Chapter 10
Dwight hadn't been able to believe his ears; he'd felt like someone had just landed a powerful blow to the pit of his stomach, had collapsed his lungs. He hadn't been able to breath; he'd been unable to think. This? From Sirri? The one-time ingenue he'd done so much for, lavished "pretties" unending upon? The sweet virgin he'd once loved? A dull cynicism struggled its way up to the surface of his clamoring brain: It's happened. The worm does turn.
"That's how it is, lover," Sirri had said, smirking in lupine taunt. "A person can't help it if he gets the itch. Especially when we know you're good for it. Hal wants a car too. He's hot for a Buick Riviera. Can do?" She'd giggled dirtily. "Oh, yeah. We both think we should be getting a hundred a week each. After all ... the fun times we've been showing you lately...." She'd put a very strange emphasis on the word, fun.
That had been how it was. And though Hal hadn't had anything definite in mind as to what sort of trouble he might cause for the illustrious Dwight Adair, there was no doubt-if Dwight was to judge by the conniving, cruel look in the suddenly-come-of-age boy's eyes-that he could come up with something very messy indeed. And should Dwight defy the two greedy extortionists, dare them to do their worst, who-in the long run-had the most to lose? Granted the scandal would destroy Sirri and Hal. But what would it do to Dwight, to the Candlelight Petroleum empire? No, there had been no choice. No choice whatsoever. Fair value, Dwight had bitterly conceded. Fair value rendered for price received.
Even now, as he sat alone in his bedroom, a lion left for carrion, the ugly consequences of this latest sellout to the avaricious adolescents rambled sickly in his mind. A barely-tasted glass of Scotch at his elbow, the once-provocative arena of the bed in dark shadows, Dwight sat hunched in his great chair, stared hauntedly into the gloom beneath him. A tearing sigh exploded from him. The fantastic, orgiastic splendors that have transpired in that bed, he mused. With Sirri-all the rest. With Noreen even. And now Thought of Noreen generated an enigmatic throb of warmth and hope in his heart for a fleeting moment. And what-? He shook his head to recall where she'd told him she was going tonight. To some church thing? One of those concerts she was always trying to drag him to? No matter. She'd be home soon, they could go to bed at long last. He was surprised to find himself anticipating same, a weary yearning to huddle to her, to hold her prominent in his brain. After all this time The vagrant sense of peaceful security faded summarily, was replaced by sneering image of Hal Gilmartin. Once more bile rose in Dwight's throat. Thus far he'd been able to stall him on the car. Until such time as he could come to some firm decision as to whether he should capitulate or not. The hundred-dollar payments had already started; it was inevitable that they'd eventually be kited again and again. Dwight was no fool. He knew that once such a blood-sucking enterprise was launched, there was no turning back, there were no limits to the avarice of the human soul.
If I know this, he raged inwardly, writhing where he sat, then why am I so helpless to do something about it? Why have I become such a gutless wander? What is this paralyzing, unbreakable spell, this power Sirri holds over me? Why can't I see her for what she is? How can I still tell myself I love the sadistic, cheating bitch?
His brain reeled again, and in his mind's eye he saw Sirri again-definitive condemnation-as she'd been just the other night. At the apartment again, with the gang gathered for "party" once more. He envisioned her on the bed, with everyone gathered around to watch the depraved spectacular. Hal buried in her cunt, Dwight in her anus, while she somehow managed to twist her throat so that Gary could fuck her in the mouth. But even this hadn't been abomination enough; she'd insisted that Slade Mackey and a newcomer named John Kiley crowd close to the bed, allow her to simultaneously masturbate them. Had there been penises tiny enough for her ears-Dwight finished caustically.
His fury threatened to suffocate him. And I think I'm in love with this! Dear God, where had reason, sense of proportion got to?
At that moment his galling reverie was interrupted, as he heard the door click behind him, and Noreen entered the bedroom. He turned to greet her, was further shaken by the fact that he was sincerely glad to see her. "Hello, darling," she smiled gently. "Still up? I thought you would've been in bed an hour ago." She kissed him fleetingly on the lips, passed down into the sunken portion of the bedroom. Turning on a few of the spotlights, she flung open the bed, then proceeded to matter-of-factly undress, prepare for bed herself.
Dwight partially turned in the chair, indifferently watched as she unbuttoned the smart jacket of her dinner gown, ran the zipper on the matching skirt. In her slip and shoes, she went to her closet, hung her things. Now the slip was slowly pulled over her head. Watching his wife, appraising her svelte, yet opulent figure as she reached inside the closet, he was surprised to find himself actually desiring her, to find that his prick was painfully swollen, already weeping inside his pajamas. She wore a simple, black brassiere, a long-leg girdle that did marvelous things for her body. As she swept from the closet, nightgown in hand, he further savored the double and triple reflection of her faded, yet still patrician beauty in the mirrors behind her.
It was as Noreen sat on the edge of the bed, ran her fingers gracefully along her legs, prepared to unfasten her garter tabs, that it happened. And suddenly Dwight was sweeping down the stairs, he was prostrating himself before Noreen. "Here, dear," he said in a pinched, barely-controllable voice, "Let me do that for you." But then, as his fingers grazed her creamy flesh, swept across her stocking tops, and he looked up to see the tender, genuinely-pleased expression on her face, he could contain his despair no longer. His head dropped; he buried his face in her warm, woman-fragrant thighs, and let the wracking, confused sobs come.
Noreen loosed a compassionate gasp of her own, then wisely chose to say nothing. For perhaps five minutes she held his face in her lap, gently caressed his hair at the nape of his neck, allowing him to be quits with his mortifying grief. When finally the barking sobs subsided, when Dwight finally raised his head, looked imploringly into her eyes, she said, "What is it, darling? Something's happened, hasn't it? Do you want to tell me about it? It has to do with Sirri, hasn't it?"
"No," he choked, "there's nothing. It's not about Sirri. I don't want to talk about anything."
"What do you want then, Dwight?"
"I just ... just want to ... love you, Noreen. Love you like I used to do. Is that too much to ask? You're so lovely tonight ... you excite me so...."
Her smile was wan, unaccusing. "Then that does mean something's wrong. You never want me ... really want me ... otherwise." Again, intuitively perceptive wife that she was, she did not pursue the subject further. And gently disconnecting herself from Dwight's restless hands, she stood beside the bed in her exotic lingerie. "By all means, baby," she breathed, "love me. Love me any way you like. This ... outfit? Will it do? Or would you like me to put on something more exciting? My new orchid ensemble would...."
"No," he blurted. "That's just fine. That's what got me going in the first place."
"Would you like me to choose something for you? Some of your panties? Perhaps that black panty-hose...."
"No, darling, that's not necessary. Just you. The way you are. If I may just adore you...."
A dark, preening glitter erupted in Noreen's eyes, and drawing a deep, shivering breath, dizzy with delight, she posed herself before Dwight, felt her vagina tingle and tighten as Dwight threw off his clothes, began slithering closer to her. "Darling...." she seethed as she felt his first slathering kisses on her feet.
Their strange love was highly routinized, no better, no worse than any of a hundred similar fetishist ceremonies they'd celebrated over the past years. And yet it was special in that it was the first time Dwight had come seeking Noreen since Sirri had appeared on the scene. For this reason an extra excitement was visited upon both participants.
There was another singular difference, also. In that Noreen (as Dwight stared up at her beseechingly from time to time) did not regard him contemptuously; she did not shame or degrade him as Sirri might have done under similar circumstances. Instead she understood his affliction, she indulged him in it, loving him throughout just the same. Since this was his preference, she would lend herself to the love, pilot him to its most complete fruition, the stigma of perversion did not once register upon her mind.
Dwight groveled at her feet, adored her ankles and calves, buried his lips in the concavity behind her knee. Noreen well schooled in special small touches her husband preferred, introduced same to every segment of his adoration: The sliding of her shoe against his cheek; the nudging of her pointed toe in his genitals as he stretched to accept her gift of brimming tits into his straining mouth, her furry moans and purrings of pleasure as he sucked her crotch soggy, keeled his teeth across her nylon-shielded clitoris; the gentle crowding of his face into her cunt, her palms rustling on his ears. All contributed to the total and final frenzy as he flung her backward onto the bed, actually pulled off her pumps, her girdle (the stockings still attached) with ravenously restless teeth. Until now, Noreen still in her black brassiere, the skimpy black panties, she joyously tolerated his rape of the nylon itself, Dwight tearing the flimsy crotch to ribbons with his own hands, the better to permit the final oral assault upon this last bastion of her sex.
Noreen pitched and moaned on the bed as Dwight snaked his tongue deep into her slippery hole as he caught her clitoris between suctioning lips, seemingly pulled it-and her spine along with it-from her body inch-by-inch. Almost immediately her initial orgasm sundered her, and she vaingloriously shrieked her glory, a thing she knew thrilled Dwight tremendously. Next, in order to postpone the excruciating agony of a fresh sucking of her lust pimple, she lapsed into that most barbaric command Dwight loved so well. "Not yet, beloved," she hissed. "In a minute you can make me come again. But for now ... Put your tongue in my ass ... lick me there. Oooh, that's heavenly. In, shove it in! As far as it will go."
There wasn't time for a second tongue-induced orgasm for Noreen. For, sensing her husband's imminent ejaculation, she instinctively knew it was time to get on with things. Thus she pushed him down, lovingly licked his testicles, the underside of his prick, eventually consuming almost all of the gummy stalk in her mouth, gaggingly struggling to shove all of it down her cock-famished throat. But this devotion, also, could only be conferred briefly, and desperate to have his blessed sperm douche in the depths of her vagina, she forcibly pulled her mouth from its heavenly pinion, drew her husband over her turbulent hips. With her own hands she branded her clitoris with his slimy prick before she gruntingly plunged it into the screaming depths of her cunt.
Two, brain-searing orgasms thundered down upon Noreen almost immediately, as she screamed obscenities without end, flopped and writhed beneath him like some grounded tarpon. "You fucker!" she praised. "You fantastic fucker!" Then she was gone again, intent upon wresting still another fiery climax for herself. And was halfway up the mountain, symbolically stuffing bull pricks up her crack, when Dwight cursed, let loose with his own discharge. Noreen was momentarily stunned at the hotness of his cannonade, at the endless quantities of semen, at the force with which he jetted the rich cream against the innermost membranes of her bowels. But then, as his plunge slowed, indicated his completion, she administered a swift flurry of belly-writhings, ground her pearl upon his squashy prick, triggered still a last descent-into-the-sun climax of her own.
For a long time afterward, his prick still inside Noreen, his finger still tucked in her anus, Dwight lay atop his wife. Dazed, breathless, he was still conscious enough to evaluate the fantastic fuck just given him by his wife; he was sentient enough to know it was one in a million, the kind of fuck most men dream about, but never, in their lifetimes receive. And what was the difference, what had caused the incredible gap between this ecstasy and the ones he tore from Sirri's belly? It had to do with something more than home-cooking, he concluded; it had to do with that ephemeral virtue known as love. For when the woman truly loves the man she copulates with Eventually he fell away from Noreen. Snuggling in her arms, caught up in soul-down-the-drain torpor and ease-a monumental sense of tightness. She never wanted to leave this fleshly sanctuary again. Thus it was, as Noreen gently, yet firmly asked him about his troubles with Sirri, that it suddenly seemed the most natural thing in the world the ultimate, the only answer-that he should confide in her. She would know what to do, she would grant the stability and safe harbor he so desperately needed.
"And what, darling," she said levelly, no indictment in her tone, as he finished, "do you intend to do about it? Surely you don't intend to let them get away with it, do you?"
The night rustled and hissed eerily about her. And yet, Dwight asleep for an hour already, Noreen couldn't sleep herself. Black fury, a gut-clawing lust for vengeance prowled within her. As, the aftermath of Dwight's abject surrender to the degenerate hoodlums' demands still rankling, she realized the deadly jeopardy her own life was in. If she allowed Dwight to go through with this sniveling sellouts-And hadn't he been horribly ambivalent about his truest feelings toward that Sirri slut?-the entire fabric of her life would be threatened.
It isn't like Dwight, she thought. It's as if someone's eviscerated him. It isn't like him at all. Sick he might be so far as his sex needs are concerned. But spineless, no. He's come too far to be without the guts needed to survive in this dog-eat-dog world. And what's that rotten pig done to him, anyway? Even in the fetishist thing there are compensations. Once those crawling preliminaries were over Dwight invariably became all man-aggressive, dominating male animal. Ask me, I know. Ask all those other hot pants bitches he's tumbled. More man than that no woman living ever needs. The way he lasts and lasts Yet, it was so. Something had happened to Dwight. Her fury threatened to strangle her. And if he isn't man enough to stop these renegades, someone has to take hold. I haven't worked and humiliated myself, I haven't schemed all my life just to let a gang of juvenile Johnny-come-latelies move in, steal everything right under my nose. Fun is fun. But this? The gall, the unmitigated gall Now Noreen's brain spun faster; a bloodthirsty vindictiveness loomed increasingly larger. She actually chewed her lips as a plan suggested itself, as she visualized a long overdue comeuppance. Judgment Day-Noreen trembled now, breathed hard, was actually impatient for the night to pass. Tomorrow, she exulted, tomorrow--