Chapter 6
Teddy's eyes crossed and uncrossed several times in an effort to focus on his surroundings. He was lying naked on a padded table in a small windowless cubicle with bare white walls and a low ceiling. And he had no idea how he got there. His head spun crazily when he attempted to sit, so he settled back and tried to organize his thoughts.
The last thing he remembered clearly was being at a huge party on the base. It had started out officially to celebrate the christening of a new nuclear submarine. But as the afternoon wore on the lofty spirits became loftier, the party gathered steam. And by the time his shift was over, Teddy had already accepted offers from at least a dozen guys with privately stashed bottles of booze who were running their own little celebrations. When a gang of the fellows decided to make the rounds of a few downtown bars after duty ended, it seemed natural to go along.
He remembered going from one bar to another, swallowing shots and washing them down with beer. Sometimes the gang split into smaller factions, going into different places and regrouping later on. Teddy couldn't remember the names of any of the bars he had been to, and had long since lost count of the drinks. He had a vague recollection of somebody getting a bright idea that set all the sailors to whoopin' and laughin'. But he couldn't remember what it was. And, as he looked around, he realized that he had no idea of where he had ended up.
Suddenly a woman's face bobbed into his field of vision, and he blinked hard to clear the mist from his eyes. "Where am I?" he asked, trying to bring her face into focus.
"Hah!" she snorted. "Where am I? I bet you tell that to all the girls. You're in the Lone Star Massage Parlor, honey. And I'm here to make you feel good. My name's Donna. What's yours?"
"How did I get here?" he asked, ignoring her question. He was still trying to bring his thoughts together.
"Couple of your buddies poured you in here," she said, stroking his forehead gently. "But it looks like you managed to get undressed by yourself. Make yourself comfortable, honey. I'll be right back."
When she left the room Teddy shook his head sharply, trying to dispel the fog which clouded his mind. It was slowly coming back to him now. One of the guys had suggested going to a massage parlor and everyone had seconded the motion at once. He remembered leaving the bar but had no memory of coming in here. Even in his still-intoxicated condition, he was suddenly overcome by a wave of guilt which fell over him like a net.
What the hell am I doing in a massage parlor? he thought, ashamed of himself. I've never been to a place like this before in my life. It didn't seem right, his being there. After all, he was a married man. Although the way things had been going the past week, it didn't seem to be doing him any good. He simply couldn't understand what had come over Ellen.
She seemed to have changed from day to night. First she had been as hot as an iron, and then she became as cold as a long-dead fish. It all seemed to go back to the night that he brought Siegel home for dinner. When he went with her into the bedroom to change his clothes, she had grabbed for his cock like some kind of slut. Then, panting like a bitch in heat, she had asked him to fuck her right there on the spot. The fact that Siegel, his buddy, was sitting right there in the next room didn't seem to mean a thing to her. All she could think about was sex.
But then, the following night when they we alone, she refused him, turning away and sayin that she had a headache. And it had been tha way ever since. Every time he tried to touch he she turned her back and gave him some kind o an excuse.
At first he thought that she might be mad about him and Siegel getting drunk and passing out that way. But she'd had plenty of time to get over that little incident. And, instead, she was getting colder every day. It had been more than a week since he had fucked her last, and he found his frustration building. Guess I'm entitled to this massage, he thought. Man's gotta have some kind of outlet.
Just then Donna walked back into the room, a white towel folded over her arm and a bottle of oil in her hand. "Your friends paid me for a topless massage," she said, setting the oil down on a corner of the table. "Is that all right with you?"
"I'll say it is," Teddy answered, his eyes opening wide as she removed the skimpy halter which had barely covered her oversized breasts. Her tits were large and pendulous, with brownish nipples that were the size of prunes and pointed at the floor. Teddy drew his breath in sharply when she shook her shoulders to set the mammoth balls of flesh in motion, making them sway obscenely from side to side. Then she smiled.
"Like what you see?" she asked.
"Do I!" Teddy answered, reaching weakly for her with one trembling hand.
"Don't be naughty," she said, slapping his hand lightly. "You can look. And you can dream. But that's all. No touching allowed."
"All right," Teddy said sheepishly. "I'm sorry." He stared at her tits as he spoke. Even looking at them-soft, enormous, and rolling from left to right as she reached for the oil-was almost more than he could bear. His cock was so stiff and hard that it ached him painfully. It jerked and twitched in mid-air, pointing at the naked tits which hovered over it.
Teddy had never seen such a magnificent pair of tits. Not even in the magazines that he kept hidden in his desk at the base. They were at least ten times the size of Ellen's. And those nipples! They looked so juicy and ripe that he wanted to pop one into his mouth and suck on it. Something he had never done to his wife. Ellen's tits were small and pointy, and he had never really gotten into playing with them. Not since that time in the barnyard when they were breeding her momma's cow to Mr. Wilson's black bull.
Donna placed one hand on his naked thigh and Teddy tore his eyes reluctantly from her bobbing tits to look into her broad, soft-featured face. "Will oil be all right?" she asked, showing him the bottle.
"Sure," he said. "Anything you say." She started to work on him at once, pouring oil onto his thighs and rubbing his legs with long, firm strokes that began just below his crotch and ended at his ankles. "Hey," he said. "Those buddies of mine. The ones that brought me in here. Who were they? How many were there?"
Donna snorted. Her hands were rubbing his chest now, smoothing the oil over his hairless pectoral muscles and whirling it around the buds of his stiffening pink nipples. "Hundreds of 'em," she answered. "They're hanging from the rafters in here. And in every other parlor in town. What the hell's gotten into the U.S. Navy this evening?"
Her hands were gliding teasingly across Teddy's oily belly, nudging at his pubic mound and tangling in his bristly golden cock hair. "Oooooh," he moaned at the surprise contact, "that's nice."
"You mean you want more of it?" she teased, her hands grazing his thighs again. His skin was covered with fragrant oil, and the movements of her fingers across its slick and glistening surface sent little bolts of desert lighting flashing through the nerves of his groin. His cock bobbed and twitched as her hand circumnavigated his scrotum, her fingertips trailing lightly through the hair which surrounded it without actually touching the wrinkled sac.
Teddy dug his heels into the mattress which covered the top of the massage table, arching his back and trying to push his balls up into her hand. But Donna's hand traveled with him, still remaining a hair's breadth away from the surface of his scrotum. She was an expert at this game, having played it with hundreds of men. She'd touch his balls, all right. And his cock as well.
But not until she was good and ready.
The big-breasted masseuse really enjoyed her work. She had never been pretty, her hair stringy and her face pocked with the remnants of a childhood bout with measles. Her figure tended to be overweight, and although her tits were big enough to attract men's attention, they sagged too much to hold it for very long. Until she came to work at the Lone Star, she had led a lonely life. Most men didn't give her a second glance, and she spent most of her evenings alone, in front of the TV set or curled up with a good book.
But for some reason which she didn't completely understand, the men who paid fifteen or twenty dollars to be jerked off on a massage table all thought she was some kind of sex goddess. Lots of them were even willing to pay an extra ten at the desk just to have her take her top off while she massaged them, even though all they got to do was look. And when her fingers wrapped around their cocks, they all became her slaves.
Sometimes, she liked to make a customer beg, teasing him for half an hour by playing with his nuts and ass-hole, but refusing to touch his cock. Then, when she announced that the time was up, and pretended to be leaving the room, he would begin pleading with her, offering as much as fifty dollars to induce her to finish the job which she had started.
But Donna would act offended that he even suggested such a thing, and torment him a little longer by threatening to call the manager. Finally, when he looked like he was ready to cry in frustration, she would sweep back into the room and take his throbbing cock in her hand, pulling vigorously until the air was filled with groans of pleasure, and the sheet which covered the table was stained with thick gobs of sticky gism.
She toyed, for a moment, with the idea of giving this one the same treatment, but decided against it. There was never any telling what a drunken sailor would do, and she didn't want to get anybody stirred up tonight. Especially not with that bunch of rowdies outside. She wrapped her fingers around the thick, blue-veined shank of his throbbing cock and pulled upwards gently, sliding its thick, fleshy collar up over the swollen crown.
Teddy sighed deeply as he felt her fingers caressing his hard-on. "Aaaaaaahhhh, yeeesssss," he intoned. "That's the way I like it."
But she stroked his penis only twice and then let it slip from between her fingers to begin playing once again with the fleshy bag of stones which dangled between his widely splayed thighs.
"Oooooouuuuunnnnngggg," Teddy gasped, disappointed to find his cock unattended. His hips began waving from side to side, trying desperately to move his pulsating erection into contact with her hands.
She teased him for a while, stroking his inner thighs and running her hands quickly over the cheeks of his ass whenever he lifted it clear of the table. Then, when he looked like he could stand her little game no longer, she returned to his loins. Tickling his scrotum with the fingertips of one hand, she used the other to pour oil directly onto the throbbing purple knob which capped his long, tapered fuck-pole. Then, twirling her fingers over its glistening surface, she rubbed some of the slimy fluid into the winking slit which bisected his glans.
"Ooooooooohhhh," moaned Teddy, arching his back to lift his hair-covered buttocks off the tabletop. He felt one of her fingers slipping under and behind his dangling scrotum, worming around in a tight little circle and searching for his anus. Relaxing the muscles of his thighs, he lowered his body quickly, trapping her hand between his ass and the sheet.
"Ooooooh," Donna muttered, shaking her voluminous breasts over his face while she ran her free hand up and down the length of his cock. "A wise guy, huh?" As she spoke, she stiffened one captive finger and drove it against the tightly puckered lips of his oil-moistened ass-hole.
"Uuuuuunnnhhhh," Teddy grunted, lifting his body again in a vain effort to escape the spearing penetration of his rectum. But his gyrations drew the cheeks of his ass even further apart, and made it easier for her to plunge forward with her finger, driving it into his tight brown slit as far as the second knuckle. At the same time, she grasped his prick in her other hand and began jerking it slowly up and down.
"Oooooohhh. Ooooohhh. Ooooohhh." wailed the naked young sailor, trying to match the rhythm of her movements with the tempo of his rolling hips. But each time his pattern coincided with hers, she changed gears, using his cock like the handle of a four-speed floor shift, and refusing to allow him the security of knowing what would happen next. While she rubbed his swollen organ, her finger pressed onward, plunging the depths of his anal cavity until her palm pressed flat against his ass.
At first his ass-hole resisted her digital intrusion, fighting painfully to close its puckered opening against the onslaught of her plundering finger. He had never thought of his ass as a sex organ, and was amazed at how much pleasure he was deriving from its stimulation. He wondered if women's asses were as sensitive and resolved to find out, first chance he got.
Actually, he knew very little about sex, having received his entire sexual education from a paperback book which fell into his hands in his father's store one day, when he was about fourteen. Between his illicit reading and the scuttlebutt that he had heard from the other boys at school, he had acquired a very meager working knowledge of sex. Ellen was the only girl he ever dated. And the sum total of his sexual experience consisted of the five or six times that he stuck his cock into her pussy, wiggling it around for a few seconds before emerging, relieved and shrunken.
But Donna really knew her business. Her hands were driving him wild, setting his writhing body in motion. As he bucked and rolled on the table before her, she leaned forward to brush his face with the dangling nipples of her flabby, pendulous breasts.
"Mmmmmmm," he moaned, opening his mouth in a frantic attempt to capture the rosy morsel. But she pulled back out of reach, laughing at his muffled groan of frustration.
"Easy, fella," she chided. "I'm in charge here." As if to embellish her statement, she gave her ass-reaming finger a vicious twist, bruising the membranes of his anal passage and making him wince and cry out in pain.
"Noooooo," he wailed. But the pain was mingled with pleasure, and his complaint was not convincing. Donna's hand was pumping swiftly up and down around his cock, smearing it with oil and bringing a steady stream of prostatic fluid from its slitted tip. Some of the oil had trickled down over his scrotum and between his buttocks to grease the shadowy crack of his anus. And as her finger moved inside it, her knuckles carried the oil all the way to its rubbery interior, lubricating the pulsating walls of his contracting rectal chasm.
His body responded to the double stimulation of his genital plane by thrashing about on the white-sheeted massage table like some mindless reptilian throwback to the dinosaur age while his head spun drunkenly. Donna was getting a kick out of the horny young sailor's passionate gyrations. The way he was acting, you'd think he'd never gotten a hand-job before.
"You like that, honey?" she asked, pulling on his cock like the handle of some Las Vegas slot machine, guaranteed to pay a jackpot on every spin of the wheels.
"Ooooohhh, yeeessss," he hissed in answer to her question. "I don't know how much more of it I can stand."
"That's all right," she answered. "This isn't an endurance contest." Pulling her finger from his ass, she concentrated on his cock with both her oily hands. Gripping it in her fists, she twisted in opposite directions, as though wringing out a towel. The thick coating of oil which lubricated the surface of his pulsating bludgeon prevented the friction of her manipulations from injuring his sensitive membranes. For Teddy, it felt better than anything ever had before.
His mind had retreated to some dark cobweb corner of his being, leaving his body unattended-a driverless train in a complex railway system. Each time Donna reversed the direction of her wringing hands on his cock, his body vibrated like the sympathetic strings of a sitar. And each time she tweaked the massive knob which crowned his pulsating member, he howled like a triumphant coyote celebrating its kill.
Donna looked down to see the head of his turgid prick swelling to even greater dimensions. Its color deepened, darkening to a rich purple indigo, as the thick-bodied instrument of lust became engorged with hot, pulsing blood. She knew that his desire was close to achieving its fulfillment, that his cock would soon be spitting its hot load of syrup into the air in a jetting series of whirling droplets that would wet everything in the path of their obscene trajectory.
When she was certain that his climax was imminent, she speeded the motion of her hands, their movements blurring into a surrealistic flow of erotic sensuality. To satisfy a kinky whim which flitted suddenly across her consciousness, she pointed his cock towards her, aiming it directly at her bobbing titties and continuing to jerk and stroke it until the first bubbling blast of steaming joy juice shot from its tip. The thick white bug of semen sailed through the air in a long graceful arc which brought it splashing across the pebbled surface of one brown nipple. Its viscous warmth bathed the puckering nubbin, raising it to fully turgid erection.
Donna moved her body as she masturbated Teddy's cock, bringing a different area of breast into the target area each time it spat. Teddy's eyes opened wide in amazement as the girl pulled his prick, milking it greedily and catching every last drop of his fiery secretions on the swelling curves of her naked tits.
He puffed and panted like a tired old steam engine while his body writhed and wriggled, electrified by her touch on the throbbing surface of his penis. When his orgasm ended, her tits were coated with a slimy sheen of gism which caught the light and reflected it obscenely. And her nipples glistened.
"What do you think, sailor?" she asked, when his once-mighty cock had shriveled to a weak and helpless lump of flaccid meat. She cupped it tenderly in her hand like a sparrow with a broken wing. "Did you get your money's worth?"
She swabbed his cock with a towel, rubbing gently to remove all the traces of semen which still clung to its shrunken head. Reserving a clean corner of the towel, she wiped her cum-streaked tits with it, drying them thoroughly before reaching for her halter-top.
"I got somebody's money's worth," he answered, struggling to a sitting position and climbing unsteadily from the table. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he began to sway, and for a moment it looked to Donna like he was about to fall down. Reaching for her shoulder, he steadied himself. "Hey," he said, "I think I'd better drive. Still too drunk to walk."
Donna shrugged. "We don't claim to cure intoxication," she said. "But it sure beats black coffee."
"Coffee, hell!" Teddy proclaimed. "What I need is another drink? Where are my buddies?"
"You'll probably find some of them in the steam room," she said. "Trying to sober up. Maybe you should do the same."
"This place has a steam room?" he asked, his voice incredulous.
"You'd better believe it," she answered sardonically. "Not all of our clients are horny young sailors. We get some pretty classy businessmen, too. Come on. Wrap yourself in that towel and I'll show you the way."
Teddy did as she directed, wrapping a white towel around his waist and following her from the room. She stuffed his clothes into one of several lockers which lined a corridor wall, handing him a numbered key. Then she pointed to a door at the end of the hall. "Right through there," she said. "But watch your step. It's hard to see in all that steam. And in your condition, you'd better be careful you don't trip and break your face."
"Nemmine that bullshit," he muttered. "I'll be all right." He staggered down the hall in the direction she had indicated, not stopping until he collided with a large metal-covered door. Leaning against it with all his weight, he pushed it open, stumbling into the steam-filled tile room which lay beyond it. He cursed softly to himself when he skinned his knee against something which blocked his path, and stood still for a moment, trying to get his bearings.
The huge tile room buzzed with the hum of voices. Most of them, like Teddy's, were distorted and slurred by drink. His ears caught snatches of conversation, and he held his breath, listening intently for a familiar voice. One, which he thought he recognized, was saying, "Anybody know what happened to Teddy Dale?"
He was about to answer when a second said, "Probably went home to fuck his wife." Teddy didn't recognize that one at all, but he was almost certain that the first voice belonged to Siegel. When he spoke again, Teddy was sure of it. But Siegel's words made his blood run suddenly cold.
"I doubt that," Siegel was saying. "That guy doesn't know how to take care of his wife. Why if it wasn't for me, that poor girl would be getting nothing at all." Teddy couldn't believe his ears. He stood perfectly still, waiting to hear more. As soon as his eyes got used to the steam, he would run in there and punch that lying bastard in the nose.
"Aw, cut the bullshit," said the unfamiliar voice. "What the hell you trying to say?"
"Just what it sounds like," Siegel answered. "I've been fucking Teddy's wife steady for about a week now. And I've never had a better piece of ass. Shell do anything I ask."
"I don't believe you," the other one said. "They just got married, didn't they?"
"Yeah, something like that," Siegel replied. "But that buddy of ours doesn't know the first thing about fucking. His wife told me that all he ever does is climb on and climb off. Why, she never even had an orgasm until I got my cock into her." He giggled drunkenly, and Teddy found himself wanting to kill him. "First time I did it," Siegel continued, "Ol' Teddy was zonked out on the kitchen table drunk out of his mind and sleeping like a baby."
Teddy's knees began to shake, and for a moment, he thought that he was going to collapse. His throat filled with the taste of bile as the contents of his stomach churned in an effort to return from whence they came. By a supreme act of will, he managed to choke down the sickening gush of vomit which flooded his mouth. Then, turning to leave the steam room, he ran drunkenly down the corridor to the locker in which his clothing had been stored.
He dressed quickly, not bothering to dry his soaking hair or to tie his shoes. Then he ran outside, standing for a moment on Broadway and blinking at the brightly flashing lights which beckoned invitingly to tourists and sailors, offering them all the forbidden delights and secret pleasures of San Diego night. He didn't know where he was going, or what he would do next. But he had to get away from there. Had to go someplace where he could be alone-to think; to brood; to make his choices.
Alone in a bustling and active city, he looked from left to right, trying to find his direction. Then he headed for the only place left where he felt truly at home-the naval base. There he would find kindred souls. There he would find a solution.