Chapter 7
Hugh Laurens took the call from Shan Hartgrave on the hall extension. He had been on his way to the pool when the phone rang. He listened to the news she had communicated to him, nodded in satisfaction, then praised her for being a sharp girl. "Call me if there's anything new." He hung up and continued through his new $85,000 home to the patio. He was bored already with the lace, china, paintings, and all the other proof that he had arrived. They meant nothing to him.
He wondered who the new man was. Shan had mentioned a male prospect who was attractive and well-hung. Jennifer would be glad to hear it. She loved big cocks.
When he reached the sliding glass door to the patio, he paused and looked out at her. She was sitting on a chaise lounge, sipping a gin and soda and reading the New York Times. Poor kid, he thought. She'll never stop trying. We'll never be accepted in genteel society. Never. We've started too late. And too low.
Jennifer was thirty-six years old, but she didn't look it. She had golden-blonde hair, a pretty face, and a body she kept in flawless shape. She was wearing long earrings that dangled every time she moved her head.
Laurens mentally kicked himself. She was all he desired in a woman, yet he still wanted to fuck young girls. A stream of young girls, in fact. Satyriasis, that's what his psychiatrist called it. There was no known cure. Jennifer had gone along with him on the sex parties, even to the extent of participating herself. But now and then she would ask him to give up this way of life, and he would adamantly refuse.
He slid the glass door open and walked outside. After pausing at the bar to pour himself a Scotch on the rocks, he strolled over to his wife. "Darling, Shan just called. She's found some new people for Saturday night-some college girls and a guy for you."
Jennifer looked up at him, a gleam in her eye. "I see you always make sure I'm drawn into it so I can't complain."
"Now, dear, don't be sarcastic," he replied, smiling.
She sighed. "I wish you'd grow up, Hugh. Sex isn't everything."
He had his own ideas about that, but he kept them to himself. He didn't want another argument. They argued too much of late.
Jennifer finished her drink and stood up. "I promised to go shopping with a couple of friends, but I'll be back in time for lunch," she announced. "Will you excuse me?"
He nodded. "I'll see you later, baby." He watched her go into the house, admiring the way the sunsuit clung to her svelte body. He sat down to finish his drink. Half an hour later, he heard his wife's car pull out of the drive. He closed his eyes and sprawled back on the lounge chair. Idly, he touched his cock through his swimming trunks. His prick began to swell. Laurens was amused at the idea of playing with himself at his age. But after all, he told himself, a man's cock was his own.
"Hello, Mister Laurens," someone said.
He jumped, looking to see who it was. It was Mary, the precocious nineteen-year-old daughter of the architect next door. Laurens scowled at her, but he really wasn't angry, just ashamed that she had almost caught him jacking off. Mary was quite an eyeful. "Hello, yourself. You might knock sometime."
Mary laughed. She was a pretty redhead who wore her hair short, against the current styles. She was dressed in an artist's smock. He had heard that she had talent with a brush. Other talent, too, if the back-fence gossip meant anything.
"I saw you sunning yourself and decided to come over and ask a favor. I want you to sit for me. I'll even pay, if it matters."
Laurens realized in shock that his hand was still at his crotch. He hastened to move it away. "G'wan. An old coot like me?"
Mary's face expressed shock, not that she had caught him masturbating but that he thought of himself as old. "Mister Laurens, really!" She leaned against the other lounge chair and scolded him. "Aren't you ashamed? Why, I've seen men half your age who aren't in the shape you are." She licked her lips and eyed his sun-bronzed body.
Laurens, after debating the odds and deciding they were worth it, determined to really give himself something to be ashamed of. "Can you come inside a minute? I want you to give me your opinion of a woodcut."
"Sure." Without hesitation, Mary followed him into the house.
Laurens congratulated himself again on having no house servants. That was one concession they hadn't made to wealth. As soon as the glass door was safely shut, he pulled his trunks down to his knees. His brown cock sprang out at her. "Well, what do you think?" he asked, straight-faced.
Mary, for an instant, appeared startled. She quickly recovered. "What about your wife?"
"She just left for the morning. Get your clothes off, honey. I want to see that young cunt of yours."
Mary's arms went around her back automatically. She unzipped the smock, then removed it and dropped it to the floor. She wore no bra, and her firm young breasts stood out straight without assistance. She was wearing a scanty pair of panties over a garter belt and black nylons. Laurens could see her dark-auburn pubic hair.
Putting her thumbs in the waistband of her flimsy panties, she tugged them down, revealing a lush expanse of pubic hair.
Laurens stepped out of his bathing shorts and kicked them aside. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to one of the guest rooms. When they arrived, he laid her carefully across the bed. Bending over her, he trailed kisses from her breasts to her belly. She quivered beneath him as he tongued her navel. He raised his head to ask a question. "You're not cherry, I hope."
"Cherry?"
"Virgin."
Mary laughed. "My, goodness, no."
"Are you protected?"
She nodded. "I have a diaphragm. My parents are modern about sex."
That was all the encouragement Laurens needed. He bent to the task. His hands left hers and went around her back. He drew her solidly against him, felt her breasts yielding, her flesh scorching his. His blood rushed to his prick.
Mary acted as if she wanted to kiss him and to tear her mouth away from his at the same time. He kept her close to him and ran his hands up her spine, stroking her smooth, firm back. She shook in his arms.
"Don't!" she said breathlessly.
"Mary...." Laurens bit back what he was about to say, then he let his caresses plead for him.
"That's enough! I don't know why I-"
He touched her buttocks and then her back again. She struggled to get away, and her breasts rubbed against him.
"Let me go!"
When he kissed her ear, she turned around quickly, facing him. Their open mouths met once more. She strained, as if trying to complete the act of love by a mere kiss. Laurens darted his tongue forward.
"Please let me go, Mister Laurens!" the girl begged.
"Free-flying lesson-you let me go on," he panted, trying to kiss her breasts.
To stop him, she pushed against his chest, inflaming him further.
"No!" she said, "I don't love you! I'm not even sure I like you!"
He was sure of something. He was sure he was going to fuck Mary.
For Laurens, this wasn't one of those cases where he was going to take a little bit at a time, urging her to go just a little farther and then a little farther until she lost her head and went all the way. He felt that Mary had already lost her head, or was very close to doing so. Without rushing her, he had to score before she regained her wits.
He brought his hand around between them and found her breast. He attacked her resilient globe, teasing her nipple until her breaths and heartbeats matched his own. Then he began kissing her again.
He stroked her back from her shoulders to her buttocks. Moving his left hand to her breast, he made the mound swell with heightened desire. He caressed her warm, quivering breasts, working his way to her waist. Suddenly, Laurens became aware that all her resistance had ceased. She was his. His to fuck.
"Make-a-flyer-out-of-you!" he whispered. "Do it!" she flung back.
Locked in each other's arms, they sank to their knees, twisting and swaying against each other. Mary pushed him to the floor and slid against him. She began kissing him. Kissing him everywhere. Her tongue tickled him, and he returned the treatment. He kissed her navel then her waist. When she opened for him, he went lower, inserting his tongue inside her drooling, delicious cunt-lips and stabbing for her clit. Suddenly he felt Mary's warm mouth close over his prick. The mouth was inexperienced, but he didn't care. He grasped her ass, squeezing the cheeks hard, while she held him just as firmly.
He ate her cunt until she kicked and arched and sobbed. A minute later, he, too, was churning and kicking. The pleasure of shooting into her mouth was so intense that he hardly knew what was happening to him.
His balls felt like a loaded cannon. His prick shot out the wads of his climax.
They rested for a few minutes. Then she grabbed for his cock greedily, at this point almost raping him. They began to fuck, their organs meshing together, their pants and grunts a cacophony of sounds that filled the room, almost drowning out the hum of the air-conditioner at the window.
Suddenly, in a voice that sounded as if she hated him, Mary said, "You beast! You've brought me this far. Now fuck me all the way."
He fucked her. Twice. And after the second fucking, he seemed to turn into a mindless beast. He thrashed and tossed, whipping her lithe young body around like a reed, until he had drained his balls.
Then he fell away from her, his breath a raspy attempt to wring oxygen from the stifling air. "When-do you want it?" he managed.
"Want what?" Mary stared at him in bewilderment. Now that her wits were returning, she looked angrily at him.
"The free flying lesson."
"Oh, that." She laughed. "Forget it. The wild blue's not my thing. I want you to do something else for me. Let me come to your next orgy."
"What?" Laurens could not, for the life of him, conceal his alarm. They usually made a great deal of noise at the parties, but he hadn't suspected anyone in their neighborhood of knowing a thing. If Mary had pieced together the truth, then he wondered who else might. "Now see here, I may go off the deep end at times, like now, but I don't-"
Mary laughed harder. "You're a scream, Mister Laurens. Let's quit playing games with one another. If I'm adult enough to be fucked, I'd be adult enough to be invited to one of your fuck parties. If you don't invite me, I'll tell my you-know-what's about you. How would you like that?"
He began to think. If I've got to keep her quiet and she really wants to come, why not? One more can't make any difference. "How do I know you're all right?"
"You know. Am I in?"
He relented. "Yes. The next one is Saturday night at eight. I'll let you in the back gate. You can wear a mask ... if you like."