Chapter 5

She rode the stallion the next morning, moved him smartly out through the scattering Herefords and across the green grass of the far pasture. Comet D felt good between her legs, big and muscled and brimming with power. He snorted and blew, throwing his head like a colt, until she checked him with the bit enough to remind him not to act too silly.

The saddle moved against her crotch, and she squeezed the stud into a slow lope with the pressure of her thighs. As he did so, her breasts began a slow, sensuous jiggling, bouncing up and down with the rocking chair motion of the horse. She looked ahead at the trees, but could not concentrate upon fence line or timber, or anything else except the rubbing of her erectile nipples against her shirt front.

Maybe it had been a mistake, bringing Comet D out; she'd forgotten the sexual stimulation a woman got from riding a horse. There was all that meat between her legs, the rhythmic movements, the pressing of her labia against the saddle. It was too much for Jill, especially since she had been through such a freaky experience the night before.

Aaron Mercer had convinced her that she was ripe for other sexual experiments, that such acts were not perversion or even deviation, but a natural yearning that should be fulfilled. He had brought her right to the brink of such gratification, and then pushed her back by not allowing her to go on. He had tantalized her by not turning the image into the real thing.

She turned the stud into the trees for only a little way, then slowed him and pointed him for the corral again. If she stayed in the saddle much longer, she'd bother herself too much to think straight. There was a struggle going on within her now, and it wasn't all concerned with saving the ranch. A goodly part was dedicated to choosing between two men who could quench this thirst within her body, and neither of them was her husband.

Boyce Pittman would come if she called; he'd already promised to get in touch with her today, and at least he was a known quantity. There wasn't anything to suggest terror, nor any quirks beyond the mild one of him wanting to be mothered, to be fed the nipples of her breasts.

Aaron Mercer was something else indeed, but the temptation was there, the promise of far out thrills, the black magic of a debauchery to exceed anything that she had ever known. And a woman liked to skirt the edges of danger, to brush against fear. The beast waited in its lair for beauty, and she wondered who would accomplish the taming.

Comet D pulled up at his own corral, and she got down to take off saddle, blanket and headstall. He danced into his fenced run with a shake of his glossy hide and a look that plainly said she had only teased him with a short ride like that. Jill carried the tack around to the room built for it, and put everything into place before shutting the door again.

Moving across the corral, across the yard, she knew the kissing of her thighs against each other, and the agitation within her breasts, her belly. She thought she might be going out of her mind, because nothing so intense had ever pushed at her before. She'd always been sexy, but nothing like this.

Reaching her sexual maturity, Aaron Mercer said, coming into the flowering of her sensuality. Turning into a nymphomaniac, maybe; keeping such an interest in loving and being loved that she was hard put to concentrate upon anything else of importance.

She hesitated on the porch of the ranch house. Could that be what they were doing to her, using sex to cloud the financial issues? Jill chewed upon her lower lip. She had started it up with Boyce, but perhaps he'd gone along with the seduction altogether too willingly, knowing that a woman was more apt to become emotionally entangled.

And Aaron: ah, yes, the mesmeric Mr. Mercer-he was also somehow involved with the bank, and perhaps with her ranch; certainly he was mixed up in her sex life, although he hadn't laid a finger on her, as yet. He would, she knew; he most certainly would.

When she got into the house, the telephone rang, almost as if it had been waiting for her to come through the door. "Yes?"

"Mrs. Devlin." It was Boyce Pittman, and he sounded harried, that metallic quality stronger in his voice. "I-I'm calling from a phone booth, so it's all right to speak out; from my end of the line, anyway."

She said, "Why would anyone want to tap my phone, Boyce?"

"No reason," he said. "Nothing; forget it. It's just that I'm under some pressure, Jill. I should come right out to see you, really, but if I do that, we won't talk about business, and we should."

She looked over at her bedroom door, and thought of the action that had taken place in there between this man and herself, the first time he had mounted her from behind, so eager and anxious. And she had entertained the naive idea that she couldn't reach orgasm with a man she wasn't in love with.

She asked, "Is there something wrong, Boyce? Are you thinking about calling in our mortgage?"

He hesitated, and her heart rose to become stuck in her throat. He was about to foreclose; she could sense it in his strained silence.

"We can discuss it calmly," he said. "I never made you any promises, Jill. I told you I had a duty to the bank, to the depositors. There was never any commitment made."

"Of course not," she said, and the realization came to her that Boyce Pittman had never intended to hold off for more than a few days, that he had always meant to foreclose, no matter how much sex on the half shell she dished up to him.

He cleared his throat. "Well, if you can give me a definite idea on just when your husband is due to come home-"

"Very soon, I'm sure. I haven't had a letter from him in weeks, so that must mean that he's processing for the trip stateside. He might even be on his way right now. Steve Devlin likes to surprise people."

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Boyce said, "but that really isn't solid, is it? And even so, even if he returns immediately, there's no guarantee that Sergeant Devlin will be able to even pay off the interest on these overdue notes."

Jill clutched the phone. She'd cheated on her husband, given herself to this man in the first place because she only wanted to protect Steve's interests. True, once she had let him into her body, she had screwed him back with an all-consuming fury, but that wouldn't have happened, if she hadn't made herself easy for him to reach.

"Look, Boyce-you said a little time-"

"I said several things under stress. It-well, don't think I'm not appreciative of what you've done for me, or rather what we've meant to each other. You told me I was an excellent lover."

She stared at the bedroom door, not seeing it, but only a swirl of shadows. "Yes, I said that." She took a firm grip on the phone, and felt the sweat gathering in her palms. "Boyce, I seldom say anything I don't mean, so maybe you'd better pay close attention to this. I won't let you foreclose on the Rafter D; understand that. I'll do anything I have to, whatever it takes to stop you."

There was only a short pause at the other end of the line, and Boyce said coldly, "There's nothing you can do. The notes are overdue, and the Mid-Oregon Trust is legally entitled to collect in full, or to possess said real property as described in the deed. That, Mrs. Devlin, is that."

"The hell it is," she said swiftly. "There's the fact that Dink Watson peeped in the window yesterday and watched us screwing. You know old Dink, and how faithful he's been to the Devlins? He's a little slow, but since we took so long at what we were doing, he had plenty of time to get the Polaroid. Some of the pictures are a bit blurred, but people can sure tell who's doing what to whom, in all of them."

Jill ran out of breath and waited; it took a while before Boyce said slowly, "Blackmail."

"Whatever it takes."

"Your own reputation will be ruined, too; Devlin will throw you out, divorce you."

"He'll have a chance at the ranch, a chance to keep it. I'll see that those pictures and copies of them are spread all over the county. How will your wife take them?"

Boyce made a strangled noise. "You're bluffing; nobody saw us."

"Try me and we both lose." Jill's hands were slippery, but she held her voice even.

"I have a young daughter," Boyce said. "She's only fourteen. A scandal like this could destroy her. Jill-"

"Mrs. Devlin," she said.

"All right. I'll see what I can work out, check a few ideas. But I can't stall very long. Look, Jill-Mrs. Devlin-maybe I can even find some money to soften the foreclosure, say three or four thousand, perhaps a few hundred more. But before I turn it over, I want all those photos. I warn you, I won't be pushed too far."

She let out a silent, quavering breath. "Just far enough, Boyce. I'm only interested in protecting the ranch, not in bleeding you."

"I'll be in touch soon," he said. "Good-bye."

There was a touch of hysteria in her laugh as she hung up the phone. Boyce said good-bye properly, in spite of everything. She'd fooled him! She had conned him into believing that about the pictures; more time had been bought, and something else. Boyce couldn't be all that certain of his position: why else would he offer her money?

To get her out of the county, where she could do no harm to his precious public image, so no shocking revelations of the banker's sexual escapades would reach his frigid wife and thus cost Boyce Pittman half his worldly goods, spiced by a whopping alimony and child support. Three or four thousand, hell; it ought to be worth twice that to Boyce, just to make certain she left the state and stayed gone.

The trouble was, she had no pictures to turn over to him, and he might not believe she'd run a bluff on him. Jill moved away from the phone, wondering just how nasty Boyce Pittman could get.

No matter, she thought, going through her closet and laying out a dress outfit, a Western suit that she'd used to ride Comet D in the local shows. The pants were snugly cut, and had an applique design that dipped a stylized arrowhead right down into the cleft of her buttocks; they were flared and a rich, deep gold that went very well with her skin tones and the color of her hair.

A white ruffled shirt, the vest that matched the suit, with the same arrowheads pointing at the tips of her breasts; a green throat pin of costume jewelry to make another focal point; lacy pants and a wisp of a bra; high-heeled Western boots and that cute green straw hat with the Cheyenne roll.

Peeling out of her work clothes, she darted into the bathroom and took a quick, but thorough shower, using cologne at all the vital spots, and taking time to run her shaver over legs and underarms. A bit of mascara, a dab of lipstick, and she skipped naked back into the bedroom to get dressed.

We can always talk, Aaron Mercer had said; if Pittman does something wrong, come see me, and we can always talk, he had said.

All right, gray, hypnotic man with the voice like warm honey; okay, she would pay a visit, go directly to the only motel in town and walk in, just as if she had legitimate business there. She'd never given the town of Midway anything to gossip over, so there'd be nothing said about this first visit.

She was excited, and had to struggle with the bra to get it hooked. Smoothing down her pants, looking in the mirror, she decided she was well worth Mr. Mercer's time and effort.

Oral contact, she thought; his sleek gray head in there between her naked thighs, his breath tickling into her pubic hairs, and then-and then- That was what she had to find out.

Jill bounded out of the house and across the yard. From his corral, Comet D sent a whinny her way, so she waved at him before climbing into the truck. She'd handle Boyce Pittman when she had to, but for now, she had bought more time, and the offer of money besides. She could tell that to Aaron Mercer, and see what his advice would be, how he would react. Not that she'd say anything about the made-up photos, of course; she didn't want to expose that facet of herself to him.

Turning onto the county road, she speeded up and thought about her desire to please Aaron. He was compelling, and yet something about him made her want to run away and hide. Not just yet, though; she had to first see what made him tick, to find out if he could follow up on all that sexy imagery he had created for her. What a shame it would be, if he was all talk.

She passed no car on the highway, except for an empty hay truck belonging to Dick Oliver. She waved at him, hit the horn twice, and went around him into the city limits of Midway. She glanced at the front of the bank, but didn't see Boyce, and drove sedately on by to turn into the parking lot of The Shorthorn, the only motel in town.

Head up, Western straw on the back of her head with its ribbon dangling, Jill marched into the office and asked the poker-faced manager for the number of Mr. Mercer's room. She'd never been here before, and the man didn't know her, although he could ask around and find out, if he was nosy.

He didn't seem to be. "Number eleven," he said. "That's the suite; straight on back."

"Thank you," she said, and marched out again. Looking up the street at the bank, she didn't see Boyce, or anyone else she recognized from here, so she walked firmly, but not too quickly, past the motel pool to where the two gray Buicks were parked.

Frowning at the identical cars, she headed for number eleven. The door to number ten opened and Lang slid out, one hand patting the ends of his long hair. "Hello," he said.

She stopped. "I came to see Mr. Mercer."

"That's a sweet outfit," Lang said. "I mean really; it sort of clings to you all over. Now I know how the West was won. That color wouldn't do a thing for me, I'm afraid."

"Mr. Mercer in?"

She heard heavy steps behind her and angled her head over her right shoulder to see. Jojo's thick, jowled face was without emotion, and his flat little eyes watched her. She suddenly knew that he had come out of number twelve. Aaron Mercer had the suite in eleven, and his bodyguards kept watch from the rooms on each side.

"Oh, he's in," Lang said. "Just knock on the door and announce yourself."

Jojo grunted. "You check out her bag?"

"Don't be gross," Lang snapped. "Mr. Mercer left word on her."

Jojo walked to his room, and Jill saw she had been correct: number twelve. Did a real estate developer need bodyguards, or was that title a cover for something more nefarious? Again, Jill knew a whisper of warning, but closed her mind to it and tapped on the door.

He smiled her into the room, and immediately she saw his personal touches in it, things that softened the transient look of all motels, no matter how plush. There was an Oriental jade statue; there were books whose covers she scanned quickly, and fresh flowers in a porcelain vase also Oriental, but so lovely the blooms could only furnish background for it.

"Tang Dynasty," he said. "The statue is Koryo, from the centuries when Korea was yet the hermit kingdom. I like to keep them with me."

"You're full of surprises," she said, and knew the words were banal as they left her lips.

There was a small refrigerator beyond a diminutive breakfast counter, and Aaron Mercer went to it. He was wearing a gray silk smoking jacket with black lapels piped in silver; his slacks were very pale-gray, and the white shirt open at the neck showed gray hairs. "The occasion calls for champagne, and I happen to have a magnum here. I didn't bring this with me; it's domestic, or I should say, indigenous."

Jill's giggle was nervous, and she choked it off quickly. Sitting on the couch, she crossed her legs and pulled in her tummy. The bottle popped and she wished she had something to do with her hands, almost wished she'd never stopped smoking. Then he presented her with a wine glass filled with the cold, crisp bubbly, and she was on even keel again.

Not fully in control of herself, she admitted; just being close to Aaron did weird things to her equilibrium, but she didn't feel quite as girlish, after drinking the chilled wine.

She said, "Boyce Pittman offered me three or four thousand dollars beyond the foreclosure. I thought that was odd."

Aaron considered his glass. "Did he ask you to sign a release?"

"No; it wouldn't be any good without my husband's signature, too.

He nodded, and light from the desk lamp seemed to slide around in his silvery hair. "True, but it might serve to show intent. How much are you in default, Jill?"

She twirled the empty glass in her fingers. "Twenty thousand."

"On a full section, six hundred forty acres, more than a square mile. That's not very much."

"It's not worth too much," she said. "Only about two hundred acres is good for anything, and the rest is cutover timber, scrub oak, laurel and bull pine; we can only irrigate a hundred acres and pasture on the rest. I guess it's worth more than what we owe, at that."

He bent over and refilled her glass. The champagne was cold against her teeth. "About seventy thousand more, I'd say."

Jill sputtered on the wine, swallowed and asked incredulously, "Dollars?"

Aaron chuckled. "Yes, my dear. I know that ranchers are prone to look at the agricultural worth of the land, rather than where and how it lies. But I want you to consider that figure-seventy thousand dollars clear, after the debt is paid."

"Wow," she said, "I consider everything above a hundred dollars just figures on paper, and not real."

"All money is paper," he said, "and only as real as man's need for it. But no more talk about finances now; just do as I ask, and hold that figure in your mind: seventy thousand dollars net. We'll talk some more on it, but later-sometime later, after we know each other much better. That's the primary reason you came here, wasn't it?"

Abashed, she nodded, and sipped at her glass. When she put it down, Jill said, "You knew I'd come. You fixed me like that, and you knew I'd have to come find out if it was some kind of trick. And, I guess I just wanted to."

Aaron placed his own empty glass upon the desk top. "You're refreshing, my dear, and I appreciate a certain amount of honesty. I've been eager to sample your loveliness, to taste your sensuous flavors."

"Yes," she said, and, "please." "If you'll stand up," he said. "That outfit becomes you, and I'll be careful with it."

It was kind of cold, she thought, sort of too-logical; yet there was the race of blood through her veins, and the tingle of delicious anticipation along her skin. She stood quietly, erect and somehow keeping herself from swaying as he reached out and took off her hat. Then the jewel at her throat, and the brush of his fingertips was electric, but he didn't stop to fondle her throat nor her breasts.

Smiling directly into her eyes, Aaron began to speak in that furry voice, and she trembled before it. "Lovely skin, and when I remove this vest and lay it aside, I see the lifting of your breasts. Ah, yes, and the nipples rising full. Your shirt, my dear-if you will lift your arms-so."

Jill's breasts felt swollen, and there was an ache in her nipples. The air brought goosebumps to her bare skin, and she could barely keep her knees locked into place. Aaron touched her breasts then, drew slow and deft fingers beneath the mounds, then up and around them, and his caress of her nipples was tantalizing. Bending, he breathed softly upon them, and Jill's hands fluttered, lifted partway up, only to fall back to her sides again. He flicked the tip of his tongue lightly over her paining nipples, a hot, wet fondling that sent tremors down her spine.

"Such lovely, full breasts," he said, "artfully molded, sweetly designed; you are indeed a delectable creature, my dear."

She couldn't answer, and knew that he didn't expect an answer, and then he was at her pants, loosening the belt, pulling down the zipper at the side. In a trance, Jill lifted one leg and then the other, so that Aaron could draw the pants down and away. He placed them upon a chair with the rest of her things, and took his time removing the last thing she had on, her panties.

When they were gone, Jill pulled in a deep and shuddering breath. Aaron stood close, touching her gently upon the mound, the hips, her belly, raising his hands to fondle her breasts again. He was artful, teasing, bringing her to an apex of desire, but behind the immediacy of the need his ministrations aroused in her, Jill knew a nagging sense of disappointment. Somehow, she had imagined Aaron would be totally different, that he would be more masterful and dominating, but then she thought that maybe most women partly believed that they craved mastering, when in reality they still wanted to cling to a free personality.

"Sit down, Jill," he said, and guided her into the chair with gentle hands.

He was going to do it, she thought; he really was. She looked up at him as he took off his own clothing, and her fingers dug into the chair arms. Aaron's body was good; it was slim and kept in condition, and his chest was covered with virile gray hair. Then he stepped out of his shorts, and her eyes went wide at the sight of his penis.

Jill had never seen one so big. It was long, and thick, and the shining head of it was blunt and heavy; there was nothing misshapen about it, nothing out of proportion. It was simply huge, and she knew a stab of fear as she stared at the thing, for she didn't believe she could take it into her vagina without tearing.

"It's the same as I said," Aaron purred, moving toward her with that gigantic rod pulsing before him. "Slow and easy, Jill-just lean back and let yourself go." He went to his knees before her, his hands stroking her knees until her legs sagged apart of their own volition.

And the fear left her, because it wasn't important now. At last, Jill was going to know what it was like to be orally loved, to enter into that long-forbidden form of sex she had also believed to be a deviate act, a thing of twisted perversion. But this man had told her differently, and she wanted to believe him-so much, so much.

"Your inner thighs are like satin," he said, trailing his fingers over them, "and your vulva is quivering with eagerness. Ah, Jill-your pussy is a marvel of beauty, the hairs so thick and soft."

But he didn't go directly to her aching vulva; instead, his face burrowed into her breasts, and she sighed. Until the sharp nip of his teeth made her gasp in shock, and when he raked fingernails down over her hips, she caught at his head to pull him away.

But his face had already moved down to her belly, where his tongue pushed into her navel. Jill flinched and tried to climb out of the chair, but it was far too late for escape. Her movements only lifted her pelvis to him as she slid farther down in the chair.

He didn't hesitate, but plunged his face into her crotch, and Jill knew the wild sensation of a fierce intimacy. His mouth found her labia, and his tongue darted into the humid lips to move thickly up and down, penetrating into the vagina. His teeth raked her labia, and in reflex, she closed her thighs upon his head.

Aaron's hands dipped beneath her buttocks, and he had the cheeks of her ass in his palms, lifting and twisting her lower body to suit his desires of the moment. He growled into her vagina, and lapped her fluids like a dog might, but the thrilling strokes of his tongue were turning her on more and more, sending shivers of hot delight through her entire body.

When her drifting hands did find his head, it was only to stroke his hair, only to urge it ever deeper into the writhing pit where the soft, wet flames were growing more insistent. Eyes closed and head thrown back, Jill squirmed in the embrace of Aaron Mercer, and it was all she had hoped it would be-crazy and deep and far out. Her legs curled over and across his back, and she began to grind her vulva into his face, feeling the lips of her pussy slide across his chin, his cheeks, his nose. Aaron was eating her now, biting gently at her labia, and moving around, licking and nibbling-until he found the clitoris rising out of its protective hooding.

"Oh!" Jill cried out. "Aaron-oh, Aaron!"

He was nuzzling deeply into her now, his teeth pushing, his tongue lancing to curl around the center of her excitement. She hiked her ass and opened her thighs so he could reach it better, and a wordless moan tore from her lips as Aaron sucked the clit out and into the delicate gripping of his teeth.

She went insane then, twisting and heaving, surging her hairy crotch against his mouth, and clinging madly to his head with both hands.

"I-I can't stand it! Oh-ohmigod-migod-it's killing me! Oh, oh, oh! Aaron-eat me up, chew me to bits and swallow me! Oh, my darling, my dearest, my sweet-I'm coming now, now!"

Ecstasy cascaded over her and in her; bliss ran rampant through her flesh and over her fevered skin. Every nerve end tingled violently, and her insides melted, melted and ran down to puddle hotly within her convulsive vagina.

Then he let go of her clit and began to suck her, to suck as if her pussy was some juicy, sweet fruit, and he was a starving man. Her oils flowed and flowed, and he drank them down, pulled them into his avid mouth to swallow them while he chewed at her cuntlips and rolled the flexing cheeks of her ass in the palms of his hands.

Shivering, rolling her head like a metronome, from side to side and in a patterned rhythm, Jill grew weaker, and her head started to spin. But Aaron would not release her; his finger prodded against the ring of her anus, and now she felt the thick, throbbing length of his penis against the calf of her leg. And he continued to suck, to pull the soft lips of her pussy into his mouth and push them out again with his tongue.

The squirming sensation moved in her vagina once more, and she could not resist it. Aaron was touching her clitoris again, but only delicately now, tickling it with his tongue as he sucked tenderly upon her vulva, upon her labia. His thumb pressed and rotated, pushed and insisted, and suddenly it was spreading her anus, easing its tip into her.

And that was too much for one moment. Her climax came racing through her body like a flash flood, bowling over everything in its path, and inundating her consciousness with a tidal wave of emotion that reached a crest. Then it exploded in a swirling, scattering, spray of enchanted rainbows, and Jill sank exhausted into them.

When she again opened her eyes, she was lying on the couch, and Aaron Mercer was straddling her body. She stared at the swollen, engorged head of his monstrous cock, at the gleaming pearl of fluid dangling upon the vertical slit. His testicles swung down like those of a great bull, and Jill was frightened once more.

His knees moved, and he came sliding up her belly. She caught a steadying breath as the distended glans loomed so close to her face. But Aaron wasn't read for that as yet. He dipped his penis down with one hand, and used the other to squeeze her breasts around it. The thick and veiny staff snuggled there between her mounds, and the head lay pulsing at the base of her throat.

Jill closed her eyes, hoping against hope that he would force her to take that terrifying thing into her mouth, and felt him moving back down her body. But her relief was soon over, because Aaron began to worry the head of his huge cock at the wet hairs of her pubic mound.