Chapter 4
Pamela was alone in the environ mental cabana beside Windamere's indoor pool. It had everything, this Tudor mansion dear Arthur had given her. Everything but Arthur.
She squashed the cigarette into the tray and reminded herself for the tenth time this morning she was going to quit smoking. And quit coffee, too.
Exclaiming in impatience, she hurled the partially filled cup and saucer at the water and watched idly as they sank.
"Accident, Mrs. Pringle?" Ronald peered from the kitchen out onto the patio, caught sight of the curious brown spot in the clear water of the pool, then saw two pieces of china floating toward the bottom.
"No accident," she snipped. "I did it on purpose. I wanted to see what kind of underwater swimmer my bodyguard is."
He looked perplexed for a moment, then began to peel his tie. Ronald understood. The mistress of the mansion was mad at the world. Her absentee husband had been gone for most of the two weeks since the move from town to the Windamere estate. Her bodyguard had quietly entered the gatehouse apartment and quietly made a decision. Ronald wanted to keep the twenty thousand a year job. He wouldn't, if he continued the one night of wildness that had erupted with the one female in all the world he was asked to guard. She alone had the power to overwhelm his impotency. She held the key and knew a secret.
That first night together when he had come alive to sex again was shattering. It was out-of-this-world wonderful to be a man again and it was an ungodly disappointment to find within days it was only Pamela who could break the terrible freeze inside his loins.
Ronald was beyond trying to fathom it when, after a week of wild women from whores to bar pickups, he got no erection. There was something about this Pamela ... her similarity to Dantrelle Svenson ... or maybe just some chemistry between them....
But Pamela was Arthur Pringle's wife. She was dynamite. Highly sexed. Almost always in the scantiest cover possible. Visibly bothered by him and hardly concealing her want under the peek-a-boo halters which revealed constantly taut nipples whenever Ronald was around.
But she also respected his decision of no more play. She made no compromising requests. While Arthur himself directed Ronald to sleep at the manor on nights he was out of town, Pamela made no waves when he opted for the gatehouse. Arthur thought he'd hired a eunuch. The two of them knew different. What more rugged test of an employee's dependability could there be?
Her out-of-sorts mood was understandable, he thought, dropping his shoes and unbuckling his slacks. This was the least he could do to lighten her mood, if it amused her to make him her diving boy. Good chance, too, to show her the way it was going to be. Want her as he might, he couldn't have her and fifteen years of not having any woman had given him self control over frustration and now, damn it! for twenty thousand annually, control over temptation.
"Betcha can't bring cup and saucer up in one dive." She fingered another Doral from the pack, watching with poorly pretended nonchalance as he moved toward the pool edge. "If you think I can't, you must have seen them break." He felt the stirring deep in his groin and focused his attention on the water as she darted to his side.
"That, dear Ronald, is Lenox china. Can't break. Only the best for Mr. Pringle. Buy it and put it on the shelf. He I does that with everything, even his wives," she snipped, her glance catching the definite movement against his jock front.
"You're getting hard." She said it quietly, matter-of-factly, but inside she was-anything but calm. It was the first sign since their one play together that he had not retreated to the impotent state for her, as well as everyone.
The splash was his answer. She watched his powerfully muscled figure dive downward to the pool bottom, then swirl in a tight turn as he collected the cup and saucer. When he writhed away and continued underwater with the china, Pam sighed in surrender. He was determined to be withdrawn, even though, the opportunity seemed made to order. Arthur had gone off for Energies Unlimited to Africa. Though he was determined she should have a full staff at Windamere, there were no other employees yet. What she really needed was a staff. And that staff was just surfacing down at the deep end of the pool.
She knew she could command her bodyguard to make love to her. It would be hellish for him. It also would put him in a damned difficult spot, with his obvious conscientiousness. The only sex he seemed to forgive in himself was the spontaneous, if the one time was any sign.
"I'm here, Ronald," she called, scrambling across the ledge of the diving board. "Didn't you dive on your school swim team?"
Very carefully he deposited the cup and saucer on the end table, then straightened, facing her, his jockeys ballooning incongruously from the stiffened cock beneath. "Never like this. Show me your style."
"It needs help." At the end of the board she balanced in a precarious headstand, tilted too soon and flopped awkwardly into the water.
"That was terrible," he observed as she marched past him and stepped up the ledge for another try. "You're supposed to do a handstand, then spread your legs to their extremity, return them to point and then dive in. On you it would be a very pretty dive."
Ignoring his totally erected state under the elastic, she looked poutingly into his face. "Does your code of responsibility keep you from helping me get my balance for that? I'm terrible in a handstand."
He followed without responding as she stepped to the end of the board, bent to clasp the sides of the board and push gingerly to a handstand. From the weirdest of angles, she looked up at the tortured hard-on still jammed inside the snug jockey shorts, giving its owner massive discomfort.
For Ronald, it was not simple agony to endure the first public display of his heat for Pamela since that awakening moment. It was worth it to be in the presence of this one woman who had the magic to break his impotency and know she still had the magic. That he would have the self-control when Arthur Pringle returned was the reason he had to show the self-control now, he told himself. His job depended on it.
"Okay. So I'm your coach," he declared, feeling wonderful as he stood facing her upended, torrid chassis. He stepped close and caught her ankles to support her in the handstand and made an interesting observation. His spearing cock, barely under cover, pointed toward her navel. If he was naked.
"Now, very carefully," he said. "Lower to an elbow stand. I'll hold your legs."
She loved and hated his torture of them both but did as he asked. It was so transparent. He was positioning them crotch to crotch.
"You have to spread your legs carefully, lean a little toward me as you do." His hands were gentle as they slid quickly down her thighs to cup lightly at her hips. "Beautiful," he praised, stepping back when she had her balance. "Now, bring your legs together and thrust with your hands into a back flip. It's a very pretty display."
Pam went over in the flip and cut the water cleanly, wondering all the while how to get him out of those ridiculous shorts. Her fingers found the panty bow while she was surfacing and when she climbed from the water she was nude. "I think it would be even prettier this way. Don't you, Ronald?"
"There's no doubt at all." He started to step down from the board, but her hand was urgent on his wrist and her eyes said it all.
"You've got to help me again. I'm not that good yet. I dare you."
He stood near the step to the board as she crouched, then hefted to a headstand, teetering uncertainly. In one fleeting split second he drank in the nude fantasia of her dazzling body, tanned golden, long platinum hair spilling sexily, every straining curve on delectable display. His resolve faltered as he stepped forward at her squealing demand to support her ankles. The new position put her inviting mound just the right distance below his groin.
Sure Ronald had braced against temptation, Pam squeezed her eyes shut, determined to end the mismatch with this dive. It was as dumb a seduction attempt as any she had tried in the two weeks at Windamere and if it came closest to success, it hurt the most to fail.
Suddenly hot and hard, flush across her pussy cleft as she spread her thighs wide, a bar of man flesh announced its presence. Her eyes stayed shut, lest to open them would break the fantasy. An instant later she felt the firm knobby crown nudging her dilated cunt cleft and quickly jam its way inside. Deep inside.
Ronald fought a battle inside, even as he began to cram himself into the irresistible target. Her legs, widespread when he penetrated, now scissored his waist, and her heels dug into the small of his back, forcing him to close. It was then that she heard his deep-throated groan, warning he was already in trouble holding off orgasm.
"Yesss...." she moaned, helpless in the inverted position to return his urgent thrusts, feeling the electric quivering of a massive organ barely penetrating and ready to fire. The ejaculation was full and furious and for Pamela almost totally without feeling. When it was done, Ronald disengaged and lowered her gently to the board. Both knew it was a bad trip. Especially bad for Pam. It was dumb. Her heat was showing as bitch heat.
She decided to ignore its having happened.
"Ronald, there's a list of groceries on the kitchen counter. Call it into Quinlan's for me and tell them I want it delivered late this afternoon, would you please?"
"Yes, Mrs. Pringle."
Everything back in order and that was a goddamned lie, he thought, pulling on his clothing and watching her still prone on the board, even as he finished dressing. She was incredible allure and she was certain destruction. He stumbled off to do her bidding, determined to get his satisfaction by voyeuring, when she was unaware. Just as he had been doing since the move to Windamere. Lord, she drove him wild! At least he had something again.
Derek London loaded the last of the lined up grocery bags into the delivery truck and not till he was ready to slam the panel door closed did he see the name. "Pringle-Windamere Estate."
Fantastic! Since the unforgettable day when he made his last delivery, when she was still his next door neighbor, Derek had thought of little else but Pamela Pringle.
He had made love to her and she never had known. Whatever kooky games Morna/Mommy dreamed up around home, he could not shake the wonder of Mrs. Pringle. She had passed out just when he went in that first time. She never knew they had made it. If she did, he'd made a fat impression. No call for groceries at the store and no call to say hello at home. Even his mother was miffed.
He had seduced Morna that very morning, though it was hardly seduction. She came to his room to waken him and he was toying with his hard-on as he always did first thing in the morning. Funny, his self play really disturbed Morna/Mommy as something he should not do. Said it was wasteful to let his semen fly like that and he teased her she was archaic. Everyone who knows how it works in a man knows the more gism you use, the more you generate.
Morna sat on the edge of his bed in that pink peek-a-boo shorty negligee, stroking his messed up hair and slapping his hand away from fondling the erection under the sheet. It was the way she liked to do what seemed to make her happy and sad at the same time. The boobies under the see-through pink were wearing bull-seyes like he'd never seen on her. Her eyes glazed instantly when his hand crept boldly inside her negligee and found a nipple. She let him fondle first one, then the other, and then it was her hand that went under the sheet to find his cock.
They had it going hot and wild between them and it seemed much hotter to keep it sneaky and kind of shameful. Like this morning. Morna let his hand drift to her crotch while she stroked his cock with one hand and his hair with the other. When his fingers drifted round the curve of her sleek hip and tugged, she sighed a kind of shuddering sigh and tumbled beside him as he pulled aside the sheet. He fucked her really good and when they were done and trembling in each other's arms, she had chosen that second to tell him.
"You know, Derek, I promised your father I'd never tell you, but I've got to break that promise. You see, you are not really my son." She caught her breath at the tensing of his body. "You're like my own, but another woman bore you arid ... well, I can't have you seeing my need and thinking what you must think."
That had been a jolt. A disappointment, really, he decided. It made it so damned different to have thought all along he was having incest. But now the day was saved. He had a delivery of groceries to Mrs. Pringle. Would he dare take it up where he was sure she remembered last seeing him before she passed out?
Derek was ready. Was she? He never could remember being hornier. Was it the discovery that Morna had deceived him these years or was it that Mrs. Pringle had requested late day delivery, knowing he would come?
It was precisely on schedule. He pulled through the wide stone gates past the gatehouse and waved to the handsome dude watching by the edge of the road, wondering who that was, but not really caring.
She squealed happily when she heard his voice at the kitchen door and darted to welcome him.
"Let me carry them the rest of the way!" she exclaimed, taking the single bag from him. "I remember your last delivery hit the kitchen floor."
Bag on the comer, she spun toward him, arms outstretched, a vision of beauty, even in the formless smock. "And how is my favorite next door neighbor and delivery boy?"
He stepped into the offered embrace and it was all on the line. His bared erection was urgent and full under the apron and that was the way he wanted to dare it. The blunt cap jammed against her front and then diagonalled hard against her tummy as they hugged.
"Do you remember anything else about your last delivery, Mrs. Pringle?"
His eyes were daring and she met the look without blinking. "Maybe you had better refresh my memory."
They made urgent, demanding teenage-type love in the first bed they found. It wasn't the way it had been before. He had the air of a smartass with notions of property rights. When he was done-and it took three nonstop acts of copulation to soften his excitement-Pamela was ready to scream. The opposite of Ronald, but just as unsatisfactory for her own deep urgency for a man who could commandeer her body, fuck her out of her mind, even when the conditions were far from ideal, yet give her the feeling he'd dare everything for one wild romp with her.
Somehow she brought the play with Derek to a close and when he had gone, she was alone in the master bedroom and it all seemed so pointless. Everything in the world-and nothing! As she mulled the whole frustrating package, the telephone at her bedside rang.
"Mrs. Pringle, this is Ronald. There's a gentleman here from Mr. Pringle's office who has to see you. He says it's urgent."
"Send him right up."
Pamela dashed into a dress, feeling premonitions sweep as she hurried down the long staircase to the front door.
"I've got bad news, Mrs. Pringle. Your husband is dead."
Her caller caught her arm as she reeled before the news. It was all over just like that and she barely heard the details of where and how they didn't want to phone her the word since there was nothing she could do.
"Thank you for coming out. No, I don't need a thing, ni be all right."
But as the door closed and she was left alone in the vastness of Windamere, Pamela Pringle wasn't all right at all. A low, slow boiling rage welled deep inside. Energies Unlimited had killed him. Made him a Senior Vice President. Paid him handsomely. Let his ego take him from there and finally sent one of their paid lackeys around to tell his thirty-year-old widow how sorry they were!
The hell they were sorry! They already were picking Arthur's successor. He was a statistic.
It was the week after the services that she got around to the lawyer's office. Only because the attorney appealed to her to come review the will with him, since there were certain important stipulations.
Dan Gelbert was an annoying kind of attorney. He had that wandering hand and that look in his eye that told her he hoped she was not to be laid, even as he was commiserating about Arthur's untimely demise.
"What was it that was so important, Dan?" she asked, breaking free of his handshake and stepping away from the hand that rested casually on her hip as he gave her that sincerity look. "What's important any more?"
"The will, Pamela. As I said." He sighed as he dropped his two hundred and eighty pounds into the high-backed executive chair and looked across the glass top of his desk with that soulful bloodhound look. "Arthur had it drawn up just this last month before the Africa safari. Almost as if he knew it was his time to leave us."
"Perhaps he did know." Hard to be civil with that gaze constantly moving below her neck. If she really had emotional kick-backs to losing an absentee husband, Dan Gelbert would have torn it. As it was, he simply made himself appear the jackass.
"He left everything to you, but he asked that this very strange request be read to you, if he should die." Dan cleared his throat and adjusted the horn-rimmed glasses as he read the last paragraph of Arthur's bequest....
"Honey, I'm sorry I can't share you."
Gelbert frowned at the paper.
"Celibacy isn't too much to ask from you for twenty million."
A disbelieving Pamela sat listening as her late husband brazenly demanded of her....
"I want you to honor our love by having no sexual relations for the next twenty years. It's the least a husband who gave all to give you so much can ask. And sex is best at fifty anyway, if you still need it."
She listened numbly, almost hearing him laugh as he reported he had chosen Ronald for her bodyguard and since he had no sex life, Ronald would be her constant companion, always near to help her over the times when she might want to violate the trust.
Trust was just where the twenty million was. To be doled out at one million each anniversary date after Arthur's leaving.
Dan smiled sympathetically across his glasses at the expression he saw. "Arthur told me about Ronald, my dear. Now, if you wish to tell Arthur where to go, your late husband has directed that I, as executor, will pay you one million now and also sign Windamere over to you."
Pamela simply glared. Dan Gelbert was baiting her to blow her cool. It would be a neat nineteen million for the slob. It would be as simple as giving fat Dan the nod and she could have her cake and eat it. No way. She collected her purse and stood slowly.
"I understand. Ronald reports to you as executor, is that correct?"
"He has been instructed on his retention by Arthur, should what has happened occur, that if...." Dan cleared his throat nervously. "How do I say it delicately? If you are found in intercourse with a man, you will be cut off from the balance of your inheritance."
"Those were Arthur's instructions?"
"To the letter." Dan spread his hands sympathetically. "Of course, there are ways around...."
Without another look at the offensiveness across the desk, Pamela turned proudly on her heel and strode for the door. "Some things are worse than death, Dan," she tossed over her shoulder. "T don't think celibacy will be all that bad."
"Good luck, dear," he called after the fantastic rear view of carefully coiffed platinum, sassy ass and perfect legs. "Remember, Ronald will be watching."
That was precisely where she would start, thought Pamela, fighting the urge to turn and answer the final dig. Right now she had to be the quiet, resigned widow.