Chapter 11
"I'm going to Las Vegas," Angela said, matter-of-factly, as she thrust the contract that had just come in the mail in Harry's face.
"Huh?"
That was all Harry could say, as he blinked and gulped, and started to sweat. That was all he needed; an out-of-town job for his woman.
"You can read, can't you, Harry? Don't you see this contract is guaranteeing me one month's engagement at this Las Vegas lounge?"
"Yeah, sure ... I see it."
He went for the wine bottle, gulping down some Gallo burgundy right from the bottle, feeling the warming liquid trickle down his throat.
Now, he felt a little better.
He shrugged. He'd been expecting something like this, especially since Angela's press was still going great, and the attendance at the Kitten Club was breaking house records. Yes, he knew, sooner or later, better offers would naturally come her way. But, why now? Why, before he'd broken her of her professional stripping, stopped the habit for good? He and Big Bill had been so close to straightening her out ... so close ...
"Well, Harry -- aren't you at least going to offer me your congratulations?'
Angela looked at him quizzically, her cat's-eyes gleaming suspiciously, and he thought, next thing I know, she'll be shacking up with some Las Vegas gambler and won't be coming home any more, goddam the lousy luck ...
"Honey ..." he said, hesitatingly, suddenly feeling his prick vibrate vibrate with ecstasy, as he begin to wonder about making it with her a dozen times a day before she left to start her new job. "Listen, you know I'm happy with your success." He paused, glancing downward, adding, "It's just that ... well, you know ..."
"I know that if I'm in Vegas, you'll still be here, because the contract only pays for my room and meals, and not yours. That's what you mean, isn't it, Harry?"
"Well ..."
Suddenly, she laughed, like a little girl playing with a new toy. She kissed him quickly on the lips, her tantalizing tongue darting between his teeth, searching for his tongue to reply to her. He grabbed her, pulling her close, rubbing his crotch against hers. He was still in his underwear, she in panties and bra. He was pleased to discern the dampness of her pubic hairs, sufficient enough for him to feel it through both of their clothes. He tongued her back, his eyes burning into hers. She looked at him mischievously, gave him a quick tongueing that reamed right over all of his mouth membranes, then pulled her head away.
"Harry," she said, almost in mocking tones, "You know I love fucking you, but I love my career, too. Now, there's no reason why I can't have both, is there now?" She paused, reaching, down to place her hand on his shorts, to let her fingers slip through the slot and come into contact with his prick. "After all, it's only a month, just four weeks, and then I'll be back in California, and I'll have all these great press clippings to show around." He could feel her fingers pulling back his foreskin, rubbing his balls. His cock lurched with desire, grew like a hothouse plant, getting stiffer by the second. "Harry, when I return, you'll be so proud of me, I just know it!"
Harry just knew it, too. He knew that that wouldn't be the end of it, no matter what she said now. Knew that next it would be Hollywood films, New York club dates, TV commercials ... and God only knows what after that ...
He also knew, right now, that he really wanted to fuck, especially since she was almost ready to change clothes and go to work at the club.
"Hey, Angela -- here's a new routine you might try when you get to Vegas!"
Harry, his confidence flowing back as his prick flowed into super-stiffness, suddenly got on the floor, doing a hand stand, his legs pointing toward the ceiling, as he tried, by sheer body vibrations, to shake off his shorts. His ass was shaking pretty hard, and his prick had fallen forward and was flopping out of his shorts, his pubic hairs also peeking around the elastic waistband as he strained to pop off his drawers. But, they only advanced ceiling ward by a few inches, as he sweated and struggled to show Angela what to do and how to do it.
Angela laughed; not maliciously, but with affectionate humor at his machinations. After all, he was her Harry, and he was a sweet guy, so fine when he was fucking her. She got down on the floor beside him, also standing on her hands; but, first, she unsnapped her bra, dropping it right by his nose. As she'd expected, he couldn't help but sniff her tit aroma, and this seemed to turn him on all the more.
"Watch, Harry, let's see if I can do it, too," she said, her eyes staring into his, her hips swiveling and her legs moving, as her muscles began to expand and contract, the muscles rippling like a roaring river, slowly shaking loose her panties, slowly revealing that lovely thatch of pubic hair, that long, pointed clit that was trembling with sexual expectancy, those lovely cunt lips that seemed to be talking to him in strictly sexual language.
He watched, his eyes rolling like loose marbles, as, inch by inch, her panties seemed to be popping off. Her easy manipulations made him strain all the harder, but he could not quite equal her prowess in the challenge he'd laid down. There was only one way to save face; that is, by fucking her while both of them were standing on their heads.
His eyes turning sensual, gleaming into hers, he began to move his cock toward her cunt, still keeping his balance. After all, he'd had gymnastic training, too, and he was putting it to good use as he slowly began to change his balance, to move closer to his woman with his prick quivering with lust, his muscles straining for sexual contact.
Her cool green eyes began to turn warmer, to add a touch of lusty humor, as she noticed what he was doing. His movements seemed to turn her on, for she could feel her pussy began to stir, its juices starting to flow. Her breathing became more rhythmic, and was coordinated with the now rising and falling of her breasts and erecting of her nipples and clit. A patina of perspiration slowly began to form on her skin, and she began to lick her lips, thinking that of all the imaginative ways Harry had devised of fucking her, this had to be the best idea so far.
So, she began to change her position, too. She carefully swung her crotch toward his. Slowly, fraction of an inch by fraction of an inch, their central parts moved closer, until she could feel his cock rubbing against her clit. Electric jolts shot through her, as she felt the tough tip of his rod probing her clit, which vibrated lustily at his touch. She moved her crotch so that his cock was now poised against her cunt lips, which began to spread slowly open so that his instrument might penetrate their lush, damp darkness.
It was a tricky position, and one that called for the most delicate, the most precise, of manipulations. Harry was being just as careful as Angela; he wanted her to really have a fuck to remember when she was stripping on that Vegas stage. He began to inch his cock into her cunt, which was now becoming sufficiently lubricated to allow him passage.
He forgot, for a few seconds, his position, and lunged with his prick, almost knocking her back-ward. She glared at him, and his eyes registered the message to his mind. More careful with his next move, he more gently eased his prick along her pussy, feeling it sliding now in a more natural, smoother manner. She felt him opening her up like a flower facing the sun, she felt him slowly crawling like a slithering snake all the way, almost all the way, in this difficult position, until she could feel that he was in as far as he could get.
Her vaginal muscles clutched at his cock, and he could feel their firm grip, manipulating his member. He was sweating from toe to head, but he still held his position, rocking though a bit, yet still upright as his prick.
He felt her toes touch his, and then he understood why. She wanted to ensure them retaining that delicate balance during their intercourse, their inter-change of sexual goodies. Her muscles were really working him over, and she could feel her orgasm beginning, the juice now pouring from her pussy.
His face was wracked with the strain of standing on his head so long; he hadn't done that in years. His cock was throbbing with power, his balls near bursting, as he did his best to hold his position and let her pussy muscles make most of the moves. She could feel him buckling inside her, getting ready to fire, as she built herself into a passion, raised herself to a plateau, of sexual stimulation, her nerves like electric wires, her body trembling so hard she could barely hold her position.
For both of them, the blood was running to their heads, she was feeling faint, he a bit dizzy. She wanted to cry out to him, "What are you waiting for?" but she was afraid that might throw both of them off balance. She could hear him grunting, over and above her moans for relief, and she knew he was trying hard ... harder ... hardest ...
She was coming now, so violently she almost knocked them over, as her muscles strained to trigger off his load.
And, then, with a great gasp and a heaving of all his muscles, he finally got it all together.
He came in a great glorious gush of sperm, not his usual rat-a-tat-tat style but like an oil geyser coming in. So strained had he been from this peculiar position. He blasted off a bucketful, his cock twitching and vibrating inside her, like a burning poker, giving her plenty of sexual heat. She gasped in pleasure, her muscles and membranes gripping his prick al-most hard enough to yank it off, as they came together, riding their orgasms over the crest until ... they both fell down.
He, in effect, knocked her down by the strength of his sexual offensive. Still locked together, they hit the floor, with Harry on top. Now, their hands could quickly grab each other, her breasts could rub beautifully against his chest, as they finished their sexual session, really exhausted but satisfied.
Of course, when it was done, she had to take a shower and change, and then, she was off to work, and he was all by himself again.
Feeling just a bit lonesome, and thinking more than just a bit of that Las Vegas trip coming up, he too cleaned himself up, put on a shirt and pants, and walked down the road a few houses to borrow a phone to call ... Big Bill.
And, Big Bill said, "Harry, just sit tight, I'll send Wong over to fetch you to my place at once."
Minutes later, Harry found himself in Big Bill's Laurel Canyon home, with Bill hosting and hoisting the martinis while dressed in denim slacks and nothing else. Of course, these denims were high style stuff, costing about half a hundred and hand tailored, but how would Harry know that?
After Harry had told him the story, Big Bill nodded, and said, "Well, Harry, if we try to stop her from going to Las Vegas, she might become angry enough to simply leave you. But, if we allow her to go, we are taking the chance that she may not re-turn.,
"Well, that's why I called you, Big Bill. I mean, I know you've helped me out a lot already, and I hate to keep on bothering you ... "
"Say no more, Harry. You know I am always glad to help a friend in need. Now, let me think ..."
Several martinis later -- for both of them -- Big Bill suddenly looked skyward, snapped his fingers, and said, "I believe I know a solution."
"I hope so," Harry said, feeling the martinis roaring through his blood like a raging river.
"Yes, there is only one thing that could cause Angela to abandon her career. Acute embarrassment, Harry, nothing less. Some sort of humiliation, perhaps a performance so bad that she would never again be able to secure another engagement. Do you understand?"
"Well ... sure, I get you!" He lowered his eyes, then looked up again, and added, "But I'm not going to mess Angela up, she'd really pull out if I pulled that on her!"
Big Bill nodded, his expression symbolizing the words, "I understand." Then, he said, after another sip of his martini, "Harry, believe me, nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan. Please listen while I explain ..."
When he had finished explaining, it sounded to Harry as if Big Bill had been up all day and all night just thinking it up. Harry nodded vigorously in agreement, feeling the martinis as well as the plan exciting him, and said, "That's great! When do we start?"
"Right now." He stood up, and said, "Please excuse me while I make some phone calls."
About fifteen minutes later, Big Bill was back, winking cryptically, and saying, "In about ten minutes, Harry, we shall have a visitor. I think you will find her, shall we say, performance most interesting." When the doorbell rang and Wong ushered the expected visitor into the living room, Harry saw that it was Iris, the crazy blonde cunt from the ill-starred mountain picnic. She was wearing white silk; white silk ribbons that had been wrapped around her like she were a mummy.
Harry's eyes popped wide open. He mumbled, "Huh ... what's happening ... why are you dressed like that ..."
She laughed, winking at Harry, as she replied, "Well, Harry, Big Bill here says I'm supposed to cure what ails you. And if you're the patient, why, just consider me as your nurse, because I'm going to give you an injection that will really fix you up."
Taking a quick martini from Big Bill, who'd now put some wild, drumming African music on the stereo, Iris began to dance.
With her hips swaying suggestively, her arms moving in sensual ways, her legs doing dances that wouldn't have been tolerated in the most liberal of brothels. And, as she moved her body into positions and gyrations that Harry would not have believed if he wasn't seeing them, she began to unroll the white silk strands from her body.
Big Bill, trying to keep his own cock cooled as he watched Iris, noticed that Harry's tongue was hanging out like a thirsty dog, his prick struggling to free itself from his pants. Especially when Iris unrolled some strips from her right leg, just enough so that a few thick clumps of blonde pubic hairs showed through.
As she continued her dancing, her body turned into one vibrating question mark. She seemed to have no bones, only skin and muscles. Harry was getting so excited he unzipped his fly and let his dick out, to give it some breathing space. It was almost completely erect, its foreskin pulled back and its tip as solid as a baseball. Big Bill couldn't conceal a chuckle or two at that sight.
Iris kept on moving, this time twirling the ribbons from her left leg, revealing more pubic hair and the bottom of her pussy. Harry's head leaned forward, and his hands reached out as if he wanted to grab it. She smiled tolerantly, but danced out of his reach.
Big Bill, feeling his own erection, realized that even he wasn't as immune to Iris as he'd thought. His mind went into action, but his prick didn't seem to get the message.
Now, Iris was removing the strips from her shoulders and arms, like unraveling a ribbon of silk. She continued, her nimble fingers removing the stuff from her torso. And, as her pink nipples and dusky breasts became visible, Harry felt his rod stand straight at attention. He wasn't embarrassed at letting it all hang out; not since the picnic happenings. There was really nothing anyone there, in Big Bill's place, hadn't seen before, anyway.
Iris had removed almost everything, except for a few gleaming white ribbons still wrapped around part of her pussy.
Off they came, in one twirling motion, and there, her pussy lips chattering like two women exchanging gossip, her cunt was thrust so close to Harry's head that his dangling tongue leaped out and tried to connect with Iris's tempting clit.
She pulled back, and his tongue stayed hanging in air.
She could feel her juice starting up from her own sexual exertions, and she could also see that Harry was really ready for it. But, she had her instructions to prolong the moment, tease him to the point of no return, tempt him right to the breaking point before giving in.
Without realizing it, perhaps, she was also tempting Big Bill, who had apparently misjudged his own neutrality, his own cock control, for his prick was now stabbing skyward, and he was just about ready to cream his expensive jeans.
But, Harry was the target.
And Harry, not knowing that, fell into the trap, jumping out of his chair and diving for Iris. His hands grabbed her ankles, and he pulled her off balance; she fell by degrees, bracing herself with her hands, sliding to the thick; plush rug in parts. As she dropped, she grabbed Harry's prick and squeezed it good and hard.
Harry screamed, and smacked her in the mouth.
Dropping his cock, she smacked him one right back.
Harry, backhanding it, hit her with a wave of blows, smacking her until her cheeks turned as red as raw meat. Big Bill, unsettled by this unexpected violence, started to head for Harry, just about ready to throw both of them out, angry that his plan was messing up again.
Just before he reached them, Iris, mumbling through her puffy lips, cried out, "Oh ... you hit me .. but I love it ... you can hit me again ... you can fuck me again ..."
"Sorry," Harry said, his face tomato-red in embarrassment at what he'd just done.
Big Bill stood back, still staring, still feeling his erection ready to explode.
Carefully, Harry eased Iris back on the floor, and bent over her -- his clothing still on, his cock still hanging out -- and dropped right on her.
It was a good, swift thrust, and Iris was wet enough inside not to cause him any difficulty in getting through. Though, he couldn't help but notice that her pussy was looser, limper than Angela's, certainly a lot more worn out than his woman's.
But, fucking was fucking, so the influence of all the martinis told Harry, as he started to pump it to her. She began to hump and arch her back, her arms reaching around Harry's bottom, and his love bites hitting her just below the left ear. He felt her big boobs against his chest, her nipples tough enough to stab into his skin.
While Big Bill, desperately trying to keep his cock under control, dumped the contents of his martini pitcher over it. The effect was instantaneous; it began to tremble with cold, then slowly softened, retracting a few inches, as Big Bill sat down, and impassively watched Harry and Iris go at it on the rug.
Iris was coming, her pussy palpitating, her juices flowing and dripping onto Harry's drawers as they poured out of her pussy. She was arching her back, her haunches heaving, meeting Harry's cock with her own quivering cunt, and she'd even got her legs hooked around his waist in a sort of scissors grip. He drove energetically inside her, his prick as powerful as a battering ram.
He let loose his sperm, in that series of spasmodic, jolting spurts he was so used to. As she felt him coming inside her, her pussy membranes closed tightly around his prick, squeezing even more juice from his vibrating instrument. And, she was moaning as if singing a joyful blues, and exuberant chant, a cunt-felt offering and thanksgiving to the Gods of Sex.
Big Bill had made it with Iris many times, but he couldn't remember ever hearing such raw, primitive animal sounds from her insides before. It angered him, slightly. He was getting ready to fuck her in the ass, but now, with those paens of love poetry coming from her mouth, he decided to make sure he one-upped Harry, by fucking her at least twice as wild as Harry was now banging her.
Commanding his cock to hold it for a few more minutes, he suddenly felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. Of course, it was Wong. Big Bill glanced over his shoulder, and saw Wong's cock ready to split the seams of his trousers.
"Say, boss, can I join fun, too?" Wong asked.
"After me, Wong!" Big Bill snapped at his servant, so savagely that Wong stepped back a few paces. Big Bill swung his gaze toward Harry and Iris again, watching them really going at it. It seemed as if Harry's sperm supply was as spacious as the gasoline tank in Big Bill's Caddy. Big Bill said again to Wong, almost sighing as he did so, "Seconds for me first Wong, and then -- for your sake -- I hope the third time is charm."