Chapter 9
For the early part of the next week, Arnold, at his office in national headquarters, dictated on tape the status of his negotiations in the Mid-East. Five million paid to the Swiss bank accounts of key corruptible men would mean the return eventually of half a billion to the company.
It had been, on the whole, a marvelous jaunt for Arnold, and had done much for the health of his personal finances.
Tom Woodbridge, his old buddy at Harvard, now in command of the huge Hawkes Holding Company, was pleased, but he had expected such a performance.
"I'm having a party, Arnold, and hope you and Mona can make it."
Arnold smiled. Woodbridge entertained in the style of an Oriental potentate. And you found at these affairs not only generals and politicians, but some of the most beautiful women out of Hollywood, Broadway, and London.
Arnold would prefer that at these parties Mona be elsewhere, but that could scarcely happen. She carried a big clout socially, and Woodbridge wanted her there.
However, both Arnold and Mona understood that they could always pursue their private pleasures, if they were in the mood, for even before the term was invented they had had an open marriage. They could go to the same party, find some delightful diversion, a new partner for the night, then meet next morning, smile, and inquire if the evening had been amusing.
In short, they were a pleasure-loving couple who gave freedom to each other and had managed to liquidate the ogre of jealousy.
At the party, which was dazzling, with beautiful women in elegant or even outlandish costumes-as long as they were designed by famous designers-and with generals wearing their decorations, and men in the newest hot fashions out of London and Paris, Arnold drifted around, sipping his martinis, and looking for adventure.
He found it in the tall English girl, one of the famous English acting family who had stopped off to read some scripts for Broadway, the exquisite Rowena.
She had done some marvelous acting things on the screen, and Arnold found her personal life very off beat, for she did what she wanted, when she wanted. She had at least two kids, by-blows of some handsome actors that she had no intention of marrying. She hated the very idea of marriage, for it meant to her some sort of submission to male. Arnold was very amused at her attitude, and felt she could get away with it because she was a famous actress, and she was beautiful, and she was financially independent.
Because she was such a dazzler, naturally the men circled around her like vultures, and when finally she did break away, she went over to Mona whom she had known in London.
That put an edge on Arnold, for he had a sharp appetite for a woman like Rowena, who seemed so off beat, very much her own woman. The kind, actually, that fascinated him. He liked an ornery bitch who did what she liked in the world, who didn't give a sweet shit for anyone's opinion. Such brave souls made him very envious, mostly because he had not really done such a thing in his own life. Arnold had got into a corporation, which, you might say, was father and mother to its workers. He met their conditions, mostly because he felt the rewards would be so terrific. And though it had made him a very rich man, he still felt that he had not really lived the free life. Once you belong to a business, you found it hard to be free.
He watched Rowena talk to Mona for a while, and was struck by the sense of closeness. They seemed to be on the same wave-length, he thought, and the thought struck him, suddenly, that perhaps they had once, in some distant place, actually shared the same bedroom pleasures!
The idea enchanted him, and he toyed with the thought that he might joggle Mona, and see if something amusing could be worked out between them all, later.
When Mona left Rowena, he took a few fast strides, and got to Rowena before a rather handsome guy who looked like a movie star reached her.
Rowena seemed to perk up when he came over. "How are you? Although we haven't met, I know that you're Mona's husband."
"Yes, Rowena. It's a pity that we haven't met. I have been admiring you for years. Ever since I saw you in The Promiscuous Mrs. Tanguay.
"Oh! that miserable movie."
He grinned. "Didn't you like it?"
"Not really. I thought I might when I started it, but it turned out to be rather boring." She studied him. "I actually made love to four men on the set. I mean, it was the real thing. Just because I like reality, and hate to do anything phony when I am acting."
He smiled at her. "That is the great thing you have on the screen. Your reality. When you do a thing, one just knows that it's based on the real thing, not something out of the imagination."
She looked him straight in the eyes. She had cornflower-blue eyes, a straight nose, and a lovely face, that came mostly from the honest feelings that always flowed over her features. She had luscious plump boobs and was put together in a very sexy way, with long waist and flowing-out hips.
He enjoyed looking at her, but her charm for him came more from the personality that you picked up watching her on screen. You felt that she had depths on depths, that there was nothing ordinary, that she looked at life as if it were her own original experience, and felt with her own feelings, and not the way that others thought she should feel.
They chatted for a while, and both picked up another big martini, which made them glow.
"It always interested me," he said, "The way you have lived your personal life."
"In what way?"
"Well, you know what I mean. You don't seem to marry the father of your kids. That's pretty brave. All the bluenoses scowling at you."
"I've always done what I thought right, not what the bluenoses thought."
"Well, wouldn't you want the natural father to bring up his son?"
"Not if I cared nothing for the man. Not if I thought that he would do little good as a father. Not if I didn't care for nightly fraternizing with him in bed. Why should I? The boy wouldn't enjoy it, either. I can always send him over to the father for visits, if he's interested."
Arnold grinned. He liked women like her, he really did. All this lust for freedom, for the desire to do what you wanted, and not to kowtow all the time. Most women were in the kowtow business, he thought, and they went through life kowtowing to their kids, to their kinky husbands, and so on.
Rowena, he thought, did what she wanted.
Did she love as she wanted, too, he wondered.
He was over forty, and she was only twenty-three, although she had obviously lived a couple of lives already. Some women go through life in double time, Arnold thought, and get a lot of living in. Certainly Rowena gave him that impression. He wondered if he could connect with her, for after all, she was young, she had everything she needed, and could have that blond handsome stud who was even now lurking on the sidelines.
A stud that wanted to trip her on her heels and get his cock in.
Well, Arnold wanted to do just that, but he might miss out.
She knew very little of him, except that he was Mona's husband, a big plus if you saw it from a woman's angle. Women were always curious, Arnold thought, about what other women had. Sibling rivalry all over the world among the girls.
Just then, Tom Woodbridge came up and put his arm around Arnold. "Ah, Rowena. You have found our favorite boy. Lucky girl."
She was struck by that. "What makes him your favorite, Tom?"
After all, Woodbridge was to her another name for the Rockefellers, with money from here to Alaska, and she respected his ideas of excellence.
"Who, Arnold?" Tom's eyebrows went up. "Arnold is the hotshot guy, the wizard of the western world. He has just come back, from the Mid-East, where he has been stampeding through the oil treasuries and the sheik's harems.
"He's an irresistible force. He has brought the golden fleece. He always brings back the golden fleece, wherever I send him in this great big world. He's the Jason of our times. Didn't you know that, Rowena darling?"
And he put his arm around her, kissed her, patted Arnold on his head lightly, and moved on to some of his other guests.
Rowena found that very interesting. At first, when she looked at Arnold, she felt he was a rather handsome guy, and that he had to be special to be married to Mona, but she had her eye that evening on the blond stud, who was trying to get close to her. The guy, actually, was to be cast in her next picture, and she could forecast that fornication was ahead. He was Ashton, an English tennis champ, and special to her.
She did feel attracted to Arnold, but didn't really know him, except that she thought it might be fascinating to connect with the guy who was fucking Mona. She had once before in London been at a party where both she and Mona had shared Ronald Maines, that Welsh dynamo of stage and screen, and Mona's fabulous body always intrigued her afterward.
"You do your thing," Arnold said. "I like a woman who does her own thing."
"I cannot like a man who doesn't," she said.
He shrugged. "Men are victims of the system. They can't be free until they milk the system for the money."
"I don't think you need money to be free."
He shook his head. "You haven't tried it, darling. Women think everyone should take risks never take! Poverty is another word for enslavement."
She looked at him, straight on, with her lovely blue eyes. "I don't believe that; you scale down your wants. Then you're not poor. You are poor only if you're greedy for big cars and big houses."
"Philosophers always say that shit," he said. "But I think it's the philosophy of the have-nots. If you don't have it, you might as well make not-having respectable. I find that money makes power. And power makes happy men. And contented women."
She shrugged. "Perhaps you mean a potent man."
He took another drink, and looked at her luscious tits. "What makes a man potent? Money in the bank. That he's made with his own hands and brain. The system rewards him with applause, and that applause goes straight to his balls. It makes juice." He leaned toward her. "It's how the male becomes powerful in bed. Why he has the stamina to give you all the pleasure you want."
Her cornflower-blue eyes glistened with amusement. "You're really saying money men fuck better."
"If they make the money, it's a sign of potency. As a general rule."
She glanced over at Tom Woodbridge in another group, a man who had to have close to a billion dollars.
"Is Tom a potent guy?"
He smiled. "My theory is that liquid money is love juice."
She laughed. "You're a very degenerate type, Arnold."
Yes, he was thinking, and nothing would please me more than to get my tongue in your luscious cunt.
"I can see, too, that you have dirty fantasies," she laughed.
He grinned. Women have a radar about men, especially when they think dirty.
"Would you like to know my fantasy?"
She felt all sorts of tingles, looking at him through half-closed eyes. In the last few minutes, mostly because of their conversation, she found him fascinating. She couldn't help responding to him, and all sorts of subtle pleasures were happening in her vagina. If she invited him to put his fantasy into words, she felt it would instantly lock them in a coupling.
"Tell me it. But softly." And she leaned forward.
He whispered. "I saw myself between your thighs, and my tongue in your pussy. A dynamite tongue."
She leaned back, her face, like an actress, in perfect control. But her cunt was pulsating wildly. Rowena had no way of expecting so intense a response from her body.
She lifted the drink to her lips. "It's nice to hear your promise of pleasure. Most men, I imagine would have fantasized me down on them. Men are sexually selfish."
"You generalize too easily, Rowena. But you don't have to be right. Nor do I."
There was a pause, the one that precedes the invitation to sin.
"Have you been on the third floor of the west wing?" he said.
Her eyes were glued to him. "What's there?"
He smiled mysteriously. "The Fantasy Room. A place where everyone works out his dreamwork."
"Her dreamwork."
He grinned. "Dreamwork of the human creature, shall we say."
She finished her drink. "I would like-to see the Fantasy Room."
They walked through the crowded room, bypassing the generals who looked lustfully at the delicious Rowena, and enviously at Arnold. From off to the side of the gigantic room, he could see Mona in a tight talk with the blond stud, Ashton.
He bit his lip, vexed that he had seen them together. How much more interesting not to know where Mona would be putting her mouth on this night!
You paid a bitter price if you had a sensitive imagination, Arnold thought wistfully, as they went into the elevator. You always pictured the degenerate activities of your wife in her love embraces. It sometimes could be upsetting, if you caught a glimpse of the lover, as in this case.
There were on the third floor of the west wing of the Woodbridge estate a series of rooms exquisitely decorated in the styles of past periods in history. Each had paintings and tapestries of the colorful past of England or France.
The bed had a scarlet cover, very suitable apparently for the sort of excitement that the room generated. They were by this time very high and both in a terribly sexy mood. They could scarcely wait, in fact, to get to each other. They were not hypocrites about sex, and about what they wanted from each other, although Arnold was to be surprised shortly by Rowena's curious demands.
Arnold shut the door behind him with the inside lock which protected them from any passing stray, and he turned to her and instantly put his hands to her face, pulled her to him and kissed her.
She opened her mouth, and let her tongue touch his, so that soon their tongues were blissfully touching and thrilling each other.
Arnold felt a devouring passion for the strange English girl, and he just didn't know quite what to expect from her sexually. He would be bold and beastly, as he behaved in other sex scenes, and hope for the best. However, he was enough of a veteran in the world of vice to know that every woman had her own hang-up in sex, and you couldn't generalize about what turned her on.
So, he kissed her to feel the speed up of her breathing, then put his hands on her thin, exquisitely colored body shirt, and opened the buttons to slip in and touch her delicious tit, shaped marvelously like a perfect pear. He could feel the nipple, deliciously erect, too, and he bent down to nibble on it, then to suck on it.
She had the-most delectable flesh for her breast, and his breath came hard and fast as he sucked on each one.
"Oh, you sweet honey," he said, feeling ridiculous as the cliché came to his lips, for there were no fresh words you could use. A flawless, fabulous tit in his mouth, yet only a tired word came to his lips! He swore at himself, for he really hated to lose his cool just because this was Rowena whose gorgeous body on the screen had heated the loins of lusting men all over the civilized world.
Now, that he had her breathing hard, he got hold of her hand, put it over his cock, hard as a pipe in his pants. It had the desired effect, for she tensed at the touch, and then her fingers began to stroke him, and try to get to the real flesh lurking under the cloth.
He swiftly, with one motion, unzipped his pants and got his thick, splendid shaft out, the pulsating flesh that always knocked the wenches on their asses.
She stayed cool about it, stroked his cock, finding it interesting, but she didn't throw a fierce fit.
"Let's get comfortable," he said finally, for the clothing was all in the way. Yet, he sensed that something in her was not playing the game all the passion that he expected, and a sneaking idea came to him that she might wipe him out, just on a whim. It could happen with a sweet bitch like Rowena, whose whole life style fitted into nothing you could predict.
She was a piece of velvet, a delectable cunt that any man would give his eyeteeth to possess or pulverize with prick.
Now, he had that opportunity, yet there seemed something missing in the intensity of her passion. He couldn't be mistaken about such things; his instinct was infallible in matters of sex.
Her body, nude, was something that men dreamed of. She had the long-waisted look that he loved in women, and a sweep of hip, nobly proportioned, and beautifully shaped limbs. Her green eyes had a way of staring at you, straight on, without the smallest shift, as if she wanted to see what you were like deep down in your soul.
He loved women with this straight, fearless look, and nothing turned Arnold off more than that Oriental stuff he found among the women out there, where they bowed their heads in submission, hot daring to look straight at their men, as if it were an insult to look into the eyes of the master!
He loathed that in the female, and never could respect women from the East for that very reason. But Rowena was at the other end of the spectrum when it came to the bold, hard, searching look into a man's eyes!
And they were green eyes, and just now, they had a curious look in them, not entirely sexual, even though he stood entirely nude in front of her, with his cock superbly erect, looking like the finest specimen of a bullcock.
She had an exquisite light fuzz of blond hair over her pussy, and the lips of her pussy gleamed with a touch of wet.
He moved into her body, touching the velvet of her flesh, feeling tremendously turned on by it.
He tried to edge her to the sofa, to get her prone. "Let me taste the love juice of your body," he whispered, his voice hoarse.
Arnold had really lost his cool, obviously, completely dazzled by the thought that he would soon be driving his cock into the famous cunt of two continents.
"I think you're moving a bit too fast for me," she said.
Her voice was cool, and the look in her eyes was icy, too, green ice. He then knew his intuition was right. Something was missing for her. She couldn't be turned on just by his licking her tits, or her pussy, or any such straight sex. She needed a trick or two. He sensed it.
"If you want me to slow down," he mumbled, disappointed. Part of him was ready to rape her if she dared resist him at this point, with their bodies naked as jays, and the lust on him absolutely violent.
She smiled. "I think you are ready to do all sorts of violent things to me if I resist you?"
He grinned. "Yes. You must do a mind thing to know that."
She glanced down at his bullcock, quivering with insatiable desire. "I'm not reading your mind!"
He had to laugh, even though he felt insanely clumsy, standing that distance from her, unable suddenly to touch her because she had laid the freeze down on him.
"It's this." She turned her delicious ass to him, and walked to the bed, and he watched the rhapsody of her ass move, wanting to ravish it instantly. "I have to make a confession to you. Actually, I don't feel very sexy. But it has nothing to do with you. It has to do with a certain game that I have to play in order to feel sexy."
"What game?" It did not startle Arnold to hear this, for he was knowledgeable in the ways of sex, and knew of the weird hang-ups of some women. He wondered suddenly if she had some sado-masochistic thing. Ah, the sporting life! Her green eyes were on him, and now they seemed to glint with the fire of sex as she thought of what would turn her on.
"I would like you to tie me to the bed. My hands and my feet. Use your belt, your laces, anything. Make me your victim. Then command me to do anything to you. For you. Anything! And if I resist you, you have to spank me. To beat my ass! Have I made myself clear? Are you willing to play this game? You may not care for it. Then we can get dressed and forget we ever happened together!"
Arnold understood what she had in mind from the very first word. She was into bondage, and wanted to be gently roughed up. In his investigations into the game of vice, tie had discovered some of the ungentle games that sex led its players.
He found the idea delectable, because he theorized that it catered to the male need to be dominant, to get the female to go slavey! A more enchanting idea could not have occurred to him. But the last girl that he expected such an offer from was this enchantress from England, known everywhere for her fiery independence, for her unique free-wheeling life style. That was what staggered him, but his was not to question why, but to enjoy.
He got hold of his belt, and used his shoelaces, actually, and his tie, and had her arms pinned apart, and her thighs spread apart, with her cunt showing for rapine and pillage!
After he had her bound like this, helpless, horrendously at his mercy, he swaggered in front of her, as he imagined some Nazi swine might in front of a female victim, and he swore at her. "Okay, bitch. I'm going to use every inch of your body. I want instant obedience, or I'll whip your ass till it turns blue. Do you understand?"
Oh, she understood, for her face went pale with fear, as if he would pluck off her tits, one at a time, if she dared disobey. But deep in the green eyes, a new sex fire had lit up that was not there before. She really dug being helpless, being at his mercy.
He brought his swollen cock to within an inch of her beautiful mouth. "Now, bitch, suck my cock. And do it now!"
Instantly, she opened her mouth, took his cock into it, and started to suck on it. She did it, as if deliberately slowly, and without any passion.
He pulled his cock out in a phony rage, untied her legs swiftly, raised her legs, so that her ass was out, her plump, beautiful cheeks of her ass, pink beauties, and he whacked them with his open palm. He whacked her sharply, and hard, four times, leaving the mark of his hand on her tail!
She whimpered with the pain of it, but it did something remarkable to her. For when he got close to her, she gobbled at his cock as if she couldn't wait to get it into her mouth, and began to suck on it violently. Her tongue worked on it, and she brought it deep into her throat. She seemed fiercely turned on by the punishment.
That released a whole rash of inhibited feelings, which surged up and became alive in her. She sucked at his cock as if it were the world's most delicious pop, long, lingering mouth strokes, trying as if to swallow the beast alive, bringing it deep into her throat.
He felt the most sensational flow of pleasurable feelings. And curiously, he found the punishing of her plump ass the most delicious turn-on. Somehow, the feel of that butt under his palm, the tender, shaped white flesh against his hand did something weird to him. It sharpened his sensations, made him aware of a vague need to strike flesh, and find pleasure in it.
That, he felt, was the extraordinary charm of sex. It opened you up to self-discovery, it taught you that the frontiers of your self-knowledge were not quite as obvious as you thought them.
Until this moment, he hadn't known that he could respond to the administering of punishment, yet he did feel a sting of pleasure in pummeling her butt!
And now, he was getting a great cocksucking from her. He felt that if he stayed with it, she would soon lambaste the life out of his cock, and he craved a few other activities.
So, he pulled out his cock, and told her roughly to spread her thighs, for he was going to eat her cunt. And did she have any objection.
"Yes, I have objections, you rotten bastard," she hissed at him. "I don't want you to touch me with your mouth or any part of you!"
Her arms were tied firmly back, but he had kept her legs untied. He leaned down again, lifted her legs, to reveal her buttocks, those beautiful, fabulous buttocks, so shapely, so plump and sexy. And again, he pummeled them with his palm, hitting them at least eight times, thumping the flesh solidly.
Again she whimpered, and moaned with the pain, the delicious, poignant, passionate pain of it. it made her fiery, and excited, so that she spread her thighs, and waited for him to violate her cunt with his mouth and tongue.
And when his mouth went over her enchanting pussy lips he could tell they had got wet with the passion from his beating of her ass. She adored getting her ass whipped. It was that simple. It was her secret of sex.
If he beat her ass, she would have an orgasm. That was how she was built. It was some residue of an early sex experience, he supposed, and she had become fixed on it. He could almost predict, with certainty, that when she had been a child, some male had thrashed her to get sex, and she had fixed both ideas in her head since then, and couldn't have an orgasm until her ass got beat!
Now, he was digging his tongue into her delectable cunt, for she really had an exquisitely shaped cunt, and sweet tasting, too. He licked it, and went to the clit with his tongue, like a homing pigeon to its roost. He jiggled it and tickled it, and made mad love to it, and she groaned and moaned, begged him to stop, for it was killing her.
Then he lifted her rump, turned her over, and retied her arms again, pushed her knee under her, so that that ravishing rump was facing him, as well as the gleaming wet cunt. And he drove his dick right into her wet cunt, shoving the shaft all the way to the hilt!
She fought to keep from screaming at the impact of his cock hitting the depth of her cunt. The suddenness of it took her breath away, and the delicious pain of it thrilled her beyond words. She turned to look at him with a submissive face, her eyes glowing with ecstasy! It was quite an enchanting expression, he thought, the way she had totally dropped all that arrogant English upper-class hauteur, and was down, on her knees, sniveling because of her joy in getting her cunt roughed up.
He had an instinct now about giving her the jolts, aware that each time he did it, gave her the joyous jollies. She wanted it rough, always, wherever he could do it.
So he pumped his cock into her with savage drive, without finesse, fucking like a lion that needed a great fuck.
And then, in line with his awareness of her hunger for pain, he pulled out his cock, shifted it to the notched hole, wiggled his shaft until he got into the first inch, then started to push as hard as he could into her ass.
She turned to him, and snarled, "You bloody rotten bastard. You are the lowest bastard that ever lived!"
That did it for him, for instead of slowly pushing, he dynamited his cock into her all the way to the hilt, a sudden, tearing in, pumping his shaft to the hilt!
It almost blew her mind!
She gritted her teeth, and took it, a long long groan escaping from her lips.
It was the tightest ass he could think of, like a hard, closed fist around his cock.
So, he began to drive, furiously, in and out of her, coming all the way out with his cock, driving it in to the hilt.
She groaned like a calf getting butchered, still she pushed her ass up against his thrust, so that in spite of the seeming pain, she gloried in it. Her ass sucked on his cock, rode on it, squeezed the muscles of his cock, rode it, in fact.
And he held onto her rump, her ravishing rump, and pounded and pounded his cock in and out of her, until he felt it swell up, and go off!
It was a ripping, roaring orgasm, so intense that he had to grit his own teeth to suppress the yell that came to him.
And the cream poured into her ass, like liquid fire, so that she, too, went into whimpers, for her own cunt vibrated and quivered with its orgasm.
For her, too, it was a wild, scathing orgasm, starting in the pit of her cunt and spreading through every nerve in her organism. She felt the pleasure glow through her whole body, as if a powerful searchlight had gone on.
And she slumped down, his cock still in her as they lay together in a blissful exhaustion, feeling close because of the ultimate shared ecstasy at End of the punishing interchange.
It was as if all the phony games had finally paid off in the agony and the ecstasy of the last few moments.
They bathed and dressed, and sat down with their unfinished drinks and sipped on them, until they felt like confronting the world of the party outside.
He stared at her English correctness now, so perfectly groomed and cool looking. Again the famous Rowena, whose life style made all the gossip magazines. The Liberated Woman in the flesh, who, in her sex frenzies, insisted on being the most unliberated woman of them all, the slave who craved punishment to experience the orgasm.
So, Arnold thought, how could you explain the riddle of sex?
They went down and mixed with the others.
"I hope you didn't take offense at some of my rather brutal swearing," she said.
"I hope you didn't take offense at some of my rather brutal behavior."
She leaned forward and whispered smilingly, "It was delicious."