Chapter 3

Mayo had been with M. roul De fonseca the whole day. Closeted in the De Fonseca Enterprises offices, nerve-center of a far-reaching financial empire (said offices located near the Bourse), they'd discussed the intricacies of establishing a subsidiary plant to Midland Pre-Cast in France. The use of precast, prestressed beams, channels, uprights and cross members had only recently come into its own in America; it was only inevitable that this new use of concrete should spread world wide.

The man who financed and built the first such plant in France, as well as the man who sold him on the idea, would reap a fantastic profit. Small wonder the discussions held that day were secret, small wonder each man seized on the other's every word as if were a gold nugget.

And tonight, the sketchiest of agreements drawn up between the two men, figures, possible sites, franchise agreements still spinning in their heads, they were anxious to put business aside, to enjoy the social delights Paris had to offer.

Thus, at the Tour de 'Argent, one of Paris' most famous restaurants-the four of them-Roul and Aimee De Fonseca, Mayo and Joanna Kinsolving, were having dinner.

With Joanna, despite her solitary day of sightseeing and shopping, despite her exposure to the landmarks of Paris, staring goggle-eyed out of the great, draped, bay windows the restaurant .boasted, taking in the sweeping panorama of the Seine by night, the spotlighted towers, roofs and buttresses of Notre Dame Cathedral in the distance.

"Beautiful," she sighed once more, braving Mayo's scowl, "simply beautiful. I can't remember when I've seen anything more impressive. The church, the river, those lights ... It's all so exciting."

Aimee De Fonseca's smile camouflaged the disdain she really felt. What was the American word she'd heard somewhere? Hick? Yes, that was it. Denoting a person who comes from an insular, small, rural community. Mrs. Kinsolving was a hick.

"May I order for all of us?" M. De Fonseca asked. "Please trust me. I know the specialties here very well. I wouldn't want one thing out of the way." Smiling ingratiatingly at Joanna, he beckoned the waiter, began a rapid-fire conversation with him, gestured expansively, gave the world to understand that this meal had better be a gastronomical delight or else.

"Tell me, Joanna," Mme. De Fonseca, exquisitely put out in a black silk dinner gown, the d‚colletage an extreme V, said, "just what did you do with your day? I'm so sorry not to have been with you. But I had so many previous commitments. Roul didn't tell me until two days ago that you were accompanying your husband to Paris."

Aimee's English was lilting, musical, her accent extremely charming, and despite her shyness in these new surroundings, Joanna liked her almost from the start. "Typical for a man, n'est-ce pas?" she finished.

"Typical," Joanna smiled. "Mayo kept things secret from me too, almost up to the last minute. If you think I didn't have to rush around, buying clothes like mad...."

"You said you were shopping today. Did you find anything?"

"Just a few little things. No clothes though."

"Wonderful," Aimee clapped with childish glee. "I am not too late after all. I can take you around if you like, I can show you some of the better shops."

"I'd love that." Joanna appraised the stunning dinner dress Aimee wore, felt dowdy by comparison. Even though her own gown, purchased in Chicago, had cost $200. "I don't have much clothes sense, I'm afraid. I don't like to spend the money. I still remember the times when Mayo and I didn't have one dime to rub against the other...."

She paused, caught Mayo staring angrily at her. Seeking to hurry over her provincial faux pas, she said, "I took one of the bus tours this afternoon. I saw the Eiffel Tower, Place de la Concorde, Les Invalides, Les Halles...."

"Wonderful," Mme. De Fonseca repeated, cutting off the tiresome rundown. "We must do some sightseeing together. I'll show you the inside of Paris. The Paris few tourists know exists." Her eyes became veiled, she sent a guarded look at her husband.

Joanna saw the expression, thought there was something unsavory in the way Aimee had said that last. "I'm afraid I'm just a country girl at heart. I'd be satisfied with the touristy things. I'm not up to anything real daring."

Aimee winced quickly, forced a fresh smile. Patting Joanna's hand reassuringly, she said, "I didn't mean to frighten you, my dear. I meant nothing like that. But there are places in the artist's quarter ... that would amaze you." She turned on her husband. "Roul, dear, how about those drinks ? "

He regarded her amusedly. "They're on the way."

Aimee smiled archly, tossed her beautifully coiffed head. "Bien. I am not myself until I have a cocktail."

"I ordered martinis all around," Roul smiled suavely. "I hope that's all right. I understand martinis are an American favorite."

"Really," Joanna protested, "I never drink anything that strong. Usually I have a little glass of wine. I ... " She looked up, caught Mayo glaring at her. "Uh ... a martini would be just fine."

Again the De Fonseca's exchanged acerbic glances.

They agreed that the Kinsolving woman would be easy; she was a virtual babe-in-the-woods.

The first few sips of martini were rather difficult for Joanna, she had a hard time disguising the distaste she felt. But shortly, as the gin did its deadly work, she found the taste more agreeable, she sipped her drink more rapidly. Not too much later she decided that she liked martinis just fine.

Still she couldn't refrain from staring about the room, appraising the other diners. Looking back to the De Fonsecas she was forced to admit that even though they were past their prime, they were one of the most distinguished, sophisticated couples in the elegant room. Mme. De Fonseca's gown was the smartest, her hairdo the most striking. Her makeup was perfect, and though there were fine wrinkles about her mouth and eyes, they were barely noticeable. Her figure was still extremely handsome, her hands and feet were small.

Her main attention was devoted to M. De Fonseca. Who, at possibly 48 or 49, was still a very attractive man. He was thin, of medium height, his carriage was erect, his stomach flat. There was a somewhat jaded expression in his eyes, an ennui that added to the picture of old-world roue he proudly affected. His eyes were steely blue, penetrated hers unnervingly, his smile was confiding, as if they shared an unknown intimacy.

And though his dark hair was thinning at the temples, was heavily shot with gray, this was a distingue touch that complimented his aristocratic, mocking face. The several times Joanna looked up, caught him smiling at her, she couldn't help wondering what experience, what secrets lay behind those weary eyes. She felt a delicious shiver go through her, blamed the tremors on her martini.

Dumbly she looked at her glass, found it empty. And though she knew it would be dangerous, she still wished she could have a second martini. Roul De Fonseca must have intercepted her thoughts. For at that moment the waiter arrived with another round, began distributing fresh drinks.

"No, really," Joanna protested, "I shouldn't. The one drink has already gone to my head. I feel so dizzy."

"Please," Aimee insisted. "Have another. Relax, enjoy yourself. You'll only be in Paris for a short time." And staring squarely at Joanna: "You'll only be young once, my dear. Enjoy it while you can."

Which Joanna thought was an extremely pretty thing to say. "Thank you, Aimee. You're very kind."

Aimee raised her glass. "To a wonderful stay in Paris. To a wonderful vacation." She winked. "Perhaps to a second honeymoon with your handsome husband...."

Joanna ignored Mayo's warning look, sipped heavily at the drink. "I'll drink to that," she laughed, her voice louder than necessary.

The effects of the two martinis lingered all through dinner, and good as the food was, as delicious as the accompanying wines were, Joanna was conscious of a dullness in her head, a sense of things passing her by. Breaking their vow not to talk business during dinner, the men were soon engrossed in the fantastic future of precast concrete plants in Europe.

Joanna and Aimee were thrown upon each other. Their talk centered on Paris mostly, on landmarks, on shops, on local customs and regulations. Aimee's mind raced ahead, already she was planning excursions a week in advance, trips to Chartres, to Versailles, to Rouen, things they could do by themselves while their husbands were involved in business.

"Later perhaps we'll go to Carcassonne. That will involve a weekend though, we'll drag our husbands along."

"Carcassonne? What's that?"

"You haven't heard of our famous walled city? Oh, it's a fabulous place. You simply must see Carcassonne."

"This is all coming too fast for me," Joanna smiled muzzily. "I'm afraid the wine has got to me. Those martinis, they must be made with jet fuel...."

Again Aimee patted Joanna's hand. "You'll be all right. Don't worry. By the time the meal's over you'll never know you had a drink. Relax, now. You don't have to stand on formality with me."

Now Joanna was sure she liked this woman very much, she counted herself extremely lucky to have someone like Mme. De Fonseca to take her under her wing. The Paris holiday would be all the more successful for her intervention.

The meal seemed to last forever. It was all Joanna could do to put down the flaming dessert that closed the repast. The gin, the wine she'd drunk still stuck with her, made her feel very logy indeed. And if that wasn't bad enough, there was a rare cognac to finish. A drink their hosts insisted would clear her head, a drink Mayo's eyes warned her to get down or disgrace him before their hosts.

By the time they left the Tour d'Argent, Joanna was very tipsy indeed. She hung heavily on Mayo's arm, was grateful for the cool air as they came into the night. She was surprised to see it was already 10:30. And where she'd hoped to return to their hotel, go directly to bed, sleep off this wooziness-

The De Fonsecas had other plans.

"We know of a fantastic little club on the left bank," Roul said. "A little risque, but in a refined sort of way. I think you'd like it. Let's go there for a nightcap."

Joanna tried to beg off, but they wouldn't hear of it. She saw that they didn't intend to end the evening quite so early. Even Mayo talked with a deliberateness that betrayed his mild inebriation.

"Please," she said. "I'm so tired. I think I should go to bed. And if this club is what you say it is, I'm not up to that. I wouldn't know how to act. I'd probably embarrass you all."

"Aha," Roul twitted her, "we have a bluenose in our midst. There's only one way to cure one of those." And with that he took Joanna's arm, propelled her along the walk. He lurched to the edge of the walk. "Taxi!" he called.

And whether Joanna wanted to or not, two minutes later she was crowded into the back seat of the tiny cab, she was on her way to the disreputable night club. What had Aimee called the place? She fought to unscramble her thoughts.

Le Frenetique? Frantic? Yes, things were certainly developing in that direction.

She made a last-ditch stand at the door of the sleazy club on Rue Bossard, was repelled by the brassy music emanating from within, by the posters of nude and semi-nude chorines that graced the outside of Le Frenetique. "Please," she pleaded, "I'd rather not. I've never been in a place like this."

Aimee was gentle with her, joshed her. "There's always a first time. After all, you'll never have another chance. Paris specializes in this sort of thing. Why not sample everything our city has to offer? You wouldn't want to offend a couple of native-born Parisians, would you?"

"Come on," Mayo said gruffly, his grip hard. "Quit acting like a little kid."

Which command convinced Joanna. She let herself be escorted into the noisy, crowded joint without another word. She was hardly prepared for the wild scene she encountered. Strippers, burlesque, were things she'd heard of in her time, had a preconceived notion of. But that was something that took place on a stage, on a remote bar top; she'd never heard of stripping in-the-round as featured by Le Frenetique.

The club was low-ceilinged, smoke-fogged, its fartherst corners deep in blue gloom. A four-piece combo produced a blaring racket off to one side. While in the center of the club, the tables arranged about it in concentric circles, was a raised, round dais-hub of activity, of all attention.

For here, upon this stage, at that very moment, a totally nude female, a voluptuous, honey-brown Moroccan, was performing some very erotic convolutions, dancing with a living, breathing, writhing, four-foot-long python no less.

Joanna stifled a scream. "Is that snake real?" she gasped. "Won't it bite her, kill her?"

"No, silly," Aimee said as they took an empty, littered table. "Its fangs are gone. It's a pet. Stunning animal, isn't she? Le negre, I mean." In the confusion of being seated Joanna couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Roul allowed his hands to linger on her shoulders for an inordinately long time.

Shock number two came almost immediately. As a waitress materialized from the gloom, wordlessly awaited their order. Again Joanna was taken aback, her jaw dropped. As she saw that the beautiful girl wore only black heels, opera hose, a skimpy G-string. That otherwise she was mother naked from navel to eyes.

"My God," Joanna gasped. "I never thought I'd ... " The words died, and impolite as it might be, she stared. The waitress was a stunning creature, her body was youthful, ripe, her waist was slim, her breasts were like baby melons, the nipples turgid from constant exposure to drafts. Her face was heavily painted, her eyelids an iridescent blue, she literally reeked of evil.

If she noticed Joanna's shock she didn't let on. Taking

Roul's order she jiggled one knee, made her breasts bob and sway rhythmically. Joanna felt very hot all of a sudden, knew she was blushing furiously.

Then, as their waitress insolently swayed away, doing seductive business with her rear, Joanna's eyes flitted elsewhere in the dub, she saw that all the dozen or so girls serving tables were dressed in identical costumes. Even more astonishing she noted that some of them had even applied make-up, pasted spangles on the pouty tips. One waitress had her nipples painted a flourescent blue.

"Surprised?" Roul smiled mockingly. "Is this a novelty or not? Sorry you came?"

"I ... I don't know...."

Now her eyes shifted stage-ward. Where the dark-skinned stripper was arching her body very erotically, let the snake slither along her legs, side-wind its way over her belly. As the serpent moved its tail slipped, did a very teasing slide between her thighs. A thing that made some of the men at ringside groan with pain. The Negress' expression was blissful, she made great show of savoring the sensations her pet induced.

As their waitress groped her way through the milling mob, Joanna saw that the males took bold liberties with her. They stroked her legs, pinched and caressed her bouncy buttocks, they clutched at the G-string, even took quick swipes at her bouncing boobs. All of which the girl smilingly tolerated, let none of the stolen clutches faze her.

Small wonder that Joanna tied into her gin drink, a fizzy, pink thing, as soon as it was placed before her. She drank out of self-defense more than anything else. If she was supposed to assimilate this orgy scene, roll with this psyche-spinning punch-

A thing Aimee and Roul De Fonseca noticed, smiled in sly, conspiratorial approval. Almost immediately Roul ordered another round.

And Joanna got dizzier and dizzier. The Moroccan girl left the stage amidst a flurry of whistles and shouts, sauntered her way through the hot-handed crowd. Almost immediately another female slithered onto the stage. A blonde this time, her skin pink and glowing, dressed in a black, nylon body-stocking. An inflaming, glistening creation that showed everything the stripper owned, barely mantled her attributes in titillating, shadowy haze.

Joanna had never seen a body like this one. The blonde was short, just missed being stocky. And yet her shouldders, waist, legs and thighs were thin, her ribs plainly showed in washboard shadowings beneath the nylon. But this didn't mean she was a rail. For where being a woman really counted she was fabulously endowed.

Her belly was a saucy, gold-downed bowl. Her backside flared out tauntingly, resembled nothing so much as two pneumatic pillows, blown up to maximum size. And her breasts! They were perfect, symmetrical, firm and peaked. The rested on her chest, came away from that rib cage as if they'd been jammed in place there, were independent of that sassy body. Joanna was reminded of two enormous scoops of ice cream, each cherry-tipped, resting on a flat saucer.

She muzzily thought how the men in the audience must be wild for dessert all at once.

And when the blonde began to gyrate that sex-bomb body of hers, even Joanna was aroused. She could well imagine what the exertions were doing to the men watching.

She performed a dance where she was seemingly wallowing in a fit of self love. She writhed and flitted across the stage, she hugged herself, touched her body-her breasts, her tummy, her buttocks, even more erogenous nerve centers-without stop, drove herself into a sexual frenzy. She performed perfect pantomime of a woman sexually incensed, a woman without a man, a woman left to her own resources.

Some of the stripper's act-especially when she teasingly peeled away that nylon film-came very close to inciting a riot. It was one of the most lewd, indecent things Joanna had ever seen.

And by that time she was through another drink; a fresh one stood in waiting. And though Mayo frowned, warned her against drinking more, she ignored him. After all, she argued, who wanted me to drink in the first place? And wasn't she having a ball? Wasn't this Paris night life the blast of the century?

Time fled swiftly. The strippers came and went, it took more and more to shock Joanna. She hardly flickered an eye when one of the waitresses was pulled down into a customer's lap at the table adjoining, when three sets of male hands began pawing her piquant, small breasts, invaded the nether regions of her body, bypassed the blockade of that silk G-string.

Another drink then.

But there was a topper. Something that Joanna was to wonder about for days to come. The scene was unmistakable, and yet. She didn't actually see that happen.

In a very dark corner to their right a lone man sat at a table, his hands clutching the edges, his face tense and strained, his eyes rolling almost up into his head. Momentarily Joanna thought he must be having a convulsion or something, she wanted to call Mayo's attention to the man. The table at which he sat was covered (like all the tables) with a cloth that fell almost to the floor. Small motions behind that linen screen aroused Joanna's suspicions, forced her into silence.

The man became more agitated by the second, his knuckles went white from the pressure he applied to the table. Joanna wondered that nobody else noticed him But then, the corner was extremely dark. Now she saw the man's body lurch, saw the lunatic expression on his face replaced by a calm, satisfied smile.

A minute later there was furtive scurrying beneath the table. And Joanna saw a heavily painted woman, a street-walker from all appearances, creep from behind that table cloth. An ugly smirk on her face, she stood, brushed her skirt, sat next to the man.

Joanna took more of her drink, wondered if those tablecloths were purposely as long as they were. Her stomach churning, she wanted to be blotto, to forget everything. She drank faster.

Shortly thereafter she felt a stealthy hand creep beneath the table cloth, a gentle, experienced hand she knew wasn't Mayo's. She glanced to Roul, saw his tense smile. The hand slid up her nyloned legs, crept along her inner thighs. Drunk, erotically infected as she was, she made no move to stop the attention. Which emboldened Roul even further.

His fingers walked beneath her skirt, swirled and tickled, made Joanna squirm with sense of delicious evil. She glanced to Mayo and Aimee, saw their eyes glued on the stripper presently performing. Her heart thudded, and wantonly she smiled, seemed to encourage Roul's attention.

It was when his fingers slid past her stocking tops, touched the bare flesh there that she was shocked to her senses. Instantly her legs locked, she jerked the hand from beneath her skirt. Her face felt scorching hot.

If Roul was miffed he didn't show it. He grinned arrogantly, a "Some other time" look in his eyes. And Joanna felt very small, very cheap indeed.

Thus is was, very shortly thereafter, that she sat erect in her chair, called to Mayo loudly, thickly, "Please, dear, I think we'd better go. I don't feel so good all of a sudden."

Alone with Mayo in the privacy of their own hotel room, Joanna felt better. The drink cutting in with deadly efficiency, her inhibitions, her awe of her husband routed, she felt wonderful. She felt free, emancipated, liberated. She felt like an amoral kitten-playful, naughty.

So Mayo was extremely startled, on getting into bed with his supposedly sick wife, to find her very lively, much aroused indeed. Instantly, as he got under the sheets, she reached for him, clutched him in a very vulnerable place. Her voice coated with a patina of lewdness, she drunkenly asked, "How 'bout it, lover boy? Y' got some f' r me tonight ?

Which astonished her prudish husband no end. He couldn't believe his ears. He tried to remove her hand. But Joanna was determined, she clung all the harder. "No, no ... " she growled. "I wan' this, Mama wan's...."

"Joanna!" he gasped. "What's got into you? I thought you were sick ... you were...."

"I wasn't sick, baby. I jus' wan' get you back in this room alone with me. You think a woman c'n see stuff like I saw t'night an' not get all worked up? Please, baby? Don' let me down...."

"But we ... just last night."

"So? I gotta have ration stamps now?"

She crawled all over her husband, revealed herself totally naked, a writhing, supercharged wanton. She revealed a new, too-long-concealed facet of her personality to him. Any other time Mayo would have been repulsed, he would have rejected his wife, forced her to behave, to assume the staid role he'd dictated for her. But it must be remembered that Mayo had been drinking heavily also this night. That it had been almost ten days since he'd tumbled his rubber-legged Vicki back in Peoria.

And with a switch like this-

He was a man, after all.

"What's come over you, darling? I don't understand...."

"I've come of age, that's what," she slurred. "I wan' act like a real live woman f'r once. like a steamed-up tramp." She shuddered, flung herself to him, rubbed her breasts against his chest. "Whew, doll. I'm on fire ... mama's on fire in all the right places ... C'mon, Mr. Fireman. Come put those fires out. Wowee ... Right now!"

And with that she dug her nails into his back, tugged at his pajama bottoms herself. A moment later, the item cast aside, she virtually manhandled him into position over her. "No," she whined as he attempted to take her at once, "not just like that. Love me up a li'l first. Take my breasts ... my boobs ... love 'em up. Kiss 'em, do all those wild things I like so much."

"My God, Joanna," the dazed man said, "I never knew you were like this. I...."

"Cause you never let me, damn you. I'm a woman too, I like my bedroom's well as the next ... " She lurched, sucked in her breath sharply. "Oooh, don't stop. Keep that up. Kiss 'em, lick 'em, make 'em burn. Oh! Good, good...."

Incitements like that would have swayed any man, Puritan, libertine or otherwise. Short moments later Mayo Kinsolving forgot that this was his pure, sacrosanct wife who wriggled and throbbed with desire beneath him. He forgot his preconceived ideas of what a wife should be. He forgot everything.

Except the fiery pain in his entrails, the ganglia-knotting lust that stampeded through his whole body. As this glorious incendiary now drew him closer, as she ground herself to him, as she boldly manipulated, stroked, used him to induce instant preheating. As her hips revolved, her knees locked, brought that torrid ease to greet him halfway.

"Dear God ... " Joanna groaned when she could endure that excruciating self-abuse no longer, as she finally clawed her man-this stallion-to her. She gritted in delight, slammed her trunk up in direct response to his brutal lunge. "Oh, that's good, good...."

And, adrift in a riptide of passion, she gave herself completely to her liquor-hypoed lust, she attacked and tore, she moaned and gasped with heathenish fury.

Then, as the tempo increased, as she felt she was riding the killer waves at Waikiki, as her body was seemingly transported, yawed and swayed and dove, Joanna surprised her husband even more. The spine-melting heat searing her, turning her to so much sizzling mush, she began to praise him, she told him how good he was, what he was doing to her. She used words that had lain unused in her subconscious since childhood, words "good" girls simply don't know exist.

The glory built, she teetered atop a climbing wave, an Empire State Building of a wave. And as she topped that peak, as she knew a brain-shriveling deliverance, as she started down, fought to backtrack, recapture that transfiguring sensation, she screamed in guttural victory, she clawed, she dug her teeth in Mayo's shoulder to muffle her cries.

His reactions dulled by liquor, his libido spurred as it hadn't been spurred for days, the man plunged on, he attacked viciously, ruthlessly, was wild to make this vixen scream again, to drive her out of her mind.

Joanna was gone, was replaced by eternal woman, all the wanton witches he'd tumbled in his lifetime. He attacked, attacked-

Joanna screamed, chewed, gasped, announced still another glory, this one as fantastic, soul-cauterizing as the first, before her husband's body finally died atop hers.

They slept then, he still locked in her steel embrace, both exhausted by drink, both surfeit of emotion, each little knowing what tragic consequences would ensue from this brief surrender to their most pagan impulses.

"Like this?" Aimee De Fonseca was saying within the dim confines of her bedroom at that very same moment, "you want me up here? You're drunk, Roul. I feel so silly...."

"So I'm drunk. Humor me, my dear. You'll reap wonderful benefits in the long run ... " He steadied his wife on the small bench at the end of their bed, he placed her heels so they wouldn't mar the finely finished surface.

Aimee, dressed in just her patterned brassiere, panties and garter belt, still wearing her stockings, the bewitching, high-heeled pumps, swayed slightly, looked down on her husband as he knelt on the bed, began to caress her silk-glossed legs. She saw his naked, bowed back, felt a wicked sense of power. That she could make a man crawl, grovel before her like this-

Her vitals jumbled, she tingled deep inside. She was glad she'd drunk so much tonight. Their love would be wild, uninhibited, a thing of excess upon excess now. They could wallow, savor, reject no depravity. This was the way she loved things; she never got enough of this. With Roul, with any man.

She wanted to giggle as his lips grazed her legs. She balanced herself, gleaned more of the tickling feeling. And while he adored her: "What do you think of Joanna? Do you think you'll find her acceptable? What a child...."

"A child indeed," Roul said, not interrupting his ministrations for a second. "But a sweet, very vulnerable child. She'll be extremely easy. Once the idea is planted...."

"And you planted that? Tonight?"

"I think so. And what about you? Will you enjoy seducing our stuffy friend Mayo also? Introducing him to our ... liberal ... ways?"

"I'm quite sure I will. He may be a little more difficult than Joanna." She snickered. "But in the end I'll prevail. Will you be jealous, darling?"

"Jealous? Hardly. Life's too short for such bourgeois emotions. Since when has either of us been jealous? So long as we share and share alike...."

His lips climbed to her knees now, his fingers splayed, caressed the backs of her naked thighs. Aimee sighed hoarsely, felt weak. "Darling, darling, that is heavenly. You know how to love a woman, how to excite her. I wonder how that jejune Joanna will like these things." She twisted her fingers in his hair. "When, chert? When will we make our move?"

"No hurry, pet. We must be discreet. In a week or so, when they trust us, when they are infected with our ideas ... Then's time enough. By all means we must do nothing to ruin the business proposition."

His lips were on her bare flesh, swirling and skittering on her thighs, hot kisses that drove Aimee quite out of her mind. And then: "Darling!" she gasped. "Are you insane? Don't. Those are new, I just bought them yesterday. You're tearing them."

"So? I'll buy you a new pair tomorrow. Tonight-the things I want to do now-are important. Relax, I won't hurt you. Be still!"

The sound of nylon tearing hung on the still air. And above that the sound of Aimee's quick gasps of delight, the click of Roul's lips and tongue. She looked down, saw his head there, saw the frayed tatters of her panties where he'd torn them. She gloated, giggled, whimpered. Her fingers twisted in his hair sadistically as the impending glory made itself known deep within her.

Still the man clung to her buttocks, still they braced one another, abetted and encouraged. Still the man worshiped at that unique shrine, chuckled proudly as Aimee lapsed into the Paris argot, as she moaned and hissed her inevitable release.

Afterward Roul was attended to in an equally servile way. On his back in the bed, Aimee still in her lingerie, he groaned, twitched, endured her adoration as long as he could. Then, when his desire was at floodtide, when he could stand the rite no longer-

He pulled her away, he grabbed her stockinged legs, arranged them over his shoulders, he pushed her back on the bed, bent her body in a cruel curve.

"Darling," Aimee gloated as he took her. "Wonderful, wonderful. All-allI get all of you this way. Yes, yes. I'm dying, darling, I'm dying...."

Shortly thereafter, both of them suffered that little death, that dying and rebirth combined.