Chapter 8
"Come on, Angela, just a little fucking before you go to work!"
"Harry can't you realize I'm in a hurry? It's al-most nine o'clock, and I'm going to be late if you don't leave me alone!"
As it seemed, they were having a slight disagreement.
Angela, dressed in a loose-fitting pants suit -- she would change her clothes at the club when she got there -- was trying to make it out the door, where Harry, bareass naked, was standing, his arms spread wide, blocking her exit. His prick was right up there, erect, bristling its challenge through thick pubic hairs and pointing straight at her like a drawn weapon.
"Harry, this is silly! Please act like a man, not a child, and let me pass."
"You don't pass, sweetheart, until I get some ass. We haven't made it all day.
From the moment they had woken up that morning, she had told him she wasn't "feeling well." He had accepted that excuse for all morning long and most of the afternoon. However, when he'd left the pad for some early afternoon surfing she had gone out to "visit friends," so she'd said. He'd spotted her surfing, really looking neat on the board as she swooped toward shore, and he had figured, and rightfully so, that if she felt good enough to go surfing, she was also well enough to fuck.
He'd gone in the water after her, but by the time he'd got out to sea, she had rode to shore again, and he missed making contact with her. She wasn't home when he got back, around sunset, so he'd made his own supper of cold sandwiches and a couple glasses of wine. In fact, he was out of his favorite, Gallo burgundy, and he'd had to drink the stuff she liked, cold Chablis. It was all right, but he preferred a more robust bouquet.
He still had the wine bottle, holding it in one hand, taking quick gulps from the mouth of the bottle. He could see that it pissed her off, to have him slurping from her special bottle of vino. So, as he still stood in the door, he guzzled the cold Chablis -- now getting rather warm, after being out of the refrigerator for so long -- and seemed to taunt her, as if he was getting tired of her going to work almost every evening, especially weekends when he wanted to play around.
"Harry, please put the wine away and let me out."
He laughed, feeling the warmth of the wine going down his throat. He wasn't going to let her get away with her childish tricks. No sir, he was the man, he was the boss -- when he said fuck, she had better at least ...
"Suck me off, then, if you won't fuck," he said, placing the mouth of the bottle over his prick, and pouring out some wine which splashed into his thick pubic hairs and drenched his prick. "Lick my dick, Angela, or else you'll just have to be a no-show with your show tonight." His eyes glittered savagely, the brown coloring turning the shade of burning steel. "I mean it, Angela, you can't fuck around with me and then not fuck me, you understand?"
Her green cat's eyes slanted; she looked almost evil, witchy, as she stared back at him. Then, her facial muscles began to relax, the glare in her eyes changed into a more accommodating look, and, twitching her nostrils, she said, almost apologetic, "Well, Harry, all right. But, please, let's make it fast, because I do have to get to work." Pause. "If I wasn't working, we wouldn't be eating, Harry. Don't forget that."
How could he, he thought, when she reminds me every goddam day and most nights too ... this shit's getting out of hand .. I've got to do something soon to get this situation straightened out ... but, goddammit, she's right about the money scene ... I've got to get some bread by myself, and show her I can make money, too ...
But, how?
Well, why worry about it now? His throbbing prick was his major concern at the moment.
Angela approached him, and got down on her knees in front of him. Lazily, he kept his arms spread apart, not even touching her, letting her know that it was up to her to do all the work; to satisfy him, and not necessarily the converse.
She licked her lips tentatively, then stuck out her tongue, and gently touched the tip of his prick. She really had a way with her tongue, and his skin began to tingle excitedly, his prick throbbed even more, as she started to lick his dick, her tongue slowly moving along the length and width of it, lapping softly and gently all the way back to the base, then slurping at his pubic hairs for a few seconds. He started to tremble, bracing himself all the more against the door with both hands, though still holding the wine bottle in one of them.
She licked until his entire body was quivering with her touch, and his balls felt as huge and misshapen as watermelons. He was just about ready to shoot off his load, but he strained to hold back, waiting for the magic moment when her lovely, puckered mouth would close with its lascivious lips over his prick and really suck him into a sexual fervor, an erotic ecstasy, that would make every-thing right between them ...
Then she bit him!
Her teeth, not her lips, clamped hard around his prick, just at the level of the foreskin.
"Ouch!" he yelled; it really hurt.
In his surprise and anger, he dropped the wine bottle, and it struck her a glancing blow just behind her left ear. She started to cry out, but her mouth was muffled by his rod inside it. Involuntarily, her teeth again came in contact with his erection.
Now really angry, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head forward, forcing his prick deep inside her mouth.
"Suck me off, you goddam crazy cunt!" he shouted, his hands pulling her hair, yanking her head right into his stomach. "You ever bite me again, I'll knock your fucking teeth right out of your mouth, you hear?"
Then, just as quickly as it had come, his anger dissipated, the evil mood passed. He stopped tugging her hair so hard, and began instead massaging her skull, softly caressing her hair in his hands. He could feel a bump on her skull, where the bottle had connected. He was sorry that had happened; yet, she'd really caused her own discomfort, pulling that stupid trick on him, so he didn't feel all that broken up about it.
And ... he still wanted to come ... to fire off his omnipresent load, right into her mouth ...
She was moaning, shaking a bit, her lips trembling over his cock, and her mouth membranes began, instinctively, to do their job. He could feel her sucking action start again, and soon her head was bur-rowing into his stomach as her lips and mouth were sucking, massaging his rod.
Then he came, and he almost shouted with relief, screamed with joy, happy that she seemed to be all right and happier still that her mouth was really working right and tight.
She gulped his sperm, swallowing hard and rhythmically, as he let his short series of explosions buckle her head, snap her neck back, allow her mouth membranes to squeeze every last drop from his dick. And, when he finally pulled it out, he held it so that her tongue finished the job, licking it clean.
Helping her to her feet, he said, "Are you feeling all right? Can you still make it to work tonight?"
As if in reply, he heard a car horn honking right outside. It was Angela's ride, another girl who worked at the same club. For five bucks a week contribution to her gas bill, she stopped off to give Angela a ride to work.
Angela simply nodded, and rushed out the door.
Harry shook his head; something didn't seem right to him. He picked up the wine bottle -- it wasn't broken, luckily, and there was an inch or two that hadn't spilled -- and swigged the stuff down. Then, he sat down for a while, trying to think some things out, when there was a knock at the door, followed by an Oriental whine as a voice cried out, "Wong here, drive you to master's house, you ready?"
Harry laughed softly; he'd almost forgotten.
Tonight, Big Bill had invited him to his home for drinks and discussion, the latter about his and Angela's situation. He had asked Big Bill's advice, and he had responded with the invitation.
"OK, Wong, I'm coming," he shouted back, and hastily grabbed some clothes, just a simple shirt and slacks, then bounced out the door and jumped into the white Cadillac convertible waiting for him.
In an area in which having a Japanese gardener or chauffeur was the big thing, Big Bill liked to defy convention, come on differently, in his own way. Thus, Wong, who was Chinese, did those things for Big Bill, and did them quite well. He was about Big Bill's age, a short, squat fellow whose straight black hair was always falling into one eye, and, as usual, he was wearing very tight cotton pants and a mandarin-collar shirt, giving him the appearance of a Chinese revolutionary who had sold out to capatalist cretins merely for the money.
Big Bill lived in Laurel Canyon, in the kind of split-level, picture-window place that movie fan magazines were showing as the latest starlet's home. When Wong deposited Harry there, Big Bill, dressed in a red silk bathrobe and wearing matching slippers, bade him welcome, sat him down, and had Wong bring them both one of Big Bill's "specials," a vodka martini mixed about nine to one. Harry, being a wino by choice, wasn't all that excited about martinis. But, feeling the way he did, he allowed Big Bill to coax him into having at least one, not wanting to insult his host's hospitality.
The house was huge, perhaps 12 rooms, and Big Bill's taste in furniture was strictly from Louis XIV. There were ornate, exquisite overstuffed couches and chairs that looked almost antique. Harry was sitting in one of the chairs, enjoying the luxury of expensive furnishings, as Bill sat opposite him in the sofa.
After a few opening comments bordering on polite greetings and salutations, Big Bill got right to the point.
"Harry, you have asked me for help, so I am going to help you. You have a problem with Angela, and I think I can get you on the right track again. You see, I have been thinking ..."
So had Harry.
Feeling the cool, bracing drink flowing down his throat, he blurted out, before he could control him-self, "We haven't been exactly bosom buddies, Big Bill, but we've been friends for years. But, you know, this is the first time you ever invited me to your home ..."
Then, just as suddenly as he'd started, he stopped.
He had to burp; the martini was getting to him. He covered his mouth with his hand as he did so.
Big Bill wasn't bugged by Harry's outburst. He spread his arms in a grandiose gesture, as he said, "Please, Harry, no hard feelings!" Looking Harry right in the eyes, he continued, "Really, you have never seemed to need my advice in the past. But now, with these problems between Angela and yourself, I am glad to see that you haven't hesitated to put our friendship to the test."
Harry, now recovered from his burping, nodded, but continued to sip more of his martini.
Big Bill spoke again. "I believe this evening work schedule that Angela has is interfering in your love life, and that you also wish that you, and not she, were bringing home the income for the two of you. Is that correct?"
"Yeah, right ... right on ..." Harry said, now really beginning to feel the effects of all the liquor he was putting into his blood stream.
"Well, then, I think you must fight fire with fire, if you know what I mean."
Harry shook his head; he was getting a headache.
"Well, Angela is a dancer, now a stripper, who takes off her clothes to excite men. Now, I have noticed that she does the same thing to you, in the privacy of your own home. Correct?"
Harry nodded again.
"So if you were to try the same approach to her that she does to you ... " He paused, thoughtfully. "... such as the performance that you put on a few evenings ago ..."
"I wasn't putting on any fucking show for either of you!" Harry interjected, slightly angry. "I was just trying to show her that she wasn't the only goddam good dancer in the world, that I could shake my ass just as good as she could .. "
"Of course, you could!" Big Bill agreed hastily, reaching over to refill Harry's martini glass, from the pitcher that Wong had conveniently left on the coffee table. "And you did, Harry ... you really did." Another pause, while Bill sipped his own drink. "You did magnificently, if I may say so."
Harry, stopping his glass in mid-air as if he couldn't quite believe that last comment, said, "You mean it? You thought I handled her all right?"
"Like a champion."
Harry sipped his second martini. He was almost leering, as if the two of them were sharing a dirty joke.
"Now, Harry, in order for you to really show Angela that you are just as good a dancer as she is, I think you should give strong consideration toward becoming ..." Again, that long, suspenseful pause. "... a male stripper."
Harry went into a violent coughing spell for sever-al seconds, almost spilling his drink. Finally, when he was able to speak again, he muttered, "What do you mean ... who the hell's going to hire me ... and why do you think I'd even want to do that shit in public, anyway?"
"Harry -- please!"
Harry shut up, his attention riveted on Big Bill.
"Harry, please listen." Another pause, to make sure Harry was paying attention. "Since Angela turns you, and other men, on by stripping, by showing off her body in public, the only way for you to bring her back home, and therefore become the money maker for both of you, is to make her stop until you can get the job you need to support her. In short, she should strip for your eyes only, and, you should do the same for her -- all in the privacy of your own lovely little home."
Harry gulped some more booze, then blurted out, "I still don't get it, Big Bill."
"Harry," Big Bill explained further, "If Angela can turn you on by stripping, then you should be able to do the same for her. In short, you strip for her before she starts stripping for you. You take the initiative, become the aggressor -- the man in charge."
"Right on!" Harry shouted, waving his glass like a weapon. "That's a great fucking idea, Big Bill!" Big Bill smiled with satisfaction.
"Harry, I'll tell you a secret. I was once an actor in certain kinds of movies ... where nudity was often required."
"You?"
"Well, don't rush right out and tell the Los Angeles Times to print that fact on Page One!" He paused. "But, during that period, I learned some very successful techniques and routines to turn women on by taking my clothes off. Now, since I have arranged for Angela to stop by ..."
"Angela? Here?"
"Harry, I have arranged this entire evening merely to help out an old friend. Now, before she arrives, I want to show you exactly how to handle yourself under these circumstances ..."
By the time Angela arrived-driven there, again, by her girlfriend from the club -- she discovered that Big Bill had purposely left the porch light off, and there were no lights to be seen from the windows, either. As Angela struggled her way to the porch and fumbled with the doorknob, the door suddenly swung open to reveal ...
Harry.
Standing there, wearing a flourescent wrap-around scarf, the kind that glows in the dark with a soft, eerie purple hue.
"Who's ... this ..." Angela murmured, startled.
Harry said nothing. Instead, he started to shake his ass, in a half-assed Hawaiian hula, and the glowing scarf, wrapped around his midriff, moved along with him.
Angela stared, fascinated by the weird glow. Harry kept on-shaking his ass.
Big Bill, at the far end of the living room, looked out the window and laughed. Everything was working just fine, so far. After Harry had got Angela all worked up, Big Bill, not Harry, would slip it to Angela, but good. By that time, the martinis Harry had put away would render him simply unable to keep up his end of the arrangement, so Big Bill would naturally take over to make sure that Angela didn't go away aroused and angry -- or even go away at all.
He watched, still laughing, as Harry began to unwind the scarf. Angela, who was now inside the house, followed in fascination. Harry was moving as delicately as a ballet dancer. Big Bill's suggestions were working -- "Something very subtle," to turn her on by sheer contrast to her own flamboyant physical pyrotechnics. Harry gyrated his glowing way toward the stairs.
On the second floor, the first door on the right was Big Bill's bedroom. As Big Bill had said to Harry, "You cannot help but make out there, and once you arrive, you will soon see why."
Angela, now getting used to this freaky apparition in front of her -- she thought it was her bedmate, but still couldn't be sure-felt her clit and cunt becoming stimulated, her sexual expectations becoming aroused. And, not only that, but she also started to strip herself, as if being challenged by that glowing purple scarf.
She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her stockings, following the blur in front of her. As he danced nimbly away -- the martinis had done their job; just enough to loosen Harry up but not enough to knock him on his ass -- she followed him, unbuttoning her blouse and unsnapping her bra.
Harry began to waltz up the stairs.
He climbed them one by one, very carefully, hugging the railing while the scarf draped after him like a glowing purple tail. Angela, her tremendous tits shaking and thrusting out front like two enormous melons, followed him.
Watching this erotic pas-de-deux was giving Big Bill a good-sized erection. He was standing by the sofa, and his cock was coming on so strong that he was just about ready to make it with one of the sofa pillows. But, gently gripping his erect member between his delicate fingers, he did not go up the stairs until Harry and Angela were at the very top of the landing.
Then, he crept 'stealthily up the stairs, finally standing outside his own bedroom door. He had told Harry to leave the door ajar, so that he could "check" and make sure Harry was following his instructions to the letter. He was quite pleased to notice that the door was halfway ajar.
He looked inside.
In the center of the room stood a huge round bed. From the walls, a battery of strobe lights -- his own erotic idea -- were flashing off with more colors than a rainbow, giving the room an eerie, exotic atmosphere. Music was also playing from the built-in stereo system, romantic music, thick with strings, loaded with woodwinds. Just the perfect mood, Big Bill thought ...
Harry and Angela were shaking it right on the bed.
Harry was moving the scarf around his chest and over his shoulders, holding Angela's interest. She knew now that it was Harry, and she was surprised and pleased to see that he had learned how to shake his ass and strip off his clothes with some style. She had, by now, removed her skirt, and as Harry kept draping the scarf about himself, she was in the process of removing her panties, stepping out of them without missing a beat as she turned out some of her most shimmying, ass-shaking steps.
Big Bill could see by the flashing strobe lights that Harry's prick was sticking straight out, with Angela's pussy vibrating excitedly just a few inches away.
Still clutching his own cock, Big Bill smiled and licked his lips. Everything was going just fine, right according to plan. It wouldn't be long now.
Now, Harry pulled off a deftly-clever maneuver.
The moment Angela stepped out of her panties, Harry whipped the scarf around her waist, and pulled her close to him, though she was still moving as he did so, her buttocks shaking, her breasts bouncing, and those familiar thrills beginning to race through her nerve endings.
She was perspiring, but that was not the only liquid stirring in or on her. Some pussy juice was beginning to drip from her crotch, falling onto the bed beneath. As for Harry, he was sweating out the martinis, now beginning to feel a trifle shaky, but still holding his own. He had that glowing purple scarf around Angela's waist, puffing her so close that his cock was now rubbing against her clit and sending cataclysmic tremors throughout her.
Feeling her body responding, Angela's cunt started churning out more juice, lubricating itself well enough to accommodate a flagpole. Her hair was cascading around her shoulders, some sticking to her damp skin, as Harry nibbled at her earlobes and kissed her neck, while his cock continued to raise sexual hell with her twinging clit.
Big Bill, barely able to control his own cock, was still watching from, the door, wondering when the booze was going to hit Harry and knock him flat. He had timed everything so well, he could hardly believe his masterful martinis weren't also working on schedule.
"What wrong, boss? What is problem?"
He felt a fat finger tapping his shoulder, as he turned around, knowing the flat, whining voice all too well. Of course, it was his hired man, Wong. "I hear noise, I wake up, I think maybe boss in trouble, I come to help."
Controlling his temper with great effort, Big Bill said, as calmly as he could, "Go back to bed, Wong, there is nothing wrong, I am merely entertaining my friends."
"Some entertainment, right? Look like that guy doing all right. Wong love to watch people making love. Wong know right way to make love, maybe show your friends how to do right thing ..."
"Wong, will you please get the hell out of here?" Big Bill said, exasperated, raising. his voice. Then, suddenly realizing that Harry and Angela might hear him, he quieted down his volume, and whispered in Wong's ear, "Please leave, and I guarantee you I shall get a nice Oriental woman for you tomorrow, all for your very own."
"Not want Oriental woman, fuck thousands of them already. Like to fuck nice white woman, like that one there."
Big Bill now noticed that Wong had an erection almost as extensive as his own. He sighed. He wondered if he should shove Wong down the stairs, pretending it was an accident, and hire another Chinese handyman the following day.
While he was thinking, Harry and Angela were really going at it, with that glowing purple scarf now wrapped around Angela's ass, as if she was being massaged in a gym to take off a few extra pounds. Harry was still wielding the scarf masterfully, puffing her cunt right into contact with his cock. As he began entering her, she gulped, then began to hum along with the music. Harry, still shaking his own ass, plunged it straight ahead, in all the way.
With their chests now touching, Harry could feel the hardness of her nipples almost penetrating his outer layer of skin. He began to rub his chest against her boobs, feeling her tits responding by the sensuous way she was rubbing back.
Angela started to come.
Harry could feel her vaginal membranes began their muscular workout on his cock, their grip holding it firm as if set in cement. He could feel her juice flowing and mixing with his sweat. She could feel him jabbing like a boxer inside her, his cock seeming to be all over her nervous system, his stomach rubbing against her vibrating clit and triggering all sorts of sweet, sexual sensations within her. And, coupled with the lush music and the flashing strobes, they were both becoming even more erotic, even more turned on, than ever before.
As was Big Bill, who couldn't simply stand idily by and watch any longer, waiting for his deadly martinis to take effect.
Nor could Wong, who was in no mood to seek solace in re-reading the teachings of Confucius or the thoughts of Mao, either.
Big Bill kicked off his slippers and whipped off his robe, his walk speeding up as he closed in on Harry and Angela, Right behind him, undressing as he moved, came Wong, his prick almost as wide as Harry's, but flatter, shaped more like a trowel than any other kind of tool.
As both of them approached the couple -- neither of whom noticed them -- what Big Bill had planned finally took place. That is, the full force of the super-strong martinis finally got to Harry and, before he really understood what was happening, he started passing out.
However, since he still had that glowing purple scarf holding Angela firmly in his grip -- not to mention his cock jammed into her cunt -- as Harry fell backwards, he pulled Angela with him. When Harry hit the bed on his back, Angela was on top of him. And, they were still together, sexually speaking.
But, Big Bill was upon them now.
Brandishing his stiff member like a sword, he climbed on Angela, his mouth delivering to her delicate love bites at the nape of her neck, his hands slipping around her torso and getting a fine and firm hold on her breasts, and his cock began its entrance into her sphincter as if it had been lubricated in those same martinis Harry had drunk.
Angela gasped, as she felt Big Bill driving home hard in her asshole. Her sphincter muscles stretched themselves to accommodate this extra organ, and, though Harry was out of it mentally, his cock was still in her. Angela, being buffetted by two rods, both front door and back, began to feel like a piece of meat in the middle of a sandwich.
Angela was almost screaming, squirming between the two of them, her pussy gushing out passion, trying to get Harry's 'still erect member to do its thing. Of course, the harder Big Bill drove into her ass, his cock creaming and reaming her rectum, the more eagerly she was to set both of them off and indulge herself in both sets of sexual fireworks.
It seemed that Wong, who was now standing by and watching this sexual threesome, was disappointed, since both holes seemed to be occupied. Where, oh where, was he going to place his prick, now that it was completely erect and ready to shoot off its load?
Cursing his ancestors for not providing him with longer legs and therefore greater speed -- he might have beat out Big Bill if he'd moved faster -- Wong, blinking his heavy-lidded eyes because of the flickering strobes, finally could stand it no more.
There was only one opening large enough to accommodate his weapon, he finally surmised, and that was ...
Angela's mouth.
He positioned himself so that he was standing right in front of Angela's face. He grabbed hold of her hair, angling her head back so that her mouth flipped open, and then, placing his prick against her lips, he poured on the pressure and pried her mouth open, ramming his' prick inside.
Angela, now in white heat with orgasmic out-bursts, could hardly even see what was happening. All she could do was feel, suddenly, three rods, lightning rods jammed into three separate orifices in her body, all of them churning with energy.
She gulped Wong's dong, her tongue licking at its foreskin, her mouth membranes drawing it right to the edge of her throat. Slurping sounds came from deep within her throat, as she writhed and squirmed like a snake in heat, her body touching and electrifying all three men who were now inside her.
Harry came first.
Though passed out, his cock came through, almost as if in a state of rigor mortis, shooting off its heavy load in that series of short spurts, automatic rifle fire, that he was famous for. Angela's body buckled with the impact, and it threw her slightly off balance. Her teeth clamped down slightly on Wong's dick, and that was sufficient to set off the man, who started coming in a similar manner as Harry, only with slightly longer bursts, and longer pauses between explosions.
As her cunt gulped down Harry's sperm and her mouth eagerly swallowed Wong's sperm, Big Bill suddenly realized that everybody else was coming -- except himself.
Cursing his luck, the partial failure of his plan, he moved his prick around in her sphincter with faster, more delibrate motions. Finally, as Harry and Wong were winding down their orgasms, Big Bill came with such force that he pushed Angela forward by more than a few inches. Big Bill, grinding his fingers into her lucious boobs, held on tough and tight, feeling his steady stream of sperm lubricating Angela's asshole, feeling her sphincter muscles clutching his cock in their vice-tight grip. He sighed with both relief and envy, still feeling a bit sadly the other two men had got their jollies first and fastest.
Next time, he thought, I will make no mistake, I will get Angela where I want her ... in her front door for sure ..