Chapter 8
Somebody knocked loudly on the door of the squalid den Rita shared with several other strippers backstage at the Starlite Club. Two girls were performing, the rest lounging in various stages of semi-nudity, waiting for their respective cues. A spotty-faced youth poked his shaggy head round the door, ogled the assembly and grinned impudently.
"Somebody to see you," he told Rita. "The boss said he had to wait downstairs." "Who is it?"
"How the hell do I know? Bit character with long hair and a beard. Sounds Irish."
Irish? Rita frowned. A spark kindled in her gut, then died away. No, it couldn't be— She sighed. She wasn't due on-stage for twenty minutes. She stubbed her cigarette out, went into the dingy corridor and down the narrow stairs, hesitated when a tall figure slouched from the shadows, unkempt and bearded, with hair so long it swept the collar of the scuffed leather jacket he wore. But under it all Rita recognized Mike.
"You look surprised," Mike said. "No more than I am, finding you in this dump."
"Surprised! For God's sake! What the hell are you doing here in London? . . . Look, we can't talk here. There's a cafe just across the street . . . Surprised, he says—" She grabbed a passing blonde with bouncing tits the size of footballs. "Fill in for me, Daphne, if I'm not back," she requested. "I won't be gone more than a few minutes. It's important."
The blonde stripper nodded, appraising Mike disdainfully. "It'll cost you a drink later," she drawled.
Rita nodded. She ducked back into the dressing-room, grabbed her coat, slung it round her shoulders, then hustled Mike down the back stairs and into an alley. He checked her then, sweeping her into a rough embrace. She let him kiss her, but pushed him away when he pawed her.
"Not here, you fool!" she admonished. "Oh, Mike! I can't believe it's you. Where have you been, you bastard?"
Her insides were in a turmoil, her belly churning, cold as if a giant fist was applying icy pressure to her gut. Mike talked, curtly explaining, but she only heard a part of what he said. His words washed over her consciousness in an endless tide. There had been a killing that night in Belfast, a young soldier. Mike thought he was responsible and got out fast. He'd wanted to get in touch with Rita, and intended to, but when he tried, later, she had gone. He had been in England almost a month, hiding out in Liverpool. Then he read a newspaper account stating the soldier had been shot by an IRA member, and he had been considering a return to Ireland when he got the chance of a job in London, something to do with porno movies-he never found out what because the deal went sour before he even met the people he was supposed to contact. Now he was broke and living in a cheap flophouse in Islington. He'd found Rita through seeing a nude photograph of her in the glass-fronted showcase outside the club.
"And what were you doing in Soho?" Rita asked. "As if I didn't know. This is no place for an Irish bog-louse."
"You seem to be doing all right, you Casey Yard whore."
Rita laughed. She squeezed his arm. "It's so good to see you," she told him. "I've never been able to get you out of my mind, not for a moment. You look rough, but—"
"I feel rough. It hasn't been easy. And you-how long have you been a bloody stripper? And why here? Why did you leave the old country?"
"To get out of the shit, Mike. I had plans. They didn't work out, but at least I've got prospects, and I'm saving money. But let's not waste time. Look, forget the cafe. We'll go back to my place. Tony won't mind."
"Who the hell is Tony?"
"My boss. He owns the joint."
"But not you, Rita?"
"No, for God's sake! Not me. Come on."
She steered Mike from the alley into the main street and signaled a cruising taxi. During the short ride Mike didn't say much. He seemed subdued, different—and Rita herself felt strange, almost self-conscious. But her resentment and awkwardness melted when Mike took her in his arms and she realized the old fire, the same hunger.
She seethed with nervous excitement. Caufield was out of town. She would have Mike to herself, at least for a while. He had always been predominant in her thoughts; even when she opened her legs to Matt, or to Caufield, it was always Mike in her imagination, Mike's prick slogging into her. The surprise of seeing him created a whirl of sentimentality and sexual longing that shook her to the core.
They were together again, nothing else mattered.
Sight of the spacious apartment was disturbing to Mike. The implications were too obvious.
Rita secured the outer door, called the delicatessen on the ground floor and asked them to send up a cold meal and a bottle of whiskey in about an hour, then went into the bathroom, leaving the door open to pester Mike with questions while she splashed under the shower. She emerged presently, wearing a slinky negligee, her wet hair gleaming. Mike had removed the leather jacket and was glancing through a folder of art photographs, the sight of which reminded Rita. She picked up the phone and called the club and spoke briefly to Chaser McGraw, the manager. Chaser said he'd tell Tony. It would be all right.
Rita put the phone down, poured herself a drink, and turned to face Mike. He was sweating, although the room temperature was normal.
"Want a drink?" Rita asked. Mike shook his head.
"Later," he said. "Right now I'm only interested in one thing. It's been a long time, kid. But nothing's changed, has it?"
Rita shook her head.
"That's all right then. But something's changed. You didn't get this pad just by showing your arse to a bunch of cocksuckers. Who are you shacked up with? Somebody's knocking you off."
"Does it matter?"
"Not especially. But if things are going to be the same between us, I've got to know where I stand."
Rita nodded. She gulped her drink, sighed, and told Mike about Matt, and Caufield. So where did that leave him? Mike wanted to know. They'd work something out, Rita promised.
She was resolved that they should, but was more interested in the immediate future. When Mike kept talking she shrugged out of the negligee and let it drop, moved close and pressed her naked body firmly against him, closed his mouth with hers. His arms went round her waist and tightened fiercely. She could feel the straining tension of his powerful limbs. Her tongue darted into his mouth, stabbing to the back of his throat and fluttering provocatively.
Suddenly the awkwardness was gone, reticence evaporated, and Mike was masterful and confident, the dominant male, the Mike she remembered, aggressively arrogant. A violent tremor passed through his muscular frame. Rita pushed hard against him, felt the jutting protrusion of his restless penis moving urgently against her naked mound, and wriggled her hips, squirming rapturously when his big hands enclosed her tremulous breasts.
"Oh, Mike!" she whispered throatily. "I want you. It's been too bloody long. I've sweated blood over you, you big bastard. But now we're together again. Fuck me, Mike, the way you used to."
He hefted her tits, squeezed them, distorting their palpitating warmth, kneading them together in great rolls, then slid both hands over her hips to her buttocks and clasped the quivering cheeks decisively. Feverish passion swept like molten fire through his blood, and hers. Rita moaned and sagged against him, writhing in a delirium of delight. His hot mouth caressed her neck and shoulder, moving swiftly to the soft curve of her breast, capturing the hardening nipple. He bit the enlarged teat, rolled his tongue round it while embedding strong fingers in the swollen ripeness of her other tit.
Rita laid her head on his broad shoulder and clung possessively, gasping and shuddering, her whole body responding ardently as he explored every recess and furrow, every trembling curve. The pulsing beat of his stiffened cock increased, craving freedom. Rita clawed at his faded jeans, ripped the front open and pulled his enormous cock out, triumphantly clutching its savagely throbbing circumference. For a brief, demoralizing moment she imagined herself back in that disused Belfast storage depot, fumbling awkwardly in the wanton excitement of seeing Mike's immense prick for the first time, holding it, feeling its rigid mass screwing into her receptive quim.
Remembering every lurid detail, she jerked Mike's jeans fully open, thrust her hand between his lean thighs under his heaving cock, and cradled his balls, felt his scrotum contract violently and his penis swell and become iron-hard down to the very roots. His groping hand found her cunt and bunched the rubbery lips while his flushed face nuzzled into the shadowy valley separating her soaring boobs. Gasping, she unfastened the narrow belt supporting his jeans and let them drop. Mike kicked his scuffed shoes off, trampled on the crumpled jeans until his feet tugged free from the tight legs. He wasn't wearing undershorts, only a thin cotton shirt. Rita started to unbutton the shirt but Mike picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. He threw her on the enormous bed, grinning derisively.
Neither of them spoke. Rita lay back with her legs wide apart, thrilling to Mike's eager stare, his intent scrutiny of her gaping cunt. The sheer exuberance of exposing her nudity, of flaunting her sex and watching the effect on Mike, knowing he was going to fuck her, inflamed her lust tremendously. She held her cunt open, inviting Mike to gaze at it, to touch and kiss it before introducing his great shaft, waiting with shivering impatience for the sweet impalement.
Mike adopted a kneeling position on the bed with his back curved and his face close to her crotch. He handled her intimate groove roughly, parting the silky black hair and widening the fleshy split, dabbling his fingertips in the moist entry and sending scorching thrills chasing up and down her spine. He slid both hands between the bed covers and her arse and pressed his palms against her buttocks, prompting an instinctive protrusion of pelvis and cunt. Rita cried out when his head dipped toward her snatch and his hungry mouth engulfed the dark folds and his tongue probed the musky recess. She thrashed about frantically, every nerve in her jerking body tautly humming, clamping his head between her hands when he sucked the sensitive stump of her expanded clitoris and mingled saliva with the seeping cunt juices. Her head lashed from side to side. She moaned, voiced explosive appeals, and heaved again when Mike licked lower and eventually tongued the brown pit of her hot arsehole. The puckered rim contracted convulsively. Rita pinched her arse cheeks together, an involuntary action that forced Mike's face from the deep cleft. He transferred his mouth to her cunt again and repeated the sublime sucking of her clitoris. Every volatile contact of his questing tongue sent waves of torrid lust swirling through her convulsed vagina, provoking reactions so violently pleasurable that she actually screamed in protest when Mike suddenly straightened, rocking back on his heels. His muscle-ridged belly sucked in and out. The monstrous mass of his solid erection thrust out obscenely, atrociously enormous.
Rita sat erect. Her cunt pulsed visibly, the hairy lips drawn back from the swollen red gash that glistened with spittle and glutinous sap. She was frantic with desire, her brain a whirlpool of startling depravity and sexual obsession. She sobbed and moaned alternately, seizing the bulging prick flexing and throbbing between his legs. The hugely distended knob strained within the grasp of her encircling fingers, glowing deep purple, and she pulled at it, longing for its tumid length between the puffy lips of her vagina, but Mike resisted, freed his cock and turned Rita on her belly, promptly heaving her to a kneeling posture. She accepted his preoccupation with her vulnerable arse, wanting to come, to feel his hard cock churning into her twat, but eager to please him in whatever way he wanted.
She spread her legs and crouched with elbows digging into the covers and her chin almost touching her breasts. Mike's face approached her bottom, and she felt his warm breath gusting against her skin, heard the sharp intake when he sniffed the brown-shaded crease. Rita reached back and pulled the cheeks of her bottom wide, fully exposing her anus. Mike wrapped his arms round her hips, anchoring her, and plunged his face into the softly yielding depression. His tongue bored into her shrinking arsehole with the avid enjoyment comparable to delving into the juicy fleshiness of an over-ripe peach. The instant tongue and anus met, Rita experienced violent orgasm, an exhilarating deluge that spread copiously without draining the reservoir of her lust or diminishing her desire.
The bushy shagginess of Mike's beard tickled, and she squirmed, finally twisting round, unable to endure the delicious torment any longer.
"You're driving me crazy!" she blurted. "Fuck me, you bastard. Fuck me hard. Now, damn you! Now! What the fucking hell are you waiting for? Please, Mike-"
"Wait for it," he told her tersely. "Like I've waited. It'll be that much more satisfying, kid. Don't bug me—I'm riding high."
He hunched forward and knelt astride her tits with his prick jabbing her throat and his balls dangling in the cleavage of her boobs. Rita suppressed a frustrated outcry and tried to curb the savage craving, staring at the thick, bulging cock, and sighing. Mike would fuck her when he was good and ready, meanwhile— She touched her tongue to the swollen knob of his penis, probed the wet opening, yielded to the infection of his mood and took as much fat prick into her mouth as was possible while Mike gripped her head and supported her craned neck, his limbs powerfully flexed as he watched the parted lips dragging up and down his corded branch, withdrawing to the ridged foreskin then descending the formidable stalk until her clutching fingers clamped around the massive base checked her distorted mouth. As she sucked Rita slowly frigged the gross tool, manipulating the thickest part, keeping her eyes open and breathing the exciting odor rising from his crotch, reveling in the intoxicating intimacy.
He was coming, and she brought him on deliberately, confident he would recoup quickly. Remembering his amazing virility, she sucked harder, increasing the pressure of her lips until she felt his prick surge. The glans opening gaped like a small red mouth in the instant that the seething semen welling up from his tightly swollen balls rushed furiously along the jerking branch and burst into her mouth, pungent and ropy, pumping in slimy squirts that gathered thickly at the back of her throat and behind her teeth. She swallowed, gulping the pooling sap, licked oozing residue from the pulsing knob, and held her head back as Mike withdrew with his monstrous erection from her mouth.
He rubbed the wet knob between her tits, leaving trails of sperm. Desperate for relief, Rita seized his prick and frigged rapidly, marveling at the prompt response. She pushed the dark foreskin firmly back, watched the ominous glans expand and its color deepen.
"Stop torturing me, you bastard," she moaned. "I love you, Mike. I'll die if you ever leave me again. Fuck me, Mike. Oh, Fuck me!"
Mike pushed her down, breaking her hold, and she reached impatiently for his cock again as he crouched, holding the hot knob against her torrid cleft. Her entrails were knotted, her quivering cunt fraught with expectation. The taste and smell of sticky sperm adhering to her tongue and lingering in her mouth flayed her carnal senses, fanning her excitement to white heat. She mouthed abuse—until Mike finally thrust in and rammed his great prick home—then she writhed in ecstasy, sobbing as the soggy wetness of her quim closed round the skewering rod. His chest flattened her breasts, chafing against the elongated nipples. Rita closed her eyes, lifted her knees, and gasped when Mike's gouging weight spread them painfully wide. Her back arched and she tried to brace herself by gripping the backs of her thighs, whimpering with pleasure, squirming rapturously as the bursting intrusion became solid penetration.
Hot breath panted past her flushed cheek. Each time her clutching sheath engulfed Mike's cock she contracted her thighs and abdominal muscles, transferring throbbing pressure to her clamping vent. Sweat gathered in the crack of her arse. Her arsehole itched, protruded, sucked in and out with every spasmodic convulsion of her buttocks. Mike's right arm was round her neck, his left hand under her bottom, delving into soft flesh.
Rita fucked with eyes wide open. The conflicting expressions distorting Mike's face contributed to her carnal joy. His beard bobbed up and down grotesquely. His shaggy mane of black hair flopped about, hanging down, screening his reddened features. His rapacious prick wormed continually deeper, conjuring up sexual fantasies in Rita's mind—the memory of other thrashing cocks, images, a procession of naked forms capering, monstrous pricks spurting semen, the gaping obscenity of great cow cunts, a whole fantastic panorama triggered off by the relentless churning within her voracious quim. The tension increased with the erupting spread of imminent orgasm, and she went berserk, clawing at Mike's back and surging strenuously up to meet each belligerent thrust, until the flaming delirium reached a climax and the concentrated feeling clawing at her vagina was dispersed within the swollen passage.
She cried out then, shouting. Fluid washing round the hard core of Mike's prick eased the slogging friction, and her fiercely contracting cunt rejected his tool. Mike swore, protesting when she squeezed her thighs together and blocked re-entry. Rita heaved up, twisted away from him, but immediately assumed a kneeling posture with her arse grossly presented, and as she widened the spread of her legs Mike whacked his cock between the cheeks and channeled the rampant knob back into her slippery gash, gathering the flesh of her buttocks into huge folds as his slimy prick sank deep.
But after the initial lunge he pulled back so that his cock moved just within the entry to her quim, and fucked with short strokes, embedding only a small part of his tremendous root each time.
For Rita, it was pure delight. She sensed impending orgasm in his quickened breathing, and crouched lower, reached back to hold the cheeks of her arse widely separated to present an unimpeded view of her rawly exposed cunt, working her hips and squirming back onto his prick. In the moment when he groaned and, slamming his cock right in, shot his load in single, spattering gush, Rita flopped forward, breathless. Her disheveled hair was damp with sweat. Mike sprawled beside her. For a long time neither of them spoke. Mike fingered lank black strands of her hair, occasionally touching the flushed cone of her left tit. Rita groped for his penis, and held it loosely. Even now the swollen branch was only partly relaxed.
"That was bloody wonderful," Rita said eventually. "Nothing has changed. You're still the greatest, Mike." She hunched forward, and kissed his dribbling cock. "What will you do?" she asked.
Mike shrugged, fingering his beard. "I dunno," he admitted. "I'm broke. I came here on impulse, but it was a fucking waste of time. I was going back home, but-"
"But not now. You can't go now, Mike. You can stay here. I can let you have some money."
"I can't take your bread, kid. And what about Matt, and that Caufield bastard?"
"Travis is all right, Mike. He got me my job."
"A bloody stripper— And for that he expects to flog his black prick into you whenever he feels like it? At least you're getting value from Matt. But the whole set-up stinks."
"All right. We'll go away, Mike. Back to Ireland if you like. Anywhere, just so long as we're together."
"You'd quit your precious job? Give all this up?"
Rita nodded. She continued to stroke his penis, slowly beating his meat and frequently kissing the proud head. Presently she took the knob in her mouth and sucked it. Mike, lying on his side, watching the gliding motion of her lips, sighed when she stopped. Rita slithered up until his thickened prick throbbed close to her mound. She raised her left leg and again offered her insatiable cunt, rubbing the fleshy lips against Mike's indomitable prick, laughing when he responded suddenly and grabbed her.
She turned on her back and Mike mounted her, guided his cock to her split and slipped it effortlessly in, fucking furiously, maintaining a deliberate tenacious rhythm until Rita moaned pathetically and again expired in sweet oblivion.