Chapter 8

Ruth shook me awake. "A cup of tea, Mike. It'll freshen you up."

I looked at the clock. Half-past-four. Just time to meet Lillian at five o'clock. I sipped the tea and eyed Ruth warily. But she wasn't going to be a problem. She'd got dressed.

"Don't mind me, Mike," she said. "Make yourself at home. Do whatever you want. I'm drafting the letter I'm going to send out"

I showered and drank a second cup of tea while I was dressing. Ruth glanced up absentmindedly as I drifted towards the door. "Going out, Mike?"

"I must look in at the office. I've been out all afternoon."

"Don't stand any nonsense from Janet Tell her straight out how things are. If you wait until tomorrow we can see her together."

"I'll tell Janet myself. It's the only way."

I closed the door of Ruth's apartment with my heart hammering in relief. I'd escaped! Whatever happened, even if all hell broke loose, I'd never go back to Ruth!

I arrived at Tottenham Court Road subway at five minutes past five. Lillian was tapping her heel impatiently. She eyed me grimly as I hurried towards her. "You're late!" she snapped. "You knew I've only a little time to spare. A wedding dress isn't like any old dress. It needs special attention!"

A miracle occurred. I avoided telling her to stick her wedding dress up her fucking ass. "I got away as soon as I could," I. apologized.

She took my arm possessively, like a cop taking a man into custody. "I told you not to be late," she lectured. "You know I've got so little time; and everything to get ready."

It was her idea that we should meet for a quick poke. It was-her pussy that was burning for hot cock But she talked as though I was lucky to have the chance to screw her.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"The pad."

She sniffed. "Isn't Dave home on leave?"

"He's not using it this evening."

"I was looking forward to a comfortable hotel room!"

"Hotels are expensive. The pad doesn't cost a penny."

"The bed creaks. And there's not room to swing a cat around!"

"But we'll be saving money." That consoled her.

"I want to talk about money," she said. "I've opened a bank account. Let me have all you can save. It'll soon mount up."

She had opened the bank account. But it was my money that would be paid into it.

"I've got good news," she announced as we walked to the pad. "I'm doing everything to help you, yet you can't even be on time!"

I looked duly chastened for being five minutes late. "What's the good news?"

"Sergeant Tompkins retires at the end of the month."

"Who's Sergeant Tompkins?

"I told you about him!" she said irritably. "You never listen to anything. Our office block is closed from eight in the evening until eight the following morning. We've a night watchman from midnight until eight. But from eight in the evening until midnight, it's Sergeant Tompkins. Now he wants to retire."

"So what?"

"I can get you the job!" she thrilled. "The extra money will make a tremendous difference. After you leave your office you can have a quick supper and get there by eight o'clock. You'll be finished at midnight."

"Me! A night watchman!"

"It's a wonderful chance," she thrilled. "I've worked so hard for you, telling the personnel manager I know just the man to take on the job when Sergeant Tompkins leaves."

"From eight until midnight?"

"And there's nothing to dot"

"Six nights a week?"

"There's a snag about Sunday," she admitted. 'There has to be a night watchman all the time. So on Sundays it's from twelve midday to midnight."

"All this after I leave my office?"

"You'll have a couple of hours break," she pointed out. "I'll make up sandwiches for you in the morning. There's no point in eating out, it's too expensive."

"And then I get home at one o'clock in the morning and get up bright and early and go to work?"

"That's what I'm-trying to arrange," she confessed. "But there's a slight snag. The regular night watchman starts at eight in the evening until four in the morning. But I'll talk to him. I might persuade him to change."

"Otherwise?" I asked grimly.

"It won't be so bad," she consoled me. "You'll relieve him at four in the morning. I'll mean going to bed early. But there's a big advantage. When you finish at eight you'll be within walking distance of your office."

"This is good news?"

"I wish you'd be more appreciative. Don't pull that face when you come up to the office. You'll be lucky to get the job!"

"I'll die if they turn me down!"

"All you have to do is sit drinking coffee," she said. "Occasionally you walk around the building. There's nothing to do. Nothing! So you can earn double money!"

"Double money?"

"Remember my cousin who works for an advertising agency? They're always sending out circulars. They give out the work to old people. They pay so much a thousand. All you do is fold up the circulars and put them in envelopes. it'll be something to do. while you're sitting around."

"Isn't there something I can do with my feet at the same time?"

"Don't adopt that flippant attitude, Mike," she snapped. "Face facts. Well have big expenses. Especially when I'm having a baby."

I stared at her hard. "We haven't had a baby yet." She almost stamped her foot. "We're not getting married just for the fun of it. I'll have the home to look after. I don't intend neglecting it by going up to the office every day!"

We'd reached the pad. She said her last words on business. "I've said you'll call lunchtime one day next week to ask for the job."

With all hell ready to break loose over my head any minute, next week was a million years away. "Sure." I said. "You fix it "

I locked the door in case Dave came back early and opened the window to let out all the smell of the lusty passion Dave and Lucy had generated after I'd left them. Lillian had lined up the economic treadmill where I could step on to it easily, and now she switched on to the sexual treadmill. She-sighed, all tender and loving. "I've been longing so much to be with you, Mike!" She slid her arms around my neck and moulded against me, rubbing her pelvis so subtly against my prick I could easily have been convinced it was me doing the rubbing! "Forgive me being a teenie-weenie bit hurt you were late," she pleaded. "It's because I want to spend as much time with you as possible."

I rested my hands on her cute little bottom and jerked her up tight against me so her grinding pelvis could rub my prick more stimulatingly. There was something about Lillian that sent me. If she hadn't snarled me up in weddings and night watchmen's jobs, I wouldn't have had any squawks about her.

"Do nice things to me, darling," she whispered.

"What nice things?"

"Undress me. Slowly. With restraint. Not as though you want to screw me, but as though you're undraping me, and admiring me." Her hand feeled between us and found my stubby prick. "You do want to make me feel nice, don't you, darling?" she wheedled, frictioning my cock briskly to make sure I gave her the right answer.

"Of course."

She must have cherished dreams she was Cleopatra. She. struck a pose and stood with queenly grace in front of the mirror. She admired herself. "Undress me slowly," she whispered.

At the back of my mind was the realization everything would soon blow up. This was our last session together and out of sentiment I wanted to make it memorable. I went along with her kinky mood and became her Nubian slave, attending upon her servilely, and humbly disrobing her. I unzipped her frock and eased it off her shoulders while she struck different poses that enabled me to tug the sleeves down her arms and skim-the frock down to her feet. When I got her slip. off I realized she was showing me a new kinky facet. She was wearing old-fashioned type stockings, and a slender girdle over black net panties hip-tied with red ribbon bows. She made faces in the mirror, gave herself a come-on look with upraised eyebrows and a jerk of her head, and then a shy, long-lashed downward glance expressing, embarrassment at an improper suggestion. Then she stuck out one thigh towards me with the saucy charms of a strip-teaser.

It was fun. I kneeled and whispered my fingers across creamy, sensitive skin as I snapped the suspender tab. I ran my fingers around her thigh to unsnap the other. tab. I rolled down the stocking with exaggerated slowness, making such a tight roll it almost couldn't roll over her knee. I rolled it down her calf and over her heel. She stretched out her foot, pointing it artistically. I kissed each toe, then kissed up her calf to behind her knee, and then up her thigh to the slender fold of belly flesh that overlapped her suspender girdle. I licked across her belly, kissed down her thigh to its stocking top and removed the other stocking. '

"You're so gentle, darling," she breathed. "You know exactly what I want."

The girdle was a dainty wisp. Its hook snapped free at a touch and my hands went to the red bows on her hips. She wasn't so kinky, I decided. She was my dream-girl, the dream-girl I'd screwed while I was fucking Ruth. My fingers tugged, and bows unravelled. Black net whispered down between her thighs revealing a neat, black triangle and creamy skin. The luscious smell of pussy wafted over me and my hands slid behind her bottom. I pulled her against me with her crotch panting its hotness into my mouth. "Suck me, darling," she choked. "Suck me!"

She wanted a slow suck-off and stood with her knees pressed together and her fingers gripping my hair and pulling if I burrowed too deep, too fast. It wasn't until she was sure she was getting a slow, lingering suck around that she eased her feet apart. She wanted me to lick up and down her love-lips. She'd probably had a hot and itchy pussy all day. Her love-lips were swollen and acutely sensitive. She trembled at my licking and when I held one lip between my lips and ran my tongue around its crinkly edge, she went over the top. Her hands ground my face into her pussy and her loins pistoned smoothly, pumping pussy-juice into my mouth.

I was surprised how much that orgasm tired her. Her knees were trembling when she pulled away from me. "It was gorgeous, darling!"

"It's a lovely pussy to suck."

"Why don't you get undressed?"

"I've been busy. Hadn't you noticed?"

I stripped off my pants while she unsnapped her bra. Her breasts-tumbled out, heavy and lifeless, the nipples shrunken up into their halos. She climbed on to the bed tiredly and splayed out like a starfish. That really sent me, Mike," she confessed. "We'll do it lots of times after were married."

"If the envelopes and circulars don't get in the way."

"Don't be petty, Mike," she reproved. "Whatever time you get home at night I'll always be ready and waiting for you.

The mattress sagged beneath my weight. She reached for my prick and frictioned expertly. "You've made me feel so lovely. Now I want to lie back and be screwed silly." She closed her eyes and parted her legs.

The sexual treadmill!

I climbed over her thoughtfully. I was learning a lot today. Sex is supposed to be fun. A man, and a girl, and long hours of ecstatic bliss. But, marriage changes all that. The woman offers herself up to sensory stimulation while the man labours with fingers, mouth and prick to provide her pleasure. If he happens to shoot while he's doing it, he's earned a bonus.

"Don't make me come too quickly," she warned. "Make it last."

My pride insisted I should break up this one-sided session. But my bastard prick hadn't any pride. It was eager to snap up any trifle thrown to it So I juiced up my knob in her pussy crevice, pressed it against her vagina dimple and slid in slowly. Her breasts were sweaty under my chest and her damp hair tickled my nostrils. But my prick twitched contentedly now it was sheathed in the sticky sleeve of her vagina.

"Screw me," she whispered. "Screw me slowly." She sounded like Ruth, lying there limply and wanting the nail hammered home. And she didn't flex a muscle! That was serious. She has a crevice as big as Ruth's if she doesn't tighten it up. It was the way Lillian straddled me and tightened up her vagina like a strait jacket that made screwing with, her so perfect. But tonight it was different. She was breaking me in like a house-pet. Now the wedding date was fixed I had to learn to screw the way she wanted. My prick pistoned up and down inside her non-gripping vagina a dozen times. "Tighten up a little?" I whispered.

"Not with me under you, darling. And its so lovely this way, isn't it?"

"You don't want to get on top?"

"I want you to enjoy yourself. This is just right! Screw me!"

I tried. My knob skimmed up and down in hot pussy-juice. But I couldn't tell by touch that I was even inside her pussy. "Lovely," she panted. "Lovely." Like Ruth, she stretched her love-lips apart so my pelvis applied rhythmic pressure to the union of her love-lips.

The Sexual Treadmill!

I wouldn't ever come this way. I thrust in and out magnificently, tossing myself off against nothing. She mewed with delight but my prick whimpered in frustration. It was all wrong. Men are supposed to get most of the fun out of, screwing a girl. But I was sweating like a miner in a salt mine, while she mewed with pleasure. It could go on all night-or forever, if something didn't happen! She was so far away into dreamland even fitting her wedding dress wouldn't get her off the bed. My prick stabbed in desperation and my knob wept despairingly.

"Tighten up a little," I pleaded.

"That's lust right, darling," she panted. "Lovely! Screw me, Mike. Screw me silly." There was only one alternative. My dream girl. That's what wedding bells came down to. A dream girl. I concentrated and pictured her in three dimensions and three colors. My mind was a roving camera prying into every nook and cranny of her beautiful body as I undressed her, zooming in for microscopic close-ups of exquisite plum-coloured nipples, so taut the wrinkles were strained out And her navel, a deep, dark, dimple glowing with the mysterious secrets of woman. And her pussy. Her luscious, red-hot crevice, steaming with passion and wafting the musky aroma of pussy into my nostrils. And lovely wet, love-lips clamping around my knob, clinging and frictioning deliciously, faster and faster until I was crazy with the upsurge of spurting, that was spurting, spurting, spurting!

Lillian howled. Her arms and legs flung around me. She clung hungrily, an octopus absorbing me into her maw. Her loins sucked, while her belly rippled, flowed and washed over me like a hot tide. She squeezed every last drop of spunk from me and then collapsed. My prick twitched resentfully, insulted by pseudo screwing that wasn't far removed from masturbation. It hunched itself in disgust and let itself tumble out into the sticky coldness of the outside world.

"Lovely, Mike," she whispered. "We'll always do it this way.

I grunted.

"We'll make time for it, Mike. Even if you are home late it's worth losing a little sleep, isn't it?"

I grunted.

She sat up abruptly in great alarm. "My dressmaker. I'm late." The wedding gown was suddenly the most important object in the world. She sprang off the bed and in her haste wiped her pussy on the bedsheet. She pulled-on her clothes frenziedly. "Walk me to the subway, Mike," she ordered.

She could have coaxed me to he back and relax, since she had to hurry off. But no. The wedding date was fixed and my role was being clarified I must escort her around to prove I was a worthy husband.

Wearily, I reached for my trousers.