Chapter 4
Art Bond was a big man. He had a face that would have been square if he'd sacrificed his extra chin. His nose was rather long and angular and sat atop a somewhat large mouth. He was, as many remarked, ruggedly handsome.
The Piccadilly was only slightly alive when Art escorted Lori through the full-length glass doors which were half hidden behind a ten foot fountain. Inside, the music was soft, as were the lights.
Lori ordered a martini, Art had a double bourbon on the rocks.
"I like everything strong," he said. "My booze, my coffee and my sex."
"If you can handle all three, you're great," she smiled
After several minutes, they got up to dance. She was glad they did. It gave her a chance to be in Art's arms.
"It's not that I mind the divorce so much, really, " Lori was saying. "No, that isn't true. I do mind. I mind very much. And I didn't like hearing that Jim was engaged to that Turner girl."
Art shrugged. He could care less who married who. He said, "She quit her job today."
"I just can't see her as being ready for marriage, let alone marrying someone who's used to having a woman around."
"So?" he shrugged. "She'll get used to it."
"I really shouldn't be talking about it, should I?"
"You're not saying anything yet," he told her. "But if you feel like talking, go right ahead. Just remember, I'm on your side, right? I don't know what the divorce was all about, but I can't see that there was so much difficulty that it couldn't have been straightened out. Maybe it was Jim who fell a little short. Now, if you'd had a real man ..." He reached out and took her hand roughly.
"Well, the truth of the matter is, Jim fell more than a little short," she lied. "I mean, he began to make me feel guilty, dirty, ashamed. Every time I wanted him .. to ... make love to me, he ... Oh, but that's not a thing to talk about here, is it? I'm sure you don't want to listen to some frustrated divorcee sing about her troubles."
Art grinned broadly. He meant it to be a soft smile, but it got lost somewhere in the rugged caverns of his face. "Who can you talk to if not your friends? I've got big shoulders. You can cry on them all you like."
She smiled up at him. "You're such a good person," she said softly. "Why didn't we ever get to know each other before?"
"I tried," he said.
"'Yes, I know. Maybe I should have..." He shrugged. "There are a lot of maybes in the world."
"I guess I was so in love with Jim that I didn't see some of the danger signs. Suddenly, he didn't seem to want me anymore. How many nights I reached out to him, wanting him so badly, only to have him say he was tired or that I should try to control my emotions, think of something besides sex. Then he'd roll over and go to sleep. I used to get up and go to the window. I'd sit there for hours, listening to him breathe in his sleep, hoping, praying he'd wake up and call out to me. But he never did. Not once. Sometimes I'd see a man walking by on the street and I'd have to fight myself to keep from crying out. Then I'd think of leaping out the window and sailing down the whole sixteen floors to the street."
"I had no idea," Art said. "I always figured Jim to at least know what the hell to do in bed."
"I don't know why he turned himself off where I was concerned. I was in orbit about sex and he was back on earth," she went on.
"A very dull earth at that," Art said. "Jesus, all a man has to do is look at you and he can tell what a passionate woman you must be."
"Do you mean hot?" she asked impishly.
"I didn't think I should use the term," he smiled, "All I know is that you sure as hell turn me on. And full throttle, too."
She looked at him directly. "I envy your wife, Art I envy any woman who has a real man around the house. She's very lucky."
He shrugged. "She doesn't realize it," he said. "From what you've told me about Jim, he and my wife would make a good pair."
"Oh, poor Art," she said. "You, too?"
He nodded. His head bent a little lower.
Then she said, "It would seem that we both married the wrong people, wouldn't it? I mean, we might all have been so much better off if I had a man like you and you had a woman ... well, like me."
They both laughed and went back to their table.
Art was sitting very close to her now so that their legs were touching under the white privacy of the tablecloth. He looked at her and took her hand in his, the other busying itself under the table where it had found her knee; it inched slowly to the inside of her thigh where he let it rest, an insistent, gentle prodding emanating from his fingers.
Lori squirmed slightly under his caress, not further away, but nearer, moving her body until the contact as made firm, warmer.
Art's breath gushed out of him, then he sucked it back in as though someone had dropped an ice cube down his back. His face grew flushed and he leaned close to her. He kissed her lips and the corners of her mouth, gently and passionately.
"It's been so long," she sighed. "So terribly long."
His breath went through its ritual again. His lips were against the lobe of her ear now, nibbling, sending chills of pleasure down the length of her body.
"Do you ... do you think it's wrong of me to talk so openly about what I want? Is it bad?"
His breath was gushing in and out of him like a bellows now. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, heavy with longing. "Come on, let's get out of here," he whispered, his voice sounding like a brick dragged over sandpaper. "Let's not play games anymore."
She stole a glance at his hands. Huge, meaty paws that completely covered her own tiny hands, met her gaze. Art was a big man, his hands were big. That meant a lot to Lori. She felt a tremor go through her when she thought how he must be built.
Almost as though she were hypnotized, Lori rose, waited while Art paid the check, and allowed him to lead her outside.
Art talked most of the way to Lori's apartment, his words soothing, crooning, promising-promising a night she wouldn't ever forget. He took her hand and pulled her close to him on the seat. Then, apparently unable to control himself, he pulled over. He took her in his arms in the darkness of the car. His mouth pressed against hers, hands roaming freely over her body, searching out the secret parts of her, discarding discretion in his hunger until finally Lori pushed him away.
"Don't you think it would be more comfortable at my place?" she said, smiling.
"Oh, yeah ... sure."
In Lori's apartment building, Art kissed her in the elevator, in the hallway, in the foyer. His hands ran over her body until Lori found herself almost as aroused as he was. There was no denying that Art Bond was a very capable lover, expert at his trade. And now that they were in her apartment together, she knew she had to have him.
She made drinks, turned on the stereo, and went into the bedroom to change into something that would be more suited for the wrestling match she knew would soon take place. She selected one of her numerous filmy negligees. When she had slipped into it, she sat for a moment at her dressing table. She thought the negligee bit a little corny but decided it would drive Art up the wall.
Slowly, she got up and went back to the living room. The dark aureoles around her nipples showed through the filmy gauze material of her negligee, and below, at the juncture of her thighs, a dark patch could not be concealed. She stopped a short distance from him and smiled. "Like?"
Art put his drink down on the end table and moved toward her. He had already taken off his shirt. He advanced on Lori like a wrestler looking for the most advantageous hold. His voice rasped from his throat. "Oh, baby, you better believe it!" he snorted. "Come here!"
She moved into his arms, her fingers snatching at his hair violently as her lips crushed against his.
His arms went around her, pulling her forcefully to him, crashing their bodies together in a collision that pressed the breath out of her. His heavy hands pushed her away, went to her nipples and her big breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh. In his eagerness, he brought pain to the firm, jutting breasts, but Lori found it filled with pleasure. He fell to his knees, burying his face in the warmth of her breasts as he pulled her down with him. He massaged the soft mounds of flesh gently.
Lori gave herself over to total abandon, loving everything he was doing to her.
The negligee had no buttons and Art merely pushed the material aside to expose Lori's breasts. Then his tongue lashed out across them and moved down across her stomach. He licked in long, tasting strokes, his tongue flat and wet. He was moving all over her stomach, into her navel. "Let's get on the couch," he said, breathing heavily. He virtually picked her up and set her down as though she were a child. But he did not sit with her. Instead, he sat on the floor in front of her. He began to kiss her again in the same swabbing motions he had used before. He was coming gradually closer to her perfumed love-purse and the thought that he might send his hot, wet tongue inside it made Lori quiver with new expectation.
Her hands went to the back of his head. Her fingers coiled in his hair, twisting more violently as he neared the pubic hairs that lay in tiny ringlets just a half inch from where he was kissing her now. Kissing wasn't really what he was doing. He was lapping. His wide, tongue stroked across her silken flesh like a painter behind schedule, wetting the surface, leaving the odor of his saliva on her-and driving her slowly into a trembling, impassioned state of excitement beyond control.
His hands suddenly went from her ass, where they had stroked and clutched the satin flesh, to the insides of her thighs. With a quick, forceful motion, he spread her legs apart. He did not pause. He blew his hot breath into the satiny hair, his tongue following to moisten the entire area around her pussy.
Then he carefully parted the slightly quivering lips. The tip of his tongue sought the opening with the rapidity of a jack hammer, urgently poking at the aperture of her moistened, eager cunt.
And he found it.
He plunged his tongue deep into her with one long, bold stroke, holding it inside for a moment, then withdrawing it slowly. He wiggled the tip with little flicks of movement that brought a subdued scream from Lori.
"Ohhhhh, my God!" She snatched wildly at his hair, then tugged his face into her wet box. She could see only his eyes, as the rest of his face was completely covered by the mound of hair on her pussy. She wanted to sit on his face, bury his head inside her if she could, but he held her in place with his powerful arms wrapped around her ass.
"Oh, Art. . . Art, lover dear .. . Ohhh ... Now I believe everything I've heard about you. Oh, yes, as, yes . . ."
"Ummmmm-mmmmm" he moaned softly, sounding contented.
His hands pulled her asscheeks to him with quick motions of his fingers. His tongue again probed inside he reddish-brown hole that glistened with his saliva. Now the strokes were long and sensuous, licking flatly for a time, then going like a hungry rapier deep into her, tasting her inner, slow-oozing membranes. And then he sought the button where everything Lori was would be turned on, turned into the ultimate in feminine sexuality. The tip sought it. The tip found it. It flicked at it, taunting the hard little knot with light jabs that made its owner whimper with frenzied pleasure. He toyed with it, moving away when she lowered herself, following after when she moved away. But all the time he let the tip of his tongue flutter over it, teasing it into growth, challenging its ability to produce fulfillment.
And with a sudden scream, Lori obeyed the dictate of the hidden pressure button, yielding to the flesh-saber that had pestered it into sending those violent electric currents through her body.
The licking ceased. But Art did not withdraw his tongue. He kept it in her. When Lori's spasms had lessened, the tip of the greedy member began a slow, delicate licking motion on the agitated button, just enough to keep in rhythm with the quivering body that emitted moans and murmurings as it trembled.
"Oh, Art! Art, darling... that was so good."
"Ummm-hmmmmm."
"You're so sweet, lover man. Oh, my, that was so wonderful. I thought I was going to explode."
She hadn't expected this from Art Bond. She had thought, with his reputation as a great lover, that he would jump atop her and start pumping; his actions in the car had indicated that. But he had a fine technique. He knew exactly how to make a woman scream for joy.
Finally, Art eased himself away from the steaming slit and sat back on the floor. He swiped a hand across his mouth to wipe the moisture away. "I told you I'd do things to you," he said, smiling.
"You sure did! No question about that."
Lori raised up slightly so she could see Art's entire body. He was sitting cross-legged. His big cock stood out from his crotch like a huge, veined redwood stump, the head dark and swollen in anticipation. He took hold of it and waggled it.
"Now we're going to put Big Bongo to work," he grinned.
Lori smiled. She got up and went into the bedroom ahead of him. And she was more than willing.