Chapter 5
Matt Brent flipped his partly smoked cigarette out of the open car window and wound up the pane. A chill was creeping into the night air. He was bursting for a piss, but kept driving, anxious to get past that narrow stretch of treacherous, moonlit road. As he tooled the big Humber round a particularly acute bend, he glimpsed something white against the dark bushes, and swore when the headlights picked out a crouching figure.
He braked, swerving toward the other side of the road, stopped the car and angrily cranked the window down to thrust his head out. The young girl squatting beside a crumbling stone wall among tall nettles and shrubs straightened up and allowed the rucked-up linen garment she was wearing to fall around her ankles, concealing her nudity.
Matt stared, uncertain whether or not he had actually seen what he thought he had seen—the sweetly rounded half moons of the girl's bare arse and the glinting flow of urine spurting beyond her bent limbs.
"You trying to get yourself killed, you silly cow?" he demanded, shaken by the nearness of tragedy. "What the hell are you doing out here at this time of night? Who are you?"
Rita slouched from the roadside and approached the car. Moonlight revealed the driver's face, a young face but deeply lined, the features regular, the mouth almost hidden by a thick mustache. His hair was very dark, showing beneath the wide brim of a back-tilted fedora-type hat. Seeing her close-up, he appraised Rita keenly and puckered his lips in a silent whistle.
"What the hell are you wearing?" he asked "You some kind of nut?"
Rita explained, or tried to. Matt, disbelieving, grinned unsympathetically.
"Sounds like you had a raw deal," he remarked.
Rita nodded vehemently. "Raw is right," she agreed. "I'm chafed raw as bloody liver down there. Those bastards-"
"You left yourself wide open for everything you got. You kids never learn."
Matt opened the car door and told Rita to get in. She hesitated. "Get in," Matt repeated. "You might as well ride into Dublin."
Rita shrugged, then climbed in beside him.
Matt let out the clutch, and moved off. He remained silent for a while, but kept glancing at Rita. She could almost read his thoughts.
"I'm Matthew Brent," he said presently. "Chief executive for a London based company. We do a lot of business in Ireland. Farm produce mostly, and whisky." He laughed, studying her intently.
"You don't say much," he complained. "I was bored until I met you. I've been driving since early evening. I meet a lot of bums in my travels, but it isn't often I run into anybody like you."
Strong fingers groped and fastened just above Rita's right knee, squeezing intimately through the linen robe.
"I thought for a while you were a bloody nun," Matt said. "If you're hard up for a night's lodge I can do better than just give you a lift. Interested? It'll take care of your immediate expenses, kid, if you're desperate."
"Not that desperate," Rita told him. "Leastways I'll have to think about it. I'm tired, shagged out. And hungry."
"There's sandwiches and a flask of coffee in the glove compartment. I'll get you something more substantial at my hotel. You know, you're real cute, kid, especially in that outfit. Is that all you've got on?"
Rita nodded. Matt grinned, shaking his head.
"I'm damned," he remarked. He passed his tongue round his lips, inhaled loudly, tramped on the gas pedal. A mile further on, in the shade of towering trees, he stopped the car. Rita, relaxing with her eyes closed, hardly noticed, until he opened the door and got out; then she voiced a languid enquiry.
"I must have a slash before we go any further," Matt said. "I meant to, back there, but never gave it another thought after meeting you."
He entered the deeper shadows and was lost among rustling foliage. Rita lay back, munching king-size ham sandwiches. After a time, when Matt hadn't returned, she became curious, and called to him. He didn't answer. She got out of the car, frowning, called again, then moved cautiously into the thickets. She was about to shout again, louder, when she saw Matt outlined against the bushes in a moonlit glade. His broad back was toward her, and he seemed incredibly tall. Rita detected twitching movements of his shoulders. He was partly crouching, and she suspected what he was doing even before she angled through the trees and confirmed the assumption.
He had his penis out, but he had finished urinating and was now leisurely masturbating, prolonging the jerking friction. Rita, mildly amused, watched him, as yet unnoticed. He had, she thought, a lovely cock, large and thick and above average length. As she moved closer, a stick snapped sharply underfoot and Matt turned. Rita, observed, laughed.
"Is that what you meant by a slash?" she asked cynically.
"How long have you been there?" Matt demanded. He gaped, holding his swollen roll with the foreskin tightly stretched, making no attempt to hide the uncircumcised prick. Only the knob was dark, purple black, the rest fishbelly white in the moonrays.
"Long enough," Rita answered. "But don't mind me. I thought you must have fallen down a bloody great hole, or something. I didn't mean to intrude."
Matt made an unsuccessful attempt to tuck his cock away but couldn't fasten his fly.
"What the hell can I say?" he asked.
Rita shrugged. "Why say anything? It isn't the first time I've seen a man's prick, and what you do with it is your affair. I'll get back to the car until-"
"NO! Don't go. I came for a piss, but kept thinking what it would be like to slap some of this between your thighs. Christ! I couldn't help it, imagining you warm and soft and naked under that stupid robe."
"All right," Rita said. "Don't blow your cool, man. I know how it is. You're really in a bad way, aren't you?"
She moved nearer, feeling sympathetic. His penis protruded past the flaps of his gaping fly, and Rita yielded to a sudden impulse and grasped its spongy mass. Matt uttered a hoarse cry and promptly grabbed her, thrust his cock violently into the curve of her fingers while his mouth clamped over hers and his tongue darted thickly between her lips. He clutched her arse through the robe, and Rita laughed as she twisted her mouth away for air.
Matt's eyes were smoky with lust, gleaming in the moonlight. His prick swelled within her clutch, elongating hugely. "Take that fucking robe off," he blurted. "Let me ram some hard prick into you."
"No, you randy bastard," Rita argued. "Not here. It's too soon after—after the other. I'll jerk you off, but—"
"At least let me see what you've got. Let me kiss your gorgeous arse and shove my tongue in your sweet girl's cunt. I'm all screwed up and—"
"Not now. Maybe later. For God's sake, this is nice, isn't it? You're wicked, you know that? But nice. And you have a lovely cock. I'd let you fuck me, darling, if I wasn't so tuckered out. Later, when I'm rested and everything—"
She quickened the chafing rhythm of her whanking strokes, flapping his foreskin rapidly back and forth and gripping the thickened roll tighter when it surged and shivered in the trembling spasms preceding orgasm. Matt gripped her shoulders and laid his head on her breast, shuddered convulsively, gasping. Rita avoided the hot spurting gush of his sperm but retained her grasp on his cock, maintaining the brisk masturbation until the copious emission dwindled and the furious pulsing beat became a nervous, fluttering twitch.
Matt sighed. He stared down at his deflating penis held loosely in the girl's hot hand.
"What a fucking waste," he complained.
"You liked it, didn't you?"
"Damn right I did, but I'd have liked it better stroking inside your belly. You're all right, Rita. Different. Just a kid, but-my God!"
Rita shook clinging sperm drops from his slackening but still grossly swollen prick, squeezed the bulbous knob, and relinquished her grasp. Matt confined his penis but didn't fasten his fly. He put his arms round Rita, felt of her bottom, then moved his hands to her tits, but she twisted away.
"Show me," he persisted. "Just a quick glimpse, a feel."
"Later, eh?"
"Now, you tormenting little bitch!"
He snatched at the robe, tugging at it. Rita, laughing, danced away. Standing on a grassy hillock, she presented her bottom to him, protruding the cheeks obscenely, deftly flipped the hem of the robe up past her waist and briefly exposed the white perfection of her buttocks and the pouting gash of her vagina, covered herself and skipped away, laughing, when Matt lunged at h< "That's it, for now," she said. "A glimpse, you said— You men, you're all alike. But it might be fun to spend the rest of the night with you. Do you mind if we get on now? I'm bushed."
They returned to the car. Matt slid behind the wheel. His fly was still undone, but he didn't notice. For a while he drove without speaking. Rita snuggled close and laid her head on his shoulder.
"I should have thought you'd have plenty of sexy girl friends," she remarked sleepily, yawning. "A husky brute like you."
Matt grinned. The pink protrusion of Rita's left tit distracted him and the car swerved. He swore. Rita drew the robe together.
"I manage," Matt said, "although most of the available cunt I know is married, or about as interesting as limp lettuce. I don't know many young women in London, and it's been a long time since I screwed anybody your age."
"I'm sixteen-"
"Is that all? Good God! Sixteen! You'd pass for twenty. You're bloody gorgeous, kid. I want more from you than a jerk-off. I want to see you naked, to kiss you all over. I want my nose up your arse and my tongue round your cunt. I want to lick and smell and suck every divine part of you, every crease and hollow, your arse and your luscious tits and that soft, hairy twat, until you beg me to fuck you and—"
"Cool it, you moron," Rita blurted. "Slow down, or you'll come apart at the seams. I've met some eager-beavers but, honestly, you're the randiest sonovabitch I ever happened on."
Matt's forehead glistened with sweat. His penis poked from his gaping fly, hugely erect, and Rita placed her hand on it, felt the torrid heat throbbing against her palm. The thought uppermost in her mind was that Matt Brent might be useful to her, to her career. He was sure to have connections in England, in London. Perhaps he could help her. And she liked him.
The hotel was in darkness except for a dim light in the foyer when Matt parked his car. Matt went in first, intending to smooth talk the night clerk, but the man wasn't in his usual place behind the scarred desk. Matt went to the entry, signaled Rita. Two minutes later they emerged from the elevator on the fourth floor. Matt unlocked a door that bore a white card with his name and telephone number. Almost before the door swung shut and the lock catch engaged he had Rita in a passionate embrace and was wrenching at the robe behind her back. She eluded him, collided with a table and created an awful noise, but remained quite still while Matt depressed the light switch. He would have had her right there and then, but she wanted the bathroom, and he directed her, then tried to calm his nerves with a stiff drink.
When Rita returned he was standing by the curtained window, stark naked, smoking a cigarette. When he turned she saw that his penis was enormously stiffened, and she suspected he had been jerking-off. His physique was impressive although his skin was pallid. He wasn't so tall as he had seemed in the moonlight, but his rearing cock was as rampantly virile, a pale, pulsating root that was still lifting jerkily when he faced Rita.
She still wore the white robe, but she had let it slide from her shoulders as she crossed the carpeted floor. Matt ground the cigarette butt into an ashtray, sat on the arm of a low sofa, and reached for her. Rita came into his arms. He didn't say anything, just drew her close and promptly slid both hands down over her smooth hips to her buttocks. His nostrils sucked in fiercely as he clasped the succulent cheeks. Excitement and anticipation fluttered around the corners of his mouth. His fingers trembled on her yielding flesh, squashing the rounded mounds, delving into the dusky cleavage.
Rita cupped her full breasts, offered them, ripe and bursting with promise, the nipples jutting deliciously; and Matt, groaning, plunged his face into the warm vale and covered the heaving ovals with wet kisses, forcing his features into their creamy softness. He brought his hands up from her hips and kneaded her tits, crushing the dark centers and bunching great handfuls of rolling flesh. His mouth captured each audacious nipple in turn and sucked it voraciously, his mustache tickling her breast and his goading tongue whipping her rapidly mounting desire to white heat.
She no longer felt a need for rest. That could come later. Another fuck more or less wouldn't inconvenience her swollen groove or punish her unduly. Besides, she was ready for it—the frustration of waiting was too devastating. She pushed against Matt, cradling his head, leaned over and, forcibly raising his head, clamped her mouth over his and drove her tongue furiously into the warm cavity. For a while their tongues writhed and coiled together like cobras squirming in a pit of saliva.
Rita straightened, panting, her eyes bright, spittle dribbling from the corner of her mouth. She dragged the back of her hand across her lips, smiled, stared down at Matt's jutting penis. Still seated, he embraced her hips, embedded his fingers in the quivering rotundity of Rita's buttocks, jerked her loins forward and buried his face against the silky hairiness of her mound. Rita parted her legs, wriggled her hips, working her cunt up and down and from side to side, and sighed with pleasure when Matt raised his head briefly and, staring at the glistening slit, thumbed the fleshy folds open to expose the crimson gulf. He extended his tongue and licked all along the furry split then into the red maw, displacing her flesh with the pressure of his mouth as he sucked most of her twat into his mouth.
Frantic, Rita reached down past her tits and over his belly to seize Matt's robust cock. It was rock-hard, the foreskin ridged behind the bloated knob. Rita pulled at it, expecting Matt to get to his feet, and she widened the spread of her legs to receive him—but his lust was channeled in another direction, and he twisted her round, groaning aloud at the torrid perfection of her naked arse. Anticipating his pleasure, Rita stooped forward, sharing Matt's excitement, so that his blurted exclamations were muffled as he gripped the fronts of her thighs and pushed his face into the darkly odorous division of her bottom, distorting the luscious cheeks and slobbering in his eagerness, blowing saliva into the hot well of her arsehole. His darting tongue explored the wrinkled pit and licked lower, exciting her protruding cunt. She heard the air gusting round his flared nostrils, wafting hotly against the wrinkled rut of her anal furrow.
Abruptly, he pulled away, shuddering convulsively. "I can't hold it back!" he blurted. "I'm coming!"
Rita twisted round to face him, knelt between his parted legs, and took his penis into her mouth in the instant that his semen gushed; and he clung to her, gripping her head and fucking his spunking prick furiously into the puckered funnel of her lips, filling her mouth, grinning as the uncontrollable fury diminished and the tension left his lean body. He watched Rita lick the semen from his knob, and coaxed her to keep sucking his cock, confidently expecting to retain its rigidity and succeeding, presently, in regaining partial erection. Rita maintained the tormenting rapture, resolutely playing with his prick and alternately sucking and whanking it, encouraged by its powerful flexing and rapid increase in size and circumference. Matt needed no time for recuperation. Straining, fingers clamped painfully round her skull, he rammed his expanding tool belligerently to the back of her throat and would have spunked in her mouth again if she hadn't relinquished his slippery length.
He protested, but allowed Rita to push him from the sofa arm into a semi-prone position. She got astride his chest, brought her cunt close to his face, and held the sultry folds hugely open, inviting the probing caress of his tongue. The proximity of the pungently odorous cleft drove him frantic. He mouthed it briefly, then surged erect, heaved to his feet, picked Rita up and carried her into the bedroom, dumped her roughly on the sturdy king-sized bed, and immediately straddled her, kneeling between her fully extended thighs. She impatiently awaited the stabbing lunge of his frustrated prick, and cried out when it came, sweeping furiously into her joyous chasm with a sweet ecstasy that was almost unbearable. Rita raised her knees, breathing jerkily as his hips bore down on the insides of her taut thighs and his pelvis pounded her lower belly. The great, surging core of his manhood choked her expanding passage, embedded to its straining roots.
Clinging tightly, fingernails gouging into his back, Rita exhorted him to even greater exertion and lunged upward with all the supple strength of her bunched buttocks to meet each savage stroke. It was sheer, abandoned delight. She marveled at the astonishing vigor apparent in every groaning thrust. Matt's animal passion was contagious. He clawed a pillow into the crumpled hollow created by her splayed arse and crammed it under her flexing cheeks as her spine arched and her bottom raised from the bed. Rita raised her knees higher, until they flattened her breasts and restricted her breathing.
She climaxed, gasping and pleading in the syrupy delirium of consuming passion, torrid sensations that flayed her tortured genitals and squeezed her entrails like white-hot metal contracting round her vital organs. Her sweating anus itched. Impulsively she enclosed Matt's ridged scrotum in her fist and confined his balls, thrilling to the ponderous beat of his penis pistoning past the slack folds of her vagina. Gummy moisture streaked his plunging cock as her orgasmic flood washed round the glans and spread through her fiercely clutching channel. Matt, gripped in the mind-shattering convulsions of impending climax, quickened his assault and finally slogged his frantic rod to the sticky maw of her womb, bracing his arms and extending his body in a tense curve with spine bent and his pubic bone grinding into Rita's quim, delivering his sperm load with such spurting force that she felt its glutinous slime spit past her enlarged clitoris and jet against her uterus.
Matt slumped, arms relaxing, chest heaving, his face resting on Rita's shoulder just above the curve of her breast. Smiling, Rita passed unsteady fingers through his damp hair.
"Sweet Christ!" Matt muttered. "You really extend a man."
"It was nice," Rita agreed. "I'm glad I came."
Matt rolled off and adopted a sitting posture with the pillows at his back. His deflating penis trailed semen across Rita's thigh. She pushed a finger into her anus and raked about, irritated by the moist itching, then stretched out with her arms over her head. They talked. Matt lit a cigarette, offered Rita one, but she declined. She learned something of his background and revealed her own, told him about her family and her ambition, even about Mike Howard. Tomorrow, Matt promised, he would buy her a complete new outfit. After a while he called room service and asked for a light meal to be sent up, along with a half dozen bottles of beer. It was almost one-thirty, and it was nearly two before the order was filled. Matt met the sleepy-eyed waiter at the door and took the tray from him; he slipped the man a couple of bills, then closed and locked the door.
He wasn't particularly hungry, but Rita was ravenous and ate her way through a stack of sandwiches and cold meat, cheese, pickles, and buttered fruit cake. Matt drank cold beer, smoked, and talked. When she had eaten Rita wanted him to fuck her again, and employed every artful device she knew to stimulate his interest and stiffen his cock again. His reaction was slow, delayed, and it wasn't until Rita abandoned the notion and sauntered into the bathroom that he worked up enough enthusiasm to follow her. He came up behind her as she stooped over the bathtub swishing the steaming water. The way she stood gave him a full view of every detail of her puffy vagina. He slipped his cock into her and quickly stroked her into panting excitement, brought her swiftly to fever-heat and held her on the brink of straining orgasm, her hands still dabbling in the water, until he finally flattened his belly against the curve of her back and spat his diminished sap into her as she jerked her head up, her juices flowing as copiously as before.
Afterward, they bathed in the same tub, dried on the same towel. Matt opened another bottle of beer. Rita climbed into bed naked. Matt shrugged into a green pajama top but left the bottom half folded on a chair. He seemed to be pondering, on the point of saying something but putting it off.
Eventually he said: "I might as well tell you-you'll find out anyway. I'm married. But my wife doesn't live with me. She's a bitch, doesn't understand me. Doesn't even try. We've been washed up for some time, but she won't divorce me. I send her money and she lives her own life. I live mine . . . But it gets bloody lonely when I'm not traveling. I need somebody, Rita. Somebody like you. And maybe I can help you. I've got friends in London, people in show business. Of course, I don't know if you've really got talent, but you've certainly got looks, and the figure. I can give you a few names and addresses, and maybe a letter of introduction. There's one character in particular, an agent. If you've got anything at all Travis Caufield will spot it. If I was going back to England right away I'd take you with me, but I'm flying to the States tomorrow. I'll be there a couple of weeks."
Rita sat up, resentful and disappointed, instantly suspicious.
"America!" she blurted. "You're going to America?"
"New York. We've got offices there too. But it's only for a couple of weeks, then we'll get together in London. I'll rent a small apartment for you and we can see each other most weekends. I've got a boat, on the Norfolk Broads. You'd like that, sailing and sunbathing and fishing, just lazing around. We'll be good for each other, Rita."
There was a heaviness in Rita's belly. He would forget her the moment he stepped aboard that plane, she thought. Why should he remember her, or obligate himself? She was nobody, just another casual lay. But at least maybe she could screw the fare to London out of him. And if he did have contacts— All she needed was one lucky break. The prospect of London was exciting.
She fell asleep thinking about the future. In the early hours she was wakened by Matt's insistent groping, and turned her face to the wall so that he could fuck her from behind without disturbing her rest any more than was necessary. For the time being her mind was void of sex, her energy drained. She submitted, endured, then went to sleep again. The next time she opened her eyes it was broad daylight and she was alone in the bed. Matt had left a note for her, and a substantial amount of money, more than enough for her immediate needs. He also left a sealed envelope addressed to Travis Caufield of the Rupert Court Theatrical Agency, off Shaftsbury Avenue, London, and a personal message indicating he would contact Rita on his return to England. He had also given her an address in Chelsea where she could stay until he was able to arrange something. He had enclosed a key.
His indication of implicit trust astonished Rita. She had obviously made a more profound impression than she'd realized. Her only problem now was what to wear until she could spend some of Matt's cash on clothes. Eventually she solved the predicament by bribing one of the hotel maids.