Chapter Twenty-Two
Toby shed her dress on the way to Steve's room, and dropped it on the floor as she threw back the spread on the wide, soft double bed. They treated him well, Steve's parents, she thought. Well, so did she. Very few growing boys ever got so much as a peek at a prime pussy like hers, a jubilant, juicy, joyous pussy, ready for anything, any time. Very few boys got to see such a prize pussy, a captivating cunt like hers, and fewer still got to loss such a cunt, slide their cocks into it, feel its tender, squeezing softness, get the kind of all-out, expert, grown-up fucking she was giving Steve.
"What're you doing, anyway?" Steve said, from the middle of the bed.
"Thinking," she said.
"About what?"
"About doing something different."
"I thought we were going to have a nice, old-fashioned fuck," Steve said. His swollen, reddened cock poked impatiently toward the ceiling.
"Sure we are," Toby said, but she was remembering Betsy. Betsy and Roy.
She stepped up onto the bed and stood with her legs apart, squarely astride Steve's face, her pussy on open display.
"Sure we're going to have a nice, old-fashioned fuck, Steve," she said. "But I thought maybe first you'd like to play a little nice, old-fashioned sixty-nine."
"Sure," Steve said, staring up at the pink open slit of her cunt above him. Toby saw his tongue appear, licking his lips in anticipation of that fur-framed, tender morsel of moist, responding twat.
She lowered herself, letting her cunt down directly on Steve's open mouth.
"Aah," she said, as his tongue plunged in and began probing and licking. "Do you love my cunt, Steve? Do you love to lick and lap my hot wet cunt?"
"Mmmmmm," Steve said, muffing away. All at once, Toby wanted something in her own mouth, and swung around on the bed, reversing her position to get Steve's rigid cock deep into her own mouth.
"Mmmmm," Steve groaned, again, adjusting his mouth to fit her streaming, smothering twat in the new, age-old sixty-nine position.
Occasionally, as Steve licked and sucked her squirming cunt, she felt his nose prodding into the soft crevice of her ass. It tickled. So did the head of his cock, she was aware, when she sucked it especially deep, in the back of her throat. Enough of this foolishness, she thought. She never should have started it. She was just trying to get away from all the sentiment Steve was building up to, out on the living room couch.
"Now, Steve," she said, and gave the underside of his cock one last loving lick. "Now. That old-fashioned fuck we were talking about."
Almost without knowing how, she was flat on her back on the bed, her legs spread, and Steve was arched over her.
Tenderly, fondly, she took the straining hard head of his cock and inserted it between the wet open lips of her all-but-bubbling cunt. And as the hard shaft slid deep into her softly clutching cunt-channel, something very strange happened. She relaxed, completely. All her earlier frenzy was miraculously gone.
"Easy, Steve," she whispered, and pulled his head down to kiss his lips. "Easy, baby. It's lovely this way. Lovely."
It was a long, slow, delicious fuck. Until the very end.
When she felt the end coming, she drew Steve down toward her, and made him he flat against her body, his hard chest pressing her breasts almost flat. Then she brought her legs together, closing her squeezing cunt tight around his hard, thrusting cock, capturing it, making it her own.
Now, with his whole weight on her, with Toby's cunt imprisoning his shuttling prick at an angle almost parallel to his own humping body, Steve began to drive it deeply up into her tight-squeezed cunt, thrusting with a young fury like nothing she had ever felt before.
She felt her own hips responding, humping frantically, in some insane rhythm that seemed to match perfectly with Steve's own crazed, plunging cock. She heard Steve gasping with every stroke, and got her fingers behind his shoulders, raking his back. But it was nothing compared to the wonderful raking his cock was giving the quivering walls of her ecstatic, quivering cunt.
Then she was screaming, babbling. "Fuck, Steve, fuck me deep. Fuck my hot juicy cunt, with your big beautiful hard cock. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck." She felt as if her insides were coming apart, as she came, and came, and came, and she felt Steve coming with her, in a series of blasting gushes.
Steve's cock was still gushing inside her when she heard the bedroom door open. She twisted her head sideways. It was the only part of her body she could move.
A tall, grim-faced man stood in the doorway, staring at them out of eyes that glinted like sheer ice in the dim light. A woman behind him stared, too, peering fixedly around his shoulder.
"I didn't know you had company, Steve," he said, and his voice sounded like breaking glass. "Put your clothes on. Both of you."
He took a wooden step backward, and closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
She was still shaking as she walked into the living room, keeping her eyes straight ahead, stepped into her shoes, scooped up her handbag, and headed for the door.
She felt, rather than saw, Steve's father follow her out to the hall. She heard him close the door behind him, hesitated, then stopped in her tracks, without turning around.
"One minute, young lady," Steve's father said.
She turned and faced him. There was absolutely nothing else she could think of to do. She couldn't run. She wasn't a thief. And she wasn't a child. She was a grown woman.
"How old are you, Miss?" he asked. "Twenty-two? Twenty-three?" His voice sounded a little more human than it had sounded in the bedroom. But only a little.
"I'm twenty-six," she said, lifting her chin.
"You look younger."
"Well, I'm twenty-six," she repeated. She had stopped shaking. She was glad of that, anyway.
"Well," he said, his voice softening a little, "I'm tempted to say, 'Old enough to know better.' But I won't."
"I'm glad of that," she said. "There's not much else to be glad about."
"What's your name?"
She told him. Why not? He'd get it out of Steve, one way or another. "Where do you work?"
She told him that, too. What did he think she was, a whore or something?
"Do you know how old my son is?"
"No," Toby said. "I didn't ask to see his birth certificate."
"Don't..." he started to say, then stopped. "Steve's only sixteen."
"He looks older," Toby said. It was a silly thing to say. But anything she said sounded silly, or stupid. Or both.
"Well, he isn't. He's sixteen, and distinctly a minor."
"He's a big boy now," Toby said, defiantly. "Not to me, he isn't," Steve's father said. "And in the eyes of the law, he isn't." Oh, Jesus, Toby thought. The law. "How did you meet my son, anyway."
"What does that matter?"
"It matters to me. And it isn't just idle curios-ity.
Toby thought a minute. She'd met Steve through Roy, of course. His uncle. What a mess that would be, if she told Steve's father. A whole big family mess. Worse for Steve. Ten times worse for Roy.
"I can't tell you," she said, finally.
"You mean you won't."
"All right. I won't."
"Why not?"
"Never mind," she said. "I just won't."
"Well find out anyway," Steve's father said, his voice hard again. "Not from me."
"From you, if we have to. The courts will get it out of you."
"The courts?' Toby said, taking in a deep, sudden, shuddering breath. "What are you talking about?"
"You're twenty-six, right?"
"I just told you that. Twenty-six."
"And Steve is sixteen."
"You just told me that."
"Well," he said, "maybe you don't realize it, but you're guilty of corrupting the morals of a minor."
"Corrupting..." she started to say, and closed her mouth hard. It was a long moment before she opened it again.
"I know you're upset," she said, trying to sound adult and reasonable. She noticed that his forehead was beaded with sweat. That helped. He was human, anyway. "You have every right to be upset. But as far as taking this tiling to court-that's just plain crazy."
"You'll be hearing from us," he said, and turned to open the apartment door. "You'll be hearing from us. Young lady," he repeated, with what she supposed was irony. He shut the door hard behind him.
He was bluffing, she thought, moving slowly toward the elevator. Trying to scare her. If he wasn't bluffing, he was just plain crazy.
But her hand was shaking as she reached out a finger toward the elevator button.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Toby had a terrible time trying to sleep that night. She was still wide awake when the sky began to lighten, outside the windows.
When her radio-alarm woke her, she was sure she hadn't had two hours' sleep, and what sleep she had had been nightmare ridden. As she got out of bed and headed for the bathroom, one of the nightmares was still too real in her mind. In it she was in prison, doing some land of vague hard labor, hampered by heavy chains. Everybody wore chains, in the nightmare, even the guards. She hated the work, she hated the chains, she hated the other prisoners, and she despised the food, and despised the clothes even more.
About the warden in her nightmare prison, she had mixed feelings. The warden was a granite-faced enigma to her.
The warden was Steve's father. Mr. Shannon. Warden Shannon. He was the only one in the whole dream who didn't wear stripes.
Once in the shower, she felt minutely better. The stinging spray washed away the nightmare, at least. A shower usually made her feel better, but on most mornings she felt a lot better to start with, before she even stepped under the spray.
Coffee helped, too. She kept shaking her head, trying to shake away the memory of Steve's father's face framed in the bedroom doorway, trying to tell herself that was all part of the nightmare, too. But it wouldn't work. The memory of the whole party, and the grim curtain scene particularly, were too vividly real. Toby had the uneasy feeling that that bedroom scene would be etched in her memory for a long time to come.
She shook herself-it was getting to be a habit-put her empty coffee cup in the sink, and made herself start going through the motions of getting dressed.
For the third consecutive day, she got into a dress. But this time not because she felt good, or excited, or up in any way, or horny. Today she put on a dress because it was the easiest thing to get into.
It was a very busy morning for her at the office, which was a good thing. Toby didn't have too much time to brood over her troubles, over Mr. Shannon's threat. By eleven o'clock she had been so furiously busy for a stretch that she actually stopped thinking for a while about her real nightmare of the evening, before her dream nightmare of the early morning hours.
And then the phone rang.
"Miss Fetters?" the voice asked, when she'd answered. She knew the voice right away, even over the phone. Nobody else in the world would call her "Miss-Fetters," anyway. That was enough of a clue. Her nightmares, both the real one and the dream one, came back in a rush. In spades.
"Yes," she said, suddenly sounding very old and very weary, to her own ears.
"Paul Shannon." He sounded quite crisp and business-like, this morning.
"Yes, Mr. Shannon." She hesitated. "I recognized your voice right away. I'm afraid it's a voice I'll never be able to forget."
"Well, maybe there's a way you can forget it."
'What's that?"
"Tell me how you met Steve. My son. My sixteen year-old-son."
"I know which son you mean, Mr. Shannon," Toby said, coldly formal.
"Yes. Of course you do. I want to know how you met him."
"I know you do. But why?"
"I just do. And I can give you one good reason why you should tell me."
"What's that?"
"If you tell me, I'll consider not going to the police. I'll consider dropping the whole ugly thing. If you don't tell me . .. . "
He let the silence hang there.
She'd never tell him, Toby thought desperately. She couldn't. Roy and Steve...
But she needed time to think. She could stall him a while. And if there ever was a girl who knew how to stall, it was Toby Fetters. Unflappable, Unruffled Fetters.
"I have another call, Mr. Shannon," she said. "May I call you back, when I have a few minutes free?"
"All right," he said. He was reasonable, at least. He gave her his office number.
"But be sure you do call back," he said. "You wouldn't like the kind of clothes you have to wear behind bars."
God, Toby thought. The man had been reading her nightmares.
"I'll call back," she said. "It may be this afternoon, but I'll call you, before the day is out."
"Good enough," Paul Shannon said.
Her hand was trembling once more, she noticed, as she dropped the phone back in its cradle.
Cradle, she thought. The cradle snatcher.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
A plan started to form in her mind even as she took her hand away from the phone.
But she'd need help, with the plan. A willing accomplice.
Who? He'd have to be very willing, and she'd have to give him a good reason to be willing. That part was easy enough, but who?
And then she had her accomplice. The thought struck her so hard it straightened her up in her chair.
Roy Horlick. Horny Horlick, who'd gotten her into this whole mess in the first place. Paul Shannon's own brother-in-law, Paul Shannon's own wife's brother.
Why hadn't she thought of him in the first place? He was up to his navel in this thing, even if he didn't know it yet. His navel? He was in this thing up to the base of his big cock, that's what he was in it up to.
Minutely pleased with herself, Toby looked up Roy's office number in the Manhattan phone book.
She had no trouble reaching him. Once she'd given the switchboard his name, she didn't even have a, secretary to contend with. Roy answered the phone himself. "Toby, here," she said.
"Well," he said, sounding suddenly cheerful. "A happy surprise."
"Not so happy, when you hear about it."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Has your brother-in-law called you since the party yesterday, or your sister?"
"No," Roy said. "Of course not. Why?"
"I'll tell you why, at lunch."
"Jesus, Toby," Roy said, sounding pained. "Any other time at all, but I can't make it for lunch with you today. I have a date. A business date."
"Break it," Toby said. "What we're having lunch about isn't exactly frivolous. We're in trouble, both of us. It can be very bad trouble, if we don't get our heads together real quick."
"But what.. . "
"I'll tell you all about it at lunch. You know where Joe and Maria's is, over on Third Avenue."
"Sure."
"Be there at twelve, or as soon after as you can make it without getting hit by a cab."
"You sound a little desperate, Toby," Roy said, sounding faintly confused, himself.
"I am a lot desperate," Toby said. "Soli you be, after I tell you what I have to tell you."
"I'll be there," Roy said.
"Good," Toby said. "Between us, we may be able to stave off disaster." As soon as she'd hung up on Roy, she picked up the phone again and called Steve's father. Paul Shannon. She'd have to remember he had a name other than 'Steve's father.'
Even Shannon's secretary sounded grim, but she let Toby through to her boss. Grudgingly, but without too much delay.
"Toby Fetters again," she said. "I can't talk to you very well, from here in the office.
"I can understand that," Paul Shannon said. "Unless it's a very unusual office you work in."
"I'll tell you what you want to know, but you see I can't right now."
"When, then? I'm just holding off from calling the police, you know. My wife wanted to do it right away."
"Can you meet me after work?"
He was quiet for a moment, evidently debating with himself, weighing the question. He didn't trust her, one damn bit, Toby thought.
"I suppose so," he said, finally. "Where do you want to meet."
"My place."
"What!"
'Well, I'll be glad to meet you any place you say. But I was thinking of you. I didn't think you'd want to be seen in my company, out in pub-he. Where someone you know might see us together."
"You're a bright girl, aren't you."
"Never mind that."
"Where is your place?"
She told him. Slowly and carefully, so he could write it down.
"I'll be home by five-thirty," she said. "All right," he said. "I'll try to get there before six or so."
Good, she thought. Things were looking up. "Just one thing," she said, quickly, to catch him before he hung up. "Yes?"
"like they say in all those movies, come alone."
"Of course I'll come alone," Shannon said. "Who'd I want to bring with me, on a mission like this? I want to get to the bottom of this. And I don't really want to put you in jail."
"I thought you might think of bringing along a cop, or a lawyer, or somebody like that."
"No," Shanon said. "I'll be alone. As I told you, I want to get to the bottom of this."
You'll get to the bottom of it, all right, Toby thought as she hung up. If things worked out the way they should work out.
And if Roy cooperated, the whole screwy plan would work.
Would work? It had to work.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Roy was waiting for her at the bar when she got to Joe and Maria's. Evidently the real urgency in her voice had gotten through to him, over the phone.
Without wasting any time with amenities, they settled down at a table at the back of the restaurant, and Toby filled him in on everything that had happened at the Shannon's the night before, from the time that he'd left. She spared him none of the details.
"Christ," he said, when she'd finished. "You poor kid."
"Steve's the poor kid," she said. "I'm supposed to be a big girl now."
"That doesn't make it any better for you."
'Well, what'll make it better for me is if you'll help me, with the plan I have."
She told him, in detail. She took some satisfaction from the telling. It was so sure-fire. So foolproof. So absolutely perfect.
But Roy looked more and more uncomfortable as her plot unfolded. When she was finished, he looked steadily at her, through a long moment of silence.
Then he shook his head. "I can't do it," he said. "What!"
"I just can't. It's not that I don't want to. I'd do it if I could, for your sake and for mine. But I can t.
"Why not, for Christ's sake?" She'd had a premonition of something like this, but she hadn't been able to think of any reason why. Any reason why Roy wouldn't be glad, or at least willing, to help her. Help them both.
"Don't you see? Suppose something went wrong, just a little bit wrong. And Paul saw me. Just a glimpse. Just for a fraction of a second, out of the corner of his eye. He'd recognize me instantly. His own brother-in-law. And the whole goddamn family'd be torn apart. Forever, and eighteen days beyond."
Thinking now, calmly, Toby's anger subsided as quickly as it had flared up. Roy was right. Roy couldn't help, in this perfect plot of hers. Anybody else in the world could help, anybody who was willing. But not Roy. He was practically the only person in the world who couldn't help, no matter how much he wanted to.
"You're right, Roy," she said, very calmly. "You just can't do it. I must have been a little crazy, thinking you could."
"I'm glad you see it that way, Toby. And there's nothing wrong with your plot. It's practically perfect. Except that we have to find somebody else to help you. Because it can't be me."
She was minutely encouraged by the 'we'. Roy recognized that he was in this thing as deeply as she was.
I'll think of somebody," she said, pushing the linguine around her plate with her fork. "I'll have to think of somebody, quick."
I'll think, too," Roy said. "There's got to be someone who'll do it. When I come up with something, I'll call you, right away."
"Do that," she said.
Keep your cool, girl, she told herself. Unruffled Fetters.
She found that somebody, practically dropped into her lap, around three o'clock that afternoon.
Ralph had just stopped, on his mailroom rounds, for one of his frequent little social visits. And when she saw him standing there beside her desk the shock of her sudden inspiration made her lose her cool so violently for a second that she dropped the envelope in her hand.
Grinning hungrily, Ralph feasted his eyes on her bare tanned knees as she bent to pick the envelope up.
"Ralph," she said quietly, pitching her voice so no one around could hear. "You could do me a big favor."
"Swim the Atlantic Ocean for you?" he said, still grinning. "Any time."
"I said a big favor," she said.
He saw how deadly serious she was, and stopped grinning. He stepped closer.
"Anything," he said quietly.
"I'll do anything you like, later," she said, giving him a long, level look. "In payment."
"Not necessary," he said. "But I wouldn't turn it down, whatever you have in mind. I'd love it."
"Good," she said. "Can you get hold of a camera somewhere, this afternoon? A good one, that works? With flash equipment, and everything you need for quick, simple, efficient indoor photography?"
"Sure," he said. "I have it in my locker, in the mailroom."
She looked at him, surprised. It was too good to be true.
"It's my hobby," he said, then grinned at her. "One of them."
"So you know how to use a camera," she said. "Wonderful."
"Fill me in," Ralph said.
She filled him in on the whole plot, swiftly but thoroughly. She didn't give him all the reasons for the bind she was in, the details of the evening before, but he didn't need to know all that. And he'd figure out enough of it by himself. He was over seven. And Ralph was anything but dense. There wasn't a dumb bone in his head.
"Got it?" she said, when she'd finished. She was writing her address and apartment number on a pad. She couldn't take any chances on any slipup.
"Got it all," Ralph said. He looked very pleased, she noticed. Well, any growing boy with a sense of adventure would like being part of a conspiracy like this one.
"You won't have any trouble, getting away so early, before the chores are done?"
"No sweat," he said. "Jayll be glad to cover for me. And I can come back, to help him finish up."
"Good," she said. "Jay earns my gratitude, too. Tell him. I'll do him a favor or two."
"I'll tell him," Ralph said. "Hell be more than pleased. He'd swim some oceans for you, too, you know."
"It's nice to have friends," Toby said, and meant it. From the bottom of her heart. And from the bottom of anything else she had. She was feeling better already. Much better. Maybe she'd even call Roy, and reduce his nervous sweats a little.
She took her downstairs key and her apartment key off her key chain, and handed them to Ralph, along with the slip of memo paper on which she'd penciled her address.
"Let yourself into my place before five-thirty," she said, "just in case my pigeon shows up early. like, if he's outside when I get home, hell be coming up the stairs with me. You'll hear that there's somebody with me. So just leave the door open, and get out of sight. I told you where."
"If you get there alone?"
"That's the way it'll probably be. Just let me in. Then you can go into concealment when baby comes."
"Cool," Ralph said, giving her a small wave of the hand as he headed for the mailroom.
She felt so much better she couldn't wait for the afternoon to end.
Not just better. Filled with excitement, and anticipation. like a kid going to bed on the night before Christmas.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
There was no sign of Paul Shannon out in front of her building when she got there, around five-twenty. She hurried up the four flights of stairs, and Ralph opened the door of her apartment to let her in.
"I just got here a minute ago," he said, handing her the keys. He had a large camera bag hanging from one shoulder. "I guess we're all ready for your guest. I am, anyway."
"So'm I," Toby said. "Any time he gets here. Would you like a drink or something?"
"Not now," Ralph said. "No sense cluttering up the place. Might make him suspicious. I'll just sit here with you and wait."
They didn't have long to wait. It was only a few minutes after five-thirty when the doorbell sounded, from the lobby. Toby pressed the downstairs buzzer, to let the man in, and showed Ralph to the closet.
"I'll leave the door open a crack, so I'll know when to catch the action," Ralph said, making a place for himself among the hanging garments.
"I hope you won't be too uncomfortable, in there," she said. "I don't think you'll have to be waiting too long." She reached out with one hand, before pushing the door almost-closed, and gave his limber cock an affectionate squeeze, as a sort of thank-you, and as a promise of a bigger thank-you to come.
Toby was holding the apartment door open as Paul Shannon reached the top of the last flight of stairs. He was breathing hard.
"I can understand what keeps you in shape," he said, as he came through the door. "Maybe I'd be better off with stairs where I live."
He turned, in the middle of the room, to face her, and she looked back at him, without saying anything.
He looked much younger than he'd looked to her the night before, and much less grim. He was a man in his early forties, Toby judged, tall, not gray, and not at all fat. A good-looking man, and right now he looked uncomfortable. You couldn't blame him for that. He was in an awkward scene. Well, he'd forced the scene himself. Toby would have been more than glad to forget the whole thing, last night. Forget it forever.
The silence, as they stood looking at each other, became awkward for both of them.
"Would you like a drink?" Toby asked.
"This isn't exactly a social visit," Paul Shannon said, unsmiling. Toby realized that she'd never seen him smile, and maybe never would.
"I know it isn't a social visit," Toby said, "but a drink might make it a little more civil. Would help, anyway. Scotch and water ah right?"
"Well..." lie said, as if debating whether to unbend that much, "well, fine." After another moment's hesitation, he sat down at one end of the couch.
After she'd made the drinks she handed him one and went around the room, turning on lamps, before she sat down in the easy chair facing him, and crossed her legs. His eyes took in that lively display of sumptuous, curving, bare tanned flesh, then with an obvious effort, he tore his eyes away. No man who could see, and had all his other faculties, could not stare yearningly any time Toby crossed her legs.
"Well..." he said, and leaned forward, waiting, evidently, for her to start talking, telling him what he wanted to know.
"Well..., " Toby said, and leaned back deeper into her chair, her short skirt slipping up to the termination of her ripe, gently swelling upper thighs. From where Paul Shannon sat, Toby knew, it would seem to him that there was nothing else in the room to look at but her luscious legs.
He tried bravely not to look, but it was a losing battle.
"You were going to tell me," he said, "how you met my son Steve."
"Let me ask you something first."
"Go ahead."
He took a deep swallow of his drink. It gave him something to focus on other than Toby's legs. She re-crossed them, slowly, casually, giving him a long, unhurried look up between her soft, shadowed, mouth-watering inner thighs. It was a gorgeous view, a spectacular sight for any man, Toby knew. She was not wearing pants.
But he couldn't be quite sure of that, yet, the way she'd kept her legs moving.
"What I'd like to know, Mr. Shannon, is this: If you found out how I met Steve, if I told you, I mean, and your finding out meant nothing but grief to you and your wife, and maybe to your whole family, would you still insist on knowing?"
He stared at her.
"Of course I have to know. I don't know what kind of supposition you're suggesting, but it sounds like something mysterious you've just dreamed up. Yes, I want to know."
"Look at it this way," Toby said. "Steve won't tell you, will he?"
"No."
"Did he tell you why he won't say how he met me."
"No."
"He doesn't want to tell you for the same reason I don't want to tell you. For your own good. Yours and your wife's own good, and the rest of the family's, too. Believe me, finding out how Steve and I met will only bring you grief. You're much better off not knowing."
Toby noticed then that his forehead was sweating, as it had been the night before. But for a different reason, she knew. He had just given up trying to keep his eyes off her. He stared, then drained his drink in a gulp.
"I'll make you a fresh one," she said, and got up, jiggling and bobbing, and took his glass.
When she brought him the new drink, she bent over, far over, to hand it to him, her bouyant breasts swaying freely, openly for him to see in their full, snowy, pink-tipped glory within the non-concealment of the loose, low, gaping bodice of her dress.
"I'll say one thing for Steve," he said, sounding faintly desperate as he sucked at his drink. "He sure picked out a lovely girl when he spotted you." , "Why, thank you," Toby said. She kicked off her shoes, brought the coffee table closer, and put both bare feet up on it.
She watched as his eyes focused on the soft shadowed undersides of her bare thighs. She moved her knees slightly, bringing the shadowy pink ribbon of her cunt openly into his view, under the fallen-away hem of her miniskirt.
"Well?" she asked, smiling at him.
He didn't say anything. He just stared.
She let her knees come slightly apart, feeling the moistening lips of her pussy part. Paul Shannon stared in fascination at the glistening pink delicacy of her moistly opening, blossoming twat.
"Well?" Toby said, again.
Paul Shannon only groaned, and looked at the ceiling. But he couldn't keep his eyes up there for more than two seconds.
She moved her knees farther apart, giving him a wide-open view between the softly tanned swell of her upper thighs, at the widely parted, dusky-pink cunt lips framing the bright pink wet tenderness between.
"Oh, God," Paul Shannon said.
"like the looks of it?" Toby asked.
"Oh, God," he said again.
"Tell me truthfully," Toby said softly, "wouldn't you like to kiss it?"
He groaned.
"It'll kiss you back," she whispered, trying to keep her face straight. "I'll make it open its lips and lass you back."
He wrenched his eyes upward again.
"Just one little lick?"
His tongue was moving across his lips, his eyes casting wildly about the room. But always coming back to the bright pink magnet of her moist open cunt in its dark background of crisp curls.
"No," he moaned, from somewhere deep in his throat
"I'll open it up for you."
"No," he croaked.
"Make it easier."
"No."
"Tastier."
"No."
"Tenderer." She was whispering very softly now. She moved her hands down between her elevated knees and spread open thighs, and with her fingertips opened wider the soft yielding lips of succulent cunt.
"Don't you really want to lick my twat?" Toby teased.
"Don't ask," Paul Shannon said, trying futilely to raise his eyes to the ceiling. "Kiss my cunt."
"Oh, Jesus."
"Or would you rather fuck me?" He only groaned.
"Slide your cock into my nice, warm, wet, slippery, squeezing, ever-lovin' cunt?"
He groaned, one last time, and stood up, and reached out for her.
"That couch pulls out," she said, smiling triumphantly.
Toby lay back in the middle of the pulled out bed, and spread her legs wide when Paul Shannon threw off the last of his clothes. For the moment she was mindless, about who was about to fuck her. All she wanted was to be fucked. Fucked. Fucked. Fuck away all that fear and everything that went with it.
"Fuck me, Paul," she said. "Fuck me good."
Paul Shannon fucked her good. And she helped, from the very beginning, reaching out with one hand to guide the big glistening purple knob of his cockhead to the soft wet lips of her ravenous cunt. She let go as his king-size cock slid into her cunt's snug, clutching embrace, and gasped happily as, with one long, sure, practiced stroke, he plunged it all the way home.
Toby felt it sliding to the core of her being, her soul. It seemed imbedded all the way up to her throat, deep in the slippery grasp of her squeezing twat, into the deepest part of her aching need.
She hooked her heels behind him, as he fucked her with an expert, slow, shuttling motion. Toby wanted that cock so badly now, so deeply, that she goaded him to greater, deeper-thrusting efforts with the insistent pressure of her heels against his naked, straining buttocks. He hooked his hands up behind her shoulders to keep her cunt from sliding away from his deep, pounding fuck-strokes, and she tightened the grasp of her calves around his hips, without shortening the unfettered pounding of his plunging shaft into her gulping, clutching, ecstatic, squirming cunt.
She didn't know how long it went on, but she heard herself gasping.
"Deeper, Paul," she moaned. "Fuck me deeper."
He fucked the great shaft into her with renewed energy, faster and deeper, it seemed, with every stroke. Toby hooked her hands behind his neck, making him bend forward over her as she felt her spasms beginning, and then for a moment she was blind with sensation, as she came, and came again, grunting and gasping, her hips writhing, her cunt grinding against the hard mound at the base of his big, hard, thrusting cock.
"Aah, now," she said, in a high clear voice, remembering all at once where she was, and why.
Paul Shannon's cock was gushing deep inside her when the first flashbulb went off. His face showed first shock, then terror, as his head twisted toward the flash.
The second flash went off as his cock, still spurting, was leaving the clutching, lingering lips of her cunt.
The door had closed behind Ralph by the time he got to his feet. He stood stock still, looking numb. Even in that state, it was evident to Toby that he knew he couldn't give chase down four flights of stairs, balls-ass naked.
He dressed and left without saying a word. Without even looking at her.
Toby made herself a drink and lay back in the easy chair, relaxed, content, the worry of the last twenty-four hours dissipated into thin air. Gone forever.
She was pretty sure Ralph would drop back up, when he knew the coast was clear. She owed him a lot, that boy. Jay too. Maybe he'd come up later, too. They could have a Little victory party.
And now there was nothing to stop her from seeing her young friend Steve, any time she wanted to. And his friends. And his father, too, if she felt like it.
He was a pretty good lay. For an old man.