Chapter 11

Marianne was an integral part of John's plan. It was common knowledge that she had a proclivity for sex of the perverted nature. She was an experimenter. She liked to try out various new techniques. Simon's did not object at all when she carried on Very often she would invite home a whole group of men, and she would take them all on while her husband watched. She liked it, and that was good enough for Simons. Anything that made his teenage bride happy was acceptable. The old man completely rejected the traditional puritan morality. He no longer believed in it and therefore, he didn't mind any of Marianne's little pranks. She was his toy. She was a pussy cat to him. She amused him, and it was amusement which he wanted after a hard day of work.

John came that morning armed with all the juicy tidbits of gossip which the columnists in the local and national newspapers were reporting. He knew that his plan would work. There was no question in his mind. If he played it right he would obtain the coveted position of Vice President of Mutual of Hartford before the weekend was over.

Before getting out of his car, John took one last look at those pictures of Selina which he was carrying in his breast pocket. They were gem's. They were absolute gems.

I should have been a photographer, John thought to himself, returning the pictures to their resting place. Selina had an absolutely gorgeous body. She really did her best, when he took those pictures.

Originally, John was planning to torment Selina with them. He had planned to degrade the girl. He was to have used those pictures to punish Selina for her treachery.

But now they would be put too much better and more practical usage. He would use the photographs as a lure. He knew about the 'Old Man's' weakness. He was constantly surrounding himself with people who could provide him with thrills. Well, Selina could certainly give him that. She could give him thrills and anything else he wanted. In return, of course, the 'Old Man' would give him the promotion he wanted. It was a neat trade, and John was certain that he would go for it.

He walked into his office, cheerfully, whistling to himself. At lunch time, he walked over to Simon's office, down the hall.

"Are you ready for lunch," asked John.

It was Friday, and every Friday the two of them went to Lenny's for a business lunch that lasted into the late afternoon. They discussed the events of the past week, and plans for the coming one.

"I'll be ready in a minute," said Simons, puffing at his cigar. He sat in a heavy leather chair, behind a long oak desk which was stacked high with papers, telegrams, and memorandums.

After finishing with his phone call, Simons got his hat and coat from the closet. It was pretty chilly outside, a heavy February frost hanging over the city. He didn't want to catch a cold. He didn't have time to waste on being sick. There was too much in this world he still hadn't seen. There were too many things that he still hadn't come to do.

"Tell my wife," he said to his secretary before leaving the office, "That we're flying to the Palm Springs residence for the weekend. Tell her I've got something really good planned."

"Yes," answered Wendy, waving to him as he stepped into the elevator.

The private room which Simon's always reserved for Friday afternoon meeting with John was ready as usual. The waiters brought in the food and wine, and very carefully bowed out, locking the doors behind them ... they knew that Simons didn't like to be disturbed.

After they had finished eating, they rang and the tables were cleared, and a bottle of cognac brought in.

"We'll be here till four-thirty," said Simon's to the Maitre'de. "We don't want to be bothered with anything till then. I won't accept any phone calls. I don't give a damn who it's from."

"Yes, sir," said Maurice, carrying out the dishes. When he left, Simon's was ready to discuss business. He took some papers from his briefcase, and talked to John about them. John listened, offering his advice. Nowadays Simons was very receptive to John. He was his closest advisor.

At about three, John reached into his pocket to take out a handkerchief. A pile of photographs dropped out John reached down to pick them up as the 'old man' glanced.

He was fascinated by what he saw. He had never seen such erotic pictures.

"They're very artistic," he said to John. "Do you mind if I look at them."

"Not at all," was the reply. "I'm an amateur photographer. Those are pictures of my wife."

"She has a lovely figure," said Simons. "I never knew that she had so much talent"

"Oh yes," said John, "She's quite a talented little girl. My Selina is just brimming with talent"

"If I had known," said the old man, staring at the nude pictures, "I would have sought out her company. I like to surround myself with talented people. My wife, Marianne, for example is a writer and a painter."

"Oh yes," smiled John. "I've heard very much about your lovely young wife. It is said that she is a terribly good ballet dancer."

They both burst into laughter. Simons, who had always thought that John was a stuffed shirt, interested only in business, was pleasantly surprised when he discovered John's lighter side.

"Listen," said Simons. "If you've got nothing going this weekend, I'll be glad to have you as my guests. My plane is leaving for Palm Beach at nine this evening. There'll be quite a variety of interesting people there. I do hope you will consent to come."

"Well," said John, "I don't know."

He didn't want to appear too anxious.

"Come on, old chap," said Simons. "I really want you to come along. I think you would really enjoy it. And, of course, do bring your charming young wife along."

John finally consented.

"Of course I'll come," he said.

His heart was beating like a roller coaster. Everything had gone according to plan. The 'Old Man' had suspected nothing. He was indeed a very happy man, as he put his car key into the ignition. Because of the cold weather, he was having a little trouble starting the engine. He pumped the gas gently, and he finally got the damned thing to move. It was a '67 Pontiac. He promised himself that he would buy a new one. He was thinking of a Caddy or maybe a Jag. After all, an executive should travel in style. He might even get himself a chauffeur. All these things ran through his mind as he rang the doorbell to his West Hartford home.

"Hi honey," he said to Selina when she answered the door. "Get packed. We're going away for the weekend."

"Where to?" asked Selina, surprised.

"Palm Beach," he replied.

He then proceeded to explain everything to his wife.

"This is my big chance," he said. "The old man's got to choose a Vice President by next week. Baxter is next in line. I think I might be able to steal it from under his nose. But I'll need your help."

"You know that I'll do anything you want," she answered. "You can count on me."

"Great," he laughed, kissing and hugging her. "Just great"

He started patting her on the fanny.

"I want you to wear the sexiest dress you've got. I want you to absolutely knock everyone out. Without you I might not have a chance."

The two of them climbed up to the bedroom, locked arm in arm. John held her tight around the waist It still had the same feel to it. It still possessed that warm fleshy quality which used to excite him so much. There was no doubt in his mind that she would knock them out.

Selina slid out of her house dress. Then she pulled off her panties and bra and stepped into the shower. If she was going away for the weekend, she wanted to be as fresh as ever. After shaving her legs, and the slight growth of stubble that was under her armpit, she emerged from the bathroom, only wearing a thick blue towel which just barely covered her nudity. Her breasts jiggled with each step she took in a provocative manner. Her whole body stirred with excitement. The water had titillated her. It made her feel sensual, and erotic. She was in the mood for some lovemaking. She couldn't have felt better.

"Let's do it," she said to John, after drying herself. "I want to get laid. I feel like having some sex. How about it, sweetheart?"

"No," was his reply. "There's no time. We have to meet the 'old man' very soon."

"But," she protested impishly. "Little Selina wants it. I need to get laid."

"There'll be plenty of that this weekend," said John. "You'll get your pick of the crop. So just get dressed honey, so that we can get moving."

Selina didn't understand what John was saying. What did he mean when he said that she'll have the 'pick of the crop'? Weren't they going to 'old man' Simon's house. She started pestering John. Though she had agreed to do everything in her power to help him get the coveted Vice-Presidency, he still hadn't explained to her what, exactly, it was that she was supposed to do.

"I'm not going," she said, curling up on the bed. "I'm not going until you tell me what's supposed to happen this weekend."

John had been expecting this question. He was treading on thin ground. He would have to be very careful. Selina could be very stubborn when she wanted to.

"Well," he finally said, after beating around the bush for awhile, "Remember those pictures that I took of you. Those naked ones."

"You mean," said Selina, very carefully, "the pictures you took after the 'accident'. The ones where I'm masturbating and drinking your piss, and sucking your cock?"

John nodded.

"Those are the pictures I mean," he said solemnly. "I showed them to Simons."

"You bastard," screamed Selina, in a burst of anger. "You castrated bastard. How could you?"

"It was easy," said John. "He liked what he saw. I think he wants to fuck you."

"Over my dead body," was Selina's retort. "What the hell do you think I am? A whore? I'll be damned if I go to bed with that old fogey. He's got a wife. I read in the newspapers that he just married a seventeen year old girl. If he wants to get laid so badly, why doesn't he do it in the sack with her. I ain't a whore."

"That's what you think" said John. "All women are whores. And that includes you. You didn't mind so much hopping in bed with my own brother Wendell. He was my brother. I don't see that it's so bad for you to fuck for Simons'. He ain't half bad. They tell me that he turns a pretty nice trick. Even if he is a little on the old side."

Selina turned over on her side, away from John. She started thinking. She knew that his career was involved. She knew how much the promotion meant to him. It would be a big disappointment if he didn't get it.

After all, she thought to herself, who was she to play little Miss Muffet? Wasn't John right? She came from a whole family of prostitutes? She remembered all the men that her mother used to bring home after the death of her father. They were always sticking their hands up her dress, while she giggled obscenely.

And, of course, she mustn't forget about her sisters. There was Anna, Hilda, Nichole and Margarita. Weren't they all whores? Didn't they all sell themselves to the highest bidder? Didn't they walk the streets of Barcelona at night, in search of American tourists. Then they would take their men to dark, dank rooms and submit to their lusts. They would lift their dresses, and squat down like dogs, while the men mounted them.

How much different was she from them? Weren't they all sisters? Weren't they all the product of the same seed? Why, then, should she think she was different?

God knows, she thought to herself, what would have happened without John. If he hadn't married her and brought her to America, she would no doubt have ended up walking the streets. Now he was asking a favor from her. He was asking her to put out for the boss. Wasn't it a small request on his part? Should she not gladly submit to his will?

"Yes," she finally said to John, who was sitting behind her, combing his hair. "I'll do it. I'll do anything you want. You can be my pimp and I'll be your harlot. That seems like a fair arrangement Don't you think so? Don't you think that it's a fair arrangement."

"You bet, honey," he said.

John was beyond conventional morality. He didn't care what he was called. It didn't matter. In the final analysis, nothing mattered. What difference is it whether people say that you're a pimp or a saint? You live and then you die, and history triumphantly marches on. You become an abstraction. A non entity. It makes no difference to anyone whether you lived or you died.

What was important to John was success and power and control over other people. He wanted the same influence which Simons exercised. When he called, others hopped. They did as he said. They listened to his whims, and commands. He was number one man.

And John was determined to follow in those footsteps. He was under thirty, and he was well on his way toward his goal. It didn't matter who he sacrificed along the way. So what if Selina was forced to submit to Simons. What difference did it make. Who was Selina anyway. She was nothing but some little gutter tramp he picked off the streets. She owed him everything. He owed her nothing. If it weren't for her, he would still be a normal, healthy male. She had done him harm. She had done him injury. Now he would exact retribution from her.

"Get dressed," he said. "We've got to meet Simons at Bradly airport at nine. His jet is taking off at nine o'clock sharp."

He walked over to her and started patting her head, brushing back her dark black hair. It was as black as the night. It was as black as the pit of hell. John brushed it carefully.

His hands slipped across her back, gracefully. He kissed her on the nape of the neck. He knew she liked it. She began to coo like a pussy cat.

Slowly his hands moved from the small of her back, down her naked rump. They squeezed and fondled the flesh carefully. He didn't want to pinch her too hard. He didn't want to bruise the merchandise. It all had to be in perfect running order for the 'Old Man'.

John's hands slid around the girl's waist. He caressed her quivering flesh. Her belly was trembling. He could see that she was aroused. She was moving erotically, swinging her hips back and forth, swaying her buttocks rhythmically. She got up and pressed the swell of her bosom against John's chest. She was in the mood for it She was aroused and she needed some sex to calm her down. She kept rubbing herself against John's chest and arms. Her naked body was hot with libidinal desire. John was unmoved. Her nakedness could not arouse him. He was destined to remain cold for all times. This supple young girl could do naught to change his condition. She could do absolutely nothing.

John looked at his watch. It was almost seven. He still had two hours. Maybe he should give her what she wanted. Maybe he should give her what her body longed for? Her eyes were closed and she was moaning. Hot moans of excitement came from her mouth. She was as hungry as he had ever seen any woman. He didn't want her to be irritable when she met Simons. He wanted her at her best behavior. She would have to be poised and full of desire, and charm.

"Oooohhh ..." he heard her moan hungrily. "Take me, John. Please take me. I need it so badly. I'll do whatever you want. Just give me satisfaction."

"Alright, sweetheart," he said. "But I won't have time to put on the dildo."

"Then eat me," she cried. "Eat my pussy. Please, John Please eat me!"

John lifted the young girl in his arms, and threw her onto the bed. She spread her legs, enticingly. She was the kind of girl that put out. She was meat for anyone's table. Tomorrow it would be Simon's turn to stick it in. The day after tomorrow it would be someone else. Tonight it was his turn.

Selina moved passionately, sighing and moaning erotically as John massaged her breasts. He sucked on her nipples, while his fingers played with her clitoris. John was very good at this sort of thing. He hadn't lost the technique. He still knew how to get her hot He still knew what it was that she wanted.

Slowly his mouth wandered from her bosom, sliding down across her belly. His fingers had already made penetration into the warm, wet cavity. Selina was juicing just like a nymphomaniac. She was dripping with vaginal sweat. The room was filled with her smell.

It was a sweet-sour smell which was released by her pubis, and which wafted through the air, filtering into John's nose. Hers was the smell of raw sexuality. It was an exciting smell. It was the smell of a woman in heat. It was the smell of a woman who hungered so badly that she was being driven mad with desire.

John kissed her belly, rolling his tongue across the clear flesh. It passed across a thicket of crisp black pubic hairs, and slowly it was between her legs, upon her exposed genitalia.

"Oooohhh," she groaned like a wild animal. Just the touch of his tongue upon her labia sent reverberations of excitement rushing through her insides.

"Oooooohhhh," she moaned again.

She twisted and turned, her hips swaying rhythmically, her body heaving with pleasure, as John practiced the gentle art of cunnilingus upon her. He had become somewhat of an expert in this field, and he was very proud of this noteworthy achievement.

His tongue laved her pubis, licking and sucking with the expertise of a professional. With deftness, it applied an invigorating pressure upon her clitoris. With his lips he chewed the juicy red meat, biting into it on occasion.

Slowly his tongue proceeded to make the long awaited penetration. He blew into the orifice, lapping up the sweet tasting pussy juice that dripped down her thighs. In it went, pushing through the red labia. Into the hot cavern of pleasure.

Selina couldn't stand it She closed her eyes and she was biting her lips. She reached down to John, digging her finger nails into his back. She scratched and clawed, ripping off his dripping wet shirt.

John paid her no heed, proceeding with his delicate task. He kept sucking on her vagina, massaging her trembling breasts with his nimble fingers. He could feel the explosion build upon her insides. She was about ready to burst into her orgasm.

Selina bit her lips so hard that she could taste the blood as it dripped into her mouth. Her eyes were shut so tightly that no light could enter. Her nails were digging up the flesh on John's back.

She was preparing herself. It would be any moment now. In just a few more seconds. Her buttocks quivered with pleasure and unquenched desire.

"Just a few more seconds," she muttered under her breath. "Just a few more seconds."

Then it came. An earth shattering volcano. It was loud and violent, and she was screaming.

"I'm coming," she screamed. "I'm coming."

The tremors lasted for five minutes. When they were finally over, John kissed her vagina, closing her legs.

"It's time to get dressed, honey," he said.

"In a sec," she answered. "First I've got to take another shower. I'm all wet"

"I know," said John, patting her rump, as she climbed into the shower stall.

When she was finished, John dried her, scrubbing hex-down, laughing at her as she purred.

She put in a pair of freshly laundered panties, an enticing half bra and pink slip. John helped her on with the garter belt, and he helped her roll up her black silk stockings. He chose a filmy black satin with a plunging neckline for her.

"You look real sexy in it," he said.

"Do I look like a wicked girl in it," she asked, with a satisfied smile on her lips.

"Of course you do," he said, zipping her up. "You look just like a harlot. You look more wicked than Jezebel and Cleopatra and Elizabeth Taylor all wrapped up in one. You look stunning."

"Go on," she laughed, "you're just saying that to keep me happy. You want me to be all pepped up for when I meet that Simons."

"You bet," he chuckled.

She sat down by the dresser to apply her makeup. A thick swab of mascara across her eyelids, false eyelashes, pale orange lipstick, with a glow of warmth. By any standards, she was pretty. She was beautiful. Like a movie star, or an exotic princess. John looked at her approvingly. He helped her on with her coat

They walked down the stairs, holding hands.

"You know something," she said, as they stepped into the waiting cab. "You really don't care anything for me. All you give a damn about it your job. All you need me for is to do your dirty work."

"Maybe," he said to her.

He then turned to the cabbie who was waiting for instructions.

"Bradley Field," He ordered. "We have to be there by nine o'clock. We have an important plane to catch."