heat of her cunt, was seized and yanked and jerked about in fury. Then her orgasms, too, slowly began to subside.
Finally, exhausted, he fell out of her, and they both fell to the floor, resting side by side, still touching whatever bodily parts were convenient, as the long, fucking trip came to a close.
"Say, boss?"
He glanced up; it was Wong.
"Say, boss, you want me to drive lady home now?"
He noticed Wong had a good-sized erection, and it was sure as shit showing through his floppy black pants.
"In the car, Wong, if you get my message."
The chubby Chinese frowned. But, as Flora untangled herself and went to the bathroom to shower, and then dress, she flashed a Latin smile at Wong that seemed to encourage the Chinese to believe that some good times might just happen to him on this sunny California afternoon.
After she had disappeared, Big Bill, heading for a separate bathroom -- he had his reasons -- said, winking at Wong, "If you really must fuck Flora, please do so somewhere in the bushes, a long way from my property . . ." Then, his voice hardening into authoritative tones, he added, "... and not in the back or front seat of my car. Is that understood?"
"Yes, boss, I get your message," Wong mumbled. "And be sure you are back here within the hour," Big Bill added.
Wong frowned; he might have to fuck Flora while still driving, not even slowing down, except for red lights. Well, he had done it before, he could do it again. He really wanted to fuck Flora while he had the chance. As Big Bill might have put it, "Chicano prime cut."
Big Bill mixed himself a martini after Wong had driven off with Flora. As he sipped the potent libation, he mused on the plans he had for the after-noon, plans that he expected to materialize -- him fucking Angela right in front of her horny Harry. Despite their long acquaintanceship, Big Bill had got himself so worked up over his inability to get into Angela's cunt that he was prepared to take that step, even if Harry got pissed off, which he probably would.
A picnic in the mountains, right by a mountain lake. For bait -- and for concealment of his real purpose -- he would take along a girlfriend, making it a foursome. A flexible female, one who wouldn't mind a bit of switching, if necessary.
It was Sunday, Angela's day off, and Big Bill had already set the situation up.
He finished his martini, just as Wong marched in the door, holding the car keys out to Big Bill. "Did you take care of business, Wong?"
"Oh, yes boss, take good care of business, like always," Wong mumbled, trying to conceal a satisfied grin, pushing his hair back from his eyes.
Big Bill took the keys, and ordered the Chinese to pack the picnic lunch in the trunk of the Caddy. Then, Big Bill drove off, to pick up Iris. Then he stopped off at Harry and Angela's shack, seating them in the rear seat, and headed toward the picnic area.
Big Bill was dressed in knife-creased orange slacks and a white golf shirt, while Harry was T-shirted and Bermuda shorted. Angela was wearing a halter/ pants outfit that showed plenty of cleavage and just a few fringes of pubic hairs. Iris, a starlet for one of the still-surviving movie studios ( she did mostly TV walk-ons ), was in a pure white pants suit.
Iris was tall, her shoulder-length hair light blonde but streaked with brown. Her tits and ass, were almost beyond compare, both beautifully bounteous where they should be. She looked young, early 20s or late teens, almost childlike. Her petulant pout made her look slightly naive, and her baby blue eyes, two shades lighter than Big Bill's, seemed a bit too much on the vacuous side.
In short, she lacked the usual class of a companion of Big Bill's; she was more ass than class.
Though, in fairness, Iris' voice was soft and easy on the ears, so Big Bill let her do a lot of talking, even though she didn't have much to say. Why should she? She was only playing a "role" for the day, because he'd told her before what was expected of her, and he'd laid about fifty singles on her to do the job right. So, by turning on her "friendly" personality, Iris seemed to accomplish the double purpose of disarming Harry and Angela, keeping their minds off Big Bill and their eyes on Iris.
Expecially Harry, who was already wondering whether he could get away with fucking the big blonde. Not that he wanted to leave Angela, or any-thing like that; just that, considering Angela's teasing and stripping ways (and job, consuming much time that had been previously spent in bed), a little extra pussy might appeal to him, if he could get away with it. And, if not today, he could always get her number from Big Bill, because even Harry had figured correctly that this chick was not the usual type of companion Big Bill supported.
Angela, too, couldn't help but notice that Harry was getting a hardon. She had her own ideas what was causing that projection, though she didn't say anything. Occasionally she grabbed his crotch and squeezed, hoping for him to shoot off in his pants and thus teach him a well-deserved lesson.
Big Bill, catching sight of those things via his rear-view mirror, chuckled silently to himself.
It was a fine, sunny Sunday, and the breeze was whipping Iris' hair practically in Harry's face. Angela's hair, too, was flowing freely behind her, and those sensuous scenes were really making Harry hot. He could hardly wait until they got to their destination. He really wanted to fuck for appetizers, then fuck again for the main course.
Finally, just at the end of the afternoon, with the sun sinking slowly toward the horizon, they arrived at the mountain lake.
There was a small beach, but mostly hills and grass surrounding the lake. It was so private that they seemed to be the only ones there. Of course, the fact that it was more than 50 miles out of L.A., not in a popular direction, added to its inaccessibility.
They got out of the car, bringing the goodies with them. They spread out Big Bill's huge picnic blanket, turned on the protable phonograph he'd also brought, and got down to the serious business of eating and drinking.
Martinis were there to guzzle, as well as red wine for Harry. After a few drinks, they dug into the cold roast beef and cheese, potato salad and ripe tomatoes, plus other goodies that had been provided.
Big Bill had personally selected the music, making sure that the sounds started out slowly but rhythmically, gradually increasing in tempo and complexity as the time passed. Stuff like Ravel's Bolero, for ex-ample; perfect for building and sustaining the right kind of sexy mood, especially for getting Angela into a mood to strip.
Time passed.
Big Bill got Angela to put away more than a few martinis, though Harry stuck with his California red. Big Bill would have preferred that Harry imbibe some vodka Ms, but he could hardly demand that Harry "get drunk," so he let it pass. He made damned sure, though, that Iris got her share of martinis. At a prearranged signal from him, she suddenly stood up and said, in a very senuous, yet innocent, voice, "Oh, do I feel like dancing!"
Dance she did.
Holding her martini glass in her hand, she began to shift her ample hips, to shake her ass, without disturbing her drink or moving her legs. The music was now playing one of Perez Prado's powerhouse mambos, and the "Uh, uh" grunts and the driving beat of the drums were really getting to everybody. Iris began to move her buttocks back and forth, forth and back, picking up speed until her butt was merely a blur.
"Very good, Iris," Big Bill said, nonchalantly.
"Yeah, that's really shaking it," Harry said, with great admiration in his voice.
Big Bill smiled in secret. He could almost have written a script, knowing what Harry would say and do and when.
Angela shrugged.
"Not bad," she said, noncomittally. Then, she added, winking at Big Bill, "Your friend seems to know something about dancing. But, I just wonder ..." She licked her lips, her eyes rolling skyward. "... how good she is in the stripping department?"
As Big Bill looked at her, without saying any-thing, Angela kept talking. "Of course, Big Bill, I'd never ask her to do that -- would you?"
Big Bill winced. He thought, Angela is just too, too clever, making snide suggestions like that. She must really want a contest with Iris, maybe I should suggest that Iris is the better of the two, and get Angela going that way.
He said, "Iris is a professional dancer and a professional stripper, my dear. She has excellent credits in several films and TV shows, and I assure you, she always knows exactly what she is doing."
What she was doing now, was removing her tops of the pants suit, which she then casually flipped, like a thrown gauntlet, into Angela's lap.
Iris' boobs were quite firm, but from her strenuous movements, they were starting to flop around some-what. Her nipples were small and erect, and Harry noticed that her lovely curved tits were the same shade of California suntan as the rest of her torso. She was also now moving that torso, shaking every-thing above her waist as strongly as she was shimmying her ass, her hair flying over her shoulders and into her face, her arms flailing to the mad, murderous beat of the mambo.
Harry could feel those familiar tremors in his crotch, as his prick began to respond to Iris and her movements. Big Bill wasn't immune. His rod was slowly beginning to become like a flagpole. As he spotted the outlines of Harry's prick peeping through his pants, he thought that everything was working out just fine so far. Just fine, just dandy!
Angela kept sipping her martini, watching Iris' every move, her eyes cool, cat green, almost slotted in comtemplation, until, finally, she made her move.
Since Iris was still balancing her martini in one hand -- and had drunk half of it, to make sure nothing spilled -- Angela poured herself a fresh, full drink, and stood up, balancing the full glass on her head.
Harry gasped.
Big Bill murmured a few words of admiration.
Angela began to move her pelvis, swivel her hips, and shake her ass -- all without seeming to move an-other muscle in her body. It looked as if her muscles, from waist through thighs, were on a separate wavelength, with different controls, from the rest of her body. As she balanced the martini glass on top of her head -- without, so far, spilling so much as a drop -- she began to remove her halter.
Harry couldn't help it; he started to applaud, as if he was watching his woman performing in the Kit-ten Club.
Iris glared at Angela, missing a beat-and drop-ping her martini glass right in Big Bill's lap. What was left of the drink made a nice wet spot right in his crotch, drenching his shorts and his cock with vodka and vermouth.
Angela, her halter now completely off, with no bra to encumber her, went into one of her bullfighter takeoffs, waving the halter in front of her titties like a poor gal's cape. She danced, revealing this boob, then that one. It was obvious to the two men, and to Iris too, that Angela's breasts were noticeably more firm than Iris'. They were a size or two larger, too.
Especially angering Iris was the way that Harry had switched his gaze from her to Angela, and didn't seem about to switch it back, either.
Iris, one might say, was getting pretty pissed off.
Big Bill, it seems, had not really revealed to Iris exactly how professional, exactly how excellent a dancer and stripper Angela really was. Iris had not expected such close competition; especially when the competition seemed to be, on the basis of Big Bill's and Harry's eye-boggling interest, on the way toward winning the purse.
It hurt Iris right in her most vulnerable spot -- her ego.
Iris grabbed the martini jug itself, put it on top of her head, and started to step out of the bottoms of her pants suit.
She managed to get one leg loose. But, in attempting to kick loose the other leg, she lowered her head a fraction of an inch too much, and the martini jug fell off and socked Harry right in the stomach.
"Ugh!" Harry gasped.
He also got most of the remaining martinis spilled on his T-shirt, because the top came loose at the moment of impact.
Angela, still balancing the full martini glass on her head, let out a short, triumphant laugh.
This seemed to spur Iris on.
She now pulled down her panties and stepped out of them, revealing a small, dark bush of pubic hairs, a very small slit, and cunt lips that were far inferior to those of Angela, as far as texture, shape and size went. They were all right; but, as Angela glanced at Iris' exposed genitals, she knew that hers were easily the better of the two.
Harry, who had recovered somewhat, felt his prick pressing against his pants, struggling to get free. Though his shirt and skin were soaked from the spilled martinis, he still felt like fucking, and the double-treat dancing of Iris and Angela was more than he could hold back on.
As Big Bill had envisioned, Harry slowly stood up, doffed his T-shirt, and cried out, "Don't you girls know that I'm a pretty fucking good dancer, too?"
Well, he was good, when he was sober. But, unfortunately, not, as he'd just claimed, pretty fucking good.
As Harry started to shake his ass, in imitation of the girls, he stepped into the potato salad.
Cursing loudly, he pulled his foot out of the bowl, his shoe and sock encrusted with gooey potato sal-ad. Iris laughed, a little too raucously. Angela said nothing, as if. she hadn't noticed. She was now down to removing her pants and panties, revealing her go-to-it cunt and all its accessories, ready for action.
Big Bill grinned with admiration at Angela's cunt, its symmetrical lines seeming as if designed by some great architect who also liked sex. To him, her pussy appeared as perfection personified. He started to lick his lips, and he could feel the drops of perspiration forming on his forehead. Below, his prick elongated just that much more, and his balls became even more restless and expansive in their thin sack of skin.
Since there were no more martinis left, Bill, feeling suddenly thirsty, poured himself some wine. He gulped the stuff down, wondering what was going to happen next and how he could manipulate Angela's next move to his advantage. He really wanted to fuck her. His cock was beyond any kind of message to the contrary of its erect expectations. He also wanted to make her come to him, to make their coming together seem as "accidental" as possible. But, Angela apparently had other ideas.
She was into a whirling dervish kind of dance, squatting on the grass and moving like a spinning top, her long red hair a cape around her head. Her boobs were bobbing up and down like corks in water, her ass vibrating like two round mounds, and she was even snapping her fingers in time to the mambo beat.
Iris, not to be outdone, was now standing on her head, shaking her ass gymnastic style.
Harry was stumbling around, just a bit bombed out on the booze, stepping into this and that, not so much dancing as just simply staggering around.
Only Big Bill was still sitting down, and he was massaging his mind madly, trying to figure out what his next move should be. He was almost frowning; his plan didn't seem to be working the way he had wanted it to.
In sheer desperation, he finally stood up and took off all his clothes. Then, he started doing somersaults all over the picnic grounds. His muscles, his gymnastic training, his own previous stage experience -- all these facets combined to help him stay coordinated as he catapulted himself all around the others, his foreskin-less cock as smooth and shiny as a cop's club.
Harry, seeming to sober up, made his big move.
As if on purpose, trying to make Angela jealous, he shimmied over to Iris and grabbed her by both boobs, trying to kiss her on the mouth.
Big Bill liked that move, figuring it couldn't help but set Angela up just for himself.
That was a premature assessment.
Iris -- even though she'd been briefed by Big Bill -- didn't react according to plan. She didn't like men pawing her; it turned her off. She pushed Harry away, and he tumbled into Angela, interrupting her balletic performance. Interrupting her sufficiently so that, since she was now dancing right on the edge of the lake, she took a splash into the water. Harry tried to catch her, to break her fall. He didn't succeed, and due to his own momentum, he too took an unexpected dive into the cold, clear lake water.
The lake water, however, appeared to turn Angela into some sort of baby seal, for she started doing aquatic tricks, swimming away from Harry, then floating on her back with just her mouth and tits out of water. The sight of her erect nipples and those bounteous breasts riding the water's edge spurred Harry on. Despite the chill his initial contact with the water had given him, it hadn't caused his cock to soften one millimeter. He dog-paddled after his girl, diving under her floating body and patting her lovely ass as he swam by.
Then, Harry surfaced, and Angela moved one hand to splash his face with water. Harry laughed, loud and raucously. He dove for Angela, she disappeared beneath the surface, and where the two of them had been, the water changed into froth and churning, as if they were both back on the beach and the surf was splashing into the shore.
Big Bill stared morosely at that spot, seeing his cherished plan going down with Harry and Angela.
"What's the matter, Big Bill? Those bad actors didn't read your script right, did they?"
It was Iris, mocking and taunting him. She had a tendency to be a smartass broad at times, and this was one of those times.
"Fuck off, Iris," Big Bill said, coldly, fingering his prick as if he wanted to smack her with it.
"Well, you can't say that I didn't play my part correctly," she said, shaking her hair over her breasts, then shoving her haunches directly into his face, as if telling him to kiss her ass.
Big Bill could tolerate no more from his hired cunt.
Since he didn't want the picnic, the time spent a total waste, he walked over to Iris, picked her up by legs and shoulders, and dropped her quickly right on the ground, right on her ass. Some of the breath, as he'd expected, was knocked right out of her, and she started to pout, to cry, to feel sorry for herself and her predicament.
Then, Big Bill, playing it caveman-style, grabbed her long blonde hair and began to drag her toward the water.
She yelped in protest, but he kept on pulling her along, until he had dragged her into the water itself, her body scooping out some sand, her head barely above the surface of the water. Bracing her back upright, so that she was almost in a right angle, a 90° position, he simply squatted on top of her, his legs outstretched over hers, and, with one quick thrust which was aided by the lubricating quality of
the clear lake water -- drove his cock into her cunt, right up to the hilt.
She gasped, first in pain at his swift, stabbing movement, then in pleasure, as she could feel her membranes responding, their expansion and con-traction beginning like an accordian being played. She could feel him moving around, touching every membrane and muscle, and her breasts filled, her nipples vibrating in their proud erectness, her clit an electrical socket blasting thousands of volts through-out her nervous system as his stomach and pubic hairs massaged that sensitive little finger just above her vagina.
As her juices began to flow, she wanted to enjoy her orgasms, so she tried to place her arms around Big Bill, to touch him with her lips and her fingers, to kiss and fondle him. Big Bill would have none of that. Instead, he held her hands outstretched, keeping her head away from him. All he was going to do was to give her a cold, caustic fuck in the cunt, just to show her who was boss, just to relieve himself -- and that was all, nothing else, no embellishments or frills. Just the old in-and-out, period.
While, in the lake, below the surface of the water .. Harry and Angela backed into a similar position, right on the bottom of the lake, though a matter of only a few feet under. Her legs were eagerly spread, the electric thrills were coursing through her body, and Harry, chewing her clit as if was a candy bar, was holding his breath as best as he could while Angela, her hands massaging his curly hair, felt Harry's palms pressed against her breasts and his fondling fingers tweaking her nipples, turning her on to ecstasy, submarine style.
Then, Harry removed his mouth, careful not to swallow too much water, and drove his cock into her cunt. The sudden thrust caused both of them to spurt out some air bubbles, which broke through the surface of the water. Big Bill, his sperm streaming out, his cock ramming and reaming Iris' cunt, saw those bubbles, and laughed bitterly. Below that watery surface, Angela, her pussy palpitating with the joys of orgasmic lust, felt Harry's spurting bursts of sperm hitting home, as Harry felt the fine satisfaction of fucking his favorite cunt, humping and pumping, really enjoying the fine feeling of sex under water for the added dimension of sexual thrills and unusual sexual satisfaction.
While Big Bill, still staring at their bubbles, said bitterly, to no one in particular, "I hope they drown!"