Chapter 13
The confusion of the day before was still in existence. My passage, guaranteed earlier, had gone to someone else. No amount of cajoling or arguing about fair play helped. The authorities were firm. I was forced to say farewell to a departing Olivia and try my luck elsewhere on the docks, joining a long queue. We were a worried group, all of us, under that blazing sun and moving at snail's pace toward a tin shed where the boys in uniform asked foolish questions and stamped papers.
Now and then the sound of the big guns reached us and occasionally a Turkish plane flew too close. A day or even less would have the war near; perhaps fighting would be raging right here on the docks.
The man in front of me, big, hard-faced, a little too fat in his wrinkled silk suit, got the shakes. I urged him to hold on.
"Don't worry, they won't bomb here," I reassured him. "Those British ships out there in the bay have guns too."
He mopped his totally bald and fiery-red pate with a wet handkerchief. "I could use a drink, by God."
As we neared closer to the shed I kept chatting to keep his spirits up. He was American, I learned, an investment broker with holdings in this part of Europe. Now and then he looked around, searching the crowd for signs of his wife. He introduced himself to me as Baudon, from New York. My name caused him to think and he kept sucking his cheeks.
"Heard it before, but where?"
Then we were at the shed, before the officials. We were questioned briefly and then walked up the gangplank of an old freighter. Baudon presumably found his wife and his drink. I saw no more of him then. The prow of the ship was aimed in the direction of Italy, where no war existed.
Things proceeded normally on the old tub. The bar was open, food passed out, and the trembling so evident among the refugees before had passed. There was music, picture-taking, card-playing, dancing, and I even saw some couples balling.
Toward late afternoon my tired eyes fell on a tall, full-bodied woman in her early thirties. She was light-haired, pretty with a good nose, large mouth and slanting dark eyes. Her dress of summery material was tight along curving hips and sucked into the separation of thrusting buttocks. Some distance along the deck a young, curly-haired guy in a sailor's working outfit was looking left and right.
A show of sorts was in progress and intrigued I ducked into a dark alcove to watch. The gap between the woman and man closed. A little more sure of himself the sailor padded along on canvas shoes to take the woman in his arms. He pulled her backwards, out of sight, and I saw the dress pushed high above long, very brown thighs.
A connection was made. The man's grunt was low, the woman's gasp drawn out. Then I saw his work-hardened fingers on her waist, pulling her in. The surprising thing was she wore no panties. Obviously she had been prepared for the act all along.
No one was in this area of the deck and they had all the privacy and time needed to reach full satisfaction. The woman's rump, two lush balls, slightly lighter in hue than her firm thighs, twisted around and around and around, rhythmic, circular.
It was time for me to exit. The role of voyeur was fine until you were affected-and I was!
In the bar, I downed a whisky and found myself next to fat Baudon. He slammed me on the back, shouting that he now had connected my name with an incident. I experienced a spurt of panic but held my cool.
"Really?"
"Sure. Frankie Hill. You married a lovely girl named Barbara. Sure, I'm part of that crowd."
Her relatives are very wealthy, I admitted, meaning that if he had money he would move in the same crowd. However, when he became personal, practically demanding a reason for my running out on Barbara, I excused myself and faded.
I avoided him for the rest of the journey and when the freighter docked I scurried off onto Italian soil and purchased a train ticket to go on up into Switzerland.
The money on hand had run out so that meant a trip to the bank. There I produced my credentials, noting the bank officials viewed my appearance (I hadn't shaved in days) with alarm. But my identity was established and funds easily withdrawn.
A taxi driver took me to a first-class hotel and there I indulged myself in luxury, enjoying a double room. Signing in, I followed the bellboy who carried my bags into the elevator, rode up to the top floor and entered an airy room that overlooked the city.
I tipped the boy, closed the door and settled in a hot tub thinking that I had indeed led quite a life lately. But it was too frantic and the consequences inevitable. It was time to get hold of myself and keep out of trouble.
It wasn't exactly pleasant to find out a day later that the Baudons had a suite down the hall. And it was a shock to be introduced to his wife, Lorraine, and discover that she was the stunning woman who had screwed for the young sailor in a stand-up position.
The Baudons invited me to dinner and I stupidly accepted. Of course, during the entire meal Lorraine kept rubbing knees with me under the table and sliding her hand along my thigh to cup my ever-hardening penis. The trouble I had sworn I would avoid was coming back into my life.
It culminated in a swift, raw sexual turn during a party the Baudons threw in their luxurious suite. A mob attended. Where the Baudons got them from I don't know but I imagine every bar and discotheque and cafe in Geneva was scoured with invitations issued right and left. Twice the management complained about the noise and there was even talk of the police.
Two hours of drinking and listening to nonsense was just two hours wasted. I headed for my rooms. In the corridor I had to elbow my way past a group of sweating, laughing characters to reach my place. I closed the door, sighing, locking out the noise.
I stripped to my shorts, flung my clothes about and entered the bathroom. I washed my hands and face, brushed my teeth and looked into the cabinet mirror to check the toll recent adventures had taken. No two ways about it, I was looking shot.
"It certainly took you a while to get here," said a female voice.
"Huh!" I was startled to see Lorraine Baudon sitting way in the corner, on the edge of the bathtub.
"You've got bad eyes and bad hearing." She came forward, as tall as me, exciting in a party dress with her face flushed from excitement.
I should have tried to judge her expression, determine the reason why she was here in my bathroom, but I remembered the incident on the boat with the sailor and there was the sudden burning in my groin.
"You'd make a good thief. I really didn't hear you."
"I should have been here hours ago. After all, I did extend an invitation to you a few days ago when we dined out. Or are you too slow to catch on?"
Her eyes were sparkling, I noticed, and the tip of her tongue kept flicking along the edges of her wide, full mouth. Without awaiting my answer she got out of her high-heeled shoes and gripped the ends of her panties to pull them off.
"You are insane, baby." I jerked a thumb in the direction of the party. "Your man is going to start hunting. I was a stranger to him before but now he knows exactly who I am and can make trouble. I'm hiding from people in New York."
"New York is far away in America and this is Geneva, Switzerland." She raised her dress to reveal a pair of finely shaped thighs and the mound of light hair below her belly. "Take me."
Even while I was saying no she unzipped my trousers and pulled out the length of hardness. It was somewhat rubbery at first but once free it took on the usual size, becoming a veritable hose.
"Hey! We're going to have some enjoyment." She licked her lips as she grasped my penis. "Lorraine is going to have herself a damned good time!"
What was the use of avoiding it? So there we were, kissing hurriedly with me feeling the thrusting velvet tip of her tongue. But after I tore my lips free and smothered her neck with hot kisses she sighed and twitched her thighs nervously. My hand went down, searching, the forefinger flicking at the bushy covering.
She whined and slammed herself at me. My finger busy with her clitoris had her convulsing. Her arms whipped about my neck and she demanded more kisses. Soon, my lips were again glued to hers, with her teeth sinking into my mouth the very moment she spent.
I felt the hot, creamy liquid flowing along my finger and rolling along the palm of my hand. She made the usual sounds a woman climaxing does and then at last she recovered her breath and eased me away. The melting ecstasy she had just experienced, I told her, was nothing compared to what she was about to receive.
I bent slightly, to examine the light pubic hair, so curled and wet now, and the pouting lips of her vagina. The odor lingering there had me as it always would, on the brink of madness. Immediately, I fell to my knees, clasped my hands about her shapely, squirming backside and pasted my mouth to the trembling slit. She was done full justice as I kissed the crack, the button within the hairy area surrounding the joyous opening.
There was a wild shriek, louder than any noise created by the party next door, and she climaxed. I looked up, still holding tightly to her quivering buttocks while the woman flung her arms out and shouted. Her breasts, like halved grapefruit topped with strawberries, were bared as the buttons flew off the dress and it parted in the center.
It took a while until she calmed down. Then, rising, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and requested that she spread her legs wide and straddle me. She had removed her expensive party dress and now faced me, beautifully naked. Laughing because she was so happy, she climbed atop me, her firm, rounded thighs shooting out at different angles, her buttocks resting on my knees.
She drew herself closer, straining the muscles in her hard thighs and with her feet firmly planted on the tiled bathroom floor raised her ass ever so lightly. "Ah hah, here we go...oooooohhh!"
With the balled end of my instrument placed at the wet crack, I gathered myself and went up, dividing the lips neatly, pushing and pushing the long column of curved flesh up the velvet lined halls. Wetness seeped from the corners of her closed eyes, but they were tears of happiness.
Now the married bitch's rounded butt started its revolutions, going around and around. I gasped and reared up and held her breasts that were still the virginal shape of a young ghTs. My fingertips shaped the buds into crusted points.
She linked her hands behind my head and rubbed the lower portion of her torso against me. Her weight was tossed from one leg to the other while her magnificent rear end continued its erotic rotation.
"Eeeeaaahhhh!" She shouted and shuddered her way through an orgasm. My sudden in and out movements had her delirious, but when the last of the crazy things ceased happening to her, I came.
"Ugh, ohhh ugh, ugh...I am delivering my load." ' "No, no, ohhh, no, not yet!"
"Yeah, yeah!"
I shot like the bastard I was, pouring the hot cream into her privates. It filled up the slot and overflowed, draining out, wetting her still-moving thighs and rolling along the hard, pulsing column that was my penis.
"Oooooh, why didn't you wait, ohh, why didn't you control yourself?"
The poor woman looked down at the results of my joy running down her long legs, three different colored streams that blended somewhere near her knee to look like fallen drops of jelly.
She washed herself by climbing onto the basin, talking all the time about her disappointment, claiming that men thinking only of their pleasure were always so quick. If the silly woman had looked into the mirror she would see that as I undressed, removing every stitch of clothing, my sword was still up and eager for more business.
"Bend over the tub, baby."
"You mean you still can?"
"I wouldn't ask you to take that position if I couldn't. So, come on!"
Delighted, she leaned over the bathtub. I went on, praising the shape of her rump, letting her know that I considered it a beautiful work of art, all roundness and firmness. I kissed the suntanned balloons, going over every inch of them with my rasping tongue.
"Ohhh, it's wonderful but-can't you come into me?"
All right, she wanted to save the fondling and the kissing for another time. As she knelt, widening the rounds of her delicious behind even more, the cheeks tightened, like hard melons.
But this moment I was insane. I simply could not have enough of that rear end. I rested my chin on them and then, sighing, sank my teeth into the flesh, thinking I was in a fruit orchard.
"Ohhh, enough of that! Ahhh, darling, it is torture for me."
"Okay, okay." At last I ceased stroking the balls and poised above her, drove my penis into her silken vagina, entering from the rear in a direct and driving thrust. She squealed but gyrated her succulent cheeks non-stop.
The bathroom then became our jungle and we were two animals, male and female copulating in a frenzy with my movements hammering blows. Poor girl, she was forced to clutch the lips of the bathtub and lean over it, her breasts hanging.
"Ooohhhh!"
"It's that behind of yours, it's driving me to a point I have never been before."
"Ahhh yes, yes, it's mine, all-ooohhhhh! Aaaahhhhh!"
Who knows how much time elapsed? But now she was afraid and pleaded with me to let her get back, that her husband would again start his usual search. But I noticed she made no effort to leave and when I asked her to he down she did, stretching her length over the nylon rug and spreading her thighs to the limit.
I went between her legs, readied my manhood and shot it in in a rapid penetration. She merely murmured but when our groins smacked together she came alive. She locked her legs about mine, flattened her hands on my behind and shoved herself up lustily.
I held her solidly, my hands running up her long legs to the upper reaches of her firm, rounded thighs. Her ass bounced like a ball on the floor while my member, throbbing inside her, increased in dimension and hardness.
"Yiiieeee!" She was climaxing and making those coyote sounds because the thrill had sneaked right up on her, the emotion moving' like a thief. The tide of joy that was an orgasm washed over her. Just as rapidly, the waters of lust faded and her juicy vagina tightened about my intruding bar. She fell back, almost dead, except for the rhythmic grind of her rotund behind. "Did I do you good this time?"
"Much better, oohh, so much better than before, but darling, we must stop. All right? Come now, please, quickly."
If I had allowed nature to take its course I would have shot then, releasing a bolt of hot stuff in her, but her pleas went contrary to her wishes and just simply recharged me, adding to my durability, increasing my staying power.
Her next climax brought on a blood-chilling yell. I just clenched my teeth and held fast to her long, full body. "Keep on coming, because I feel that I can ride you all night."
"Ahh, no, no, ahhh noooo. Another one will tear me up, so please stop." But-there she was, surrendering to another climax, shouting more happily now for she probably felt the sperm leaving my penis.
"Ughhhhh!" I let go and fell across her, my arms sliding along the tiled floor.
Somehow, without my cooperation, she struggled her way from under my weight and got up, wobbling, almost in a state of shock. Every inch of her was soaking wet. Her thighs kept jerking and her hips went twisting. She had to grit her teeth to keep from crying out.
"Get me a drink! All this screwing...my God, you are a monster!"
"Wait a minute!" I rose to my knees, holding on to the edge of the bathtub.
While Lorraine kept on about having herself a drink I thought I detected a noise out in the bedroom. Fear crept up on me when I considered that we might have been caught but then the party rose in volume and I shook the feeling off. "I need a drink!"
"Yeah, for crissakes! I know you need a drink and so do I but will you give me a second!"
Suddenly I heard someone padding around and then the door of the bathroom was gently eased open. A hand bearing a glass of alcohol, filled to the halfway mark came through.
The woman, instead of giving in to some amazement and seeing who belonged to the hand, simply grabbed the glass and drank the lot in one gulp.
Not me. I had seen the hand, fat, veined, thick-fingered, adorned by a thick gold wedding ring and far too expensive platinum and diamond wristwatch. The jewelry of a rich man and that meant Lorraine's husband, Baudon.
The door was opened and there he was, big, fat, bald-headed in a tuxedo that was wrinkled, as were most of the clothes he wore, and not at all happy at the tableau we presented.
"My party wasn't good enough for you so you brought my wife here to have one of your own. Right?"
"Jeees, I am sorry!"
"I'd be a fool to believe that. Befriend you and you take advantage of me. No wonder Barbara's family shuddered at the thought of your marrying her. Poor girl, she really has my sympathy."
Lorraine buried her sweating face in her hands and sobbed: "No, no!"
"Get your clothes on, you cheap prostitute. People are leaving now and I don't want you saying good-bye to them in your birthday suit."
"Ohh, God, ohh God," wailed Lorraine, trying to make cheap melodrama out of what was a common thing.
"Loud as the party was I heard you screaming your head off. I haven't heard you scream out in orgasm like that since we were first married."
I bundled up my clothing and left her in the bathroom to dress. There was no point in getting all covered so I just donned pants and a shirt. Baudon was well connected in this town, and whatever the laws of Switzerland were, he would know how to use them. He would slam me with adultery, alienation of affections and anything else his successful Swiss lawyers could think of.
There was no point in carrying the game to the limit so I turned my back on them and went to stand on my balcony. It was time to get on my running shoes and put this city far behind. Man, why was I always blamed! Ahhh, shit!